RED COLUMBINE – ANXIOUSNESS

The washing machine is broken.

There is no explanation he can think of – it broke, just like that. Yesterday it was a perfectly functioning washing machine, but now it is trash. No one did anything to it; no one has been in this basement except for him in months. It is a dusty room, full of objects he’s got no use for any longer, broken stuff he put off throwing for far too long and things he used to play with as a kid that his mom didn’t give away. 

It is also a lonely room. He comes here at high hours of the night, sleep deprived but unable to shut his eyes at the same time, anxiety-ridden and with a brain that should be resting but is wide away. He comes down to the basement only with his phone light, not bothering to turn off the lights of the house; they hurt his eyes.

It’s been like this since he was a child. At first his mom screamed when she found him sleeping near the old wardrobe his grandmother thought to be haunted, snoring next to the stacks of dirty clothes, sprawled on the door in the middle of the room. But she got used to it quickly, and instead of screaming she began throwing blankets over him, bringing his favorite stuffed toys and scattering them around the basement for when he came.

His favorite spot, though, has always been next to the washing machine, especially when it is working. His mom turned it on at night so she could put the clothes in the dryer in the morning, and he loved – still does – the rumble of the machine as it beeped at the beginning, as water rushed in, as it drained and span in never-ending circles, the smell of soap, the crazy earthquake when it centrifuged.

And now it’s broken. Useless – trash.

He puts the basket with his dirty clothes on the floor, then inspects the washing machine. He’s tried everything he could think of, and everything he read on the Internet. At first it turned on, but it didn’t do anything when he pushed the buttons, so he checked that the supply valves were open all the way, which they were; so then he checked that the supply hoses weren’t kinked, which they weren’t, either. He tried to check the drain hose, but couldn’t find it, so he moved on to the water supply hose, which wasn’t blocked.

Then the article he was reading ended, and the washing machine still didn’t work, so he turned it off and tried to turn it on again, but the buttons didn’t light up like they used to. He kicked it once, then twice. Still no use.

Nothing seems to be broken – there is no smoke coming up from anywhere, and the washing machine didn’t make any weird noises when he turned it on the first time. He’s checked everything.

One time when he was seven, the dryer machine broke. He remembers because it caused a big mess – smoke did come up from it, and if his memory doesn’t fail him, even a small fire started. His mom was crazy, he doesn’t think he’s ever seen her so messed up. He was in the kitchen when it happened, and she screamed at him to get the phone down, then screamed at him not to, because it was dangerous. But it was his basement, his oftentimes self-made bedroom – how could he not fight for it? He took the phone and ran downstairs to give it to his mom, which was when he saw the small fire, flames yelloworangered, angry and hot.

A technician came that afternoon to try and fix it, but the dryer machine was already a goner. The cables were fried, and the hoses melted. A fire tends to do that, the man said apologetically, scribbling down the number of someone that could come to get the dryer to throw it away so his mom didn’t have to in the back of a business card.

He remembers watching it all from the sidelines; the man putting out what was left of the fire and charging at the machine with pliers and a drill and several screwdrivers, a white facemask on. He remembers watching him climb up the stairs to him and his waiting mom, and claim defeat.

A blonde, tall woman took the dryer the next day, and a month later his mom bought a new one.

Now, he takes a step back from the washing machine but doesn’t take his eyes off it. He gives it another kick, just for good measure, then crouches in front of it, as if watching it intensely is going to make it work again like it should. This washing machine washed his mom’s clothes when she was a little kid, and it washed his grandmother’s, and it washed his. And now it doesn’t work anymore.

He sits cross-legged and with his back against the wall in front of the washing machine, puts the basket with his dirty clothes aside. He slept next to this washing machine when he was young, and he still sleeps with his head against it most nights. Its soft rumble has brought him back from several panic attacks over the years. His mom’s water broke in the basement when she was doing laundry. He even pinned an old boyfriend against this washing machine.

He does the thing most people would do in his situation: he calls his mom.

‘Eijirou? Everything all right, sweetie?’

Most people are surprised when he tells them how the house thing went down when he was old enough to live on his own – that is, when he tells people, which is almost never. It was in his twenty-four birthday, almost a year ago, when his mom told him that her present that year would be the house; it was far too big for her alone, and it was time he started living by himself, so she bought a small little house in the countryside, moved out, and left the big house in the city to her only son.

At first it was fine – he didn’t have to get used to a new home. But the house it’s been getting bigger and bigger in the last months, so big he fear it might swallow him whole one day and never let him go.

Adult life was supposed to be fun, didn’t it? He’s been feeling the least fun person in the world for almost a year.

‘The washing machine,’ he says, never tearing his gaze away from it. ‘It doesn’t work.’

His mom hums; he can hear birds chirping outside. ‘I suppose it is an old thing.’

‘But,’ he says, then stops. He doesn’t think his mom gets the problem. ‘But,’ he tries again, ‘it’s broken. I don’t have a washing machine anymore.’

‘I still have the number of that technician we called all those years ago when the dryer broke,’ she answers, like it’s no problem at all. ‘I’m sure he can come by to look at it. And if he’s unavailable, you can call someone else.’

‘But what if it’s broken forever?’ he asks, tugging at his hair. ‘What if I have to get it to the junkyard?’

