Chapter Text
Friday nights were by far the most strenuous, challenging your mental fortitude to deal with some less than patient customers, along with the physical strain being put on your body to offer the best service possible.
Located in a convenient little building on the first floor was the bustling floral boutique where you were currently being worked far beyond your limits. It was the end of the week and customers were steadily rolling in, new ones entering just as others departed. All arriving for the sole purpose of purchasing a lively arrangement of blooming flowers, neatly accented with variations of greenery and berry-type vegetation.
Amongst the organized chaos of traffic, you were frantically trying to assemble the perfect customization of greenery for each shopper, wrapping it neatly in delicate paper or plastic and string. Applying the finishing touches, you returned to the front counter to hand off the bouquet in exchange for cash or credit, subtly observing the customers’ pleased reaction to such an impressive display of flora.
In these reactions to your handiwork did you take pride in your otherwise mediocre occupation, serving as more than enough motivation to push on. However, it was all thanks to your quirk in which you were able to produce such a high quality of service.
Based on society’s standards, your quirk was almost laughable with how weak it was. The ability to support the growth of all types of plants, and maintain their health, titled Nurture. The smaller the plant, the easier it was for the growth to be accelerated. Unfortunate drawbacks did include the strain on your physical health, causing your body to grow more tired with excessive use.
So, here you were nearing the end of your shift in the boutique, situated at the back of the shop slumped over a worktable while supported by a rickety wooden stool. Friday nights being date night for many, you had to put together more bouquets than you could keep track of in the last five hours. And thanks to your unrelenting desire to make every customer pleased with your work, you’d gone and used your quirk on each bouquet to give it a healthy, blooming appearance that none other could produce.
It was nearing 8 o’clock at the moment and all you could think about was the sweet release of unconsciousness that sleep could provide when you heard the telltale jingle of the front door opening. Dragging yourself off the stool and to the front counter, you observed the new customer examining the display of small to medium sized plant pots on the shelves. There were no other shoppers in the store at the moment, leaving the sound of the radio playing quietly behind the counter and the static hum of an air purifier to envelope the room.
After another minute or so of perusing, the new customer made his way to the front counter, where you had occupied yourself with tidying up a few scattered ribbons from a previous arrangement. Looking up, you greeted him with a friendly “Good evening, what can I get for you tonight?”
The man had long black hair tied up in a half-bun, a calm but tired expression plastered across his face as he briefly glanced to the small trinkets on display on the counter before looking back at you.
“Just a simple bouquet, please.”
You couldn’t help but notice the fairly large scar under his right eye as he spoke. Must’ve been pretty painful, you thought before quickly responding.
“Alright, and do you have any preferences on flora type and size of the arrangement sir?” One thing you valued about your job was the reason why people came to make purchases. Although not seriously interested in relationships yourself, you still adored the thought of being able to have such a wholesome impact on something as innocent as love. For this reason you always maintained a bright personality when dealing with shoppers, hoping to convey without words how happy you were to support them in what many would deem a daunting endeavour.
“Just a small bouquet is fine, I trust you’d be better at choosing the flowers than me so you can decide what goes in it.” He gave a gentle smile and proceeded to wait as you typed in the order on the desktop.
“Okie dokie, it’ll take me about five minutes to put everything together. You can take a seat if you’d like or check out our catalogue for upcoming seasonal arrangements.” With that you politely excused yourself and headed towards the room in which all the live greenery was stationed, straw woven basket in hand. It was a space just towards the back of the shop, closed off with glass sliding doors to maintain the perfect temperature so as not to wilt the more delicate foliage.
Briefly glancing in the direction of the customer, you saw he had moved to sit down in the small waiting area, looking down at the phone in his hand. He wore a black long sleeve sweater with a white undershirt just barely peeking out at the collar, along with a pair of black, generally form fitting pants. He seemed to be quite stoic, with an almost practiced calm nature. You wondered what kind of person had woven their way into his heart without being deterred by such an intimidating initial appearance.
Returning to the task at hand, you began making an assortment of flowers with other smaller, complementary pieces of plant life. Delicately pulling each choice from their stand and placing them into the basket, you decided that the current selection should be satisfactory. Sliding open the doors of the greenery room, you made your way back to the front counter, setting the basket down next to the assembly station.
“Excuse me, sir? Could you please take a moment to look at the selections before I wrap them up?”
The man looked up from his phone, offering a quick “Of course,” before making his way in front of the work station where you were currently stood behind.
He momentarily looked over the array of flora, hands in his pockets, before lightly nodding. “That looks perfect to me.”
