Eighteen year old Izuku Midoriya never expected that his whole life would change the day that a certain angry blond walked into his florist shop. Katsuki Bakugo demands that he gets a bouquet to passive-aggressively flip off his cheating boyfriend...
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Why did it have to be like this?
I tilt my head back and stare at the night sky, the full moon glaring back like an iridescent pearl, its pock-marked surface taunting me as if to say, I'm up here, and no one beneath me really matters. You're all insignificant.
And we are, aren't we? Our life isn't even a hundred years in the billions that have passed and are to come. We're lucky if we even make the smallest imprint on the world. Life is so short. Been and gone.
Over before you know it.
I won't be here for much longer.
I hear footsteps behind me and turn my head to see Kacchan walking toward where I sit on the curb. He's alone.
"Why are you out here?" he asks. He doesn't sound angry — more like relaxed from the atmosphere.
I pull my knees to my chest and lower my gaze. "Didn't feel well," I mumble.
He lowers himself on the ground next to me. "What's wrong, Deku?"
Why is he like this? Hard-edged, gruff, unapproachable, but deep down he cares? His kindness is only going to hurt me in the end.
If I'm going to die anyway, I should just tell him.
Right?
"I saw you with Kirishima," I start. "Um... I know this whole thing was supposed to be for you to get him back, but—"
"Yeah," he cuts in. "Look, I'm not bad at reading people, and I've got a pretty good idea of what you're about to say."
I look up from my intense staring session with the floor. "Y-you do?"
"Mhm. You like me." He says it as casually as if he were talking about the weather.
I'm not surprised he worked it out. "Yeah, " I say simply, because there's no use denying it. It's not exactly a romantic love confession like in shojo manga, with rainbows, golden lighting, and blossoming flowers spelling out 'I love you Kacchan'. But now he knows.
He doesn't say anything at first, and it makes the situation a whole lot more awkward than it already is. I fiddle with my fingernails, pulling them down until they tear in the corners. Dots of blood bead at the cuticles but I barely feel it.
"We.." he starts, backtracks, and tries again. "I think you and I..." he sighs and bites his lip, obviously unsure of what to say.
Jesus, I wish he'd just reject me so I can leave and go cry in peace. "Sorry," I say, even though I have no need to apologise for anything.
I look up from my hands and see he's gazing at me intently. We lock eyes.
Kacchan puts his hand on the back of my neck and pulls me towards him so quickly that I don't have time to register anything except for the abrupt clash of our lips hitting each other.
Whatever I had been expecting to happen next, it was most definitely not this.
I wish I could savour the moment, let the taste of him linger on my tongue; the taste of caramel and regret. Allow his hands to slide under my shirt and trace shapes into my skin.
But there's that undeniable feeling niggling in the back of my throat, one I've become so accustomed to.
I drag my lips away from his and push him back slightly, my palm on his chest. His hands retract from under my shirt. "Don't... don't play around," I murmur.
He blinks, surprised. The tip of his nose is mere centimetres from mine; I can feel his soft, sweet breath fluttering across my face. It's oh so tempting to just lean in, close the gap, kiss him, and let the world fall away around us.
But I can't.
I turn my head away from him. I feel the blossom lodged in my throat as I open my mouth to speak. "I know you don't feel anything for me in the way I do," I begin. "So don't drag my heart along just because you're bored or looking for a hookup."
He lingers for one eternal moment, deciding what to say, choosing the words that will shatter me into a million pieces.
Finally, he sighs. "You're right." He doesn't try to justify it or deny it, or claim he does have feelings for me. "I shouldn't have strung you along for—"
I interrupt him with a sharp cough, the kind that stabs at my vocal chords like a knife. I bend over and clutch my chest frantically. Can't breathe, can't breathe can't breathe can't breathe can'tbreathecan'tbreathecan'tbreathe—
