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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Blink.
White.
Too bright.
Blink again.
Whiteness slices through my vision like a knife as I come to, my consciousness flowing back to me.
Something doesn't feel right.
"He's awake."
What is this feeling in my chest?
"Oh my god, Izuku, you're alive!"
My mother's voice.
"Mom?" I croak through dry, cracked lips. My throat is parched. My head pounds like someone is beating it, steady as a war drum. My chest hurts.
"Izuki, sweetie, thank goodness," she gushes.
I try to sit up.
"Don't get up," she frets, pushing my shoulders down. I sink back onto what feels like a bed.
"Where am I?"
"You're in hospital," a woman's voice tells me. A nurse.
I take in my surroundings. A small room with monitors, a hard backed chair that my mother sits on, a window on the wall, and the bed I'm in, with crisp white sheets. An IV drip is attached to my arm, depositing into me a steady stream of clear liquid.
"What happened?" I manage.
"Your friend said you'd been coughing blood and flowers, and you blacked out, so he brought you here," the nurse tells me.
Oh no. The flowers. Shit. No. This empty feeling in my chest. No.
I bolt upright frantically and tear at the needle in my arm, freeing myself from the IV. "What did you do?!" I demand.
"Izuku!"
"Sir, please stay calm and lay—"
I stumble out of the bed and push past the nurse, ignoring her and my mother's protests.
I burst out of the door of my room and frantically rush into the hallway. The corridor stretches endlessly in both directions. But I don't to worry about which way to run, because he's right there. Siting in a plastic chair, dark circles under his eyes, hair mussed up, arms folded over his chest, staring down at his feet.
"Kacchan," I choke out.
He looks up. Something flickers across his eyes. "Deku. You're alive."
"I'm alive," I say weakly.
"Why didn't you tell me earlier?"
He knows.
"They... they did the surgery, didn't they?"
I already know the answer. I can feel it as I gaze at him. He's still the same Kacchan. But I've changed. I search desperately for the familiar tug of love in my chest, but there is nothing.
"Yeah."
A sob escapes my throat, and I sink to my knees on the floor, in front of his feet. I claw at the neckline of my cheap hospital nightgown. My chest feels empty, so empty, so fucking empty. No. Nononono. I didn't want this. I didn't want to be alive.
Kacchan stares down at me, expression unreadable. "Why are you crying? You should be grateful they could save you."
Tears flow down my cheeks freely. "Y-you don't understand. I didn't want it to be like this... I didn't want to lose my feelings for you." The last word comes out as a hollow whisper.
"Are you kidding me? You wanted to fucking die?" he snaps, his tone harsh. "I can't believe you. Look, I'm not some hero or amazing guy worth dying for. I don't know what version of me you had in your head, but be glad you don't have to deal with chasing it around anymore."
He stands up from the hospital chair abruptly and storms off, leaving me crying on the floor.
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