(Thank you anon, oh my god I’ve been fiddling with like 15 different WIPs for the past 6 hours and didn’t realize that THIS is what my brain was looking for, but IT IS PERFECT.)
Kakashi is about halfway through
the display copy of the newest Icha Icha book, idly swirling the dregs of the mocha
Obito had brought him earlier when he stopped in to yell about Kakashi needing
to fend for himself for dinner because he had
adate goddamnit—Kakashi is
skeptical, because this is Obito, and he’s willing to wager an empty stomach
that whatever bastard has set their eyes on Obito is going to end up needing a
trip to the emergency room when they show their creep colors before the second
course—and vaguely contemplating whether he should reorganize the self-help
section again. It’s always amusing to tell people who ask him where things are
in it that he can’t help them, because they need to help themselves, and the
joy those moments provide keeps Kakashi more or less sane on lazy days like
this.
Sometimes he thinks he should
have opened that dog-grooming parlor Gai suggested, rather than a bookstore,
but then he remembers the Poodle Incident that followed shortly after and is
quietly relieved all over again.
Then, without warning, the door
slams open with a force that’s usually reserved for hurricanes, setting the
cheerful bell above it clanging like it’s rolling down a mountainside. Kakashi startles,
almost dropping his coffee, and looks up just as a pair of hands in fingerless
gloves slam down on the counter.
That, Kakashi thinks, eyeing the
man as he lowers is book, is a very
tight tank top and a lot of very, very
pretty golden skin. And muscles. Sweaty
muscles, and while one would think Kakashi got more than enough of those living
with Rin, who actually enjoys training
with Gai and has the six-pack to prove it, these ones are particularly ropy and
lovely.
The guy’s face isn’t all that
bad either, even if his expression is currently just about the same level as
deadly Obito’s was after that especially disastrous date with that Madara creep
and the introduction to the quasi-cult he hosted in his basement.
“I swear to god,” the man says,
and the words might be even, there might be a flower tucked behind his ear, but
the spark in his eyes is very close to incandescent rage, “if you don’t have a
book on flower language I’m going to murder
my customers.”
Ah. Kakashi closes his book
carefully, studying the man. That would explain the apron wrapped around his
hips, embroidered with a smiley sunflower and the logo of the flower shop down
the block. Kakashi hasn’t ever had reason to go in before, but now that he
knows eye candy like this works there, he might just have to change that.
“That depends,” he says,
offering the man a lazy smile. “Did you want Victorian flower language,
hanakotoba, Hindu flower language…” It takes effort not to laugh at the
expression of mingled horror and disgust that crosses the man’s face.
“God damn it,” the florist
sighs, dragging his bandana off. Chestnut hair falls into his face, and he
smooths it back with a grimace. The muscles in his arm and shoulder flex in
ways that kind of make Kakashi want to bite them.
Kakashi isn’t staring. He’s just…observing.
That’s it. Definitely not ogling. Or drooling.
“You’ll probably get the most
mileage out of Victorian,” he offers, as soon as he can scrape up enough brain
cells to do so. “They tend to be the most common, too.” He pushes up, stepping
around the desk, and it’s a narrow space filled with displays, so he has no
choice but to brush past the florist on his way by.
On an entirely unrelated note,
the man has a truly fantastic ass.
“You’re a lifesaver,” the
florist sighs, tucking his bandana into his back pocket and following Kakashi up
the staircase to the second floor. “I’ve been open a month and I already have
people asking for bouquets that are subtly
vengeful or possibly interested if
you try harder or—fuck, I don’t know. Why not just get a damn card? If I
have to Google this shit one more time I’m going to scream.”
Kakashi chuckles, finding the
correct book and pulling it down from the shelf. And if he stretches a little
more than he might otherwise, making a very subtle show of it, well. No one who
would mock him for it is currently here (a true miracle, and Kakashi thanks all
his lucky stars for it) so he’s really got nothing to lose.
“Of all the pitfalls of the
flower business I had considered, that wasn’t one of them,” he says, turning to
offer the hardcover to the man. “This is the only copy I have, and it’s leather-bound
and illustrated, so it will cost more. If you want to wait a week, I could
order another version.”
The man smiles, and wow. Kakashi can practically feel his brain shorting out. The scowl
was hot; the smile, a little crooked and very warm, lighting up his hazel eyes,
is nothing short of gorgeous. “This is great, actually,” he says, taking it
carefully to avoid touching it with his dirt-streaked gloves, and that is yet
another mark in his favor. Kakashi appreciates a man who takes care of books. “I
can display it in the store and write it off as for the business. Thank you.”
“Not a problem.” Kakashi wonders
if he should push his luck, but for all his muscles the florist doesn’t look
the type to deck someone for making a pass, so he decides to take a chance. “You
know, I’ve got a one-time-only sale going on right now.”
