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taomyou · 3 months ago

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the art of watching the wind - chapter 1

Pairing: Nanami Kento/Reader

Status: ONGOING, updates every other saturday, 1/7 chapters

Summary: As it turns out, swapping out his corporate cubicle for a florist’s counter doesn’t mean he’s learned how to live life to the fullest.

But, as Nanami Kento comes to find out for himself, it does mean he has all the time in the world to spend it on the beach with the woman who’ll show him how to.

or, Nanami learning how to be happy.

Word Count: 9.0k

Tags: slow burn, modern au - no curses, reader-insert, character study, fluff, hurt/comfort, light angst, nanami pov

(A/N: this fic is available on ao3 here if you would like to read it there instead! chapter one is mostly setting/exposition)

“That’ll be it for today's shipment, my friend!” Gojo beams, one hand on his hip while the other slaps against the side of a crate of roses. When his friend doesn’t say anything in response, he frowns, shoving his hands into the pockets of his rugged work pants. “Hey, what’s with the long face?”

Nanami blinks, his hands gripping onto the handlebar of the platform cart. “What?”

“You good?”

“Oh, yes, I'm fine,” Nanami answers, loosening his grip on the handles. “Just a bit tired.”

"Last one in the shop today?"

"Yeah. Yaga's coming by later to drop off some papers, but I should be gone by then."

"Sounds good." Gojo smiles at his friend sympathetically before putting a hand on his shoulder as he begins to pass him on the walk back to the delivery truck. “Take it easy, yeah? No need to stress yourself out.”

The blonde sighs before halfheartedly nodding, gently removing the gloved hand from his arm. “I’m not, but I appreciate your concern.”

“If you say so,” Gojo teases, “See you around, Nanami. Would love to chat, but I've gotta finish up my route ASAP and beat that loser."

"You're still on about that? I thought you already won."

"That was last month! I need to prove I can keep up with the spring rush this month!" Gojo laughs. "Besides, he's the one that gets all butthurt about it, I wouldn't care if he didn't."

Nanami supposes it's true. The older man—whose name is Fushiguro, if he's remembering correctly—seems to have it out for the white-haired delivery driver; Nanami remembers him grumbling under his breath about Gojo "fucking up the schedule" and "making him look cheap," whatever that's supposed to mean, but though their rivalry seems fairly one-sided, Gojo indulges him for the fun of it.

Nanami doesn't quite get it, but he supposes this is just what happens when you need to make up your own fun on the job.

"Well, good luck then."

"Won't need it, but thanks! Let’s grab drinks sometime, my treat if you pay for dessert after!”

The blonde kisses his teeth, but he smiles in spite of it. “Sure. I’ll let you know when I’m available.” He probably won’t, but he’s sure that his friend will find a way to drag him out for a night in the town sometime soon, one way or another (and that, one way or another, he'll find a way to get out of it).

Nanami raises a hand from the handle as a gesture of his goodbyes as Gojo leaves, as does Gojo himself on his way back to his truck. He watches as his friend hops up onto the high seat of the vehicle, picks up a clipboard from the passenger-side seat, and writes down something with a pen he'd kept tucked behind his ear. With his gloves still on, Gojo pulls out his phone from his pocket and nestles it between his shoulder and his ear, still marking down items on the clipboard whilst checking over his shoulder occasionally to look for things in the backseat.

It sure is jarring to see the boisterous snow-haired man hard at work at... anything, really. He'd always been so carefree and limitless, and though those traits still exist in the man whilst on the clock, he seems just a tad bit more responsible than Nanami remembered him to be.

Has it really been so long that he'd been able to change so much without Nanami noticing?

The blonde is completely silent as he turns and wheels back the last of this week’s delivery into the back of the shop. It's not an entirely far walk, but the shop isn't immediately near any delivery zone, so Nanami has to push the cart a fair bit away before he can really call it a day. He's had to walk the same path everyday, multiple times each time, but he still somehow forgets the crack in the pavement that, if he rolls the cart over it, knocks back the whole thing and nearly tips all the crates' contents out. Instead of cursing himself (or whatever else he can think to blame, really), he bitterly smiles as he tugs on the cart and lets go of the handle with one hand so that he can hold up the crates for the remainder of the trip back to the shop.

At least this is the last time he has to make the journey today. He'll just have to remember to avoid that sidewalk hazard next time. He's reminded himself of this every shift, actually, but he somehow always seems to forget.

When he gets back to the shop, the back entrance is held open with a spare footstool he'd placed there at the beginning of the day. Helps keep the place well-circulated while the air conditioning is being repaired, for one, and it's nice not having to awkwardly open it and hold it out with his arm fully outstretched every time he passes through. Still, Nanami has to readjust his grip on the handlebar of the cart because one of the front wheels gets caught on the doorframe, and after tugging on it thrice, it gives way, he's able to get through smoothly. He pushes through and is now inside the back room of the shop, and he makes sure that his apron is securely tied behind his back before he moves to take the crates off of the cart.

The backroom is quiet, save for the gentle creaking of the boxes as he moves them into the walk-in cooler, and once everything’s offloaded, he moves the cart to its designated spot in the corner of the room. His back aches slightly from the slow, weighted movements, as the crates are decently heavy and require more strength to lift than he has at this late hour of the day, but he bears with it long enough for him to finish without breaking too much of a sweat.

“That should be it,” Nanami whispers to himself, looking around the room. He makes sure that everything’s in its proper place—the cart, the gloves, the stool, the rows of crates filled with flowers that’ll need to be sorted first thing tomorrow morning—and he lets out a sigh of relief when he's triple-checked that it is.

Good. Everything’s where it should be. All that's left is to close the back door, and he'll get to be cozy at the counter doing what he does best. It's a bit cold today, winter only just now turning to spring, so he'll change his apron and pull his sleeves back to full-length.

As he steps out to retrieve the chair that's holding it open, his eyes are downturned and his hands are busy putting the stool back in its proper place; but, as he waits for the door to close behind him, he looks over his shoulder to be momentarily met with the sight of the sunset. The sky at this time of day is a sight Nanami hardly ever got to see before working here, and he feels it'd be a waste to not at least try to catch sight of it before the day is over, so he takes it in during the brief seconds it takes for the door to close.

Some of the late-night spots in the nearby shopping center are beginning to turn on their lights to let people know that they're open for business, and that casts more light upwards in bursts of technicolor. Molten gold and pear-cut sapphire melt into one another in front of a barely-there haze, and birds sparsely dot the horizon like sesame seeds on a red bean bun. Brushstrokes of red, violet, and pink chase each other against a pale canvas of blues and silver, and rays of sunlight burst through to form a halo over the earth. The underside of the clouds are burnt umber and golden brown, flaky and crisp like a pastry sitting neatly in a display case, and they frame the sky like its a painting.

It doesn't take a genius to know that the sight is beautiful—a snapshot of the world from a corner of it that only he knows in this very moment. The faint spring breeze certainly does help in painting the picture, pushing his outgrown bangs out of his face and kissing him with the gentleness of the zephyr.

It's too bad, then, that it's a sight that Nanami still ultimately doesn't care much for, because instead of basking in the light, he winces at it with worn, tired eyes. He puts his free hand over his eyes to rub the weariness from them, and he keeps them closed as he turns back in towards the shop.

Must the sun always be so bright, so "in-your-face?"

Checking his watch, he sees that if he finishes a bit earlier than usual with the bookkeeping today, he should have enough time to make it to the bakery right off the freeway on his way home before they close. He'd been meaning to try the quaint little bakery for so long now, having been recommended it by an older woman in his building he'd helped carry in her groceries when he first moved to the city three long years ago, but between his job, leaving said previous job, and getting adjusted to his current... arrangements, there hasn't really been a good time to go.

Truthfully, he's memorized their menu, front-to-back, and he thinks about making the drive over often, but he just... doesn't. There's always something in the way: work that needs to be done before the end of the day, personal errands he needs to run, a bad mood that won't let him go. Instead, their hours of operation are taped onto the walls of his heart and left to peel with the paint, but they've still always functioned as a loose guide as to whether or not Nanami's doing a good job keeping track of his time at work.

Clearly, he hasn't ever done that.

But, if he gets out on time today, it'd be a nice milestone gift, he tells himself.

Besides, today marks the third month of him working here—it wouldn't hurt to treat himself to a little trip over to the storefront.

There's not much else in his life that he has to celebrate anyway, so he'll just make it up as it goes. He didn't even realize three months had passed, just taking things day-by-day to keep the dread of the future at bay for as long as he could, but a younger high school-aged boy, Itadori, had started at the shop on the same day as him, and Nanami'd overheard him telling a customer that he hit the quarter-year mark at the job (a miracle, apparently, because his grades demand much more attention than work should; still, Nanami helps him and one of the other coworkers, Kugisaki, with their maths homework when it's not too busy at the shop).

Yeah. Today can be the day.

He can play it by ear. He's made peace with the fact that this is about as good as it gets, and there's no better time than the present when he's so sorely reminded of the fact now that he's left behind nearly everything he'd ever known in his professional career for... whatever he's made of his life thus far.

