stinky flowers and the phone numbers of hotties
Katsuki likes flowers. They mean a whole lot of fucking things. From I love you to I fucking hate your guts, I hope you fall and die in a ditch, xoxo, figure it out yourself, bitch — he was really proud of that one. It fucking rhymed — and, as you can guess, that’s his personal favorite. God bless aconites and black roses. But, other than their splendid meanings and the rather colorful notes you can leave with them when they're delivered to a special motherfucker, they’re also pretty. That’s one thing Katsuki always admired about them. Their ethereal beauty and elegance. His grandmother taught him the many beauties of flowers, their uses and their impacts. He remembers sitting in front of her as she rocked in the rocking chair, telling him about flowers and plants and each and every one of their names and how they all have different meanings — in fact, Katsuki’s grandmother sent him different flowers every year so that Katsuki could figure out the meanings of them. Usually, his grandmother would’ve had him look in the Encyclopedia of Flowers, but Katsuki had been a kid, and as a kid, he was lazy and didn’t want to read much so he just used Google.
Hey. Don’t give him that look, okay? Katsuki was a pretty shitty kid.
But that was before she stopped. Stopped givin’ him flowers on his birthday, he means. He stopped receiving flowers from her when he was ten. He didn’t know why until much later on, about seventeen or so when he got back in contact with his grandmother — before she died, anyway, and left her flower shop to him.
Katsuki’s mother had taken every single bouquet Katsuki had gotten to the dump — every. Single. One. All those pretty flowers with different meanings Katsuki could’ve known — gone. He was mad at her for a while after that — because of what she did. But he quickly learned that his mother would not tolerate Katsuki ignoring her in a fit of childish anger — he had gotten a good beating for that.
“You don’t deserve these flowers,”she had told him after he screamed at her, asking why. Why would you throw Grammy’s flowers away?
“You’re just a wretched child who deserves nothing.”
You’re just a wretched child who deserves nothing.
Even now, that has stuck with him. Even now, when he’s turning 24 in two days, that has stuck with him. Even now, when he’s finally escaped his mother. That has still stuck with him.
So, anytime Katsuki sees what he wants, he stops himself. He repeats that in his head, his mother’s booming voice is his ears, taunting him, torturing him, always there, naggin’ him and never fuckin’ leaving and fuck Katsuki just wishes she’d leave him alone for once, he just fuckin’ wants to — So that’s that. Katsuki doesn’t deserve anything nice or sweet or good — he was bad, and as a bad person, he deserves nothing but horrible things. That’s what he’s learned over the years — from both himself, other people, and his mother. Obviously.
But he’s gotten better at that now. He doesn’t just hear her voice in his head anymore, he hears Kirishima’s, or Denki’s, or Mina’s, or Sero’s, or Jirou’s. Telling him that he does deserve it because he’s a good person and it’s okay to want things, Katsuki. Shit, she really fucked you up, didn’t she —
Okay. Maybe he’s still fuckin’ bad at all that. But who cares? Certainly not Katsuki. Totally.
Fuck. Maybe I do, Katsuki thinks for the hundredth time, gripping the broom tighter in his calloused hands. He groans out loud, resisting the urge to hike up his knee and slam the broomstick down and break it in half so that he can stab one of the ends straight into the middle of his forehead. He thinks of how people might react to finding a dead man with a broom sticking out of his head in a sweet, dainty flower shop in the middle of town. He decides against it, no matter how tempting the urge might be.
The door dings from the front. Katsuki sighs, drops the broom, ignoring the sound it makes as it falls to the ground — it totally doesn’t make him flinch, he isn’t a fuckin’ baby — and walks to the front, carefully stepping over the fallen flower pedals. Sue him. He’s a little fucking sappy about his flowers.
Again, sue him.
“Hi,” he grunts as he steps behind the register, the pleasant smell of sweet flower pollen filling his senses. Or, as his ninth-grade science teacher would say — the wonderful aroma of flower sperm overwhelmed his nostrils nicely. Katsuki cracks a smile at that, feeling a little lighter at the memory. Sighing as he brushes a strand of hair behind his ear, he looks up to see whatever bozo walked into his flower shop not knowing what the fuck they want because they don’t have the decency to know any species of flower.
