Forget-Me-Nots: A Small, Delicate Bloom That Symbolizes Connection and True Love

Books, Tea, and Floristry

Bokuto Koutarou had absolutely no reason to visit a bookstore four times a week.

He owned exactly three books.

One was a well-worn volleyball strategy guide that included training tips, dietary suggestions, and little pictograms of how certain serves or plays were executed. Half of the pages were dog-eared, and colourful sticky notes poked out from between them at every possible angle.

The second was a cookbook his mother had stubbornly shoved into his luggage when he had first moved into the university dorms a year ago. It had since followed him to the apartment he shared with Kuroo.

Dorm life was not for him. Bokuto had figured that out somewhere around the middle of his first year in between community bathrooms and cramped living quarters.

The third book belonged to Akaashi.

It was an old copy of The Little Prince. None of the pages were dog-eared, something Akaashi hated, but the once white paper had faded to a soft yellow, and the cover had gotten slightly crinkled around the edges from years of being handled.

Akaashi had left it at their apartment almost two months ago while working on his final project for one of his literature classes. Bokuto had noticed the colourful illustrations while Akaashi was reading and asked if he could borrow it when he was finished.

A little skeptical, Akaashi had agreed.

It was a personal favourite of his. Bokuto remembered that, and maybe if he read it, they would have something else to talk about.

They were a month into the second semester now.

Bokuto kept forgetting to give it back.

Or maybe, if Kuroo was being particularly insufferable, he kept finding reasons not to.

Either way, Kuroo had started keeping score of all the times Bokuto could have returned it and mysteriously hadn't.

The number was getting ridiculous.

Which was probably why the book had decided to pop into his head now.

Bokuto bounced lightly on the balls of his feet as he waited for the next toss, rolling his shoulders loose.

Focus.

Volleyball first.

Returning books later.

The gym always smelled faintly of rubber and floor polish, with the slightest hint of sweat lingering underneath.

It wasn't unpleasant, if anything it was comforting.

It smelled like mornings that started too early, scraped knees, and the satisfying ache in his shoulders after practice.

It smelled like somewhere he belonged.

"Again!"

The ball smacked against his palm with a satisfying crack before disappearing over the net, slipping perfectly past Kuroo's block.

"Nice kill!" his setter shouted from beside him.

Bokuto landed hard on the balls of his feet and immediately spun around, grinning. "Right? Right? That one felt awesome!"

Kuroo groaned from the other side of the net, stretching his arms over his head. "Wow, Bokuto. You got past one blocker. One tired, stressed-out blocker."

"Hey!"

Before Bokuto could fully formulate a retort, the gym doors opened.

Their coach stepped inside, bundled up in a red coat and black scarf.