‘I can help you buy a new one. And there are some laundromats around the neighborhood, weren’t there? You can wash your clothes in one of them meanwhile.’

Here’s the thing about his mom: she’s been alone most of her life. Her father died in a war Eijirou never bothered to learn about, and her mother wasn’t of much use, always lost in her own head. His mom went to college without knowing a soul, and lived alone through all of it in a tiny apartment with views of the sea. She came back to the family house and here she was when her mother died. Here she was when she fucked Eijirou’s father, whom she met in a club and whose name she doesn’t even remember, and here she was when her water broke and here she was when an ambulance arrived.

She’s been by herself since she was a kid – she knows everything there is to know. Of course she’s so calm about the washing machine; it doesn’t really mean anything to her. Just an old thing.

‘Eijirou,’ she calls him. He supposes he’s been too quiet for a moment too long. ‘You’re going to be fine without a washing machine. At least it hasn’t caught fire, right?’

He laughs a little. ‘No, not really.’

‘Then you’ll live.’ She pauses for a second. ‘Are you holding up okay?’

No, not really, he almost says but doesn’t. ‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

‘No reason, just asking.’ A kettle starts boiling somewhere; she yelps. ‘Oh! That’s mine. I’ll call you later this week, okay? Love you.’

‘Love you too,’ he begins saying, but his mom’s hanged up before he finishes his words.

BORAGE – BLUNTNESS

He opened the flower shop three months after finishing college.

It was a really easy decision – he found himself back home after four awful years of college, with a botanist major and completely lost. He’s always loved flowers, their meanings and colors and shapes, and once the idea found its way to his head, there was no going back. It settled and made its home inside his brain, and it didn’t let go until Eijirou put it into motion.

Convincing his mom wasn’t too hard, because she’s always been supportive of his ideas, no matter how crazy or bad. It was a little hard, getting a nice place in the city to begin the business, but once he found it the rest was quite easy. As if he was destined to open it – it went smooth as silk.

Now, opening the store was one thing. Being its owner and only worker was another thing completely.

Eijirou has never been good at – people. He knows the mechanics of friendship and how people are supposed to react when approached by a seemingly harmless face; he’s read every book there is about small talk and introductions and intimacy, and yet when he’s faced with someone new he freezes.

His mom has spent her whole life alone, and it turned out okay for her. For him, though, not so much. He struggles when a customer asks him something about a specific flower or when someone on the street bumps into him and says sorry. The first week of college he went to a club for the first time in his life with some people from class and hasn’t gone back to one ever since. There’s something about people everyone else gets but him.

And there’s something people don’t get about him. They think he’s awkward and quiet and weird; when he answers a question a tad too late, or when he stutters or when he smiles too crookedly. It’s tedious, but it’s something Eijirou’s been having to live with since he was a kid. Sleeping in the basement wasn’t a good indicator, after all.

But he’s managed fine, at least. It’s been ages since he gave a customer a paper napkin instead of a bill for the last time, and he hasn’t spilled coins to the floor in ages. It’s kind of easy talking to people when he’s in his little shop, among his flowers. A little easier than talking to people out in the open world.

And what a shop it is. The store might be small, but its contents are just marvelous. There are flowers and plants and cacti of every kind all around it, on the floor are hanging from the ceiling. Customers might ask themselves how Eijirou finds the flowers they ask for so quickly, but how could he not? Everything is in its place, just where they belong. The shop isn’t sorted by colors or seasons or time of day. For the untrained eye, they even might not be sorted by anything!

Eijirou always finds what he’s looking for, though. He’s clumsy with money and not the best at socializing, but inside his flower shop, he’s his best self.

Today has been a slow day. He’s not ungrateful by it – normally he’d be, because as much as he hates contact with other people, he has to pay the bills somehow. No, today he’s glad of the few clients because he looks like the worst kind of mess.

The incident with the washing machine took most of his morning away. He realized, half an hour after calling his mom, that staring at the washing machine wouldn’t do it any good, and by that time he was very, very late.

He didn’t have time to take a shower, so he showered in cologne instead. He dressed with yesterday’s clothes – black jeans and a shirt with a comic logo he has never heard about – so that led him to putting on even more cologne, because the clothes were sweaty, so now even the plants recoil at his scent.

(Maybe that’s the reason there have been so little clientele today – they can smell him even from outside).

If that weren’t enough, he put on two different kind of sneakers; the left shoe is brown and the right one is bright orange. Also, his hair tie broke when he was about to put his hair up in a ponytail in the bus and he didn’t have anymore, so now it’s a red mess atop his head. As if he didn’t have enough messes as it were.

There is nothing Eijirou would’ve liked more than the slowness of the day to stretch on until night – few clients to attend, few flowers to sell. Instead, the bells chime in.

Here’s the thing: when he bought the bells, he had been looking for something unusual. Not the bells every café has, or bells too loud, or bells too dull. He didn’t want an electronic beep, or no sound at all. Eijirou wanted something that sounded melodic, musical – something that he related to happiness. The kind of bells that made you smile.

He found them in an open market outside the city. Simple, metallic bells that he thought perfect for his little flower shop.

He looks up from the magazine he was reading when he hears them as the door opens, announcing a new customer. He puts on his business smile – which is very similar to his everyday smile – and prepares to say the thing, Welcome to Flower Riot!