He'll make it special.

He's said that a million times before, but, today, he really means it.

After blinking a few times to get the sun out of his eyes, Nanami puts the stool in its usual spot right next to the door. With his hands now free, he unties the back of his apron, walks over to hang it up at the hook right at the curtain between the two areas of the shop. He pushes through the half-height fabric curtains as he tugs his sleeves back to his wrists, and he buttons his cuffs back up as he's making himself comfortable at the florist's counter.

With his cabinet key, Nanami opens up the side drawer where the accounting materials are, and he pulls them out to lay next to the shop's computer. It's a bit outdated, clunky beige keyboard and all, but he doesn't mind it. He types in the passcode for the admin account with his right hand on the number pad whilst putting on his reading glasses, kept in his shirt's breast pocket at all times, and he gets to work. Having had so much practice in the trade, he gets through all the bookkeeping tasks quickly enough. There's a few hiccups because the shop is still in the process of changing their payroll system and Nanami's in charge of getting that all sorted out, but that's nothing out of the ordinary for any business going through the same procedures.

It's a bore to remember what it is that he's even doing, lost in the flurry as tabs are closed and new ones are opened, but at least he's only doing this for a couple hours every week as opposed to his entire working day. His face is completely stoic as he types, clicks, and flips through the logbook for delivery dates and other miscellaneous information. Nanami keeps track of what he's finished with and what data he'll need for his next bookkeeping session for Yaga to pick up whilst he's dropping off papers later, and the older man will know to then drop those notes off with his parents—the owners of the store.

They're nice people. He knew them as clients when they outsourced their accounting to his firm (and, thusly, him), and they'd been generous enough to offer him a full-time position in the shop, especially considering he had absolutely no experience in any sort of floristry. Nanami wished they'd come around more often as it's a bit hard to express his gratitude to them through emails and in the in-between of the margins of the papers they have him sign, but he's glad to know they're able to spend most of their time doing things more typical for a couple their age.

He doesn't mind it, though—the work. Inputting numbers, cleaning buckets, double-checking financial records, dethorning roses, calculating the budget, putting together bouquets and other arrangements—all of it. Really, he doesn't. He's obviously more... adept at some things more than others, but he's learned to enjoy what he's learned in his time working here. But, while his hands move methodically and his eyes trace the screen from left to right, he can't help but be reminded of how he'd used to do this for a living. He supposes that he still does, but being a general florist who helps out with the bookkeeping for a small family-owned flower shop is quite a far step away from being the top financial analyst at the region's most prestigious accounting firm.

He really shouldn't be thinking about it. He's already spent enough time contemplating whether or not the pay cut was worth whatever sanity he'd scraped away for himself when he left, and he should be happy he's content where he is.

He's not happy here. It's as simple as that.

After he locks up the cabinet and clocks out for the day, he exhales deeply, leaning forward with his elbows on the counter and rubbing at his temples with his hands. His head doesn't hurt like how it used to, but it's still not exactly raring for more to do. Sitting here, he has a clear enough view of the sidewalk in front of the shop, if only blocked by towers of flowers and gift displays.

He sees that the sun has set, and he won't have to worry about it blinding him from the horizon as he's driving home. That's nice.

After taking another few deep breaths, he gets up from the seat, and he grabs his coat and other personal belongings before locking up shop, getting into his car, and starting the drive home. Glancing at the clock now, there's still about an hour or so before the bakery closes, so he decides he'll make the quick detour over there. As he maneuvers through the highway, sure-as-steel that he's obeying all traffic laws despite the ache in his feet and the dreariness of his morale, his mind drifts slightly to the long-awaited sweets he's been fantasizing about for years.

Has it really been so long since he's moved to this city?

Regardless, whatever'd been keeping him from going over to the little bakery for so long, he'll conquer it today. There's still enough time to make it comfortably before closing; he checks and there's forty-five minutes for him to make it there comfortably, and he's nearing his exit anyway.

He wonders what he'll get. It'd always been a faraway thought—that he'd ever make the time to go to the bakery on the off-road—so he always just figured he'd order whatever gets recommended to him. He's done his fair share of looking at their menu, though. He remembers, in the very beginnings of his time at that... horrendous job, back before he'd been overworked and overloaded with the tasks of more than a hundred men, he'd look up pictures and reviews and transcripts of their offerings online when the workday got slow enough for him to take his phone out of his bag and steal time. Back then, he truthfully did have the time to go and try it out, maybe even reach out to a friend and invite him to come along, but he supposes he'd figured he'd have time for it in the future.

"Save it for another time," he remembers telling himself. "It'll taste better if you wait for it—if you have something to celebrate."

Next thing he knows, three years and three months have passed, and he's never so much as driven past the place.

But, amidst the blooming angst, his mind conjures up those fond memories of himself using his old work computer to look at online reviews for the place. Thinking of them again now after so long, he

All those pastries, all those sweets, all those breads. It'd been so easy for him to forget that such a simple thing brought him joy; that anything at all brought him any kind of peace. He feels it in the pit of his stomach right now—the quiet little spark of excitement he hasn't felt in ages. If he'd known he'd be so worked up over the mere prospect of enjoying something sweet there, or maybe even something savory, he'd have quit his corporate job so, so long ago.

A new match lit in his chest, he smiles to himself slightly as he's driving through the wind. He rests his elbow just beneath the side window and props his head on that hand, and he moves his other hand to the top of the wheel to steer with a bit more panache. There's not much light out anymore and he still has to be careful he's driving safely in the dark, but he gets cozy against his seat cushion and lets himself sink deeply into the plush. His window's rolled up because he's not sure his senses can take much more overload after a day spent near wet flowers and loud, crinkling cellophane, but he'd like to think there's another version of himself out there whose able to feel the breeze through his hair.

Then, just as suddenly, the fire's put out by an inevitable wind, because just as he's beginning to merge into the exit lane he's meant to take to get to the bakery, a car cuts in front of him, forcing Nanami to slam his brakes and grip the steering wheel harder to avoid hitting the vehicle in front of him. Just barely able to check his mirrors, he swerves back into the faster, continuing lane and pushes on the gas to keep the car behind him from driving into him. Nanami's seatbelt saves him from launching forward, but, now looking over at the center console as he's checking for the time, the same can't be said for the cup of coffee he'd forgotten in his car's cupholder from yesterday morning.

Great. Coffee all over the center console and even more of it starting to soak into his passenger seat.

He's forced to just sigh and look ahead, now only ready to go home and get started on cleaning his car. He raises his hand for the driver behind him to know that he's sorry he had to swerve in front of them, his heart still beating out of his chest, and he blows anger out through his nose as he's forced to think about whether or not he's going to reroute to still get to the bakery or just resign for the day and go home. Looking at the clock again, there's only about thirty minutes left for until closing, and, even then, it'd be cutting it so close if he were to get there in the twenty-something minutes it'd take to figure out how to get there, park, and find something to order or choose from the display case.

If working at the flower shop has taught him nothing else thus far, it's that coming in that close to closing is enough to ruin everyone's evening, and Nanami'd rather not put any of the closers through more than they already have to deal with.

Quite unfortunate, all things considered, but there's nothing he can do about it now. Most he can do is frown about it while he's brushing his teeth later, maybe even curse the universe after he's gone through the apartment and made sure all the lights are off.

Maybe another time, then. There's more important things to do than try out some bread that's probably not as great as he's made it out to be in his head.

🔅

With a heavy heart (and a trash bag filled with coffee-soaked napkins and a now-barely damp washcloth), Nanami pulls his keys from out of his pocket, finds the one he needs to open his apartment door, and steps through. He hangs his keys up on a red push pin that's stuck into the drywall immediately to his right, courtesy of an old friend who'd helped him move into the place way back when, and he holds himself upright using the doorframe.

"I'm home," he says to the walls, taking off his shoes and leaving them near the welcome mat by the entrance. He's lived alone for a long time now, but he supposes he never really grew out of the habit of greeting the house when he's home. He leaves the trash bag by the door to take out with the rest of the trash later, dreading the eventual long walk he has to take to get to the dumpster, but, other than that, everything else about his routine tonight is the same.

There's nothing important about today, so there's nothing new for him to do.

After changing into something comfortable enough to lounge around in, Nanami drags his feet as he walks back out to the kitchen to see what he can make himself for dinner. His socks create enough static that he's shocked when he grazes the metal of his bedroom's doorframe, but he can't be much more bothered than he already is, so he just ignores it.

His fridge is exactly how he'd left it that same morning, with more than enough ingredients to put together a decent meal for himself, and he moves around aimlessly to do so. Today, it's a quick short rib stew with rice, and he lets a shuffled mix of songs he doesn't quite enjoy play from his phone to keep himself awake enough to not burn himself as he's cooking.

He eats at the dining table with a book propped up on an empty vase and held open with the pinky and thumb of his left hand, chewing while mindlessly reading about the development of various computer types, and he lets the dishes soak in the sink while he sits across the television and watches today's rerun of the Great British Bake-Off. He still hates watching the technical bake, but he's just being a hypocrite; not like he can do any of that either.

