Work Text:
Rose Buds
Deft fingers neatly trim the thorns from the stems, the little knife sliding smoothly along to shed the flowers of blades and barbs. Red and violet and a deep, beautiful indigo, each rose is set aside to later be woven together to make the wreath before him, a wedding gift he guesses. Katsuki doesn’t bother with those details much, choosing instead to focus on the blaring of his music, the loud guitars and throaty screaming, that blasts through his headphones as he absently reaches out for another flower.
Bakugou Katsuki has been working in this flower shop since he was old enough to pick up a hose. It had once belonged to his dad, and, before that, his grandmother. It is where his parents met, and, if his mom’s teasing is to be believed, where he was conceived. He doesn’t like to think about it.
After his mother was offered a very lucrative position in Tokyo with a top fashion designer, Katsuki had shrugged and took over his dad’s shop. It would have been a waste to let it go, and it’s not like Katsuki was doing anything better anyways.
He runs the place with Ochako, who had worked in the shop part time during high school. She takes care of the front, talking to clients and tending the books while Katsuki sticks to the back, to the flowers and the potted plants and his music, completing flower arrangements for people with too much money to burn.
He’s left alone to do his job and he gets paid. So that’s just fine for Katsuki.
“KATSUKI!”
“Hah?!” Katsuki snaps, snarling as his headphones are plucked from his ears.
“Jeez,” Ochako sighs, hand on her hip. She gives the ear buds back, lips pursed, and Katsuki doesn’t miss the worried twist of her mouth. “Kaminari’s here for a visit, but you seem extra grouchy today. You need to get out more.”
Katsuki shrugs her off, turning back to the giant rose arrangement. He ignores her sigh, but doesn’t put the earbuds back in.
Denki is there a moment later, helping himself to the free stool on the other side of Katsuki’s work table, his usual easy-going smile on his face. With a low whistle, he eyes the wreath with awe. “Damn, how much are they paying for that monstrosity?”
“Ask round-face,” Katsuki says absently, weaving in a rose bud to the collection, his fingers gentle with the delicate petals. “Better tip me well if they know what’s good for them.”
Laughing, Denki props his elbows on the table, watching as his friend works. “I should hope so! How’ve you been? Haven’t seen you around lately.”
“Fine. Working.”
“Boring!”
“Shut up.”
The room fills with Denki’s chatter, and Katsuki easily tunes him out. He’s known Denki since high school, his bright personality is familiar, and Denki doesn’t mind Katsuki’s lack of response. They used to play in the school band together, and, at one point in time, Katsuki had thought he’d pursue music in university. But while Katsuki hasn’t touched a drumstick since, Denki’s rarely put his guitar down.
“Have you met your upstairs neighbors, by the way?”
Katsuki jerks in surprise, fumbling with a stem and nearly dropping the flower. He can feel his face heat, so he hunches his shoulders and scowls. “Those two idiots?”
He can practically hear Denki’s grin. “Yeah! Apparently Kyouka’s one of their regular clients! They used to have a shop uptown. Have you talked to them yet?”
Katsuki shrugs. In truth, the two tattoo artists that had recently bought the upstairs loft for their business had spoken to Katsuki plenty. Despite the many times Katsuki had put his foot right into his big, stupid mouth, so Katsuki can’t say that he’s actually spoken to them.
The first time, he’d met the freckled one out back when he was watering his plants. Katsuki hadn’t noticed him approach until there was a loud, excited voice behind him, and he had promptly sprayed the man in the face. And then righteously chewed him out for sneaking up on people.
The second, it was the redhead, who had managed to sweet talk his way into the back and was blabbering at Katsuki while he was unloading potting soil from a delivery truck. The guy had ended up covered in ripe fertilizer, apologizing profusely with a ripped sack in his hands. Katsuki had yelled at him too.
Every chance meeting since hasn’t fared any better.
Truth was, the both of them had so thoroughly flustered Katsuki, the freckled guy with his baby face and the redhead with his broad shoulders and big hands. It was better to yell when faced with soaked t-shirts and sheepish grins of two stupidly attractive men than do something even more embarrassing. Like flirting.
Katsuki was terrible at flirting.
“So, will you?” Denki asks, pulling Katsuki rudely back to the present.
“Will I what, idiot?”
“Go with me to get a tattoo?”