The words die in his mouth when he sees who’s come in. His smile vaporizes almost instantly. Take on me is sounding from the speakers he put up a year ago, the volume low and almost imperceptible. Eijirou wishes he had employees so he could duck behind the counter and let them take care of this particular customer.

Because this particular customer is none other than Bakugou Katsuki, with whom Eijirou made out against his washing machine when they were in school an eternity ag0.

‘Welcome,’ Eijirou squeaks, cheeks red, eyes wide. ‘To Flower Riot. Wel—come.’

Bakugou looks at him sideways, mutters something that sounds very much like yeah ‘kay and turns to the cacti on the floor. Eijirou thinks he might combust on the spot.

There is really nothing to say about their relationship – it lasted for less than a month, and it was a wild ride from start to finish. It started when they drunkenly made out in graduation; his mom forced him to go, and someone spiked the punch, and Eijirou wasn’t aware of it, and he got accidentally drunk. Someone dared Bakugou to kiss him, and so they kissed, and they began something of a relationship.

It wasn’t a real relationship, of course. Before the kiss, they mostly hanged out after classes so Bakugou could teach him about math and whatever topic Eijirou didn’t understand. Eijirou doesn’t even know if he’d describe their… thing as friendship. They never talked about personal stuff, not before the kiss and definitely not after.

They kind of dated for all of spring break – dated meaning they hanged out more than usual and kissed from time to time. Eijirou perfectly remembers pinning Bakugou against the washing machine, making him make sounds he’d never thought he’d enjoy, opening his mouth to –

Anyway. They broke up when they started college, either of them in a different city. They lost contact. It’s been almost seven years since Eijirou saw him for the last time; he thought he’d never see him again.

And yet here he is. Panicking. This day can’t get any worse.

‘I want a bouquet of flowers,’ Bakugou says then, voice deep and rough. ‘These are pretty.’

He points to some yellow tansies, and he doesn’t look at Eijirou a single time. A thousand questions fly to his brain – does Bakugou smoke? From the sound of his voice, he’d say yes. Does he still live here? Did he finish college? Is he working? Is he seeing someone? He’s so busy managing his own thoughts he almost forgets this is his own shop, and he’s its only employee.

‘Can I ask,’ he begins, ‘what are the flowers for?’

Bakugou looks at him, then. Eijirou sticks his hands in the green apron he’s wearing, afraid he’s going to look weird if he keeps fidgeting with them, and tries to put on his best smile. It’s been ages since he tried to look this nice for anyone, much less an old fling, and he wants to slap himself for it.

Eijirou doesn’t really know what he’s expecting, but it definitely isn’t the indifference Bakugou stares at him with. He looks Eijirou up and down, huffs to himself and then turns his head to the flowers again. At first it occurs to Eijirou that Bakugou might be shy, against all odds, because it’s been seven years since he talked with him.

Then it comes to him, like a revelation – Bakugou doesn’t recognize him.

‘For a friend,’ he answers, oblivious to Eijirou’s inner turmoil. ‘She’s in the hospital. You’re supposed to bring flowers to a sick person, right?’

‘I guess,’ Eijirou replies, deciding that he’ll feel offended later.

‘These are pretty,’ Bakugou repeats, stealing a glance at Eijirou again. ‘Right?’

If he wasn’t so dumbstruck, Eijirou would be surprised at Bakugou’s insecurity. If he remembers correctly, Bakugou was the meanest person in school, all sharp words and sharp edges; if he couldn’t fix things with his fists, he didn’t even bother.

Eijirou aims for professionalism, so he says, ‘Tansies mean hostile thoughts, or declaring war. I imagine you want to wish this friend of yours your best wishes?’

‘Yes.’

‘Then I suggest another flower.’ He gulps. ‘I can make you a bouquet, if you’d like?’

‘Yes, fine. Whatever.’ Bakugou presses his finger against an arrowhead plant hanging from the ceiling, as in thought. ‘Do that.’

Eijirou does just that.

MORNING GLORY – AFFECTION

Even if he’s not a people’s person, Eijirou has had some romantic relationships in his life.    

There is Bakugou, of course; he was the first boy he kissed, the first person he was intimate with. Before the kiss, Eijirou had thought that he’d leave high school and begin college without ever having so much as kissed anyone – which was fine with him! It was totally fine, just a thought.

But then came Bakugou, swaying because of the alcohol and with his eyes set on Eijirou and just Eijirou, red and bright and a little unfocused. He was pretty drunk himself, but Eijirou will never forget the way Bakugou – this guy he hanged out with sometimes, and that’s it – grabbed him by the suit and pulled him close and smashed their mouths together.

It was a shitty kiss if there was ever a shitty kiss. Eijirou choked with his own spit and had a coughing fit almost immediately after the kiss, and Bakugou smiled dreamily and pumped his fists for having completed the dare, then proceeded to puke everything he’d eaten that day. It wasn’t perfect, but it was definitely memorable.

They didn’t talk about it. They kept hanging out sometimes, mostly in Eijirou’s house, and one day Bakugou decided that talking was overrated and went straight for a kiss. And it all escalated from then on.