Once he's tired of watching yet another person underwhip their soufflé batter, he runs his hands down his face lethargically and gets up to do the dishes, very much aware of the ache in his feet after hours standing up on the shop. The hurt's caught up with him by now and he has to hold onto the counter to keep his legs from shaking, but maybe he's just being dramatic for the sake of it because he's able to bear it just fine when he has scalding hot water burning his hands as he scrubs away stubborn stains.

After that's done and dealt with, he takes out the trash, cleans up around the apartment, makes sure to pay for the water bill that's finally reached him from the previous month. He makes sure to appreciate how low it is right now because he knows it's only going to get higher with the rising temperature.

He takes a shower to wash all the loose petals and leaves that've snuck between his work clothes and his body, brushes his teeth (fully remembering to fume to himself about having to miss going to that bakery), and after making sure that all his lights are off and no appliances are left running, he lays in his bed, staring up at the ceiling with his hands laced over his sternum.

Well, that's it.

That's his day, full and complete.

Get up, go to work, work, go home, go to sleep. There's some other steps along the way, and, sure, there's other things he could be doing, but it is what it is

It isn't quite the life he'd dreamed of when he left his hometown—that was what he had before his quit his corporate job—so, if he ignores the pay cut, the loss of prestige, and the shame of being somewhere he'd never planned for himself, then this is the next best thing.

And sleep comes to him quickly, he's grateful for that.

Still, in the very brief and very quiet minutes it takes for the dull ache in his muscles and the even more faint one in his heart to settle enough for him to drift off into dreamless sleep, he wonders if this is really all life has to offer.

It has to be.

...

Right?

🔅

Nanami wakes up before his alarm has the chance to ring.

His body rises with the sun, its rays bleeding in through the fabric curtains at the window in his bedroom, and he rolls over onto his side to feel around for his cell phone, unplugs it, and checks for the time. He doesn't trust himself to be able to wake up a second time with only a few minutes until he's meant to actually get up, so with a yawn, he slips out of bed, puts on his house slippers, and drags himself to the bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth.

As he's brushing, he lets his mind drift until a swipe of toothpaste slips out of his mouth and falls onto the floor. He frowns, toothbrush still between his lips, and he reaches down with a paper towel to clean it. He's not allowed to move around lethargically anymore, acutely aware of the need to keep things clean so he doesn't have to come home to a mess at the end of the day, so instead of dreaming about the perfect breads he'd pair with the most perfect jams and the most perfect butters, he plans out his day.

What day of the week is it, again?

Maybe today's Monday? Tuesday, even?

Probably Monday. The weekend rush was noticeable enough yesterday.

He supposes it's hardly relevant, though, so he'll just figure it out later. It'd only matter if it were a Wednesday or a Thursday because those are his days off, but he knows it's not either of those days because he usually has to do laundry by then, and, right now, the bin's only three-fourths of the way full with clothes stained by cell sap.

No matter, he has to get to work soon, then get home after work, then make himself dinner, tidy up again, go to sleep again.

After gathering his bearings, he stands over the sink and spits out the pale blue mix of toothpaste suds and morning mouth grime. He runs his hands underneath the running water quickly, flicks his wrists to help dry them, and he runs his cold hands over his face to help keep himself awake as he gets ready. After he's made sure everything's been locked up properly and just as he likes it in the morning, he puts on a dress shirt, dress pants, dress socks, his watch, the non-slip deck shoes Yaga practically shoved Nanami's feet into when he found out he had been wearing oxfords to the shop up until that point, and he's on his way out the door with a cup of peach yogurt in one hand and his keys in the other. In his bag is a tupperware container with last night's leftovers and his wallet, and that's about all he needs for his day.

The route from his apartment to work is one that's fully planned and practiced by now: get on the highway, get on the ramp to the eastward route, exit, drive extra slow to not startle the elderly woman who owns the laundromat right next to the shop, and park directly underneath a tree that keeps his car cool for the duration of its stay there. By now, he's gotten pretty good at remembering which stoplights give him enough time to spoon himself some yogurt without spilling any of it, so once he's parked and collected all the things he needs for the day, he gets out of the car, unlocks the door because he's almost always the first person to arrive, and rushes to clock in and rinse the container to use as a seedling pot for the many greens they need growing in the back room.

Well, that's it.

That's his morning.

He'll spend the rest of it restocking the arrangement area because nobody else that works mornings here is tall enough to safely reach the cellophane rolls that they keep on top of the cabinets. He's the newest person at the shop so he's left with the grunt work most of the time, but he doesn't mind it—it's easy enough, and he knows he's not artistic enough to really be trusted with arrangements (on his own, at least; some of the younger associates will ask him for his help when making bouquets with "old people" in mind, and he doesn't have the heart to, one, turn them down, and, two, tell them that twenty-seven really isn't old at all).

He checks the schedule as he passes by to get his apron, seeing that it's Monday, and that Yaga's posted up a checklist of the things they need done for the week. There's also a longer list naming all the people who'll come and go throughout the week (which isn't really what Nanami expected when he first started working here, but he's picked up fairly quickly that it takes a village and more to keep a flower shop running, so doesn't really give it much thought anymore). There's a few names he recognizes, others that he doesn't, but he should know everyone that's coming in today, at least.

While Nanami's filling up a smaller bucket at the sink to have a well to draw from and water the greens, someone comes in through the back door, and Nanami looks over his shoulder to see Ino, arms full with coffee for himself, his laptop, and a few other miscellaneous gadgets. He's probably the person Nanami's worked the most with here (at least, if he excludes the time he spends trying to explain derivatives to Itadori; the boy is hopeless, but Nanami admires his determination regardless).

"Ah, good morning, Nanami!" Ino exclaims, rushing to put his things down anywhere he can.

Nanami lifts his hand to greet the younger man back. "Morning."

"Closing go okay yesterday?"

He nods, leaning over to turn off the faucet. "It was fine."

Ino doesn’t ask any other questions and just puts on his own apron, comes over to the sink, and offers to help take out the bucket so Nanami doesn’t spill it while it’s full. The blonde gives him a tight-lipped smile as he grabs onto the opposite end so Ino can hold onto the other side, and the two near effortlessly lift it out of the tub. After that and another smile, Ino leaves him to himself to go check for any orders that might've been placed during last night's non-working hours. Nanami isn't anywhere near the level of floristry where he can accurately fulfill an order like that anyway, so he's just glad that Ino's there and can handle them while Nanami does the grunt work and waits for more people to come in.

Regardless, there’s no real rush to get a move-on, seeing as nobody’s exactly rushing to get flowers on a Monday at seven in the morning, so the two men work in silence while more people cycle in through the door and get clocked in. Ordered arrangements ranging from personal bouquets to larger fulfillments of wedding orders and funeral flowers are put together at the designing stations while Nanami works in the background, picking up phone calls, updating order statuses, making sure customers are tended to.

Even though it's hardly peak times, there's still far too much to do, though, and Nanami finds himself running around earlier than he'd expected himself to be. It's really a blur of things that happen once the initial line gets built up at the front of the store: foam needs to be presoaked practically every other minute, people keep needing help at the register, someone needs to sign off on a delivery, and it's usually the blonde sent off to do those things.

And, just like that, the morning has eclipsed.

Like clockwork (because, well, it is clocked work), the morning workers swap out with those who come later in the day, and this is usually when Nanami takes his lunch because there's not really any other time that's going to work. Any earlier, and there's going to be so many people coming in and out of the break room that the ambiance he needs to enjoy his meal is ruined, and any later, he'll be too full for dinner in the evening and his whole routine will be pushed back.

After grabbing his lunch from the minifridge in the break room and heating it up in the barely-working microwave, Nanami sits by himself and soaks in the quiet that's barely given to him with the thin walls and the loud chatter between some of the younger, high school-aged employees that've just clocked in after coming out of class. He almost always takes his lunch alone because everyone else orders out and Nanami doesn't quite have the budget to get takeout five days a week, but, occasionally, Ino will invite him out, and even though Nanami will only come along if there's the promise of a comfy booth to sit in and ease the pain in his feet, he usually has it in him to do that every once in a while.

Ino has class on Mondays, though, so Nanami's taking it alone today.

Again.

But that's par for the course.

He'd eat lunch alone in his old cubicle, too, and he supposes not much has changed about him in the three months since he's swapped work environments.

As he pokes at the broth-soaked rice, he leans against his palm. He hasn't got much of an appetite, what with the smell of fertilizer and sap in just the next room over, but he eats anyway because he hasn't got much of a choice in the matter. He'll get off work a bit earlier today than he did yesterday because he doesn't need to handle the bookkeeping every single day, but he knows he'll be just as tired and that he'll have to at least stay energized enough to survive the early-evening rush of less-than-respectable men who want to buy the cheapest flowers they can for their wives at home—he'd envy them if he didn't find them so deplorable.

Just as he's putting the tupperware lid over his now-emptied container, someone comes through the fabric curtain after knocking on the doorframe.