You smiled slightly more at the approval. “Great, now for the wrapping―is there a certain colour or material quality you had in mind. We also just added some new ribbons to our current selection if you’d like to take a look at that.”
“Unfortunately, my partner is the creative one in the relationship. So once again I’m going to need you to make that decision.”
You always enjoyed the challenge of adapting to these kinds of situations, putting something together based on little information. It always seemed to work out, so you had no objections with his request.
“No worries,” you began as you pulled out a sheet of paper, coloured with a soft muted yellow, overall bringing out the whites of the flowers “plenty of customers ask the same thing so I’d like to think by now I’m at least a little capable of making the right decisions.” As you worked with moving the greenery into place, he continued with the idle conversation.
“I’d imagine you do just fine, but I suppose we’ll see once I give it to them.” He let out a small huff, almost a chuckle as you proceeded to tie a thin white ribbon around the base of the bouquet a few times before pulling it into a bow.
“Well, nothing makes me happier than to see that I’m making people happy.” You pick up the bouquet and move to the register, ringing up the cost of the arrangement, the customer following suit. “So, if they enjoy it you’re more than welcome to stop by and let me know.” You sheepishly smile at him as he hands over the payment in cash.
“I’ll make a note of that, thank you.”
You glance at the clock on the wall, seeing you only had an hour left before your shift ends. Inwardly, you decide that you can handle a little more physical strain to use your quirk on the flowers. After all, this man had been kind enough not to be pushy like so many people had been with you today, and you even got to have complete freedom over the arrangement.
“I’m gonna grab some flower food in the back, I’ll just be a minute.”
He nods as you scoop up the bouquet in your arms, making your way through the large doors towards the back of the room.
You set the bouquet down on the workbench and bring your hands to hover just above the greenery. Concentrating, you will yourself to produce the remaining energy you can muster to treat the flowers. It takes a few seconds, but dimly your hands begin to emit a warm, yellow glow. You watch as the blooms become more vibrant, surging with life while other smaller plants become more plump, as if they had just been picked.
Satisfied with your work, with a new sense of exhaustion threatening to make you collapse if you’re not careful, you return to the counter―of course not forgetting to grab the packet of flower food on the way there.
Handing over the bouquet, you offer a warm “Have a nice evening, sir.”
“You too.” He gives another quick smile, and with that he walked out of the boutique, flowers in hand.
―――
The rest of your shift went pretty smoothly, the last hour usually having the least amount of traffic. You only had to deal with one more rude customer, which you were grateful for. Even then you still forced yourself to use your quirk on their order, not being able to deny yourself the validation of good service.
By the time you clocked out it felt as if your limbs weighed a thousand pounds each. Fridays were always like this, and you dreaded it each week. However that still didn’t stop you from doing what you know best, regardless of the toll it was taking on your health.
A long time ago you decided that no matter what you wouldn’t work Saturdays due to a certain incident which involved you passing out in the back room, only for a coworker to find you thirty minutes later when an angry customer began repeatedly ringing the desk bell because there was nobody out front to assist them.
You thought back on that time as you walked home that night, however daydreaming only served to make you more delirious, causing you to trip over a rock and stumble a bit before finding your sense of balance.
Choosing to focus on your surroundings instead, you slowly made your way back to your apartment building. Although excruciatingly painful to do so, you heated up some leftovers and properly got ready for bed instead of opting to immediately crash onto your mattress.
Sleep came almost instantly, and you remained in your incapacitated state until 1 pm the next day.
―――
The weekend went as soon it came, and once again you found yourself back at the flower shop on Monday, tying the strings of your apron around your back. The days leading up to Friday were naturally not that busy, which you were thankful for. If they were you probably wouldn’t have enough energy by the time that nightmare of a weekday rolled around.
When the end of the week finally arrived, every part of your being desperately wished it didn’t. Thursday night had unfortunately zapped you of most of your your strength thanks to a serious incident with shipping.
On these nights the place where your boutique gets their plant life from sends in an extra shipment for what your coworkers had deemed “Flower Friday.” The normal stock would run out before the end of the night without it, so at the end of your shift you patiently awaited for the shipping truck to arrive.
However, once it did the driver and you made the realization that the shipment had taken heavy damage in transit thanks to improper packaging. Cursing inwardly, you still accepted the cargo, knowing you’d have to use your quirk to repair the foliage.
That was exactly what you did, leaving yourself utterly burnt out by the time all the damage was repaired, similar to how you would be by the end of those long Friday shifts.
But you were stubborn, and would not let a little fatigue when you got up the next day to get ready for work stop you. No, instead you dragged yourself out of bed, making a resolution to hold off on using your quirk with a few bouquets here and there to save your energy.