Oh. Correction: He looks up to see whatever handsome bozo walked into his flower shop.
Katsuki, now is not that time to experience the most intense gay panic you’ve ever had, Katsuki thinks wildly, blink against the beaming, blinding smile the man was flashing at him. Jeez, what a fucking angel.
“Uh,” Katsuki says eloquently, “why are you smilin’ like I handed you free flowers? You didn’t steal anything, did you, weirdo?” Katsuki almost slaps his forehead. He really needs to get better at fucking talking to people.
The green-haired guy blushes and squeaks, smile wobbling. The pink on his cheeks makes his freckles pop, big and pretty. His gem green eyes sparkle as he sputters, and Katsuki finds it endearingly adorable.
“Oh! U-um! I was just! I was just looking around, and! UH! I thought your flowers were very beautiful and I’m sorry if that’s weird, I’m a weirdo, okay I’ll stop now, holy crap —”
Katsuki giggles and almost immediately slaps a hand over his mouth in shock. Because Katsuki doesn’t fucking giggle. Katsuki blushes and looks away. “Um, thanks, I guess. They’re okay — the flowers, I mean. They’re not much.” Katsuki bites his lip and frowns slightly, absentmindedly bringing his nails to his mouth to chew anxiously. Shit, he’s doing this all wrong. Maybe he should listen to his therapist, fuck —
“I think they’re much more than okay. . . Kacchan!” The man grins. Katsuki pauses, blinks, drops his hand back to his side, and blinks again.
“What?” he says, mostly out of pure surprise.
The man gestures to his flower shop, still smiling widely. After he takes a big inhale of flower sperm — ha! — he opens his mouth to speak again, in that same sweet, gentle tone. “Your flowers — I think they’re beautiful. You’ve done a really good job taking care of them, it looks like! I don’t know much about flowers myself; my mom just plants them for fun, but I came here to get her some new ones and oh! Those are some pretty roses —”
“First of all,” Katsuki says slowly, deliberately drawing out his words, effectively grabbing the man’s attention again. “First of all, what the hell is a Kacchan?Secondly, you talk a whole lot, don’t you? And lastly, those ‘roses’ ” — Katsuki does air quotations, lifting his eyebrows in disbelief — “those ‘roses’ aren’t roses, dumbass. They’re fuckin’ carnations, you moron. And if there’s one thing I hate more than people purposefully makin’ fun of my fuckin’ name, it’s people who walk into my store all cheery and cute and don’t know what the hell they want — or what species the flower next to him is. Now, sir, tell me what flowers you want for mommy dearest before I —”
“Oh my god.” the man whispers out, shaking head-to-toe, his hands tangling and clawing at his scalp and messing up his hair further. He sinks into a crouch and looks like he might just combust and explode all over Katsuki’s flowers. Katsuki leans over the front desk to watch him, raising an eyebrow as the man starts to mutter.
“Oh my gosh, holy crap, I’m going to have an aneurysm. Or — or — or like, a mental breakdown—” As the man rushes out his words in panic, Katsuki finally notices that man isn’t just pretty, he’s fucking stunning — jewels dangle from his ears and detailed ink trails up his arms and beneath his shirt. His sleeves are pushed up his elbows, showing off the phenomenal tattoos and his juicy-looking muscles.
“Those tattoos make you look really hot,” Katsuki says helpfully. The man turns fucking scarlet, nearly matching the deep red of Katsuki’s eyes.