Bakugou was the first, but not the last. There was a guy from his class Eijirou helped from time to time with homework, and a barista from a Starbucks he frequented that one day sat in front of Eijirou as he read the news and declared, ‘Listen, I have a thing for you.’ A year ago a friend of his mom’s introduced him to her daughter, and they had a thing for a while.

All of the romantic relationships he’s ever had have been the same: short and kind of meaningless. Eijirou knows for a fact that people get freaked out when they start to know him well – his nights in the basement aren’t exactly a turn-on for most people. So Eijirou keeps it simple. He dates people until they start to get too cozy; then he breaks up.

It might sound terrible – it is – but it’s better than having to offer explanations.

The point is: so what if Bakugou didn’t recognize him? He’s changed. He’s taller and broader, and his hair is red and not inky black. Eijirou’s also maybe a bigger mess than he was when he was seventeen, and so what? It’s not like anything was going to happen, even if Bakugou had recognized him.

That night, his mom texts him the number of the technician for the washing machine. Eijirou looks at the phone number for an hour straight while he has dinner before he calls, and when they pick up they say that the technician that came all those years ago is retired, but the company is run now by his son. ‘Tomorrow morning he’s free,’ a woman chewing gum tells him. ‘Is that okay?’

‘Yes,’ Eijirou says, chewing at his thumb. ‘Tomorrow’s fine.’

LAVENDER – DISTRUST

Eijirou spends all night awake in the dark basement, wondering what the technician’s son will look like when he opens the door in the morning.

He makes a hundred pictures in his head – he’s a young guy with wild, brown hair and huge eyes. He’s also a short man twice his age and with a beer belly; he’s a tall guy with brown skin and an accent. He’s a pretty boy, smug and condescending. He’s as shy as Eijirou is – maybe even more.

Come morning, he’s got black bags under his eyes and his hair is more of a mess than it usually is, black roots beginning to show among all the red. He braids it after taking a quick shower and mentally prepares for the technician’s son as he has breakfast. It’s Saturday, so the flower shop doesn’t open until later in the evening. Eijirou keeps telling himself that he won’t be late again, but something tells him otherwise.

At a quarter till ten, the bell rings. Eijirou checks he’s got the right socks, goes to open the door. Then freezes just as he puts his hand to the door handle.

A million different thoughts occur to him in an instant. And here’s the conclusion: Eijirou isn’t ready. He’s not ready to open the door because he’s not ready to let someone inside his basement, where no one except him has been in months – no one’s really been inside the house in months, no one but Eijirou. Not even his mom.

If he opens the door that’ll change: a strange person will come through the door for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, and it’ll change everything – the silence of the living room will be disrupted forever, and the tap-tap-tapping of the sink will be noticed by someone else and then Eijirou’ll have to call someone else to fix that, too. The stairs to the basement sound different when two people are descending them, instead of one. The washing machine will stop being a broken washing machine and will become truly trash.

The technician’s son knocks on the door twice, then rings the bell again. Eijirou envelops the door handle with his fingers tightly, so tight his knuckles turn pale white. He pleads his body to at least watch through the peephole, but he’s not strong enough to do so.

It’s one thing to talk with customers and run a little flower shop in the middle of the city – it’s one thing being no one.

It’s another thing to let a stranger come inside his house.

In the end, Eijirou steps away from the door, slowly, one step at a time, and locks himself in the basement; next to the broken washing machine, surrounded by dirty clothes and stuff he doesn’t use anymore.

Surrounded by the familiar.

LARKSPUR – LIGHTNESS

Four days later Eijirou opens the flower shop again.

It’s not a strange thing to happen – sometimes he doesn’t feel good enough, or strong enough, or person enough, so he doesn’t open. The shop stays closed for days or even a week, and flowers wither and plants beg for water, and Eijirou isn’t there for them. They always recover, though.

The technician’s company calls him a total of seven times over the days, and when he picks the phone up on the third day, he apologizes and lies that his mom got sick all of a sudden and he’s been with her all of this time. He knows he doesn’t have to give explanations, not to this person he doesn’t know, but he does all the same.

They ask him to reschedule, but he says he doesn’t know when he’ll be available next, even if he’s available most of the time. He tells them, ‘I’ll call you when I can,’ and hangs up before the company can try to convince him otherwise.

He stays home for four days straight; barely eats, barely sleeps. He spends most of the time in the basement staring at the malfunctioning washing machine, as if that’d make it work again. He reads a little. He starts tidying up the shelves and wardrobes; loses interest quickly.

And then he comes back to the flower shop.

It’s one of the perks of owning the business and being its only employee – he can open and close whenever he wants. A couple of customers knock on the door uncertainly and crack smiles when the bells sound and they see Eijirou inside. They say, ‘Finally you’re back!’

Unlike the other day, this one isn’t slow. Eijirou has to water the plants he hasn’t cared for in four days while answering impatient customers all at the same time, and he’s never been one to multitask. He sells flowers to old ladies and he sells red roses to men in love and he sells pretty bouquets to sad people. He gives a little boy a peony when his mother tries to drag him away from the front of the shop in a hurry, and it makes him smile.

Normally he wouldn’t enjoy the rush, but today he does; it’s been four days since he had human contact, after all, and even if he’s not good at socializing, he still likes to sell his flowers. People tell him their business without Eijirou having to ask about it, and he doesn’t have to talk, just listen.