Snorting, Katsuki rolls his eyes. There’s no way Kaminari Denki is getting a tattoo. He absolutely hates needles. He once decided to pierce his ears, and cried when the lady at the mall came at him with the piercing gun. “Sure,” Katsuki says, smirking. “You ever get a tattoo, I’ll hold your hand the entire time.”
Denki grins. “Promise?”
Ink and Needle
“You promised!”
Katsuki stares forlornly at the little side door leading away to his work table and his headphones, but Denki is whining and gathering attention from the nearby foot traffic so he reluctantly follows him up the iron staircase. Denki, already at the top, is grinning nervously down at him. “Thanks, man, you’re the best.”
“I know,” Katsuki sighs, warily eyeing the blue steel door and the intricate letters hand painted on the the window. In his chest, there’s something fluttering wildly and Katsuki grinds his teeth against it, the buzzing under his skin irritating his nerves.
“Welcome!” comes a call from a back office, a voice that Katsuki vaguely knows is attached to the redhead. “Be with you in a second!”
It’s then that Katsuki realizes he has no idea what either of his neighbors’ names are.
Sure enough, the man with bright red hair steps around the corner, his smile sharp but warm. His eyes light up when he sees Katsuki. “Hey Bakugou!” Of course this shitty-hair guy remembers Katsuki’s name. “What brings you up here?”
Katsuki points a thumb at Denki, who’s actually half-way hiding behind him. “I think this idiot has an appointment with one of you.”
The guy leans to the side with a welcoming smile. “Kaminari Denki? Kyouka said to take it easy on you, so I promise not to bite,” he says, showing his teeth with a grin.
Denki chuckles nervously, warming up enough to stick his hand out for a firm shake. “Yeah, thanks for taking me on so last minute. I figured I’d chicken out if I had to wait a month.”
“No big deal,” the tattoo artist says, pulling out several books from behind the counter. “I had a cancellation, otherwise our books are full until October. We don’t take on too many new clients anymore. I’m Kirishima Eijirou, by the way, but Kiri or Eijirou is fine! I’m about to make you bleed after all, so formalities seem boring.”
Kirishima Eijirou, Katsuki notes to himself as he flips through one of the books. They’re bound portfolios, years of tattooed pieces photographed and preserved behind plastic, some with dates and client names. A few traditional pieces are mixed in, penciled scenery or a painted portraits. The one in Katsuki’s hand is mostly Eijirou’s artwork, but there’s a few others with a different name. Katsuki squints at it. “Who the fuck is Deku?”
Eijirou bursts into laughter, and it’s bright and cheerful like bells. Something warm fills Katsuki’s stomach all the way up to his chest, mixing uncomfortably with the nervousness, and he wonders if he’s going to puke. “Izuku, not Deku!” Eijirou says. When Katsuki stares at him blankly, Eijirou laughs even harder. “You know, Midoriya Izuku! We co-own this place. Dude, he’s going to be heartbroken you didn’t remember his name.”
“Katsuki’s terrible at names,” Denki snickers and Katsuki elbows him hard.
“Oh man,” Eijirou says, wiping away a tear. “Wait ‘til I tell Izuku.” He pauses, and fixes Katsuki in place with wide, earnest eyes. “You remembered my name though, right?”
Katsuki pointedly doesn’t look up from the portfolio in his hands. This time it’s Denki doubling over, laughing.
The guy grins at Katsuki good-naturedly before getting into it with Denki about design and placement and fees. Katsuki tunes them out, flipping pages without really looking at the drawings. He’d never given tattoos much thought, and he’s really not now, until Eijirou has Denki sat into a black leather chair and plastering the lineart to his bicep.
“Is it going to hurt?” Denki asks, visibly nervous.
“Yep!” Eijirou says cheerfully, and Denki pales. “Don’t worry, it’s not so bad, and your outer arm is a good place to start. I’m glad you didn’t want one on your spine..”
Denki turns bodily to Katsuki, eyes pleading.
“I’m not actually going to hold your hand, idiot.”
Eijirou roars with laughter.
After the outline is applied, Eijirou gets to it. Music plays through the speaker system, a strange mix of metal, pop, and latin dance music. Eijirou’s quiet as he works, expert hands filling in the dark lines. He asks a question every few minutes, easily distracting Denki from the tattoo gun, where he’s looking anywhere but where the needle meets his skin, bleeding out black ink and blood.
