The door shut behind him with a jingle of shop-bells and a gust of rainy air. He inhaled gratefully; inside it was warm with the scent of Yohji’s ubiquitous coffee and that clean greenhouse smell that meant their store was well-stocked.

Aya’s eyes narrowed in the smallest nod of acknowledgment, barely looking up from the seed catalog he was leafing through.

Ken smiled, to himself, for he knew Aya was no longer looking, gone back to making those precise pencilmarks by the flowers Kitten needed to order. He ran both hands through his drippy hair, playfully shaking the moisture onto the potted bed of petunias that just happened to be closest.

Across the shop, Yohji made a lazy offended noise. "Ken, really." He didn’t bother to stand, ankles crossed high on the table in front of him. "You know Omi mops on Thursdays, don’t get all sloppy on us, nee?"

Ken chuckled in the back of his throat, raising his hands in eloquent defiance. "It’s just water. You should thank me; I’m sure you forgot your shift for watering these poor neglected things."

The petunias shivered pinkly under his generous hands, as if they lifted up their petalled faces to receive a blessing. They didn’t look neglected in the slightest. He grinned down at them.

Yohji rolled his eyes. "At least take off those grass-covered sneakers, KenKen, before you track in a mess."

Hanging his damp jacket, Ken shrugged. "I know when I’m not wanted. So you won’t mind taking my shift while I go straight back to the park, right?"

Yohji’s eyes were dangerously green, dark like rhododendron leaves in August. "Ken--"

Omi, with his usual flawless diplomacy and timing Ken envied, was coming in from their stockroom then, his arms full of tulips. "Hard at work, nee Omi-kun?" Ken said, toeing off his offending shoes and winking at Yohji’s scowl.

Omi gratefully surrendered some of his load, looking small and golden, peeking out from behind an armful of sunshine. "Arigatou, Ken-kun," Omi sighed, contentedly busying himself with arranging a display. "I thought these would be cheery. It’s been such a rainy dull week." His bellflower blue eyes widened a little. "Did I hear you say you’d been over at the park?" To Ken’s nod, he added incredulously, "In a downpour like this?"

Ken’s eyes flicked to the glass storefront, watching the sheets of silver-grey rain wash down the avenue. It was hardly a downpour, really, the streets weren’t even flooding. But the toes of his socks were a little squelchy, his jeans stiff as they dried. "Nah," he stretched, crossing his arms behind his back. "It’s kind of nice, not too cold, you know? And it makes it feel kind of sleepy and warm inside."

"And humid as hell outside," Yohji muttered, but he was looking bemused. Ken snagged his mug right as he was about to sip. "Hey!"

"You’re only worried that your shirt will wrinkle and your hair will frizz, Yohji-kun," Ken teased, taking a swig of his drink. Mm. Cinnamon raspberry coffee, hinting of spice and sweet without being sugary. Yohji-flavored. Ken swallowed, feeling his cheeks flush with more than just the heat of the coffee.

Yohji snatched the cup back, cradling it greedily in his long-fingered hands. "Look, sporty-boy, not all of us wear rejected football uniforms that look about the same freshly-ironed as covered in mud. And don’t," he warned, eyeing Ken as he would over the rims of sunglasses, "make me start on the subject of your hair, nee?"

"I like rain like this."

Ken’s laughter at Yohji’s half-hearted insults was startled out of him by the unexpected interruption. Aya, catalog forgotten in his fingers, was looking out the shopwindow, too. "Makes the streets shine, and all the houses... the same." A slight frown creased between his eyebrows, and he started to shake his head. "Nandemo-"

Omi spoke up. "No, I know what you mean, Aya-kun." He walked softly to the window and leaned a little against the glass. The rainy afternoon shushed by outside, and each of them watched the watery lamplight glint off Omi’s pale hair, the fairness of his skin, even the unashamedly sunny flowers in his hand. The other three exchanged a glance, but it was Ken-- already standing-- who moved and stood beside him, soaking his presence like a sunflower tilts towards the sky. Omi pointed. "Look. Like Aya-kun says. Every storefront seems the same, each of them sort of bright against the darkness. No one is anything special."

Ken looked from Omi to Aya, but surely the redhead must not have known that anyone saw him, for his small smile was unguarded. "Hai, Omi. Sweet and ordinary."

A brightness happened to Yohji’s smirk, so that Aya turned his head self-consciously from the older one’s gaze. "I didn’t know you were a poet, Aya," Yohji said, more than teasing deepening his voice.

Aya pursed his lips and went back to his catalog, but they all knew his heart by the brightness in his African-violet eyes. It was not a small thing to be understood.

Sweet and ordinary.

Ken felt a wash of something filling him then, just that, heady in its normalcy and sweetness. Something in Omi lifting more tulips than he could carry, looking like some sort of Western meadowfairy. Something in walking sock-footed around the shop to keep Yohji from reprimanding him. Something in the way Aya raised his head again, whether or not they were watching him, to watch the rain fall.

Something in the taste of Yohji’s coffee, lingering there in the back of his mouth.

For a moment he felt he were in the park again, playing football with himself in the rain, just because he could. No game, no score. No one to fight. Just friction between his shoes and the green green field, rushing along grass slick with silvered rainfall, wind playing music in his ears, adrenaline brightness edging the moment.

He caught his breath, knowing he was about to do something goofy and not caring the slightest. The others knew he was daft anyway; Yohji would chalk it up to running mad in the rain.

Careful not to damage those yellow tulips, he wrapped his damp arms around Omi from behind, hugging him close. "Nee, Ken-kun? Nani--"

Without thinking too closely about it, he kissed the top of Omi’s head, grinning into the fair hair. "Lemme go get some drier clothes on, Omi, and I’ll help you finish up the spring display. To cheer up our customers coming in from the rain." He didn’t have to see to know the exact-- bewildered pleased vulnerable-- expression Omi would be wearing.

And he jogged up the stairs to his room, not looking back, feeling three pairs of eyes on him.