He hears a man talk about the love of his life with stars in his eyes, and he tries not to tear up when an old lady tells Eijirou about her daughter, who’s just given birth, as he organizes a bouquet of rues and blue salvia. A young woman can’t stop babbling about one of her friends, who she’s deeply in love with, and blushes when Eijirou gives her a knowing look. The little boy gets red cheeked and bright eyed when Eijirou picks up the peony and puts it in his hand, and without saying anything Eijirou already knows he’s made his day.

It’s almost five o’clock and Eijirou is eyeing his phone, deciding between calling the technician’s company again or letting the pile of dirty clothes get bigger still, when the bells chime in again. Eijirou quickly puts the phone in the front pocket of his pants and looks up to find Bakugou Katsuki one more time.

The shock from the first time has worn off, and now Eijirou is just… a little surprised to see him here again, but not flabbergasted like the other time. So he takes the time to take Bakugou all in.

He looks almost the same as in high school – sharp edges everywhere you look at. His hair is still a mess of almost white bangs, but he’s got an undercut. His ears are pierced, and there’s a cut on his left eyebrow that severs it in half. His mouth quirks up when he sees Eijirou looking at him, and he raises one hand and waves a little in his direction. There’s a silver band around his middle finger.

He doesn’t dress extravagantly, and he doesn’t look like he’s going to bite you if you so much as speak the wrong syllable. Eijirou wonders for a minute if Bakugou really doesn’t recognize him or if he’s only pretending he doesn’t.

‘You really like this song, eh?’ Bakugou asks then, snapping Eijirou out of his thoughts.

‘What?’

‘The song,’ Bakugou repeats with a tone that implies Eijirou is stupid. ‘It was on the other day too.’

It’s Take on me, one of the hundreds of versions Eijirou has on his Spotify playlist for the flower shop. He blushes and ignores the urge to scratch the back of his neck. ‘It’s a classic.’

Bakugou snorts, then shrugs. He doesn’t look very different than seven years ago, but he feels different. Eijirou props himself on his elbows on the counter and watches Bakugou watch the flowers. He fingers some of the petals of pretty ones as if they were made of crystal, and he brushes leaves from hanging plants so carefully Eijirou can’t help but feel fond of him. Most people don’t care about the plants like this.

‘Did your friend like the flowers you brought?’ Eijirou asks, because if he keeps quiet he thinks he might explode.

Bakugou pauses around the cacti to look at him. ‘Yeah. Could you make another bouquet? She said it cheered her up.’

Oh. Eijirou would have never pitched Bakugou as someone who made this kind of gestures for other people, but – seven years are a long time, when you think about it. He eyes the silver band around Bakugou’s middle finger and resists the urge to ask him if he’s married.

‘Sure, yeah.’

There are little things Eijirou likes more than prepare bouquets. It’s like an out of body experience – Bakugou watches him closely, and an acoustic version of Take on me comes to an end slowly as Eijirou tries to think of the best flowers for someone in the hospital. Once he’s got the ones, he begins to work: he moves his fingers with expertise, and he puts together a beautiful thing. He takes his time, and for a moment it doesn’t matter than Bakugou is breathing down his neck, hot and minty, or that the washing machine is broken.

It’s like entering a whole new world in which the only habitant is Eijirou. He feels a peace he never feels, and he is as calm as he’ll ever be. There’s nothing as tranquilizing as making a bouquet.

‘That’s cool,’ Bakugou mumbles.

LILAC – JOY OF YOUTH

Eijirou doesn’t call the technician, and Bakugou doesn’t stop coming to the flower shop.

He comes almost every day at seven pm, sometimes earlier, sometimes later, and they don’t talk about much when he visits. He spends twenty bucks in a bouquet most days, though sometimes he just buys a single rose and that’s it.

There are a lot of things Eijirou would like to ask, though he fears that if he gets too personal Bakugou will stop coming – and it’s funny, because usually he’s the one that doesn’t like to get into details about the people he dates; not that he’s dating Bakugou.

Eijirou wants to know about this person he brings the flowers to, and he wants to ask if he’s dating them. Are they a boy, or a girl? Are they very sick? The questions float around his head day and night, and sometimes he can’t even sleep because of them.

‘Are you doing fine?’ his mom asks him one day at night when she finally calls. She’s got some friends over, but she told him she remembered about him when they were talking about sons and figured she’d call. ‘Has the technician already fixed the washing machine?’

‘I’m fine,’ Eijirou tells her, and he surprises himself at how true it sounds. Two weeks ago he’d been at the border of a panic attack because of the washing machine, and now he didn’t even feel particularly bad when he went down to the basement and saw the piles of dirty clothes, the turned off washing machine. He doesn’t feel bad, either, when he lies to his mom, ‘They came last week to fix it.’

He’s been looking on the Internet for laundromats near the area to go wash his clothes, because the other day he ran out of clean socks and now he doesn’t wear any with his sneakers, which feels all sorts of weird.

A part of his brain tells him that this is not quite all right – he shouldn’t be feeling like this just because an old crush (because before they kissed Eijirou definitely had the hots for Bakugou) has come into his life again. But the routine makes him feel a little bit better, so what? At least he’s fine. It could be worse – he could be doing drugs or drinking himself stupid. This doesn’t harm anyone.