Katsuki just watches, taking in the way Eijirou’s hair is pulled back into a low ponytail, bobby pins keeping the rest out of his face. His eyes are intent on his work, concentrated and gentle as he goes, lining in the design with practiced ease and delicate strokes. Along his arm is a tattoo of doves mid-flight as they glide down his arms, fluid like water and beautifully detailed. Eijirou catches him looking just once, and Katsuki dodges his gaze, unwilling to look a little more and see the curiosity behind those red eyes.
Despite the new thing growing heavily, tightening in his chest, Katsuki doesn’t want to get closer than he has to.
Bloom
Katsuki bobs his head to the music, earbuds firmly pressed into his ears as he sweeps up the day’s stray vegetation littering the back of the shop. It’s nearly eleven at night, and between he and Mina, they’d just finished several hundred corsages for some big event for the mayor’s office. His fingers are stiff and his back aches, but it’s Ochako that has to wake up at dawn to deliver them to the venue. He’s only a little thankful that Mina’s been willing to help out on big orders like this if she’s not out in some far off city for her travel vlog.
So he cleans up his workspace with only minor grumbling.
He’s singing a little to himself as he goes, dumping the pile into the compost bin. It’s some top forty pop hit that Ochako and Mina like to sing together, and he just happens to like the rhythm of it.
Swinging his hips a little to the beat of it, he turns on the hose to complete his last task of the day, misting the array of potted plants so he doesn’t have to do it in the morning.
“When I see your face…” he hums, quietly to himself as he moves from one plant to the next, taking a moment to brush his hands along the ivy trailing down from the ceiling. “There’s not a single thing I’d change…”
“Um, excuse me?”
“FUCK,” Katsuki screeches, turning on the spot.
This time—what was his name again? Deku?—Deku is standing quite a distance away, his smile small and sheepish on his flushed face. Katsuki swallows, because even from here, those freckles are lit up against pink skin.
“S-Sorry for bothering you!” Deku starts, twisting his fingers together over his stomach. “I, um, I need a flower reference and I wasn’t finding what I wanted exactly online, and Kiri suggested I come down and ask you, but of course, it’s really late and I know you close at seven, but then I heard you singing so I thought that maybe it would—”
Blinking at the onslaught of words that feel like they’re tumbling around his ears, Katsuki sighs and steps past the guy, hoping the blush on his face is hidden as he steps back into the shop.
“Oh, sorry, you must be getting ready to go home,” Deku says, face glowing even redder as he takes a step back towards the open gate. “I’ll just—”
“What flower did you need?”
“What?”
Katsuki quirks a brow at him, holding the door open in a clear invitation. Deku only hesitantly takes it, stepping into the flower shop with his shoulders hunched.
“A-A buttercup,” he says, eyeing the rainbow of flowers in their large plastic vases, nailed in several neat rows to the shop’s back wall. Katsuki notices him shiver in the chilled air of the storage room, set at several degrees colder to keep the flowers fresh.
“We have a few different types I think,” Katsuki says, propping the door open and leaving Deku to the warm July air, tracing a finger along the rows and rows of foliage and blossoms. He finds exactly what he’s looking for, a container of buttercups, some wild and some grown specifically for market. Choosing three in different colors, he holds them out, the heavy blooms dipping down to Deku’s face in a bow. “These what you’re looking for?”
“Yes,” Deku breathes. His eyes flicker from the flowers to Katsuki’s face, his hand hesitantly coming up between them, stalled in the air. The room feels charged, and Deku says quietly. “Can I—?”
“Yeah,” Katsuki murmurs, and their fingers brush as he hands them over. “Free of charge.”
“Are you sure?” Deku’s eyes are green, green, impossibly green like a garden, like summer.
“Yeah,” Katsuki finds himself replying, that heavy thing in his chest suddenly blooming.
Tenderfoot
Katsuki probably should have expected to see them there.
He’s been avoiding them the best he can, trying to forget the white doves and the curious green eyes, the allure of the two of them. Katsuki’s never seen them together, has no clue what kind of relationship the two of them have. And beyond even that, he can’t really understand why the two of them have their eyes set so directly on Katsuki.
He shows up fifteen minutes late to Kyouka’s gig, so the band is already in full swing, flashing lights bathing the club in pinks and blues. The crowd in front of the stage is undulating with the beat, and they sing every word out of Kyouka’s mouth back at her in a deafening roar. Denki’s there right next to her, along with Momo, Fumikage, and Touru. Katsuki knows all of them only vaguely from Denki’s many stories, but they’re all up on the stage playing hard and fast a Kyouka’s back.