And yet, when the time came to add the finishing touches on each completed arrangement, you decided it was worth the suffering to see the pleased looks on your customer’s faces, and the ideas of how it’ll make their night just a tiny bit more perfect.
Now it was 8:30 pm, and you were fighting every excruciating urge to not black out where you sat, that being on the old wooden stool in the back room.
You almost didn’t register the sound of the front door bells rattling against each other as another customer made their way into the shop. Somehow you willed yourself out of the stool, swearing you saw black spots in front of your vision for a few seconds before arriving at the front counter.
You still genuinely wanted to be in good spirits for your customers, so you pulled a tired smile on your face and looked up to greet the customer.
“Good evening sir, what can I―,”
Stopping mid sentence, your brain processed your lagging thoughts for you to realize the shopper was the same man from last Friday who had been extremely relaxed with how you handled his purchase, much to your appreciation.
“Oh hey, you were here last Friday right? How did your partner find the bouquet?”
The voice you heard respond wasn’t from the person you had just addressed, but another man standing next to him. In your fatigued state it took you until that moment to process his presence. He had long blond hair pulled back into a bun, sporting a black leather jacket, loose white button up and black jeans. Adorned with an expensive looking watch, rings and a thin chain around his neck, the man spoke up.
“So you’re the pretty little songbird who put that sweet bouquet together? Well, his partner thought it was just rockin, ain’t that right Shouta?” He slung an arm around the shoulders of the man next to him.
Once again, your brain running on fumes caused severely delayed reactions, ending with you standing there trying to comprehend the playful compliment sent your way, and how this man was the partner in question for a few seconds. A faint blush appearing on your cheeks, you responded. “Ah yes, I suppose I am. I’m so glad to see you enjoyed it that much.”
The man who you now know to be named Shouta sighed slightly. “He insisted that I bring him here to meet you and get another bouquet. However I’m sure you’re exhausted after a long day so feel free to decline his request.”
To that you gave a lighthearted chuckle, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “As if I’d ever deny someone service after seeing how well it was received last time. What can I do for you sir?”
The blond maintained a grin, responding: “Well first you don’t gotta call me “sir” sunshine, Hizashi is just fine. Secondly, I thought I’d get my sweetheart here some flowers to return the favour.”
He’s probably just a naturally affectionate person, you thought to yourself in contemplation of his forward response.
“Sounds good, any preference on flora and arrangement size?” You pulled up the terminal on your desktop for filing orders while the blonde continued.
“How ‘bout you do what ya did last time and make whatever you want. Same size works too.”
You finish up with the order and close the terminal. “Alrighty then, it’ll take around five minutes to make selections so feel free to browse or take a seat in the waiting area.”
“Thanks angel.” Hizashi gave a small wink before occupying himself with a pamphlet on flower upkeep resting on the counter, bringing it back to the seating area.
Briefly glancing in Shouta’s direction, he gives an apologetic look, to which you return with a warm smile before grabbing your basket and heading to the greenery room.
Once inside you take a deep breath, not realizing how shallow your breathing had gotten. Don’t overthink it, don’t overthink it.
You were never one to be comfortable with receiving affection, something about it always making your heart race for no good reason. It was anxiety that you couldn’t seem to control no matter how long you spent trying to become stronger in these situations.
Moving on, you start selecting flowers here and there, opting for a darker colour scheme for Shouta, seeming as if he was a much more mellow person than his boyfriend who would appreciate something less flashy. You figured the classic rose would be a good option, choosing the blooms modified to have a much darker crimson colour than the natural type. Accenting it with small white flowers and leafy stems of greenery, you walked out of the room, satisfied with the variety.
Upon returning you see Shouta and Hizashi had already walked up to the assembly station, talking to themselves while they waited for you to return.
Coming up to your side of the counter, you set the basket of foliage down for them to examine. Despite your exhaustion that’s beginning to become quite alarming as you feel yourself repeatedly growing lightheaded, you eagerly await their reactions; specifically that of the man who’s supposed to receive the flowers.
“Exactly what I had in mind, well done (y/n).”
The use of your first name catches you off guard, having normally been referred to “miss” or the occasional rude “lady” by most of your customers. A confused look plasters across your face for a split second, only for your brain to finally register oh right, you’re wearing a name tag, idiot.
“Lovely, I suppose I shouldn’t ask about wrapping either and just get started?”
“You know it songbird,” replied the blonde.