The man glances up, one brow
rising, and damn. Kakashi is bought and sold. Take off the price tag, no
returns. He makes his smile as charming as possible—Obito calls it skeevy, but Obito
also keeps dating assholes and weirdos, so he doesn’t get an opinion—and
offers, “Buy me coffee and you can have it.”
Brown eyes flecked with green
and gold widen, and then the man laughs, bright and warm, and grins.
He has dimples. No one should be
allowed to be simultaneously that cute and sexy.
“I don’t know,” he says
thoughtfully, rubbing a light finger over the engraved cover. “This looks more
like a buy-me-dinner book, unless you like really spendy coffee.”
“Well.” Kakashi makes a show of
considering it. “I suppose I can make allowances, seeing as I’m the owner. And since
it’s in the name of keeping you from murdering people.”
“A civil servant, huh? I like a
man who knows his civic duty.” The florist reaches into one of the pockets of
his apron and pulls out a pale green card, flipping it between his fingers as
he glances up at Kakashi through long lashes. A pause, and then he flips to Kakashi,
just the barest edge of a smirk pulling at his mouth. Kakashi catches it—without
fumbling, which, score—and the man
steps away with a lazy wave. “I close at six. Give me a call or swing by
whenever.”
Kakashi watches his retreat—and
damn, that is one fantastic ass—and only glances down at the card when the bell
on the door chimes again. Genma Shiranui,
it reads in neat, darker green lettering. There’s a business number and a cell
number both printed under it, a small smudge of dirt on one corner, and it
takes a concentrated effort for Kakashi not to beam like a fool.
“Genma,” he repeats out loud,
and chuckles a little at his own ridiculousness as he heads down the stairs.
There’s the thirty dollars he
was charging for the book sitting in front of the till, with the flower that
had bene behind Genma’s ear resting on top. Kakashi picks it up, spinning it
between his fingers, and…
He’s read that flower book, and
he remembers perfectly well what meaning a white violet holds, even if Genma doesn’t
have any idea. What a perfect twist of fate, Kakashi thinks, and snags one of Rin’s
teacups for a makeshift vase.
White violets mean let’s take a chance on happiness, and Kakashi
is more than willing to do just that.
One of the most important things I’ve learned as a Real Adult™ is the importance of a job half done.
Today I did a load of dishes, wiped off my stove, and swept the kitchen floor. Did I do the best job, or finish every dish? No! My stove still has that caked on caramel that I need to bust out an SOS pad to take care of, one of our big pots is still sitting in the sink, and somehow a kitty kibble unearthed itself while I was wiping down the stove (?? how??).. but the kitchen looks a LOT better. It’s once again an inhabitable, usable space.
Parents, bosses, teachers, even my own self, harp upon absolute perfect completion of a task as the be all and end all of a job well done, but god damn, my kitchen isn’t terrible because I took the time to improve it. Little steps, especially when you’re struggling, are important. They mean a LOT. They are a sign that you won, if only in that brief moment, and they make getting all the other stuff done so much easier later on down the road.
I just explained my issues with executive dysfunction to my dad and holy shit he gets it!
I described it like this:
Imagine you’re back at AllPro(where he worked) with fifty phones and they’re all ringing. You want to answer them all because they’re all equal priority. That’s an environmental cue– phones are generally a ‘respond immediately’ cue.
Picking up a phone is a simple thing. You know it’s as easy as deciding which phone to answer and reaching out to pick it up, but your brain is saying “I must answer all of them!” The phones are ringing, and you can’t make your body reach out to pick one up because you don’t have fifty arms to reach out, you don’t have fifty ears to listen with, you don’t have a brain that can process and respond to fifty conversations and you don’t have fifty mouths that can all say different things all at the same time.
Either you do it all simultaneously or nothing will happen. You can want to do it so bad it makes you cry, and you can’t make a decision because no choice seems like the right one. So the task stays unfinished and you get frustrated every time somebody reminds you to “just do it, it’s not that hard!” Because yes, it really IS that hard.
Now, if you had somebody who could point to which phone to answer, you can do it fine. That’s a prompt. Prompting removes the ‘middle man’ thought that says ‘do it all at once’ and gets you to focus on tasks one at a time instead of seeing them as some towering insurmountable mess.
Dad looked at me for a couple of seconds and said something to the effect of, “I didn’t know doing things were that hard for you.”
This is a major, major, major breakthrough between us because dad had it in his head that I left things messy because I didn’t care. While that’s crappy of him to assume, teaching him how that’s not the case and having him really understand it is a huge deal.
hey um. So the movie Boss Babyhad a disgusting amount of transmisogyny in it, there was a “man in a dress” joke that played out for nearly the last half of the movie, umm, so if youre trans feminine I would seriously recommend avoiding this movie like the fucking plague, so maybe please spread this so trans girls can stay safe,,,
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