Floriferous (adjective) ; producing blossoms, flower bearing
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Midoriya Izuku was Todoroki Shouto's world.
—Until he wasn't.
And this all started when Shouto coughed up petals. Fucking, fresh, petals.
Entering UA with no desire to make friends nor to enjoy himself, Shouto's life was never too dull, or too exciting. He was his father's puppet—with the only goal of being the number one hero.
That was his only reason for existence, to be the number one hero.
And so his dull journey in UA began—or so he thought.
Midoriya Izuku was, in his first glance, a puffy, cheerful, green ball with a smile so contagious that it literally bounces around their room every single day. The half and half boy did not find him interesting at all—not until he showed that very powerful quirk that smashed his bones, and being the only student All Might invites to lunch.
He was a hindrance, a pest to Shouto's goal of becoming the number one hero. (Was it his or his father's? He doesn't give a fuck.)
And so came the UA Sports Festival.
"It's your power, isn't it?!"—Shouto heard the screams, felt his shoulders tense, and the dull, tingly feeling of his flames waiting to be unleashed crawling under his skin.
And oh gods, was Midoriya Izuku so beautiful.
The glowing sweat, his frost covered hair, shallow breaths, and his broken arms—he fucking broke his own to arms for Shouto's sake.
The broken boy absorbed the beautiful sight before him, lips twitching into a tensed smile.
His flames roared.
Then, the first flowers bloomed.
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"Shouto?" A voice light and wondering, slowly made its way through Shouto's ears, then there was a tap on his shoulders and the sudden drop in temperature as the pen tucked between long fingers turned to ice.
Heterochromatic eyes met with big, wide, emerald ones filled with curiousity and silent amusement and then one second later, a muffled giggle filled the silent room.
Izuku was suppressing his giggles with little success, eyes glinting with laugh-caused tears. "Your pen," His hair bounced oh-so-slightly as he leaned forward. "You should unfreeze it."
Shouto's brows rose and his cheeks held the faintest shade of red. "Oh," His lips twitched and warmth started to crawl up his neck due to embarrassment. Within seconds, a puddle of water layed still in his palm. Izuku continued giggling.
The duo resumed to their own works, pens scratching against paper in swift motions. The half and half boy was working his way through his Literature worksheets when he noticed the thin, blue journal laying silently atop Izuku's thicker ones. While the curly-haired boy was busy muttering his lessons away, Shouto grabbed the journal.
Izuku's handwriting decorated the cover, Hero Analysis For The Future Vol. 14, messily written with black ink. Slender fingers dragged its way down slowly, feeling the page under its cold touch—and soon Shouto was flipping his way through the pages.
His eyes glistened with amusement as they darted back and forth through papers filled with various heroes and villains alike, notes cramped together too many times.
Their classmates were there too. Katsuki, Ochako, Eijirou, Fumikage.
And to Shouto's delight—he was too.
He stopped flipping, gaze landing on the name Shouto in bold letters, written above a drawing—Was that him? Holy fuck it's so cute. Shouto himself can't even imagine him being this cute. Blue and gray eyes landed on the fluffy, green ball beside him, too engrosed with his notes that he wasn't able to notice Shouto staring at him with wanting eyes.
"Is there something you need?" Izuku suddenly asked without removing his attention from his notebook. Shouto hummed in response but did not dare to reply, this made the smaller boy raise his head in wonder, eyes staring into him with so much care.
"What is it—Oh. Oh." His gaze transferred to the thin journal between Shouto's hands. Eyes widened in embarassment and his whole face turned entire pink he was so cute that made the taller boy wonder whether Izuku was a tomato or a person or a little bit of both.
"I'm here," A voice barely audible but somehow, Izuku heard it as clear as the morning sun over their heads and soon, his embarassed stuttering and blush slowly died down and was replaced by a wide grin—A smile.
A smile so bright that it shone itself through Shouto's heart.
Izuku grinned widely from ear to ear, face filled with happiness, smiling away as if there was no such thing as sadness and pain in the world.
"Oh, Shouto!" He laughed loudly. Hair bouncing up and down as the boy himself jumped in his seat. "Of course you are!"
Shouto hummed again. "You're very smart Izuku," He started slowly as he scanned through the notes written on his page. They were complete and thorough in analyzing his power—both his ice and fire, his strengths and weaknesses. They were written there and somehow, Izuku knew everything about it. And to any other person, it may be weird and creepy for Shouto.
(But it was Izuku so he didn't mind.)
"You think so?" The green-haired boy scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. "I just observe you during practice, is all. I really like your power too—it's so strong and unique, and quite beautiful too."