With that you started the assembly, turning around to the wall of wrapping to make a selection. You chose a transparent plastic, lightly tinted grey, with a black pattern of lace towards the bottom. Pairing it with a thin gold ribbon, you returned back around to lay out the materials.
“Honestly though, ya barely know Shouta but you still hit all the right notes with these. You’re pretty damn good at―wait, is that my radio show playing over those speakers?”
Stopping at the question, you look up before glancing behind you at the radio which was playing fairly quietly in the background. You remember hearing earlier that the show tonight was pre recorded because the host had some special plans tonight that he couldn’t miss. Which then led you to the understanding that oh god the host was here in your flower shop, and this was part of those unmissable plans.
Turning back to face the two men, the realization hit you like a ton of bricks, face draining of colour in the process. Standing in front of you was the pro hero himself, Present Mic, buying flowers for his boyfriend. Like a domino effect happening in your brain, this epiphany led you to connect that his boyfriend was the same man you’d seen quite a few times in the media alongside the voice hero, known as Eraserhead.
Now, you didn’t have a fear of pro heroes, because who would be afraid of such upstanding people, living their life only to protect others. No, what you did have a fear of was people who were in the slightest way intimidating. Call it social awkwardness or just another one of the many things that give you severe anxiety, but knowing how important these two men were in comparison to you nearly had you passing out right then and there.
But of course doing that would only make you feel worse, so instead you managed to steel yourself enough to stay conscious, which would hopefully last you until the end of this god forsaken Friday night.
“O-Oh, yeah it is actually. I like to keep it on Friday nights to combat the boredom when things start to slow down. It’s a really good show.”
Wait, should I tell them I know they’re pro heroes? Would that make it weird? Would it be weird not to say anything and lie about it?
Your thoughts ran at a million miles per minute while you attempted to control the fast paced thudding of your heartbeat. Why is this bothering me, it’s not like they’re not being friendly. Please just calm down.
As if sensing your growing uneasiness due to the silence, Shouta spoke up. “It’s nice to hear someone can stand his blaring.”
“Aw baby, don’t be like that.” Hizashi playfully nudges him while you resume your work, motioning to cut off the ribbon from the roll. He continues. “Well, in any case at least now I know I’ve got a cute lil’ fan listening in on my show every week.”
Awkwardly, you stammer out a quiet “N-no problem, I guess.”
Not fully paying attention to what you were doing anymore thanks to the uncontrollable swirl of thoughts muddling your brain, you manage to nick yourself on the scissors you were holding in an attempt to sever the ribbon from the roll. Drawing your hand back quickly from the blade, you observed a small bead of blood forming over the cut.
“Ah, dangit. Sorry about that, I’ll be right back…” Your sentence trails off as you turn and leave the two to tend to the cut when a hand wraps around your wrist, effectively spinning you back to face them. You let out a small yelp in shock, looking up wide eyed to see that Shouta had produced a thin container from his jacket, setting it on the counter. He proceeded to grab a tissue from the box laying askew next to a small display, before bunching it slightly and applying pressure to the wound.
“I apologize, it was our fault for distracting you from your work.” After a few more seconds of pressure, he releases your hand to open up the small container, pulling out a bandaid from it.
“Really, i-it’s not a big deal.” Somehow you manage to squeak out a few words of consolidation, feeling as if it was your fault to burden them by clumsily hurting yourself. Before you can manage to make any more protests, a pang of fatigue washes over you. Adrenaline, you presume, that had just faded after being startled by the cut and Shouta’s actions leaving your legs shaking weakly beneath you.
You gripped the edge of the counter for support with your uninjured hand, letting the erasure hero apply a bandaid over the cut.
“This idiot has a habit of rushing into fights without a plan, and naturally gets injured quite frequently.” He motioned to Hizashi with a nod in his direction. “It’s because of that I started keeping bandages on me at all times.”
The idle chit-chat helped calm your nerves, distracting you from what just happened. Unfortunately, it was obvious that at least physically there was something wrong.
“Ya doin’ alright there songbird. Lookin a lil’ faint…” Hizashi eyed your paled and slightly shaky form with worry.
“What? Oh, of course―it’s just been a really long night.” You chuckled dismissively as Shouta finished with the bandage, letting you resume your work.
This time you carefully handled the scissors, not getting too close to your fingers as you severed the ribbon.
“I mean no offense when I say this, but I have to agree with Hizashi. You look really exhausted, is this just from work?”
Your eyes flutter up to the two men, both awaiting a response with a mix of concern and something you couldn’t quite identify across their faces. Quickly looking back down in hopes of doing so lessening the growing anxiety building, you contemplate what to say next.