“There you are!” Mina charges towards him, her face already a little sweaty from dancing. “We were wondering if you were going to drag your hermit ass out tonight!”
“Shut it,” Katsuki yells over the music. Mina just grins up at him, and drags him over to the bar.
There’s a small lull between the sets, and Katsuki manages to catch Denki’s eye from the stage where the blonde waves excitedly. Katsuki nods back, rolling his eyes at the enthusiasm, as Kyouka starts them off into another song.
Ochako appears a second later, just as sweaty as Mina. “You found him,” she crows, and gives Katsuki a sly grin. “There’s two handsome men who have been asking for you!”
“Oh, really?” Mina gasps, looking around. “Who is it?”
“The tattoo artists that took the upstairs loft. Katsuki’s been crushing hard!”
“Shut up, round-face!” Katsuki yells over Mina’s squeal, but Ochako ignores him like she always does.
“You should see him whenever they stop by the shop,” Ochako laughs, leaning in conspiratorially. “I mean, Katsuki always makes an ass of himself, but this takes the cake. It’s adorable.”
“Aw, man, Katsuki, how come you get two boyfriends?”
“They’re not my boyfriends!”
“Yet,” Ochako tacks on carelessly, but before Katsuki can get another word in, the two of them drag him away into the crowd.
And that’s when he sees them.
Eijirou has Deku on his back, the two of them yelling along with the song at the top of their lungs. Deku has his arm pumping through the air to the beat, until Eijirou spins them around and he has to hold on, the both of them laughing, drowned out by the bass and the speakers. Katsuki can’t look at anything else, watching them move together, Deku sliding off of Eijirou’s back and letting Eijirou swing him around in front of him.
Their foreheads touch as they press close, singing the words to each other, exchanging quick kisses between verses, caught up in their own little world where only the two of them exist. And Katsuki, standing off to the side.
It feels wrong to see it, the loving looks and the lingering kisses shared between the two of them, like he’s encroaching on a personal moment not meant for spectators, surrounded as they are in a packed club. But Katsuki can’t look anywhere else, just at the two men in the center of the crowd, rocking back and forth together, their eyes alight as they dance.
Katsuki can read it on their lips, even if he can’t hear it. “I love you, I love you.”
But then, Deku begins to turn back towards the stage, and their gazes catch. Katsuki looks away immediately, back to Denki and the band, distracting himself with anything else. Ochako and Mina are screaming in front of him, paying him no mind and dancing along as Kyouka bends down as she sings, winking at the two girls. He keeps his eyes glued forward.
Except, he can’t help but glancing back, just to see.
Eijirou and Deku have disappeared, completely melted away in the crowd.
It’s for the better, Katsuki thinks, pushing away the sudden feeling of disappointment.
A hand lands heavy on his shoulder, and Katsuki turns, incensed but is met with a familiar toothy grin. “Imagine meeting you here!” Eijirou shouts, leaning in close to be heard over the music, and Katsuki shivers as his breath ghosts over his ear.
“Bakugou!” Deku greets from his other side, his curls a mess on his head. The crowd jostles them, and Deku grabs his elbow to steady himself, face a bright pink and eyes sparkling. “I’m glad we got to see you! Kaminari said you might show!”
Katsuki just nods, out of his depth, flanked by the two of them so suddenly, their hands on him with an ease that Katsuki doesn’t really feel. But he doesn’t want to shrug them off. He thinks about the sweet kisses shared between the two of them as they danced and finds he doesn’t mind being pulled into their orbit. Just for a little while…
“I wanted to thank you for the flowers!” Deku continues to say, raising his voice as Kyouka stomps her feet the chorus, her audience singing along. “They were really helpful and I think the piece turned out good!”
“Hey, man, how come I didn’t get flowers?” Eijirou asks from his other side, sliding a sly look from the corner of his eye. Katsuku sneers to cover his blush.
“You’re welcome, Deku,” Katsuki says, ignoring Eijirou’s chuckling.
Deku gapes at him. “Kiri said that you called me that,” he gasps, brows furrowed. “It’s Izuku, not Deku!”
Katsuki can’t help himself. Deku—Izuku is a head shorter than Katsuki, and his pout is too childish to take seriously. “Nah, I think I like Deku better.”