*

Later that evening, Bakugou comes again to the shop.

He’s wearing blue jeans and a long sleeved dark green shirt, and he looks so handsome Eijirou almost spits the water he was drinking all over the counter. He’s cut his hair a little, and a new piercing seems to have found its home in his left ear.

‘Hi,’ Eijirou says, wiping some water off his chin with the back of his hand. ‘Welcome to—’

‘Listen,’ Bakugou says, cutting straight to the chase. He looks a little sweaty – a little nervous. ‘Come with me to the hospital.’

‘Um.’ Eijirou looks behind Bakugou, where an old lady is picking at some plants. She eyes them curiously, but loses interest quickly.

Bakugou takes a step forward and almost bumps into the counter. ‘My friend is sick,’ he says, eyes wide and red. ‘She’s – she’s been asking me about the flower guy. I mean, you.’ Now he laughs manically, making Eijirou (and the old lady) recoil. ‘Fuck, I don’t even know your fucking name.’

Eijirou could have thought a million things at the moment, but all his head is able to process is – there he is. The Bakugou he knew in school; curses all the way. He sounds angry and desperate and furious all at the same time, and by the look on his face, Eijirou would bet anything that Bakugou would kill to punch someone right now.

And then: Bakugou really doesn’t recognize him.

‘I’ll buy all the flowers in the damn shop,’ Bakugou adds, burying his hands in his hair, disheveling it. ‘I’ll buy you dinner if that’s what you want.’

‘I’ll go,’ Eijirou says impulsively. He knows he’s going to regret it; sooner rather than later. But he looks at Bakugou again and – how could he deny him? He hates himself a little at how willing he is, but. Like he said: there are worst things.

Bakugou’s eyes light up like a Christmas tree. ‘You will?’

There are moments like this – defining. You can say something and, if you don’t, you’ll never be able to say it ever again. Eijirou looks into Bakugou’s eyes and he remembers his broken washing machine and the way he hid from the technician’s son when he came to fix it. He could’ve let him in, but he didn’t. He can say something, or he can’t.

‘Yeah,’ he says. Then, ‘But I’ll hold you to that dinner.’

MARIGOLD – DESPAIR

Eijirou finds himself doing the thing he hates the most: asking questions.

He feels like a little stalker. And he can’t absolutely believe that Bakugou doesn’t remember him, not even a little. When he tells him, ‘My name’s Kirishima Eijirou, by the way,’ Bakugou doesn’t even bat an eye. He replies, ‘Mine’s Katsuki,’ and being allowed to call him by his given name – Bakugou so casually giving him permission – makes him dizzy.

‘Do you smoke?’ Eijirou asks him once on their way to the hospital, and Bakugou looks at him with as if he were crazy.

He points to his chest. ‘I don’t,’ he says, almost offended.

Eijirou puts his hands up in surrender, bumping into a man. ‘Sorry,’ he says, then to Bakugou: ‘You sound like you do.’

He also learns that Bakugou doesn’t have a boyfriend or a girlfriend, that he’s been living here since he ended college a few years ago and that he works in his father’s repair company because he couldn’t find any job when he came back, and he’s stuck to it ever since because he actually likes it.

Eijirou’s asked questions, too, and for the first time in his life he doesn’t mind answering them. He doesn’t panic when Bakugou asks him about his parents and Eijirou tells him that he doesn’t have a father and his mother was never really there; he tells Bakugou the reason he decided to open the flower shop unprompted, and they both laugh behind their hands when a guy with green, fluffy hair they don’t know slips on the wet floor and falls face first.

They have such a good time that Eijirou almost forgets the reason they are together – when they arrive at the hospital the mood darkens, and Eijirou can’t help but stop in his tracks for a second, prepare himself for what he’s going to encounter. For all his questions, he hasn’t asked any about the girl he’s going to meet.

Panic settles deep in his stomach, and Eijirou’s about to bolt in the opposite direction when Bakugou wraps his fingers around Eijirou’s wrist gently; far too gently for someone like Bakugou, who’s all fire and explosions and anger.

‘She just wants to meet you,’ he says, his voice just above a whisper. Eijirou bites his lip and nods, and then they are walking again.

No one he’s known has ever been in the hospital; his grandparents died before he was ever born, and his mom’s never been so sick as to need to be hospitalized. However, he doesn’t likes hospitals; the smell of medicine and disinfectant make him nauseous, and he feels his eyes water every time he sees a sick person walking around the halls or accidentally looks inside a room and watches a bedridden patient.

Bakugou doesn’t seem to enjoy it much, either. He walks with his hands deep in his pockets and his head turned down. It looks like he’s been here enough times to know the way without looking at the room numbers or the signs pointing to different wards.

They slow down when they see two guys talking in too loud whispers outside one of the rooms. One of them has blond hair, the other purple, and they seem to be discussing someone, though Eijirou can’t be sure – the purple haired guy is stroking the blond guy’s cheek with his knuckles, and the blond guy has his fingers wrapped around the purple haired guy’s wrist as if his life depended on it.

‘You took too long,’ the purple haired guy says when they approach without even turning around, so at first Eijirou thinks he’s talking to the blond guy, but Bakugou snorts in response.