Do I tell them that I use my quirk at work? Would it make them stop worrying if I dismissed how dead I probably look? I don’t want to come off as someone who just complains all the time.
Finishing with the ribbon, you reply. “It’s just, you know…end of the week fatigue. Nothing to worry about.” You force a warm smile, hoping it convinces them as the obvious exhaustion in your voice surely wouldn’t.
Before the two can interrogate you any further, you dismiss yourself to the back room with the bouquet to retrieve a packet of flower food. Of course, your real intention is to utilize your quirk for what was hopefully the last time that night.
You stared at the bouquet laying in front of you on the workbench, hands lightly hovering over the blooms. With unconsciousness threatening your already weakened form so closely, you ponder for a moment if nurturing the greenery is really worth it, or even possible. They look healthy, and if it weren’t for your insanely high standards, nobody would likely bat an eye at the quality.
But alas, the desire to make people happy was much stronger than your concern for self-preservation, so you shoved any negative thoughts out of your mind and did your best to concentrate.
As usual on nights like these, it took a few seconds to activate your quirk, but soon enough the familiar glow began to emit from the palms of your hands. The rose petals took on a new sense of life with your help, even growing in size ever so slightly along with the other miscellaneous plants. Pleased, you finished up, letting your hands steady you against the table for a few seconds longer than normal.
Aside from the mildly increased shakiness in your legs, it seems your physique was otherwise the same as it was before you started. Grateful for this reality, you picked up the flowers and grabbed some flower food, making sure not to rush yourself on the way back for fear of tripping over your own two feet.
The two men were once again awaiting your return, this time at the cash.
Trying not to sigh too loudly while maintaining a polite smile, you handed the bouquet to Shouta and began to ring up the order on the register. Hizashi pulled out his wallet and handed over a cash payment. While you desperately tried to do mental math to give him back his change, the erasure hero spoke up.
“Listen (y/n), even though you might not admit it to us, I know burnout when I see it. You clearly take pride in your job but that doesn’t mean you can neglect your health like this.”
You froze in place at the sudden accusation, tonight will be the death of me. Handing the change to Hizashi, you acknowledged Shouta. “I really am fine, and I’m doing what I love so a little tiredness is worth the reward.”
Shouta simply sighs at this, letting his partner attempt to get through to you. “Okay sweetheart, but when ya look like you’re about to pass out it worries us, ya know?”
“Well thanks for the compliment, but I have to insist. This is just more important than any unfortunate side effects of the job.” You blame it on the prolonged exposure to an extreme lack of energy, but you were starting to feel irritable at the display of troubled sentiments, or maybe it was more so an uneasiness at the blatancy of it. Either way, you were glad when they finally finished up with their purchase.
Maintaining eye contact that would send you crumpling if you looked any longer, Shouta made his peace with your resistance for now. “Fine. At least promise that you’ll go straight home when your shift ends. In your state doing more than necessary would just be irrational, not to mention how dangerous it can get around this time.”
Acknowledging the both of them, you spoke. “I will, I hope you enjoy the flowers.”
Dropping a bill you couldn’t quite distinguish into the tip jar, Hizashi flashed you a smile. “We ready to rock Shouta?” He was returned with a nod, and the two began moving towards the front door. Just before the two left, the blonde called out. “You take care of yourself, ‘kay?”
“Of course, Goodnight.” With a small wave to see them off, you finally were able to breath as the sound of the door shutting and the all too common static noise of the boutique filled the room, no other customers in sight.
Lifting your head to examine the clock hanging on the wall, you saw that it was already 8:50 pm. How on earth did it take me twenty minutes to do one order? They usually take me ten at the most. You took into account your less than ideal state, and the accident with the scissors, coming to the conclusion that those events along with the bits of conversation exchanged were more than enough to set you back.
Resolving that there weren’t going to be any customers later that night, as closing was at 9:00, you began cleaning up the shop.
You couldn’t exactly remember the time between cleaning and finally taking account of the money in the register along with tips, but at this point you didn’t care.
Emptying the jar onto the counter, you looked over the haul. Loose change mostly, a generous five dollar bill here and there and what is that.
Picking up a bill that by far stood out amongst the pile, you identified that it was worth one hundred dollars. You stared in disbelief for what felt like hours, but it was only about a minute, before returning it to the pile and adding up the total, putting the money away.
The delirious state that was only getting worse didn’t allow you to speculate who the extremely generous customer was. Rather, you finished up the final tasks to close up shop.
Finally hanging up your apron and pulling on your jacket and bag, you made your way out of the front entrance and locked the doors behind you.