Izuku’s nose wrinkles, and Eijirou leans around Katsuki to pinch his cheek, laughing when Izuku swats his hand away. “Fine,” he shouts, leaning in close. “If you’re calling me Deku, then you’re Kacchan.”
Spluttering, Katsuki snaps back, “Like hell you’re calling me that!”
“I don't know man, it suits you!”
“Shut up, shitty hair!”
The two of them laugh, and Katsuki feels himself relax all at once. They stay there the rest of the night, at his side, singing and dancing and laughing until midnight passes them by. Outside, the summer air is warm and muggy, but he feels a little lighter as he parts ways with the two of them in front of the club. Eijirou boldly smacks a kiss to Katsuki’s cheek before he takes off running when Katsuki starts shouting, pulling a giggling Izuku along with him. Katsuki watches them go, and tries not to think too hard about the livewire zing crackling beneath his skin.
Cornflower Blue
They monopolize his time after that. Summer just begins to burn away to fall when Izuku and Eijirou start to regularly pull him out of his workshop. Katsuki is usually working from mid-morning to mid-afternoon, while the two tattoo artists work from noon well into the night, so he somehow finds his mornings taken up by the pair of them.
“And the guy just absolutely loses it,” Izuku says, rolling his eyes. “Like I’m going to drop my client to tattoo him right before closing time. While he’s drunk, no less!”
Eijirou spins his straw through his iced coffee, chewing on the end of it when he takes a sip. “We had to call the cops on him,” he explains, and Katsuki’s brow goes up. “He started trashing the lobby, so Izuku decked him.”
“Deku?” Katsuki snorts, eyeing Izuku’s scrawny waist and thin shoulders. Eijirou, he could believe, with his well muscled arms and broad chest. “You look like you’d crumble if someone poked you wrong.”
“Hey!”
“You’d think that,” Eijirou says with a sigh. “Izuku gets in more fights than anyone I know.”
“Only when I have to!” Izuku protests. “I don’t go looking for them!”
“No, they definitely come looking for you.” Eijirou’s expression is fond despite his scolding tone. “You should try to avoid it more, I’m not going to bail you out of jail next time.”
Izuku just grins. “I’ll just get Kacchan to bail me out if you don’t.”
And that’s how Katsuki finds himself, caught in the middle of… whatever this is. He doesn’t know what it is, or what it could be. But he knows he’s just waiting on it to stop, suddenly. For Izuku or Eijirou to wake up and realize, oh, that’s my boyfriend flirting with the flower shop guy.
Because there’s no doubt about it, the two of them are dating. They exchange quick kisses every so often, a quick peck as they part ways, a press of lips to a cheek in thanks. Katsuki can’t help the way his eyes track the movement of it, lingering on little details: the handsome cut of Eijirou’s jaw, the smattering of freckles on Izuku’s cheeks, the shape of Eijirou’s arms with those beautiful white doves, the blue flowers on Izuku’s neck.
They’re corn flowers, Katsuki notices the first time. It’s a soft blue, their stems and leaves twisting together and disappearing beneath Izuku’s shirt. They’re beautiful. He wanders if Eijirou put them there.
He wants to kiss them. Wants to press his lips against the flowers and the doves and whatever else he can find hidden in their skin. It’s a helpless want, that rises up stronger each time Katsuki pushes it down, each time he’s caught on green eyes or sharp smiles, each morning he spends with them as the season move and the temperature drops.
Katsuki finds he’s desperately holding on to their warmth.
Working the Irons
“Hey, Kacchan,” Izuku starts.
“I said to stop calling me that.”
It’s a cool autumn day, and the flower shop has been decked out in pumpkins and gourds, the usual decorations to bring in those customers that like to plaster their home in orange for the changing of the seasons. Katsuki is in the middle of making the ugliest wreath known to man, made up of brown flower pods and pine cones. He had sneered at it when he saw the order, but if the customer wanted a shitty wreath for their front door, Katsuki wasn’t about to stop them.
“I will when you stop calling me Deku,” Izuku huffs, sticking his tongue out at Katsuki.
Cute, Katsuki thinks. “Not gonna to happen.”
“Anyways,” Eijirou cuts in, grinning good-naturedly. “What Izuku wanted to ask was, if you’d maybe…”
Katsuki eyes him as he trails off, impatient. Izuku fidgets at Eijirou’s side, biting his lip. And Eijirou is looking anywhere but at Katsuki. “If I’d what?” he snaps.
“Goonadatewithus!” Izuku shouts.
