This time, he was the one walking into someone else's store and he quietly noticed that there were no bells to greet him. Instead, Ochako stood behind a counter covered in bouquets, all smiles and bright eyes. Her hair was tied up in a high bun, her bangs splayed across her forehead. "Morning," she chirped, bending down and setting a bright bundle of flowers on the counter in front of them.
"Hey," he said, examining the flowers. He noticed that they were mostly yellow, with a red ring around the edges, though some were without. They looked like giant balls, and he couldn't say he dislikes them. When he looked closer, he noticed the center had a couple flowers that he didn't recognize, and those were white. "Do these have any special meaning or something?"
A soft smile formed on Ochako's face and she nodded, saying, "All flowers have a meaning." She pointed to the giant, yellow balls and said, "These are marigolds, and they symbolize grief. You kinda look like you'd like their aesthetic." She moved her fingers over to the white flowers and said, "The white ones are gardenias, and they're a symbol of good luck."
"You really know your shit," Katsuki said, his voice light.
"Runs in the family, I guess," she said absently, tending to another bouquet.
"Your parents' business?"
"Nah," she said, "my parents were in construction before they died. This is more like my...grandparents' place?" Her voice trailed off, sounding unsure before she added, "Something like that. It's kinda complicated. Want a ribbon for the vase?"
He looked at her skeptically, his eyes following her as she turned around and plucked a ribbon from a glass cabinet. His eyes narrowed when he noticed something small and white on the back of her neck. "Is that a cloud?" he asked, causing her to turn back around. She nodded gingerly, a light blush taking over her cheeks. "Why a cloud?"
"I like clouds," she answered simply. "They're free, always floating wherever they want. I was fifteen when I got it done, so that was a good enough reason." She went back to rearranging the bouquet on her counter, adding in a few black roses to the mostly orange display. She clenched her jaw as she prepared the bouquet, and then fluttered her eyes over to Katsuki, saying, "These are for a funeral." Gently, she placed the bundle in the glass cabinet behind her, next to a bright pink, but smaller bouquet. She tapped the glass and said, "I made all of these special. I'm just waiting on a few extra parts before I send them out."
"Parts?" Katsuki repeated, confused.
Ochako shrugged her shoulders and said, "You know, things like ribbons and all that junk. Decorations." Katsuki eyed her suspiciously, but said nothing leaning into the counter. "So, you have any idea where we're getting breakfast from, or do I have to come up with that too?" She leaned on the other side of the counter, resting her head in her hands. She looked at him slyly, her round eyes showing a fierce, teasing gaze. "I don't mind—I do have fantastic ideas."
"Breakfast was my idea, angel face," he quipped back, "and there's a restaurant not too far from here that have the best omelettes you've ever tasted in your fucking life."
"And if they're not the best I've ever tasted in my fucking life?"
"Then I'll make you the best you've ever tasted in your motherfucking life."
"Aren't you forward?" she teased, a smile lighting up her face. She opened her mouth to say something witty, but closed it once she saw the door open and a group of men flowing in. The light in her face dimmed, and she lowered her eyes. She inhaled deeply before saying, "You should go." One of the men, a blonde with bright, yellow eyes smiled at her easily, and she threw an annoyed glare back. A moment later, a man with red and white hair emerged from the back of the shop, sunglasses covering his face. "Yeah," she finished, "You really need to go. I'll walk you out, Katsuki."
She hopped onto the counter and slid off, brushing past Katsuki's arms lightly—the rough feel of her sleeves' fabric irritating him. She let her hand trail behind her, and interlocked her pinky with his, pulling him towards the exit. She opened the door for him, a slight frown on her face. "I'll see you tomorrow," she said, placing a kiss on his cheek before closing the door and flipping the 'hello, we're open' sign to 'sorry, we're closed.' The blonde man gave a wicked smile before lowered curtains that Katsuki didn't know were there.
x
"Hello?"
"Hey, Eijiro. You good?"
"Yeah," Kirishima said, his voice noticeably lighter, "Mama's house isn't in good shape, but it's nothing I can't fix."
"I got her some flowers," Katsuki said, a small smile on his face, "They're supposed to mean grief and good luck."
"That's the saddest flower meaning I've ever heard," Kirishima laughed, "I can't believe you bought flowers."
"Thank Ochako. She said I could have them if we went to dinner."
"Dinner?! What'd you say?" He was practically giddy.
"I said we're going to breakfast," Katsuki said into the phone, pride sleeping into his voice.
"Oh my God!"
"You sound like a fucking schoolgirl," he deadpanned, rolling his eyes. "It's just a date."
"It's a date with Ochako. Pretty, badass, sweet Ochako. Do you know how lucky you are?!"
"Geez, it sounds like you're the one who should be taking her out."
"If you fuck this up, I will."