Eijirou puts his hands in his pockets to stop himself from fidgeting. When he realizes they are here, the blond guy wipes his eyes and tries to smile, but it falls short. They don’t introduce themselves, so Eijirou doesn’t introduce himself, either. Easier that way, then – he wants to get out of the hospital as soon as possible.

‘That’s all you’ve got to say?’ the purple haired guy says to Bakugou, letting go of the other boy and facing them for the first time. He looks like he hasn’t slept in weeks, more unkempt that Eijirou has ever found himself, and he also looks ready to begin throwing punches. ‘A snort?’

‘Hitoshi,’ the blond guy whispers to no effect.

‘I brought him, didn’t I?’ Bakugou spits back. ‘Go fuck yourself.’

At that, the purple haired guy – Hitoshi – flushes red, furious. He takes a step towards Bakugou. ‘Say that again.’

‘Go,’ Bakugou whispers, smug, ‘fuck yourself.’

Here’s the thing: if there’s something Eijirou loathes more than people socializing, that is people fighting. There are a whole lot of things he could’ve done in that instant: stop the fight before it was too late like the blond guy was trying to do would be the most logical thing to do, for example. But Eijirou has never been a very logical person, so he presses himself against the door to their left slowly and, once he finds the door handle, sneaks inside.

He closes the door quickly but without making a sound. The room he’s in is quiet and luminous, and when Eijirou turns around, a girl with short, pink hair is lying on the bed with her eyes closed. Eijirou startles when he sees her, and he prays to gods he doesn’t even believe in that this is Bakugou’s friend and not a random patient, because if she isn’t the girl he was talking about, Eijirou is going to spontaneously combust.

If the girl were conscious, he would definitely not do this, but because she isn’t, Eijirou approaches the bed slowly. She’s very pretty, Eijirou can’t help but notice. Her arm is hooked to an IV, and she looks almost dead in the bed. He takes another step and sits in the armchair near the bed, fidgets with the hem of his t-shirt.

She wanted to meet him, right? Eijirou looks around the room and smiles from ear to ear when he sees the bouquets he’s made for Bakugou for the last two weeks. Some of the flowers are withering and some are already dead, but they are all here: flowers of every shape and color imaginable, displayed in this hospital room.

Carefully, Eijirou turns her hand a little to see her name in the hospital band: Mina. Eijirou makes a mental note to check out the number of the room so he can bring her more flowers himself sometime. He’ll leave the address to his shop too, in case she gets out of the hospital and can come see him.

Bakugou and the other guy are still outside, talking too loud for Eijirou to really ignore, but he concentrates on Mina anyway. She looks kind of familiar. He doesn’t know if he should wake her up or let her sleep – she wanted to meet him, but she’s sick. She should rest, right? Eijirou can scribble something down and leave it for her to read later when she’s up.

He was never very lucky, though.

Suddenly, she gasps very loudly, startling both him and the boys outside the door, for they go silent all of a sudden. She puts her hands against her chest and stares at the ceiling, then at Eijirou, with huge eyes. ‘Jesus,’ she says, breathing heavily, ‘fuck.’

Eijirou’s a second away from shrieking, calling a nurse and running away as fast as he can when Mina starts laughing. It occurs to him now that maybe he should have asked Bakugou the reason she’s hospitalized. Maybe she’s crazy or something.

‘I thought you were Bakugou,’ she says, now breathing normally. ‘I was holding my breath – playing dead. He gets freaked out when I am lying in bed quiet. Always assumes the worst.’

He doesn’t know what to say, so he doesn’t say anything. It sounds… it sounds a little cruel, to be honest, but he’s not about to say that to a sick person.

She continues, ‘I’ll try it again later. He’s fighting with Shinsou again, right?’ Eijirou doesn’t know who Shinsou is, but he assumes it’s the purple haired guy, so he nods. ‘Those boys.’ Mina shakes her head and closes her eyes for a millisecond. ‘How are you?’

‘I’m Kirishima,’ he tells her, a little flabbergasted. ‘A pleasure to meet you.’

‘Oh, enough with pleasantries. I know who you are!’

Because of Bakugou, Eijirou thinks. Again: wrong. ‘Bakugou talks about me?’

Mina grins, showing all her teeth. ‘Bakugou talks a lot about you, but he doesn’t seem to remember you. Don’t you remember me? From school?’ Eijirou opens his eyes wide, then squints in her direction. She does look familiar, but… ‘Imagine me with longer, brown hair and with more color in my skin – I’m quite pale nowadays. Ashido Mina? C’mon!’

‘I don’t—oh.’

Mina laughs at his realization, bright and merry. Eijirou decides that he’s never going to blame Bakugou again for not remembering him, because the same thing’s happened to him. He looks at Mina, her pink hair and wide eyes and freckles, and thinks – how he not have remembered her? She looks the same, only sicker.

‘Bakugou talked about you when he brought me the first bouquet,’ she says, unprompted. ‘It sounded just like the Kirishima I knew from school, but he wouldn’t ask for your name, so I played my sick card to bring you to me.’

‘You’re sick,’ he mumbles, shocked. She sounds like the Mina he knew in school; happy and without a care in the world, and yet she’s here: bedridden in a hospital, probably dying. He really, really regrets not asking Bakugou beforehand.