“...Want to try that again? In a language I can understand, preferably.”
Eijirou throws his head back in a breathless, nervous laugh, running his hand through his hair. He looks up at Katsuki, his eyes wary, and it’s enough to make Katsuki sit up straight, giving him his full attention.
“We want to ask you to go on a date with us.”
Katsuki’s brows go straight up to his hairline. Without a word, he turns back to his project, taking a moment to process through the shock. They don’t press him, which is good. He isn’t sure if he’d take it well if either of them started hounding him on it. Katsuki likes his space and likes his time the way he wants to spend it. And he probably shouldn’t be so surprised. The both of them have done everything to insert themselves in Katsuki’s path. And Katsuki hasn’t really done much to dissuade either of them.
He…
He likes Izuku’s laughter and Eijirou’s smiles. He likes to watch Izuku with his sketchbook, leaning over Katsuki’s workbench as the both of them busy themselves with their respective projects, enjoying the comforting silence between them. He likes it when Eijirou leans into him, an arm around his shoulders or his waist, pressing close so he can talk quietly into his ear and Katsuki can soak in the heat, the intimacy.
He likes seeing them together, working around each other with a knowing balance, a dance they’ve been performing for years. The two of them can communicate in just a look and a smile, and Katsuki wants to know what exactly they’re saying to each other.
He wonders what it would be like, dating the two of them. Could he lean over Eijirou’s shoulder as he paints? Could he hold Izuku’s hand whenever he felt the urge? Could he curl up with them anytime he felt that loneliness, that unbearable solitude that he’s been pushing away all this time, rises up in his chest?
“Okay,” he says, absentmindedly. And then, with more confidence than he actually feels, “Yeah. Sure.”
The both of them break into smiles that leave Katsuki a little breathless.
Thick Lines
Katsuki prowls around his apartment the day of The Date, straightening everything in their places, shifting around his succulents and untwisting ivy vines from the pots hanging from his ceiling. It feels better to fiddle with his plants than his clothes. Ochako had vacated the premise not long after she’d finally gotten him into a pair of tight skinny jeans and a loose shirt that hung well from his shoulders.
His stomach squirms. He doesn’t know what to expect. For the first time, in a long, long time, he doesn’t want to screw his chances up. Throwing away his chances for university to a stupid fist fight with a rich kid was the lowest point for him. He had lost his scholarships and his acceptance just because he couldn’t control his temper.
“I would have done the same thing,” Izuku had told him when Katsuki shared the sorry story. “The guy was an ass, Kacchan. It’s bullshit that you got kicked out.”
Eijirou had nodded in agreement, his eyes full of sympathy. “That was no reason to take away someone’s future.”
Katsuki had shrugged. It didn’t matter now anyways. Katsuki had failed before he started, so instead he came home and took over his dad’s flower shop.
A heavy knock jerks him away from his thoughts. He takes a steadying breath, and opens his door.
Izuku and Eijirou are laden with take out bags and Izuku’s holding a movie up. “We tried to think of what you’d like best, and we may have asked around for your favorite take out place,” Eijirou starts, grinning proudly.
“So we brought you thai take-out and an All Might action movie!” Izuku crows. “Movie night!”
“Oh,” Katsuki says, dumbfounded. “I thought… I thought you would want to go somewhere.”
Eijirou’s eyes slide to Izuku and they exchange a panicked look. “We totally can if you want to!” he hastens to say, Izuku nodding along beside him. “We just thought you’d like this better.”
Katsuki swallows. “Yeah, I do,” he admits, and the two relax, beaming at him as he lets them inside, piling the take-away on Katsuki’s coffee table. He watches them as they take over his living room, Izuku telling a story how he once met the actor who played All Might at a convention while Eijirou sorts out the boxes of food.
“I got him to sign my back,” Izuku says proudly, grinning at Katsuki. “And then Eijirou tattooed it in for me!”
“God, you’re such a nerd,” Katsuki huffs, unsticking himself from the door and sitting down by Eijirou. He stiffens when Eijirou throws an arm around Katsuki’s shoulders, but lets himself lean into it.
“You’re just jealous.” Izuku flops down on Katsuki’s other side, their thighs pressed together. “Pad thai or curry?”
Sword Flower
Eijirou is often quiet where Izuku is talkative, babbling away at whatever pops in his head. Katsuki’s not used to it yet, the juxtaposition between the two of them. They come in and out constantly now, Ochako not even bothering to warn Katsuki of their arrivals. Sometimes they just poke their head in to greet him, and instead keep Ochako company at the front.