"Hey, stopping by to ask if you'd like us to bring anything back for you," Kugisaki chimes in. "We're getting dumplings from the place down the street!"

Nanami looks up at the girl from his seat and raises his hand in gentle refusal. "It's alright, thank you for offering."

"You sure? We don't mind paying, you help us with our homework all the time."

"'Us,' as in, 'you and Itadori,' don't include me in this," the younger Fushiguro scolds, passing through the break room to refill his water bottle. "Good afternoon, Nanami."

Nanami waves at him with a gentle smile. "Afternoon to you too, Fushiguro."

"Yeah, yeah, nerd, me and Itadori've got it covered," Kugisaki rolls her eyes at her friend, then turning back to address Nanami. "C'mon, you really don't want anything? They have great gyoza!"

"I'm fine, I already ate. You kids go ahead and-"

"Are we ready to go yet? I'm starving-" the pink-haired boy pauses, eyes landing on Nanami as he gets up to put his lunch container away. "Oh, hi Nanamin! Sorry I didn't greet you when I clocked in, I had to help out someone in the front."

"No worries, good afternoon."

"Hey, what'd you get on the bio test earlier?"

"Better than you, that's for sure."

"Hey! How's that possible, we used the same study guide!"

"I got help from Maki during lunch."

"No fair! I had a club meeting!"

Itadori and Kugisaki bicker between themselves as Nanami joins Fushiguro at the sink to wash his dishes, and the younger ravenette passes him the bottle of dish soap. "Here."

"Oh, thank you."

Fushiguro grabs a paper towel from the dispenser to wipe the run-off from his water bottle, frowning slightly with what looks like embarrassment. "Sorry, we'll be on our way out soon."

Nanami hums as he scrubs at the tupperware. "No rush." Not that he minds their presence in the first place, they're good kids, even if two of the three are a bit... scatterbrained.

After he gets all the leftover suds off, Nanami flicks his wrist to get off the excess water and leave it on the drying rack, and his eyes follow Fushiguro as he joins his friends at the door.

"Well, see you in a bit!"

The young man smiles gently while waving goodbye to the trio, then turning back to the sink to wash his hands. Their voices, loud and chipper as they talk amongst themselves, fade out as they leave through the back door, which closes loudly behind them.

It must be nice to be so... carefree.

Nanami dries his hands with the last bit of clean fabric of his apron, and he gets back to work.

Now that it's later in the afternoon, his tasks shift from prep and phone calls to helping out more at the front. Famously, he's never been a man of many words, but that hardly matters when customers seem to flock to him anyway for help picking out bouquets and other miscellaneous gifts to buy and bring home. He still does his fair share of running around, trying to make himself useful, but, nevertheless, to keep the rest of his colleagues from having to direct their attention to the more run-of-the-mill business when they have other, more pressing projects to take care of, Nanami keeps a smile on his face as he directs people to what he can only guess they're looking for. The younger trio come back from their meal somewhere in-between all that, and the day passes by both quickly and slowly with how much has to be done to keep the place running. He has more than enough breaks throughout the day to decompress in the freezing cold quarters, but somehow his legs are still screaming at him and he's hardly got a second to breathe meaningfully.

But, thankfully, he's not closing today, so as soon as the clock strikes a modest six in the evening, Nanami's hanging up his apron and reaching for his keys in his pocket. He waves goodbye to anyone awake enough to realize he's even leaving (which, truthfully, isn't that many people because closing really is draining enough on its own, even if it isn't so late that nobody ever really ends up staying past eight or so), and he sits in his car until he's sure he's confident enough he can drive safely and with enough feeling in his feet that he'll be able to feel the pedals.

As he's driving home, his hands drift to the twelve and seven, too lazy to keep themselves at the disciplined two and ten. His mind drifts off to think about the routine he's grown into over the past three years, more-so because there's not much else to think about, less-so because it's too daunting to think of much else while he's behind the wheel, until, just as the sun's hitting his pupils, he wonders if it'd be worth the effort to try again today—to make the quick, quiet drive over to the bakery, step out of the car, and pick out something sweet to bring home and eat with what's going to inevitably be a boring, tasteless meal.

Would it really be worth the effort?

...

Would it?

It's hard to tell. Between all the other decisions he'll have to make today, choosing from the mundane and the even more meaningless, this one thing seems to hang over him, taunting him with the promise of something too good for him and something equally not good enough for him.

He'd already been let down yesterday. His car still faintly smells of the coffee that marred his chance at something that'd make him a tiny bit happier, and he doesn't know how much more dull heartbreak he can endure. His body aches enough with the burden of work and the surreal, sinking feeling that he's doing nothing worthwhile with his life, even after putting everything on the line to change that.

At the same time, he's taken a lot; a moment more of it isn't going to hurt him anymore than not doing anything at all. He's a third of a decade into desire, and he's survived keeping the one thing he can depend on actually making him happy away at arm's length for this long.

...

Sure, then.

It'd be worth the effort.

And, just like that, as soon as he's made the decision to make the tiny detour on the way home to stop by a bakery that has no more promise than what his own imagination has given itself, that feeling is back.

He feels like he's breathing in cinnamon as he follows the curve of the road, cautious to not take such deep breaths but unable to keep in the quiet excitement. The sun glares at him through his windshield, but he can hardly feel bothered by it—he'll rue it later as he's biting into a bread bun in about a half-hour's time. The moon, present in the sky in time to kiss the sun across the clouds, looks like an almond wedding cookie, dusted and deepened with craters marked like dimples. His mouth is starting to water, and as he kisses his teeth, he can feel himself smiling.

It's almost maddening, how... easy it seems to feel happy.

Is that the right way to describe this feeling? Happiness?

It's such a fickle feeling, so easy to pull out of thin air. Practically a figment of his imagination as it stitches itself into a quilt quietly in his passenger seat.

And, like the universe wants to teach him a lesson, it's taken away from him just as suddenly.

His phone starts ringing, and, already connected to the car's sound system, Nanami sees no reason not to answer as he pulls into the adjacent parking lot for the bakery. The call's coming from his landlord, but he

"Hello?"

The voice on the other line belongs to someone he doesn't know. "Good evening, is this Nanami?"

No reason to expect that his landlord has his contact saved when there's dozens of other tenants. "Yes, any particular reason you're calling?"

"Yes, just phoning you to let you know that your unit won't have water in about two hours or so. There's an issue with the plumbing on your floor and we have people coming to fix that soon, but it shouldn't take too long to get it resolved."

Great. That's exactly what Nanami wants to hear right now. "How long do you think it'll be out?"

"A couple hours, at most. Maybe three or four? We're really sorry, but we'll be covering the repair fee and as much of the floor's utility bill as we can for the month, so we hope it isn't too much of an inconvenience."

Well, if anything at all, at least his landlord's reasonable enough to provide adequate compensation.

He sighs as he weighs out the options he has in his head.

He can either stay here, spend the next half-hour or so getting a few pastries and breads to take home and eat in an otherwise soulless apartment, twiddling his thumbs until the water comes back on so he can shower and get the infinite layers of dirt and plantwater off his skin while he fights off sleep and exhaustion long enough to make it back to a clean bed, or, he can rush home, make dinner quickly enough to be able to have running water to even wash the dishes with before the food dries onto them, shower, and go to bed earlier than he usually does.

It's not a hard decision to make. He knows he has to choose the latter; he's too tired to wait out the repair time, and he'll just end up spread out on the floor to keep the furniture from sullying anyway and tomorrow will be made that much worse with the knowledge that he's choosing a chance at happiness over the convenience of what he knows will always work.

Still, it doesn't make it any easier.

"Hello?"

Nanami blinks himself out of his thoughts, and he clears his throat while looking around his car to make sure it's safe to back out. "Yes, I'm still here. Thank you for letting me know."

"Again, so sorry for the inconvenience, but it should be resolved soon. Let us know if you need any further assistance."

"Sure. Thank you, have a good evening."

"Thank you, you-"

Nanami hangs up before the other line can finish, and he frowns as he turns the engine back on again and puts his hand on the gear shift.

Maybe another day, then.

Maybe, then, he can forget this faint pinch at his heart that's begging to be taken care of.

🔅

Third time's the charm, people say. That, on the third go-around at something, it'll work out all fine and dandy.

Well, they're just plain wrong.

Nanami groans into the palm of his hand, head downturned and elbow digging into his chest.

"What do you mean 'closed for repairs?'" He whispers to himself.

He'd waited. He'd been patient. He'd been easy on himself. It's been three years, three months, and three days of trying to get something from this small, out-of-the-way bakery.

And, still, somehow, all that waiting has amounted to nothing.

He can feel the stares of people passing by, slowing their paces to watch him wallow in the small self-afforded agony he's ended up in. People walk around him, but he's very self-aware of the fact that he's so tall that he'll attract attention no matter what situation he's in, so he just stands firm where he is and accepts that his shame is palpable enough to be seen by strangers who've caught him in such an unfortunate state. He can't really bring himself to move out of the way, feet already at the foot of the ramp leading up to the door, so he just breathes slowly as disappoint seeps from his veins.