"Really?" His ears perked at the word beautiful. Nobody had ever told him his powers were beautiful—well his mother did. But that was before and this was Izuku and a single compliment from him can push Shouto through for years. "Tell me more then." And as soon as the words left his lips, green eyes beamed with happiness as the smaller boy once again bounced.
And with this, Izuku leaned against Shouto's side, mouth moving as he told him about his observation on his quirk.
But the words fell on deaf ears as the half and half boy only focused on the sudden warmth on his right side, muscles pressed against his arm lightly.
Then his heart started beating in a dangerously rapid pace.
Holy fuck, he's got it bad.
Izuku continued to chatter away with the ice wielder pretending to listen but not entirely. Then there was a scratchy feeling behind his throat, as if something was playfully fluttering through—it wasn't pleasant nor it wasn't painful. It was just there, scratching and tickling. Scratched. Tickled. Scratched. Tickled. Scratched. Tickled.
"Shouto? Are you okay?"
"Ah—yes?" Izuku tilted his head sideways, brows furrowed in a worried expression. But Shouto just gave him a small smile to assure him that nothing was wrong.
"Really?" A hum.
The ice wielder nodded his head in the smallest action. Then, Izuku had already leaned backwards and he had to suppress a whimper at the sudden lose of warmth beside him. He wanted Izuku so bad.
"You're the first person who ever told me that my flames are beautiful," Shouto muttered. "Do you really think so?"
The green-haired boy grinned once again, cheeks showing a faint blush. "Of course I do!" Then suddenly, two warm hands pressed itself unto Shouto's cheeks. Izuku's face was so near that he could count the freckles decorating his face in a uniquely, beautiful way. "Not only your power. I really think all of you is beautiful, both the inside and outside."
And oh.
—Oh.
As sudden as it was, Shouto's world tilted sideways.
No, literally tilted sideways.
His eardrums roared, his heart beating faster every second. He could feel the scratchy, ticklish feeling behind his throat morph into something new, and it burned. Needles pricked against those walls, and Shouto could feel his lungs burning for air. Something was in there—blocking his airways in the most unpleasant way, making it's own way out of his mouth. Like bile.
He coughed. And coughed. And coughed.
"Shouto?!" Izuku was immediately there, clutching his side and patting his back to at least ease some pain.
And oh, how it hurts.
"What's wrong?"
Shouto blocked away the worried voice of his friend. Harshly pushing Izuku away, bare feet collided with cold tiles as he stumbled his way from the dorm's common room and towards the kitchen.
His whole body ached.
And the sink was his salvation.
The half and half boy dashed towards the glistening metal and immediately hunched himself against the counter, grabbing the edges until his knuckles turned dangerously white.
And again, he coughed. And coughed. And coughed. And coughed—to the point that his throat felt bruised, his lungs throbbing, and his diaphragm breaking.
White and black spots danced behind his tightly closed eyelids. Saliva dripped from his mouth and somehow, Shouto's whole body ached as if his organs were harshly pulled out then pushed back in again.
With the back of his palm, he wiped drool from the sides of his mouth. His whole throat burned and tasted like flowers.
Flowers?
Shouto opened his eyes.
And holy shit.
(He could feel his life draining away from him)
Laying silently in the sink, with a mixture of his drool, were a bunch of yellow-colored petals. And then, the realization dawned on him.
Petals. He coughed up petals. Was that even normal?
With trembling fingers, he picked one up and stared at it with nervousness and wonder. Why were there petals? Why did he coughed up petals?
"Shouto?"
The ice wielder tensed up and abruptly turned around, throwing the petal down again on the sink. Leaning against the kitchen's doorway was Izuku, green eyes filled with worry directed towards the other boy. "Are you okay?"
Just seeing or hearing or knowing that the shorter boy was in the same room as he was, the half and half boy could feel the same cloging and burning and scratchy feeling rising from the pits of his stomach, through his lungs, and slowly, painfully, making it's way to his throat.
He could hardly breathe, but he forced down the pain and the butterflies and the ticklish feeling along with it.
"Yes," Shouto gasped, voice hoarse and deep.
"Are you sure? We can stop studying and you could take a rest," Izuku suggested with the most pleasant of voices. Shouto hummed, the suggestion to tempting as he really wanted to crawl under his covers and sleep. And seeing the green-haired boy once again was enough to make him remember of the petals laying still in the sink.
"That sounds nice," He nodded, turning the faucet on. The sound of rushing water filled the whole space and Shouto watched as the last of the yellow petals disappeared down the drain.
Those fucking sunflower petals that sent shivers down his spine, telling him that coughing up flowers was a sign for something bad.