"Yeah, well I'm not going to fuck this up," he scoffed, "Remember you were talking about her last night? People like her?"
"Yeah, I shouldn't have said that," Kirishima admitted, bashfully, "It's not fair to her to make assumptions based on her family. It's actually kinda prejudice, you know? Judging her by something she can't control. Mama didn't raise me to be prejudiced."
"But what did you me—"
"Nope! Dropping this!"
"But—"
"Dropping...and dropped."
x
After realizing that his conversation with Kirishima was getting him no closer to figuring out what the easygoing redhead meant, he dropped it as well, chalking it up to Kirishima just being Kirishima. Kirishima had a wild habit of saying the first thing that's on his mind, hoping it would convey what he meant—and most of the time it did. But every once in a while, he'd say something that just didn't line up with what he intended. Without worrying about it any further, Katsuki hopped into his car and drove to his friend's mom's house, intent on assessing the damage and helping clean out whatever he could.
Pulling up, he found that it was worse than what he thought. Even from the outside, he could see that the house was in total disarray. The windows were broken, glass littering the yard and the sidewalk in front of it. He could see scraps of garbage tossed onto the lawn, and the siding on the house was ripped from the walls in certain places. He heaved a heavy sigh before getting out of his car. As he stepped out of his car, he saw a short, black-haired woman stepped onto the porch, carrying a bloated, black trash bag. "Don't worry about it, Ma," Katsuki called, running towards her.
"Katsuki?" she responded back, dropping her back and rushing to scoop the man up in her arms. "Katsuki! My favorite little artist! How have you been?" She held him in a bone-crushing hug, forgetting about the trash left on the floor and lifting him a few inches off of his feet. "You're so thin! Have you been eating?!" She set him on his feet and frowned, only now noticing that she was a few inches shorter than him. She scrunched her eyebrows together and said, "If I find out that you are not eating Katsuki Bakugo so help me God…!"
"You're worse than my actual mother!" he said, tossing his hands in the air. Rolling his eyes, he picked up the bag and said, "I eat three times a day, all homemade, organic shit from the overpriced grocery store a few blocks away from my apartment. Super healthy shit, too." He looked around for a moment before asking, "Where's the dog?"
She gave him a stern look before her face broke out into a smile, "That's my boy!" She pointed towards a large trash can in front of the house before disappearing back inside, bringing out a new bag of trash. "It's a mess inside, but Ei and I would love your help."
She wasn't kidding when she said it was a mess. It looked as if a storm passed through the small house and tore everything off of the walls, knocking down everything it came in contact with. The walls had holes in them, tiny shards of glass littered the floor, the couch was cut and its' stuffing thrown around haphazardly. The television was missing—he assumed it was either stolen or the Kirishima's got rid of it already—and the glass tables were nothing more than metal table legs and worn out seats. It was jarring to see a place where he spent most of his teenage years in such disarray. He remembered Eijiro's mom being particularly uptight when it came to cleanliness, so to see glass and fluff scattered all over the floor shook him.
"They really did a number on us, huh?" she said, breaking the silence. "Ei's upstairs finishing up his room—he was working on the basement before and we actually got it pretty clean down there. I still need help in here and in the kitchen."
"What happened?" Katsuki asked, letting his hand rest on her shoulder.
She looked down, her wide, dark eyes filled with something he'd never seen before in her—regret. She bit her lip, a trait her son picked up, before admitting, "I didn't mean for it to get this bad." Sighing, she sat down on the dirty carpet, continuing, "Pinky got into a fight with a raccoon and was hurt real bad." Well, that explained the lack of barking, Katsuki thought, looking around to find the small poodle. "I couldn't afford the bill and this man offered to give me a loan. I knew I shouldn't have accepted it, but I couldn't just let Pinky die, so I took it. The man came back in five days demanding so much more money that I just didn't have." Her voice cracked on the last word, and Katsuki knew it would only be a matter of moments before she burst into tears. "I come home one day and my dog's dead and my house is a mess and I have no idea if my son is okay and—"
"I'm fine, Mama," Eijiro said, walking down the stairs. "I'm fine and you are moving closer to me and we are going to be okay. Bakugo even bought you flowers. Everything's gonna be fine."
"Right, Ma."
x
Katsuki learned that his phone rang at the worst times possible. They were all sitting on the cold, hard floor in the basement, watching Netflix on his phone before a call came in, the caller id letting him know that it was Ochako. "Who's that?" Ma said, looking at Katsuki with curious eyes.
"His girlfriend," Eijiro practically sang.
"She's not my girlfriend—but I probably should answer her anyway." With that, Katsuki left the room and answered his phone with a quiet, "Hello?"
"Hey! I'm really sorry about those guys from earlier."
"They didn't seem like the kind of guys looking to buy flowers," Katsuki said, leaning onto a wall.