The sticky note hung up on the walls of his heart falls with the realization that it's about as useful as a whisk for water. It's a simple affair, one that starts and ends immediately with the event unfolding at his feet, but one that still pains him all the same.

He supposes that he can't really even be mad at anyone but himself for making it all the way out here without checking if it was even open. He'd made the decision to come out here on his day off, all other errands accounted for and completed, on a complete whim, so it's really his fault that he wasn't careful enough in planning the one thing he's actually been trying to do for the last

He's not even sure why he's so fixated on making this happen right soon. It seems like, for so long, it'd escaped his mind—the desire to explore the bare remnants of what he remembers making him happy—and, now, he can't find himself to commit to anything else.

Is he such a failure that he can't even do this one thing right?

He knows he'll have to move out of the way and go home at some point. There's nothing he can do other than admit defeat.

There's no fanfare. No parade to tell him that he's at least tried. Not like he even really wants there to be one, but what's there to even accompany the effort he's put into the very simple, asinine. meaningless desire to get something from this bakery?

...

Can he really even call it effort?

All he has to show for this desire is a spilled coffee stain on his car console, a new stitch on his shirt, and uncomfortably pitiful looks from what feels like the entire population of this wretched city.

...

Well, that's alright.

He hasn't got much to show for anything else, anyway. This can't shake him; he won't let it.

If nothing else, he has enough hope that things will sort themselves out, and he'll get what he wants one day. That's what he's banking on with every other aspect of his life, anyway.

That, maybe, one day, he'll get to try something from here.

His feet move on their own, dragging him back to his car and through a sea of bodies he know are judging him. But he'll find himself here again, under better circumstances, someday later. Even if it isn't true, he has to tell himself that to keep at least something in his life worth moving on for.

That, maybe, one day, he'll change enough to be okay with disruptions to his routine.

He clicks on the ignition in his car after gingerly putting on his seatbelt, and he hooks his arm over onto the backside of his passenger side headrest to back out the parking space. His foot hovers over the brake pedal until he's fully matched up with the mirrors of the cars next to him, and he just about runs off when he's shifted into drive. He isn't sure how to get to the next place he needs to go to avoid traffic and construction work on the road, and it's working up enough of a sweat to think that this is yet another thing that's off about his day, as if it isn't already enough as it is. But, someday later, he'll be better at not feeling this way. Even if isn't true, he has to tell himself that to not let the feeling regress into a scarier apathy towards change.

That, maybe, one day, he'll be able to face himself at the end of the day with the thought that what he's doing with his life is worth not being able to enjoy a piece of bread he can't be sure is even good until then.

He makes it back to the apartment, cleans up around the place, makes a tasteless dinner for one, takes a shower that's too long. He's worked all day today, so it's fine that he stands under the running, steaming water for a near-hour, wishing he could be anyone else, anywhere else. He slips into bed, hair still wet because he doesn't care enough to wait for it to dry, and he stares up at the ceiling to pray that sleep will come fast enough to give him an out in having to think about what he's really doing with his life. But, someday later, this won't be the case, and he knows he can finally watch the stars without shame on his balcony. Even if it isn't true, he has to tell himself that to not feel so ashamed about not being able to have the one thing in life he thinks could complete him.

That, maybe, one day, he'll be happy.

He'll come home at the end of the day to a home, well-loved and filled with pastries afforded by the wealth of a career he knows he's allowed to be proud of. His feet will not ache, he won't wish for something he doesn't know he wants, and he can sleep at night knowing that there's more to life than the mundane and the meaningless. Even if it isn't true, he has to tell himself this so he has something to hold onto. What else is there to drive him? He's already trialed the life he dreamt of, and that wasn't enough, so this lie has to be.

Yeah, one day he'll have the world, and he'll be content.

One day.

🔅

(next update will be sep 14! thank you for reading :D)

#fanfiction #nanami kento x reader #nanami x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jujustsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu nanami #jjk nanami #nanami kento #nanami pov

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taomyou · 4 months ago

Text

The Affections of an Architect - Chapter 5

Pairing: Levi Ackerman x Reader Status: ONGOING, inconsistent updates Summary: There’s a woman Levi sees every Friday on bus 143, and he thinks she’s really cute. It wouldn’t hurt to keep a paper star from her, would it? or, you and Levi take the same bus home from work every Friday, and he falls in love slowly, clumsily, and with all the time in the world to design the architecture of his dreams. Word Count: 6.9k Tags: slow burn, friends to lovers, modern au, office au, fluff, romance, meet-cute, matchmaking, levi pov (A/N: this fic is available on ao3 here if you would like to read it there instead! The Affections of an Architect is a spin-off of The Romance of Reimbursements, but can be read as a standalone if preferred. They are the same story, but The Affections of an Architect is written entirely in Levi's POV. The Romance of Reimbursements is already completed, and The Affections of an Architect is currently a side-project that will be updated infrequently.) Chapter Navigation Accompanying Playlist

our bus

“I’m driving, what do you want?”

“What?” Hange singsongs. “Can’t I just call my favorite architect friend?”

“I’m your only architect friend. I’d say Shadis barely counts, seeing as you-”

“Don’t you bring that up with me! I don’t know who started that joke that I had a crush on him,” it was Isabel, but, to be fair, she was, like, 15 at the time, “but I just thought Keith was cool! And that was way back in college!”

Levi knows that, but he rolls his eyes anyway.

“Okay, so what do you want?”

”Oh, I just wanted to call you for no reason.”

“Really?” His sarcasm bleeds through the line.

”Nope! No reason at all!”

Levi sighs. “I’m hanging up,” he takes a hand off the wheel to end the call from his car’s monitor, “text if you want to annoy me, I’ll look at it when I’m home.”

Hange’s voice passes through again. “Wait!”

“Fucking what?”

“I’m actually calling to ask if you’re gonna be free this weekend?”

Well, he knows where this is going.

“We’ve gone out every weekend for the last month, Four Eyes.”

“And?”

Which excuse is he going to give this time? “I have work.”

“Do you really?”

"Yes." This time, he's not lying—he has a work meeting tomorrow—but he'd still say yes regardless.

“Ok, well, we’ll only be out for a couple hours! Do it when you get home! You aren’t being paid extra to work overtime, anyway, so just come with! I was thinking that we could get dinner with, you know, the whole crew, plus my super cool neighbor-slash-best friend!”

He pauses for a second before putting his hand back on the wheel, sighing.

“Yeah, I’ll pass.”

“Oh, come on! Who else are you gonna socialize with? That bald dude that regifted you his grandma’s tea set?”

“He’d be better company than you, holy shit.”

“Then he can come too!” Hange laughs, and they sigh happily. “You’re coming with us, capeesh?”

Levi flicks his signal on as he waits to turn into the open parking lot in front of Magnolia Floral. “I wasn't lying, I do have work. Go without me, what’s the big deal?”

“Aw, really? That sucks! Okay, next week, then!”

Levi groans, letting himself fall forward enough to tap his forehead against the top of his steering wheel. “I’m so sick of you.”

“So what I’m hearing is ‘yes, Hange, I would love to grab dinner with you and the others next weekend! Thank you so much for inviting me, and I’ll happily wait for more details?’”

“No.”

“Well, that’s what I heard. This all works out anyway, since I just remembered Astraea is staying in this weekend. I'll text you later! Buh-bye!” They hang up, and Levi lifts his head to sigh and put his focus back on the road.

Why him? Why does it have to be him?

He’s not an idiot. He knows Hange is trying to set him up with you, and so is everybody else.

He supposes that you probably can’t pick up on Erwin and Miche’s scheming because you only knew Erwin as your work superior and you’d only met Miche for the first time a few weeks ago, but it’s not lost on him at all that the two aren’t subtle at all in their unnecessary teasing and excessive play on his “positive qualities.” Erwin drops a line or two about how Levi lead the pack of them professionally, Miche casually mentions his master’s degree, and the cycle repeats while the two of them are high-fiving each other underneath the table.

(Moblit is excluded from all this because Levi knows the guy couldn’t give a rat’s ass about anyone’s dating life (save for Hange’s—it’s painfully obvious he’s liked them since that one time they kissed at some college party Levi was forced to hear the details of from Furlan) (Isabel asked for them, not him). Moblit minds his own business otherwise).

But at least those two are at least attempting the art of subtly. With Hange, they burn the canvas with a million matches and chooses to start a bigger fire elsewhere.

”Hey, did you know Levi is set to be tenured in a few years?”

”Say, doesn’t his hair look so good today?”

”Levi, why don’t you tell her what kind of car you drive?”

”Oh, didn’t you mention making, like, seven figures a year? Really, no? Is it eight now?”

It’s so juvenile, the way they try to make him out to be such an eligible bachelor, and, quite frankly, it’s embarrassing. It’s humiliating enough that he has to be out in public with them when they act like this, but also in front of you?

Yeah, no thanks.

Ugh, and, best worst of all, “oh, Levi, you go sit next to her!”