He hates the days where they don’t visit more, and on those, he finds himself making his way up the iron stairs and into the tattoo shop. Hanta, with his dark sleeve tattoos and pierced ears, just waves at him as he passes, not even bothering with idle chatting. In the back studio, reserved just for Eijirou and Izuku’s clients, there’s now a chair that has been dubbed Katsuki’s chair. It’s always empty, and Eijirou or Izuku, or the both of them, happily chatter away at him as they work during his visits.
“That’s my boyfriend,” they say to whoever they’re inking that day, grinning too wide as if it’s something to be proud of, having Katsuki as a boyfriend.
“I thought you were dating your co-owner,” someone inevitably says, and Eijirou or Izuku just shrugs.
“Yeah, him too!”
So there’s a day when Eijirou sits at Katsuki side as he works on several bouquets for a bridal shower. He’s quiet where yesterday Izuku had filled the silence with words and laughter. Today, Eijirou is too quiet.
“What’s up?” Katsuki finally asks, his tone a little flat with impatience.
But Eijirou just looks up, a little surprised. “Ah, sorry, am I bothering you?”
“Is that what I said?” Katsuki huffs, fiddling pointlessly with the ribbon around the base. “What’s wrong?”
“I… I’m not sure I guess. It’s stupid.”
Wordlessly, Katsuki gives him a sharp look out of the corner of his eye, hoping his exasperation bleeds through and slaps Eijirou in the face. Eijirou seems to understand, chuckling sheepishly and letting his gaze fall to the table.
“I just… I feel kind of like I’m in a rut,” he admits, and it’s then that Katsuki notices how tired Eijirou looks. He's so used to the easy-going smiles and boyish teasing. Why didn’t he see the exhaustion behind those eyes? Didn’t Izuku notice? “I just can’t get myself to do stuff. I’ll get a consultation, and I just can never bring myself to start the piece. Izuku’s been picking up my slack for weeks, and I feel like crap about it. He hasn’t complained, of course,” Eijirou says, sighing affectionately. “He’s amazing.”
Katsuki snorts, and has to turn his head away to hide his smile. It’s stupidly cute how in love Eijirou is with Izuku.
“So you’re bored with your clients then.”
“What? No, of course not!” Eijirou says, jumping to defend himself. He wilts under Katsuki’s glare though. “Maybe a little,” he admits. “I just don’t feel like I can make it perfect, you know? It’s gotta be perfect, since it’s going to be on their body forever, and I just… don’t want to disappoint someone.”
“That’s bullshit,” Katsuki says, matter of fact. “You’re holding yourself to too high a standard. Have you ever had an unsatisfied customer?”
“Well, no—”
“Then stop thinking so hard about it.” Katsuki rolls his head to the side, his neck cracking. “Instead of doing only client work, go back to painting. I know you haven’t in a while. Do some stuff you like, take a break. You and Izuku keep your books too full anyways.” He turns and meets Eijirou’s eyes. “You’re stupid good at what you do. Don’t back down now.”
Eijirou gapes at him for a moment, before his face softens in just the right way to send heat down Katsuki’s spine. His eyes are shining and his smile is small and perfect as he leans over and steals a kiss from Katsuki’s lips, tilting his head back with his fingers in the short hairs at Katsuki’s neck. Eijirou always pours all of himself into every physical touch, and Katsuki can taste it on Eijirou’s tongue, the relief, the permission to relax.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, breath ghosting over Katski’s face. This close, he can see the sharp tips of colorful flowers peeking out of Eijirou’s tank top.
“No problem,” Katsuki croaks, overwhelmed.
The Works
Katsuki has no idea how he’s gotten here. He can’t remember a time when it was just him in the back of the flower shop, taking care of the plants and arranging flowers like his father taught him. His headphones have been on the shelf, untouched for months. There’s several more stools surrounding his work space. There’s sketch books and charcoals and pencils scattered in with Katsuki’s own clutter, amongst the rows of ribbons and decorations.
Now there’s not a day that goes by where he’s alone. When he’s not in the flower shop, he’s sprawled across an old armchair upstairs, listening to Eijirou’s weird playlist and the buzzing of the tattoo guns.