He makes a breathless wheezing sound. “That’s not helping! Oh my —”
Katsuki sighs. He leans back over the front desk, pushing a strand of fallen blond hair from his eyes. “Look, nerd,” The ‘nerd’ in question makes another gasping sound, looking up from where his face is buried in his knees to gaze at Katsuki. Katsuki likes the way his eyes on him makes him feel. Stupid beautiful stranger, Katsuki thinks with a tsk. “Look, nerd. I don’t know if you’re freaking out because you made fun of my name wrong and you want to try again or something but sorry, hottie, that’s not gonna happen, I’m not —”
“Katsuki.” The man says, standing up quicker than lightning, shooting himself towards Katsuki. His hands slap on the counter and it takes everything Katsuki has not to flinch away from him in fear. His face, though, does portray his slight shock — his eyes widen. “Katsuki, oh god — I did not mean to make fun of your name. ‘Kacchan’ is what I genuinely thought your tag said, and I’m sorry if it seemed that I purposefully did that. And yes, I do talk a lot, my mom says it’s because I’m nervous all the time and I want to make people not-nervous because that makes me nervous and okay I’ll stop — I’m also sorry for not knowing species of flowers. I know that might be importantly to you — It looks like you’ve dedicated your life to these flowers and I had the nerve to come in here clueless. I’m sorry.” the man says in one, big gulp of air. Katsuki is amazed. And touched. And also really fucking turned on.
“Fuck — uh, I mean, thank you. Thank you, uhm. . . Apologies mean a lot to me,” Katsuki mumbles, “The only people to ever truly — like actually apologize to me — are my friends. And they haven’t much, because they don’t have a fuck to apologize for. It’s mostly silly, stupid shit — me being uncomfortable at a party and needing to go home because everything is too loud and there’s too many people and I get claustrophobic and shit. Uhm, other than that, no one’s ever. . .so. Thank you.”
The man is staring at him. His mouth is agape. His eyes are wide and. . . are those tears shimmering in those jade orbs? What the actual fuck. Why the hell was he near tears — Katsuki realizes then that what he just said was extremely personal and totally not normal by any means. Shit.
“Oh,” the man says softly, breathing out the words with a slight shake to his voice. Katsuki curses under his breath.
“Look, dude, what I said just now was really fuckin’ private. And if you cry about it, I will personally send you the most disgusting-smelling flowers with my phone number attached because I happen to not entirely hate you. A win-lose situation for you, because one: you get a hottie’s number and two: you get utterly revolting, puke-worthy flowers. A win-win situation for me, though, because I get to give a hottie my number and I get to enjoy torturing said hottie with flowers he doesn’t even know the names of.”
The man blinks at him. Then, he blushes as pink as a cherry blossom in spring. The fragrance meets Katsuki’s nose at the thought, sweet and dreamy and calming, tickling his nose pleasantly. Katsuki can almost feel the gentle breeze as if he were actually there — in the park, with the huge cherry blossom. Katsuki’s heart stops beating as fast and his hands unclench.
“Would you give me your number without the smelly flowers?” he asks shyly, but still someone manages to sound confident. He flutters his eyelashes at Katsuki, effectively wooing him. Katsuki’s literally so gay.
“Maybe,” Katsuki says. The man hums. He holds out his hand with a charming smile, tilting his head as he does, making those wild green curls fall into his starred face.
“Izuku Midoriya,” he says. Katsuki shakes Izuku’s hand, cherishing the shiver it sends down his spine. Izuku’s hand was warm and calloused and rough, firm with a tight grip. As Katsuki speaks, he again admires the art decorating Izuku’s skin.
“Katsuki,” he replies. Izuku tilts his head. Like a puppy, Katsuki thinks. Like a tall, buff, tatted puppy that was unworldly attractive. Yeah.
“No last time?” Izuku questions playfully. Katsuki shakes his head with a slight grin.
“Nah,” he shakes his head, gradually dropping his hand and Izuku does the same. Izuku continues to watch him as he speaks, looking him straight in the eyes, his expression full of wonder as if Katsuki himself was the most extraordinary thing on the planet. “I don’t like it, so I don’t use it.”
If Izuku catches the true meaning of Katsuki’s words, he doesn’t show it. As he replies to Katsuki, he pulls out a piece of paper and pen from his back pocket. Katsuki raises an eyebrow to express his surprise and how he was vaguely impressed by how casually he did it. “Can you give me a new last name? Mine means ‘green’. Boring, right? Plain. But I’m sure you could come up with something unique.”
Katsuki gives an embarrassed huff. “I guess.”