“…Why?” You’d ask. Levi's too mortified to ask himself.

“I wanna sit with Moblit, and Miche and Erwin need to be on the ends because their legs are so long!”

Levi swears Hange makes sure to choose restaurants and eateries with only booths to accommodate their party.

He doesn’t say anything about it to them right there because doesn’t want to be rude and suggest the notion that he’d rather drive off a cliff than be squished into a booth between a giant (Erwin) and someone he’s already way too nervous to be around (you), but he hopes it’s still obvious enough to you that he’s not the one orchestrating this contact, regardless of how harmless it actually is. You probably do know all of the above is Hange’s doing, since he assumes you know well enough by now that that’s just how they are, but if you’re bothered by it, you don’t mention it yourself, and it’s not obvious enough to him for it to be any outstanding issue.

Quite frankly, that’s also probably why he’s gone this far without wanting to actually drive off a cliff—the fact that you’re also being forced in the spotlight, and that he’s not entirely alone in this weird high school-esque matchmaking plot.

It certainly doesn’t matter to Hange whether or not the two of you are receptive to their teasing, but it’s good enough that Levi can share his misery with someone else. Gives him something to think about to stave off any embarrassment that’s beyond what’s normal for Hange to bring upon him, and the forced proximity is great practice for him to steel his expression during more intimate interactions. He’s gotten pretty good at it, not that you’d notice anyway since you’re in your own world sometimes, just folding paper stars while he watches and everyone else at the table complains about the drive over.

It's probably just because he’s the closest one to you, but when you’re finished with folding a few, maybe four or five, you drop them into his hand. He rolls them around, one by one, in-between his fingers, and he just nods when you smile over at him.

Totally not because he has no other idea how he’s meant to react when that happens, but yeah.

This is all fine.

He’d rather you be uninvolved entirely, but this is the next best thing.

And, well…

He supposes it’s a nice change of pace that he now has someone to talk to on the bus, even if just once a week. He did use to wonder what your company would’ve been like (….even if that was just a month ago), and while the circumstances of his formal introduction to you were less than ideal, it’s… nice to at least know your name now. There isn’t really much that you and him talk about besides what’s considered office small talk. Maybe you'll imply you've been sleeping worse or that work's been especially hard, and he'll do the same, but that's all in-between much more lighthearted dialogue about how the weather is or what your weekend plans are.

It’s very casual, but it’s cordial, and that’s more than he can say for pretty much any other conversation he has throughout the week, so that’s good enough for him.

Plus, you have pretty good decent taste in tea, so at the tip of his tongue is a question about what you’d suggest. He’s never actually asked, but maybe he’ll venture past what’s already been established as the boundaries of this routine when the two of you aren't being constantly hounded by Hange. It's just the two of you on the bus on Fridays, but there's still the ghost of awkwardness that lingers from all the embarrassment Hange brings upon them on the weekends. It'd probably be there even if Hange wasn't like that, but, for now, he's just going to blame his nerves on that.

The driver behind him honks their horn at him, and Levi sighs again as he raises his hand in apology and puts his foot back on the pedal.

Fucking, whatever. At least there’s something for him to be looking forward to for next week, even if it is just another handful of paper stars he drops into his glovebox. Not that that really beats out seeing you on the bus, but he'll deal with that thought later.

✰

Ok, so maybe it isn't the worst thing in the world that he's being forced to go out soon. He really could use something to keep him away from his laptop because it's probably going to explode from all the angry typing he'd bound to do soon, all things considered.

Ugh, winter semester has barely even started, and there's already so many things irritating him. It's not even like it's his fault.

He spent all of winter break prepping for the new term, making sure to correct all his mistakes from fall semester, but there's a whole new plethora of problems that arise now that he's actually trying to settle into the groove of things. He was beating himself up already with the pacing of his class (which he still does, but he'd spent the last month trying to get back everyone back on track to pass, so he feels better about that now), but as the semester's progressed, he's come to realize that these problems aren't even his doing.

Annie, one of his teaching assistants, had emailed him earlier in the week to meet today before class, and she told him that, apparently, the department decided that it was a great idea to schedule all the core architectural classes at the same exact same times on the exact same days, and that's why so many students don't show up half the time and why the rest can barely keep up, even if Levi was moving slight above pace for the first couple of sessions.

He doesn't even smoke, but as the words pass through her lips and she expresses her frustration and thinly-veiled contempt, he wants to bolt to the nearest smoke shop and get a pack of cigarettes to burn through. Annie leaves after Levi reassures her that he'd figure this all out and to relay that message amongst the other TAs, but now, as he walks back from yet another lecture with half the seats empty, he can't stop himself from sighing as he keeps his arms crossed on his walk over to the bus stop.

Seriously, what kind of fucking idiot thought that would be a good idea? He wouldn't have bothered blaming his students for double-booking courses since it's not exactly easy to get a schedule put together in the first place, but, now, he can't even if he wanted to.

How he's meant to remedy this problem, he's got no idea right now. None of his asshat colleagues even bother replying to his emails under any circumstances (especially Pixis), so he doubts they'll be any help even if they did ask. Not to mention the fact he has close-to-no pull with the department considering it's his first year teaching and he's technically still on professional probation, and he'd probably have a better shot at getting struck by lightning than being able to get different times made available for his classes.

His feet somehow guide the way to the bus stop without him really putting much thought into it, and as he goes to tap his fare against the scanner, he thinks to himself that maybe today's meant to be the day that he actually talks about something other than the weather with you. Work's never really been something Levi's found much enjoyment in talking about with others, since he's always considered his work and his private life to be very separate, and, well, private, but, all things considered, he think you'd listen without judging him.

Besides, you're a part of the bridge's journey between work and his private life, and no doubt that you have your own complaints about your day. Maybe it'd be a nice offer of comradery for his fellow subject of entertainment.

He finds his usual seat on the right, facing the sidewalk, and he slings off his backpack to put onto the spot next to him. He'd thought it was a bit much for him to him have done it last week, considering that he really doesn't need to (that one day in January was an exception), but there's no ulterior motive to it; it's just a gesture meant for himself since he moves the backpack onto his lap when the bus approaches your stop.

He'll just call it a force of habit, or something like that. He doesn't know the exact phrase he'd use, but that's hardly relevant when he'd never admit to doing something like this to literally anyone.

The bus starts back up again, and Levi tips his head back against to top of the seat to stare at the overhead lights and the route map sticker pasted above the windows. His eyes follow the red line connecting all the stops, back and forth, because it's a hell of a lot easier than accidentally letting his thoughts linger on the shitfest that is his teaching career right now, and the gentle hum of the engine combined with the rock of his seat keep his other senses occupied. He looks out at the street view in his peripherals to see if the bus has miraculously moved fast enough to get to your stop before all the other ones that come before it, but that's more of him just trying to waste enough time for you to get on.

His fifteenth time following the red string, the bus where it's meant to catch you, and Levi scrambles to move his backpack off of your seat. He holds it up by its lifting handle and gently holds its side to shake off any dust that's caught on the bottom of it, then placing it on his lap before cautiously looking out towards the front of the bus where the scanning machine is. His hands have learned to not show his nervousness anymore after having to hold them out to you so often, but he tries his best to not let it show on his face. He leans forward slightly to see because there's a few stanchions blocking his vision of the front, and he rests his chin atop his bag.

The first person that comes on isn't you, but Levi thought it could've been because the light reflecting off their watch is like the one that comes from the the clasp of your briefcase. The second person that comes on isn't you, but Levi swears it might be because the tap of their shoes on the upwards stairs are like the clicks of your flats. And the third person. And the fourth person. And the fifth person. After eight people get on the bus and are squared away in their seats or standing and holding the railing, the doors close, and the engine starts back up again, the seat to his right still unoccupied.

Levi has to blink to really make sure he hadn't missed seeing you sit down next to him. He can hear the jingle of his bird keychain as the bus starts and stops, so his ears work; he hadn't missed your greetings to the driver. He looks back up at the red line chart and through the window to make sure it'd stopped exactly where it's meant to catch you, and it did.

Huh.

It's probably just the break in routine that's getting to him, but his face falls slightly. He slumps back in his seat, moving his bangs out of his face, and he sighs as he lets the weight of his backpack settle further back onto him.

Like a rolodex, his mind riffles through all the possible explanations as to why you aren't here, cards flipping mechanically and without rest.

Are you stuck in the office? Did you get off early? Did you decide to try out a new line to get home? Is he the one that's on the wrong bus? Did you take your car to work today? Did you decide you were getting sick of having to see him so often?

The actual answer could be more important to him if he had any semblance of entitlement for your thoughts, but he doesn't, so the reason why you're not here isn't important either. The two of you hardly know each other beyond formalities and half-truths that're probably more fiction than not, and while, yes, he isn't repulsed by your existence like he is most other people, that's not enough reason for him to really have that be any of his business.

Still, he thinks he cares is curious enough for it to not be that weird if he were to text you and ask if you weren't going to be on the bus at all today.