His apartment has become a little less lonely, filled daily with Eijirou and Izuku’s presence, even when they themselves aren’t there. Several of Eijirou’s paintings have found their home on Katsuki’s bare walls, and Izuku’s movies have all migrated into Katsuki’s entertainment center. There’s extra clothes in Katsuki’s hamper than he’s used to, but they always make it up to him for making him do extra laundry.
It’s good, Katsuki thinks. He’s content.
The air is chilly this morning, but underneath the greenhouse roof, with the sun flooding in, Katsuki’s warm. He’s used to having a hose in hand as he moves down the rows of potted plants, watering them by hand and giving each one his attention.
And when Izuku inevitably sneaks up on him again, he only narrowly avoids getting sprayed down.
“You’re doing it on purpose now!”
Katsuki smirks and shrugs. “One day you’ll learn to stop sneaking up on people.”
Huffing, Izuku slidles up to Katsuki’s side, hugging him around his middle and getting tugged along as Katsuki works. “Aren’t you cold?” he asks, burrowing closer under Katsuki’s arm.
“Not really. Feels good out to me. Where’s Kiri?”
“Getting lunch. Will you be done soon?”
Humming noncommittally, Katsuki continues on, undeterred by the leech attached to his hip until he bends to turn the water off.
Eijirou greets them both with a kiss when he comes in through the back, and they set up their lunch on the short table Katsuki usually uses for repotting plants. Izuku huddles under Katsuki’s arm as they eat, big bowls of spicy ramen and convenience store oden. The sun is warm on their backs, and Eijirou leans heavily on Katsuki’s shoulder, dozing off after a warm meal. Katsuki finds himself joining him, resting his head back against the shelves of flowers, letting his eyes slide closed as Izuku curls into his side. He feels light and content, happy to let himself drift along with the two of them at his side.
Watercolor
Sunlight peeks weakly through the window, the frosted glass hiding them a little longer from the morning light. Katsuki is absolutely, wonderfully warm when he opens his eyes, and he buries himself even further into the heat, not yet willing to be awake. He knows he needs to get up though, and soon to open up the shop. Behind him, Izuku hums, shuffling against Katsuki’s back and pressing his cold nose into his hair.
“S’too early,” he groans, and Katsuki shivers as Izuku breath tickles his neck.
Eijirou rolls enough to free his arm from where it’s trapped between them, throwing it over Katsuki’s hip and smacking Izuku in the side. “Shhh…” he grumbles, curling up in Katsuki’s arms, his head tucked under Katsuki’s chin. “S’too early.”
“That’s what I said,” Izuku grumbles, snaking an arm around Katsuki’s waist to grab at Eijirou.
Katsuki yawns, struggling under the weight of two full-grown, clingy men. “It’s not that early,” he says, quiet in the early morning air. “Let me up.”
“Nooo,” Izuku whines.
Rolling even more on top of Katsuki, Eijirou grins against Katsuki’s neck. “You can’t, you’re trapped.”
“Kacchan sandwich!”
“Flower boy sandwich!”
“You both are disgusting,” Katsuki groans, but relents, letting the two of them wrap him up in in their arms, crushing him between them. The bed seems to swallow them, the warmth soothing, and Katsuki’s eyes drift lazily closed, sleep reaching up to pulling him under. “Better be glad I fucking love you idiots,” he mumbles, already dozing off again.
Izuku sits up abruptly. “Kacchan!”
“What?” Katsuki snaps, startled back awake. He glares when Eijirou sits up as well, completely dislodging Katsuki from where he had become wonderfully, comfortably trapped between them. The covers are dragged off of him, and the air is too cold when he just wanted to sleep a little more. The both of them stare down at him, and Katsuki’s too disoriented from sleep to understand what’s going on.
Then they both burst into laughter and fall atop him, pressing kisses over his cheeks, his nose, his jaw. Katsuki splutters, but lets them have their way, lets their lips capture his in turn, kisses warm and slow and sweet until Katsuki’s seeing stars.
“What the fuck,” he says again, breathless from the attention, his heart almost too full, and then Izuku bends down and whispers in his ear.
“I love you too, Kacchan.”
“Oh,” Katsuki whispers, and then Eijirou murmurs against his lips.
“I love you too, Katsuki.”
“Oh.” And Katsuki can’t help the wide smile that blossoms on his face, his heart beating a mile a minute. “I love you,” he says again, just to hear it, just to feel the certainty of it, and to bask in Izuku and Eijirou’s eyes as they look at him, full of happiness and love, like flowers in full bloom.