"Judging people based on their looks is prejudiced. Are you racist, Bakugo?" she teased on the other end of the line.
He let out a small chuckle before he said, "I had this conversation with Kirishima a few hours ago." And then, it hit him. "Bakugo? Where'd you get that name from?"
"Your card, dummy," she replied easily, a laugh in her voice. "It has a lot of information on here—you should watch who you give it to."
"So you have all this 'information' on me," he started, raising an eyebrow, "and I have none on you."
"A first date is where you're supposed to get more information on me, but I guess I could answer a few questions now."
"Oh shit," he said, slightly surprised, "forreal?"
"Yeah," she said, "shoot."
"Well...uh, shit," he said. He honestly didn't think he'd get this far. And now he had to say something or else he'd look stupid. "What's your last name?"
"That was your big burning question?" she asked, and he could practically hear the smile that was undoubtedly pressing into her face. "My last name?"
"It's a part of it."
"It's Uraraka. My name is Ochako Uraraka."
"Your name is Sunshine Tea Girl?"
"My parents were happy people," she laughed and he swore he never heard a prettier sound.
"You have any siblings?"
"Nah, my parents could barely afford to feed me, let alone another kid."
"Who were those people in the shop earlier?" Katsuki asked, changing the subject quickly, getting to the question he's wanted to ask since this morning. "They didn't seem like they were average customers."
"They weren't," she admitted easily. "They're distributors. They buy plants in bulk and sell them again. They're really...private people. I have to basically shut down the shop whenever they come around."
"So you're not the average, hardworking, small business owner like the rest of us on the street?"
"You wouldn't like me if I were average, would you?" She was teasing him.
"Who said I liked you?"
"You did. Just now."
She was definitely teasing him.
x
She agreed to meet him at the restaurant at nine fifteen the next morning, texting him not complaining that she had to wake up and get dressed earlier than usual, but definitely not happy about it. He only sent an emoji back in response, teasing her as she did him the night before. She promised him that he'd regret it—he only laughed then, not bothering to text back. Like she could make him regret anything. He was a fuckin' tattoo artist, if he lived his life with regrets he wouldn't get any work done—not on himself or anyone else.
He realized his mistake when she walked in the restaurant—she was fuckin' cute. She came dressed in a light brown jacket, her brown hair up in a bun and bangs covering her forehead. Her black skirt stopped in the middle of her thighs, and brown heeled boots covered her ankles. She waved when she saw him, smiling bright, and he noticed small, circular scars on the underside of her fingers. "You look surprised to see me," she said, joining him at a table. Her phone vibrated and she frowned, looking at it with narrowed eyes.
"What happened to your fingers?" he asked, knotting his eyebrows together.
"It's rude to ask about scars," she said, her voice light—focusing on him again. "But I ended up pressing both hands against a really hot piece of metal when I was sixteen. My daddy went crazy when he seen," she said, ending with a laugh.
"Were you close with your parents?" he asked, looking over the menu.
"I don't really remember them," she said, looking down at her own menu. "They died when I was really young—a freak construction accident or something. My uncle took me in and his extended family became my immediate family—and I'm really thankful and close to them. Family means everything to me." Her voice was soft—softer than he could ever imagine her to be. She was delicate, feminine, and for a minute, she was the only girl in the world. She glanced up at him, her honey brown eyes meeting his sweetly. "What about your family?"
"My dad's a fashion designer and my mom's a retired model," he said, casually, watching her face for any sign of disbelief—surprised when her eyes only widened slightly.
"That's why you're so pretty," she said, sarcastically. She did it again—she teased him. Her words were light, harmless, but the tone of her voice held an edge that he almost cut himself on. If he wasn't paying attention, he would've missed it, but it was there so plainly, so evident in her voice—she was teasing something dangerous. "I'd ask who they are, but I probably don't know them. Poor girls didn't have fashion magazines and all that nice stuff growing up." Katsuki smiled back at her before unlocking his phone and showing her his home screen—a picture of his parents sitting in the front row of some far away fashion show, with a younger version of him sitting on his father's lap. He watched the way her mouth formed a small 'o', her bottom lip barely opening. "You look just like her," she said, her voice soft again—melting.
"Yeah," he said, looking at the picture again. "They're in Paris or something now. Sometimes I miss the old hag." Ochako's phone vibrated, and she frowned when she looked at it, sending out a quick text before sighing heavily.
"I have to go," she said, standing up and pushing in her chair. "Something's going on with my brother and the shop." She tugged on her jacket, sending a small smile Katsuki's way. "I'll pay for dinner in two days? Yeah, two days." She waved goodbye before running out of the restaurant, carrying her phone in her hand and leaving her purse on the chair across from him.
As he pondered on the tattoo, it occurred to him that she mentioned her brother—and that she had already said that she didn't have any siblings.