Maybe something happened to you? There's no harm in looking out for someone who's, at the very least, a frequent acquaintance, right?

Looking over at the empty seat next to him, he concludes that he is right; it really would be okay. He wouldn't mind if you'd done the same if you were in his position, or more since he'd think you're more forthcoming with your friendship than he is. You've already exchanged numbers anyway, even if neither of you use it, so it's not like he's really having to go out of his way to contact you.

Think of it as a premature gesture to reassure you that his opinion of you hasn't been tainted by Hange's ramblings about your (definitely inflated) salary and whatever else they want to lie about.

He moves his backpack back onto your seat so he can stand briefly to get his phone from his back pocket, and he rests his right elbow on the plush of his bag as he pulls up your contact on his phone. He drums his nails against its side as he ponders what to text, but it's not all that hard when it's straightforward enough.

Not taking the bus today?

That's casual enough. Not demanding of any further answers, not too small-talk-esque that it suggests he's only asking to get your attention for something else.

Very casual. Very simple. Very face-value.

Yeah, that's good.

He sends it as-is, and he sees the Read receipt almost immediately. No reply comes in, though, even after he waits for a minute or so, and he pockets his phone again to ignore the email notification he just got from his work account.

That's kinda embarrassing, but whatever.

It's probably better, then, that you're not on the bus today. He can't imagine how boring he would've been to you, talking about his work, and how inconsiderate it probably would've been if he just sprung that on you. He imagines the most likely reason you're not here is that you're caught up in the office, and that combined with the bags underneath your eyes that he's noticed over the past couple of weeks means you probably have your own share of hardship at work too. He wouldn't ever comment on it, but it's best left unsaid anyway.

He sighs as he crosses his arms and tips his head down to wait out the rest of the ride. He'd go to sleep if he could, but a thirty-minute nap hardly sounds appealing anyway with all the bumps and breaks of the ride. His mind just focuses on the abrupt starts and stops, and because there's so many and they're so inconsistent, he's very easily able to just force time to pass that way and, sooner rather than later, he's at his stop, and he boards off after raising his hand in thanks to the driver through the rear mirror.

On her way out the house this morning, Isabel mentioned that her evening class was cancelled for the day (basically asking if Levi could take her home after her afternoon shift), so after he slings his backpack onto both shoulders, he heads over to the floral shop to go fetch her. She should be wrapping up by the end of the hour, but Levi's fine just waiting in his car 'til she's done. As he approaches it, he rolls his eyes at the display that's been put up in the storefront window.

Gaudy, obnoxious red roses in (quite frankly, kinda ugly) vases line the bottom, and hearts are drawn over the glass in all the cheesy romantic colors. Heart balloons with corny pick-up lines and red animals are floating at the sides of the display, and Levi can see more of them lingering at the back of the shop. There's a holiday banner hung at the top of the window and there's lights strung beneath it, and Levi cringes to himself as he takes it all in. He'd already been acutely aware that Valentine's Day was coming up because several students have asked for extensions on their projects that're due by then, but, now, it's like he's being forced to remember.

No doubt that this is all Isabel's handiwork because none of this was up when he parked his car here in the morning. The elder Magnolias have no trouble with subtly and they already had a Valentine's Day display set up with some teddy bears and their usual assortment of roses at the front, but their daughter probably just wanted to make a bigger deal out of it and redid it herself. Probably told them that it'd be better for business if lonely businessmen were to be reminded of the upcoming romantic holiday (even though any respectable husband would've remembered regardless, and the less-than-respectable ones would just go to the grocery store just a few feet away for shittier flowers instead).

Levi looks over his shoulders to check that there's nobody around (because the last thing he wants people to think is that he buys into this romantic bullshit), and he opens the door to the shop to go check on Isabel. The bell rings as he steps inside, and he scans the store quickly to look for her, and he spots her at the counter where she usually is, her back turned.

"Isabel, do you need a ride back toda-"

And, mid-sentence, he makes eye contact with a very familiar face.

You sheepishly wave from where you are, right at the counter. "Hey, Levi."

He pauses, blinking.

What're you doing here?

He makes his way closer to where you and Isabel are, his eyes looking anywhere but you. They land on the countertop, where, now that he's closer, he can see that Isabel's assembling a bouquet.

Isabel turns around, and she waves at him in greeting. "Nah, I'm good. I was gonna go to the movies after my shift's over." Levi nods, and his eyes drift back awkwardly to you. "Oh, yeah!" Isabel continues, pointing an accusatory finger at him. "You bastard, she told me you guys made the tarts! Why didn't you just tell me that? Me and Furlan have been looking all over Yelp to try and find them, and you just let us struggle!"

Levi rolls his eyes. Seriously, that's what she's mad about? "Because, if I told you, you'd force me to make them for you."

"Damn straight I would!" Isabel whines while grabbing some more floral accessories. "You don't even know how to bake! Is that why some of them were so ugly?"

To his right, you laugh, looking away from the pair to hide your smile. Levi holds his breath for a second to steel his face because he already can feel blood rushing to his face.

"Yeah, Levi, why were they so ugly?" You tease.

"Good one!" Isabel laughs, the sound just a bit louder than the crinkle of the floral wrapping paper that she's assembled around the bouquet. She tilts it up to show it to you, and she waits as you get closer to look at it. "How do you like it?"

Is it yours?

"It's perfect! Thank you so much!"

Levi stands where he is as you and Isabel drift over to the register, but your eyes float back to his once you're there.

Again, he steels his face. He can't be too sure he doesn't turn red if he doesn't do that.

"Why didn't you tell them where they came from?" You ask.

He shrugs, leaning back onto the counter. "Didn't want to bother you for the recipe if they asked for more." That, and he doesn't want to give off the impression that he only values your company because you can give him something tangible.

Oh, god, he's trying so hard to look nonchalant, but he's already having trouble not stealing glances over at the bouquet now sitting on the register table while Isabel punches in something into the machine there.

Red and white are the colors he spots in the assortment. No roses, but it seems Valentine-esque, doesn't it? He's not so old-fashioned to believe that any and all flowers are just for lovers, but it's the most natural assumption when Valentine's Day is less than a week away. He doesn't think Hange would encourage homewrecking, so he'll rule out the possibility that you've got a lover already, but maybe you're interested in someone else already and just waiting for Hange to get off your back so you can pursue them?

He sees you wave your hand half-heartedly, and he pulls his attention away from the flowers.

"It wouldn't be a bother," you tell him, smiling slightly.

"I don't think I could make them anyway. It was mostly you."

You roll your eyes at him, probably teasing him. "Don't sell yourself short. I could make them again for Isabel and your other friend too, you know? I don't mind."

Before he can tell you he wouldn't want to inconvenience you and pull you away from whatever free time you have outside of work and hanging out with Hange (which he assumes isn't that much time to begin with), you excuse yourself to go over to the register and pay for the flowers.

You smile at Isabel, and you bring up the bouquet to smell them before tucking them underneath your arm. "I should be leaving now, but thank you so much, Isabel! I'll be sure to get some more tarts to you, and I'll text you," and you look over at Levi now, that smile still on your face as you speak to him, "the recipe when I'm home, okay? Bye"

When you're out the door, Levi turns to glare at Isabel.

She looks back at him, eyebrow raised. "What're you looking at me like that for?" Looking between him and the door, she smirks, crossing her arms across her chest. "You want me to tell you who those flowers are for, don't you?"

Levi frowns, scrunching his nose. "What the fuck? No, I don't."

"You totally do!" Isabel laughs, uncrossing her hands to put her elbows on the register. "What, you like her? I don't blame you, she's really pretty! I have been wanting to go to a wedding lately, think you'll be having one anytime soon?"

"I don't like anyone, much less her," he sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose. "And since when do you care about my dating life?"

"You don't have one for me to care about!"

He walks over to her, flicking her forehead once he's close enough. "Exactly, and that's how it's going to stay." Isabel knows by now that Levi's just messing around, so she doesn't move her hands, instead letting Levi rub at the spot with his thumb so that it doesn't hurt.

Still, that doesn't stop her from whining. "Oh, come on, Levi! I'm just teasing you!"

Levi pulls away and rolls his eyes. "You must think you're so funny."

"I do, actually," she huffs, smiling. "Okay, but, really, do you wanna know?"

Yes.

"It's none of my business."

She raises a brow. "That's not a 'no.'"

"It is."

"Yeah, yeah, whatever you say, Romeo," Isabel taunts. "Say, do you think you could give me her number? She seems really nice, and it'd be good for me to be acquainted with a lawyer, y'know? In case I get into legal trouble or something."

"You're insufferable. I'm going home," Levi groans. "And she's a family lawyer. Unless you need a divorce or custody of your kids, she's not gonna be much help." On top of giving out your personal information being a real invasive breach of privacy, he's a bit humiliated to be left on read. He's not just gonna go back and look at your contact just to be reminded of how pathetic he is.

"Still! I think she's cool, I'd wanna be friends with her! Do you think you could at least pass my number off onto her?"

"Ask Four Eyes for her number if you want it so fucking bad, I'm not doing that either."