Izuku inclines his head. Katsuki startles. “Right now?” Izuku nods in answer. Katsuki bites his lip. “I’ll think about it. You’re a. . . unique person, so I’ll have to think of somethin’ as weird as you.” Katsuki smirks at the fake, wounded expression on Izuku’s face.
“I don’t know if that’s a compliment or not, Kacchan.” Izuku smirks back. Katsuki gives him a blank stare.
“You literally know my name. Why’re you still callin’ me that silly, childish one?”
Izuku giggles and shrugs. “ ‘cause I want to. It’s cute. A cute nickname for a cutie.”
“You’re so fucking cringy.”
“So are you!”
“Why did you come here again? To buy flowers for your mommy? What, is it her birthday or something?”
Izuku freezes, seemingly remembering exactly that. Quickly, like lightning, he flicks his wrist and checks his watch. Hot, Katsuki thinks. He wears a watch. No one wears a watch these days, but this proves that guys who wear watches are just better.
“Oh shit —” And who gave Izuku the right to sound so fucking mouth-watering when he cusses? Fuck.
“What?” Katsuki teases.
“My mom was expecting me at 4:30.”
“And what time did you show up at my flower shop, pointing at carnations and call in’ them roses?”
“4:20.” Izuku answers breathlessly. Katsuki curls his lip.
“That’s fuckin’ stupid. Why’d you —”
“It’s 4:39 — 4:40!” Izuku looks like he’s about to combust again. Katsuki’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise and he hisses through his teeth in sympathy.
“Whoo, that sucks. Tough shit, I-zu-ku. If I did that, my mom would’ve beat me black and blue — if she wasn’t on a restraining order, anyways.” Katsuki wriggles his eyebrows and smirks. Izuku gasps and his eyes fucking bludge out of his sockets in shock. He runs a large hand through his hair anxiously. As he raises his arms to do just that, his white shirt rides up his torso and shows a sliver sun-kissed skin. Izuku’s pants are low on his hips. Katsuki bites his lip. Katsuki, stop it. Izuku’s literally having a panic attack or some shit and you’re over here wanting to get fucked by him. STOP IT. Katsuki rolls his eyes but listens to his inner voice.
“Hey,” Katsuki murmurs softly, catching Izuku’s attention. He looks at Katsuki with panicked eyes. Katsuki gives him a little, genuine smile in hopes of calming him. His friends always said he had a nice smile. “Hey, it’ll be okay. I’m sure your mom won’t mind. Just get her the prettiest flowers in the fuckin’ world and I’m sure she’ll be happy.”
Izuku stares at him for a moment, then he sighs, giving Katsuki a returning smile, nodding slowly. “You’re right.” Izuku says.
Katsuki’s grin grows into a self-satisfied smirk. “Always am.” he winks. Izuku huffs and laughs, blushing and looking away while wringing his hands. Then he makes an ‘oh’ sound, handing the piece of paper to him. Katsuki hums. “Wondered when you were gonna give your number to me.”
Izuku grins sheepishly. “Yeah, I kinda forgot about when I —”
“You need to get flowers for your mom, yeah?” Katsuki says, lifting an eyebrow. Izuku squeaks and nods nervously.
“I don’t know which ones to get her.” Izuku worries his lip between his teeth. Katsuki scoffs.
“Obviously.”
Izuku rocks back on his feet. “So, do you —”
“Yes, I have suggestions for what flowers you should get her.” Katsuki deadpans.
Izuku sighs in relief. “Oh thank god.”
Katsuki snorts and shakes his head. He pushes off the front desk with his hands, whirling around and making his way towards the back again. “Thank me!” Katsuki calls over his shoulder as he searches for the flowers. Then he pauses. Considers something. “Hey, how old is your mom? And what does she look like? And what’s her favorite color?”
Izuku stutters to answer. “Uhm, she’s turning 57, I think? And she looks identical to me — or I’m identical to her, minus the freckles. She doesn’t have those. Oh, and her favorite color is yellow!”
Katsuki hums and smiles, even though Izuku couldn’t see it.
“Oh, and thank you!” Izuku calls. Katsuki’s smile grows and he bites his lip. Jeez, all this smiling will make his face ache.
