Chapter Text
Aoba knows nothing of the flower shop other than that it’s from before his time. That would be impressive, he thinks, if ‘his time’ didn’t constitute four months of serving up coffee next to it. The buildings share a wall of brick and stone between them, and not much else.
The neighboring building seems almost fictional to Aoba. The clean but semi lifeless storefront filled with flowers looking like something off a movie lot. Like if he walked through the door there’d be nothing but dry wall and plaster and discarded materials inside, remnants of an unfinished set.
But he sees people come and go, coffee in their hands as they go to pick out bouquets, or a succulent under their arm as they enter to order their frappes. They don’t speak of the flower shop owner, and Aoba never asks. He’s seen the broad back of the man who owns the place, and not much else.
The only other constant is the motorcycle outside the shop from open to close.
Labor laws don’t apply when you’re a one man show, Aoba supposes.
So the flower shop stays not only tucked against his workplace, but in the back of his mind.