"You're no fun," Isabel sighs. "Well, go on home. I'll be back at, like, 11 or something."

"Call me if you need a ride later, Furlan's out for drinks with his coworkers so don't get in a car with him. Or make one of your annoying ass friends drop you off, I don't care as long as you come back in one piece."

"Yes, dad, I'll make sure to wear my seatbelt too," she replies, waving him off in the direction of the door. "Now, shoo!"

"Don't need to tell me twice," he says under his breath, turning on his heel to leave.

Just before he puts his hand on the door to push it open, Isabel yells out at him again. "Wait! I actually forgot my keys today, can you or Furlan stay up to open the door when I'm back?"

"No." He already saw that she left them in the morning, though, so he fishes the obnoxious neon orange lanyard she keeps her keys on from his backpack's side pocket and throws it back to her. "But stop forgetting them. You're lucky I saw them on the couch on my way out."

She catches it before grinning at him and making a heart with her hands above her head. "You're the best, Levi! How ever can I repay my hero?"

"You can start by vacuuming the living room."

"Oh, nevermind then."

He expected as much. "Of fucking course. Anything else?"

"Well, Romeo, since you were asking, she was getting those flowers for her-"

And before she can finish her sentence, Levi is through the door and already on his way out.

✰

After getting home, getting changed into comfier clothe, and making dinner for himself (and for his housemates to eat when they get home), Levi is now at the dining table, typing an email on his laptop as he gets ready to turn in for the night.

The solution he's come up with to making sure his students don't fall behind and don't have to choose between his class and someone else's whose much less forgiving is that he's going to have to start recording his lectures and providing a separate transcript of his lessons. It's unfortunate that that's the only reliable enough option, since it's sure to lessen attendance and the department will hound him for not being strict enough to demand it, but it's the only solution Levi has that isn't going to inconvenience anyone but himself.

He has to email the technician for the lecture hall he teaches in because it doesn't have a camera and recording system hooked up, and he'll figure out what else needs to be done later. He's already done enough since having dinner—redoing his course syllabus sheets, contacting all his TAs and students and informing them of any changes, doing some preliminary grading to help take the load off his teaching staff—and a lot more to do, but, right now, all he cares about is getting settled in for the night and having a cup of tea.

After proofreading the email and making sure that he's properly listed what he needs for the class recordings to happen, he hits send and is on his way to get some water boiling. He closes his laptop and brings his phone with him to the kitchen so he can keep track of time, and he goes to the counter to grab the kettle and fill it with water.

While he's waiting for it to get full, he hears his phone go off with a text notification. Is Isabel already on her way home?

He checks it, and it's you.

Astraea - 8:56 PM

sorry i didn't get back to you earlier yeah, i had work off today to plan an intern's birthday party

...Is that who the flowers were for?

Levi mentally knocks himself for immediately assuming that they'd be for someone else for something else, but before he can do anything else about it, the water has spilled over and Levi has to frantically move it out from under the spout and put the kettle on the counter. He goes to grab a kitchen towel to clean up the spill, and he frowns as he goes to pick up the now-wet fabric and put it in the laundry bin in the washroom. Coming back to the kitchen, he plugs in the kettle and turns it on. While he's doing that, his phone goes off again, but it

When he comes back, there's another text from you. This time, it's a picture from what looks like a handwritten recipe book.

Astraea - 9:03 PM

here's the recipe! sorry, my handwriting's kind of garbage

Clicking on the picture and zooming in, it really doesn't. It's fine enough to read, all the numbers clear and written distinctly. The two-page layout is spotted at the edges with what looks like flour residue and earmarked, but it looks like all the other pages in this recipe book are too. It seems well-loved.

Levi - 9:07 PM

No need to be sorry I was just worried you missed our bus

Is that the right word to use? Worried? The word feels a bit too... intimate, but Levi thinks it's the truth; he was worried something had happened to you, even if he knew he wasn't entitled to know what that was.

Looking at the text again now that it's sent, his face falls when he reads that he'd written out "our bus."

He puts his phone face-down on the counter and runs his hands down his face, groaning.

Why the fuck did he do that? Sure, he considers seeing you there every week part of his routine, but that doesn't mean he entirely associates it with you. He doesn't own the bus, neither do you, so what the fuck was he thinking, call it our bus?

Okay, okay, he can save this. Hange, in their infinite wisdom, would suggest making a joke, and even though Levi doesn't quite listen to their advice, that seems like the appropriate thing to do now.

Levi picks up his phone again.

Levi - 9:09 PM

And I'm a professor, do you think I can't handle some messy handwriting?

He waits impatiently when he sees you typing back a response near immediately, but a breath of relief passes through his lips when you don't say anything about his text about our bus.

Astraea - 9:10 PM

i said nothing of the sort! but is it really that messy?

Levi - 9:10 PM

I can read it just fine Thank you for sending it

He's not entirely sure he's going to be making use of it anytime soon, but it'll be nice to have if he needs to get Isabel to clean her bathroom or get Furlan to grab dinner on his way home when Levi's took lazy to cook.

Astraea - 9:11 PM

yeah, of course! let me know if you need help with any of it

Levi - 9:12 PM

I definitely will need it

Astraea - 9:13 PM

i can also make them for you guys i really don't mind

Levi frowns slightly. Of all the half-truths Hange tells him about you to get him interested in you, the one he finds the most true is that you're much too kind and forthgiving with your time.

Levi - 9:13 PM

You barely have time to sleep

Astraea - 9:14 PM

and how do you know that?

Levi - 9:14 PM

You look more tired nowadays

Astraea - 9:14 PM

that noticeable?

Levi - 9:15 PM

Yeah, no offense

Fuck, why the fuck did he say that? It isn't that hard to keep his mouth shut about it, but it's not really like he's lying or exaggerating. He groans again as he puts down his phone, this time, face-up, and he hears that the kettle beeps. As he goes to grab a teacup for himself and the cannister of dandelion root tea that's about half-way empty now, he sees another text back from you.

He tips some of the tea leaves into a strainer, and he drops it into his teacup, watching as the colors bleeds into the water. In his peripheral, he reads what you'd said.

Astraea - 9:16 PM

none taken i'm in bed so i'm gonna go to sleep

That's good to hear. He'll assume that Hange's backed off on having you join any plans now that Levi isn't coming, so you can actually rest up this weekend. He sets a timer for his tea before replying to you.

Levi - 9:16 PM

Sleep well then

Astraea - 9:16 PM

you too!

There's an unfamiliar flip in his chest at the sentiment of the text—like he's about to throw up but he doesn't feel the actual dread that comes with that feeling—but he ignores it.

And maybe it's because you're already on his mind and there's already a cup brewing, but he takes a picture of the teacup as it sits alone on his countertop, and he considers for a second sending it to you so that you can see that he's making good use of what you'd given him. He attaches it, and he types out the first thing that comes to mind.

I will. See you next week

And, almost immediately, he physically cringes and deletes everything: the text, the picture, the thought of sending something like that at all. He clears all the apps active on his phone, and he haphazardly slides it across the counter to be out of reach.

What the fuck is going on with him today? He's all worked up over nothing, and it's making him act all... weird. He's a near-thirty-year old man, what the hell is he doing?

Before the tea feels like it's had enough time to steep, his phone beeps to tell him that it has. Maybe time just moves faster when he's flustered. He takes out the strainer, opening it and tapping it against the side of the compost bin, then dropping it into the sink, and he pulls the teacup closer to him.

And even though there's nobody around, before he takes a sip, he looks over both shoulders again here because, uh... he doesn't know? He thinks a robber has broken in? God forbid he's not aware of that happening if somebody had just come in and ransacked all his belongings.

It's definitely just because he's shy all-of-a-sudden, but he isn't going to be the one to admit that.

As he takes his first sip of his tea, he finds himself smiling faintly at the taste. It's become familiar, as absurd as that sounds, and regardless of how much of a mess today way, this is still a nice way for him to end his evening before having to turn in and get showered and ready for tomorrow. The citrine eventually calms his nerves, and he carries the cup with him to the couch as he watches a rerunning episode of some random cop show that pisses him off.

And as he watches the courthouse drama unfold and tips the cup all the way up to find it empty, the thought strikes him as harshly as the gavel does wood—that even without any meddling or orchestration by anyone other than the universe, he was able to see you on this particular Friday.

And that realization is kinda... nice.

Yeah, nice. It's nice that the one good thing he's looked forward to for the last, like, five months still hasn't really changed, and that he can keep that little bit of nicety to himself to enjoy.

...

God, he's going to be so fucking nervous when he sees you next week.

✰

Next Chapter - coming soon!

thank you for reading, and please consider checking out a sip of sunshine for more content from levi's pov! it's postcanon, slow burn, angst, (domestic) fluff, friends to lovers, and is a very lengthy levi character study (42k+, to be completed by the end of august)! i'd appreciate it a lot ^^

#levi x reader #tao.levi #levi ackerman x reader #attack on titan #levi aot #fanfiction #levi ackerman #the affections of an architect #levi pov

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