Summary: It all started with a single red rose. Punk!Kageyama Pastel!Hinata. KageyamaXHinata
This will be multi-chapter and contains slash. This is inspired and dedicated to acekagechan, who posted the prompt that got me writing this story! Enjoy!
He's pretty sure he knows what to expect from Karasuno High. This would be his second high school, his sixth school in total, and so far they'd all pretty much been the same. He'd long since memorized the unspoken rules and expectations that all schools seemed to follow. But memorizing and following are two completely different things.
He's very much aware that his mere presence in the school is probably breaking half of those rules but to be honest he really doesn't care. If he wanted to smoke behind one of the club rooms, then he'd smoke behind one of the club rooms, simple as that.
He's also aware that his appearance stands out and is probably breaking a whole other list of rules. His ears are both pierced multiple times and his left eyebrow is pierced twice. His tattoos are mostly hidden by his uniform except for the one on his neck that peeks over the edge of his collar.
He's not going to make friends; he isn't even going to bother to try. People just naturally shy away from him, he's not sure if it's his appearance, the harsh glare that seems to be permanently glued to his face or his anti-social personality.
When he was younger he used to try. He'd force himself out of his comfort zone and approach the friendliest looking group of people he could find. Without fail they'd turn him away, some quicker than others, saying that he was too rude or self-centred. He used to search desperately for someone who would just look underneath his cold exterior and get to know him, the real him.
Looking back at how he'd behaved he couldn't help but sneer at pathetically he'd acted. People just didn't like him, it was a fact he'd long since accepted. He didn't need anyone else; he was perfectly fine by himself.
Sneering probably wasn't a good idea because the students, who had seemed to have come to a silent agreement to not get within a three meter distance of him, shrunk away even further. He probably would have laughed if it wasn't so damn depressing.
Instead he just soldiered on, purposely ignoring the whispers and stares that were directed his way. He was five minutes late to class but aside from a reproaching glare the teacher seemed to decide to let him off the hook this once. He was a new student after all.
His desk was next to the window, which was good because now he had something to do other than draw in the borders of his book during class. It wasn't till he'd put his bag on the hook and sat down that he noticed it.
A rose.
A single red rose lay innocently on the middle of his desk.
What the hell? Who would put a flower on his desk? It was probably a mistake. Yeah, it was a mistake; someone had just put it on the wrong desk. It was probably meant for someone else. And yet he found himself unable brush it of the desk and onto the floor.
So instead he gingerly picked it up, as if afraid his very touch would cause it to break, and gently placed it on the windowsill. It was a rather pretty flower, and whenever he tried to concentrate on anything else he felt his eyes drawn back to it.
He couldn't help but entertain the idea that the rose for him, or rather the new student. If that was true whoever had placed it on his desk would probably regret it when they actually saw him. They'd probably been expecting a giggly girl or the clique 'princely' type of guy.
Whoever left it would be disappointed when they actually saw him. It shouldn't bother him; he was used to being a disappointment.
So when the bell rang, signalling the end of class, he scooped his bag up and walked out of class as fast as he could. It was pretty much a habit to make his way up to the roof. He was surprised to find it empty, but now that he thought about it it was cold out and looked like it was going to rain, so maybe it wasn't so surprising.
He hadn't brought anything to eat but he pulled a cigarette from the pack in his pocket and quickly lit it. Smoke filled his lungs and he relished in the feeling. Pausing for a moment he found his thoughts dragged back to the flower that he'd left on the window sill.
You couldn't really blame him. It was the most interesting thing to happen to him all day.
Halfway through his cigarette the bell rang again. Letting out a sigh he snubbed his cigarette out with the heel of his foot before making his way back to the classroom.
He was a couple of feet away from his desk when he saw something that made him freeze. The single flower from before was no longer alone. Someone had braided it into a flower crown. Each flower was a different colour.
There didn't seem to be a pattern to the chaos that was the flower crown, but it was vibrant and eye-catching. And just like before he found himself unable to brush it to the floor. Had someone made him a flower crown? Had they seen him? Had they heard the rumours that were no doubt already circulating about him? Did they not care?
He did his best to ignore it for the rest of the day, but it was difficult. If flowers could have presences these ones would be looming and ever present. But that didn't stop him from carefully placing it in his bag and taking it home with him. After he made sure nobody was looking, of course.