“Yeah, yeah.” Katsuki mutters. Then he goes, “Ah ha!” when he finds the flowers he was looking for. He grabs a few others, both similar in meaning, and puts a bouquet together. Once he’s done, he brings the various, colorful flowers to his nose to sniff. Katsuki sags and lets the smell wash over him and cling to his mind like fog. He leans against the wall and sighs. This, by far, is one of the best parts of Katsuki’s job. Smelling all the pretty flowers. Sappy, he knows. God, if his mother knew what he was doing right now, she’d —
“Kacchan?” Izuku asks. Katsuki jolts, a startled, fearful gasp falling from his lips. He drops the bouquet, clutching his chest with wide eyes. His heart pounds and he blinks rapidly, whirling around to stare at Izuku. He swallows. “Sorry, did I scare you?” Izuku mumbles. Katsuki nods wordlessly and looks away, crossing his arms to hide his shaking hands. He always gets like this when people scare him — accidentally or not. He hates being sneaked up on or anything of the sort. All his life, he’s been scared, and he hates feeling that way. So being frightened makes him even more scared because it’s instinct. Like his body is preparing for something — someone — happen to him, like she’s here, when’s she’s not and it fucking. Freaks. Him. Out. Katsuki swallows again, pushing down the panic rising in his throat and choking him. He inhales deeply, letting the smell of the flower shop calm him. Wordlessly, he bends down to pick up the bouquet. Thankfully, it wasn’t ruined.
Fuck. Katsuki has to get a hold of himself.
“Sorry,” he mumbles, thrusting the bouquet into Izuku’s arms and brushing past him briskly. Izuku makes a sound of surprise before quickly following him. Katsuki shivers and stops in his tracks. Izuku makes a another sound of surprise, clearly almost bumping into him. Katsuki turns around and says, “Don’t walk behind me. It — I don’t like it. So walk beside me or some shit — please.”
Izuku blinks at him before his eyes gain a sad sheen to them, and he nods sincerely, solemn with a small, grim smile. “Okay, Kacchan.” he whispers. Katsuki exhales shakily and looks away. Then he walks. Izuku hurries to trot along beside him. Katsuki huffs.
“Are these roses?” Izuku asks after a bit, when Katsuki’s at the register. Katsuki stops, lifts his head, and gives Izuku the dirtiest side eye the world had ever seen.
“What. The. Fuck. I know you didn’t just ask that —”
Izuku cackles and clutches his stomach while howling with glee. Katsuki’s eye twitches. Izuku continues to laugh so hard that Katsuki wonders how shit doesn’t fall out.
“Har har,” Katsuki says sarcastically, but he can’t stop his lips from twitching into a small, slow smile. Izuku giggles hysterically.
“Y-your face! Pfft —” Izuku throws his head back and laughs, still holding his stomach with one hand and the bouquet for his mother in the other.
Katsuki thinks he’s beautiful. He blushes bright red and looks away. “Get out of here, you asswipe.” he huffs. If possible, Izuku laughs even harder at that.
Izuku’s still giggling and wiping a tear from his eye and he gathers everything. Heading towards the door, he turns to Katsuki with a huge, bright smile. Katsuki blushes an even deeper pink. Izuku’s eyes twinkle.
“I’ll call you later, Katsuki With No Last Name!”
Katsuki curls his lip. “Cringy.” he says. Izuku just laughs and waves goodbye. Katsuki sends him the middle finger. Izuku shakes his head and gives him one last look before opening the door and stepping out into the street. The door dings, announcing his departure. Katsuki sighs and props his elbow on the front desk, resting his chin in his palm.
“Ugh,” Katsuki says to no one, “I can't wait to go home.” Then, after a moment of silence and flowers staring blankly at him, he snorts and stands up properly. “Bitch, I just realized I can whenever I want. Goodbye, flowers.” As he gathers his stuff and heads for the door, he flips the OPENsign to CLOSED. Then he plucks a single camellia. “To life,” he murmurs quietly, and sticks the flower behind his ear. Then he walks out, locking the door as he goes.