Mina shrugs like it’s not a big deal. ‘I’ve been here before,’ she says. ‘I’ll get out again, don’t worry. But tell me about yourself. What is your life?’

They were never really friends in school, but Mina was one of the few people Eijirou enjoyed spending time with. He thinks, looking back, that she took pity on him – he was alone most of the time, and when he wasn’t he was with Bakugou, the impersonation of hell, so when teachers asked them to get in pairs or groups, Mina was always there waving at him with a smile on her face. He didn’t know her well, but he knew her enough. And Eijirou supposes it’s the same way around.

Also, Mina was one of the people that dared Bakugou to kiss him.

‘Don’t look at me like I’m dying, because I’m not,’ Mina tells him. ‘I’m serious, I’m not. Tell me about you before they come back,’ she says, nodding at the door.

And how could he not? Once Eijirou opens his mouth, he can’t close it.

EDELWEISS – COURAGE

One of us by Joan Osborne is on the speakers, louder than Eijirou usually puts the music, and he doesn’t think he’s ever been happier.

‘I don’t know what you like so much about this music,’ Bakugou comments, sticking a piece of pastry inside his mouth and spilling sugar everywhere. ‘It’s depressing as shit.’

It’s been two weeks since he and Mina met, and Eijirou goes to see her at the hospital almost every day after he closes Flower Riot at night. Nurses already know him by name, and he knows his way to Mina’s room like the back of his palm – he could get there with his eyes closed.

Bakugou still doesn’t recognize him, but he comes to the flower shop every week too, to buy flowers or simply chat a little. Sometimes he brings food like today – sugary pastries with chocolate or strawberry jam – and sometimes he comes with the promise of a beer after Eijirou’s shift is over. He isn’t really sure at which point everything changed – the moment they stopped being strangers and became friends – but Eijirou couldn’t be happier.

He’s also met Mina’s friends, Shinsou Hitoshi and Kaminari Denki and a girl named Tsuyu Asui that Eijirou has the feeling is dating Mina. They are at the hospital with her most of the time, and even if Bakugou and Shinsou pretend to hate each other, Eijirou notices the way they look at each other when the other isn’t looking.

Mina told him they all met in college. She and Bakugou ended up in the same college by accident, and there they met the rest, and everything else is history. Mina tells him anecdotes and funny stories about the group when Eijirou comes visit her at the hospital.

And she looks better as the days go by. Eijirou still hasn’t asked why she’s in the hospital because he’s too afraid to know the answer, but she was right that first day: she’s going to be fine. At least, that’s what the doctors have been telling her lately.

‘It’s good music,’ Eijirou retorts, wiping the sugar from the counter with his hands. Today’s a slow day – it’s raining outside, so that means no customers. No one wants to carry flowers in the rain, unless you’re in a Colin Firth movie. ‘You just have no taste.’

 Bakugou doesn’t dignify that with an answer, so Eijirou presses on, ‘What music would you put on?’

‘Lemon,’ Bakugou replies instantly, with pastry still in his mouth. ‘Kenshi Yonezu. That’s good music.’

Eijirou fetches his phone from the back, opens YouTube and looks for the song. Bakugou looks supremely smug when the song starts, and when the song is halfway Eijirou can say with certainty, ‘And you think my music is depressing?’

‘Shut up,’ Bakugou laughs, pushing Eijirou lightly. A woman soaked up comes in, and Eijirou gets to business. After all, he’s still running a store.

Eijirou isn’t aware of it yet, but something inside him has changed.

Once the woman is gone he goes back to his place behind the counter, where Bakugou is still eating pastries. He’s scrolling down his phone, very concentrated. His eyebrows are bunched up almost in the middle, and his eyes move almost frantically. Eijirou looks at him unashamedly, unabashedly, and considers telling Bakugou that they already knew each other before he stepped in the flower shop weeks ago.

‘Look at this loser,’ Bakugou snorts, showing Eijirou a video of someone tripping and falling face-first to the floor.

How would he react? Eijirou has spent sleepless nights thinking about it, texting Mina about him. He doesn’t think Bakugou would react badly, but at first maybe he’d be angry that Eijirou didn’t tell him sooner. Although, there is another, more important question Eijirou hasn’t been able to take off his mind for weeks – would Bakugou miss the days of their almost-relationship as much as Eijirou does?

Not the not-talking and only kissing bit, but the what-could-have-been bit. Eijirou remembers being seventeen and head over heels for Bakugou, loud and rude and mean and beautiful – feeling hot all over every time his hand brushed against Bakugou’s, the taste of his lips. He’d thought that he was well over it, but now that he’s encountered Bakugou one more time, he wants to know all of him all over again.

‘You’ll come tonight?’ Bakugou asks him all of a sudden, startling Eijirou out of his reverie. ‘You better bring something to drink,’ he adds before Eijirou has a chance to answer. ‘I can’t be with Kaminari and his stupid boyfriend for so long without a drink.’

Eijirou smiles – he doesn’t even feel nervous about meeting a bunch of people tonight. He doesn’t feel nervous at all. He says, ‘Only if you ask nicely.’

*

It was Mina’s idea.

She was the one that organized everything, which is to say: asked permission to the nurses. Normally they wouldn’t let non-patients stay in the hospital after visiting hours, but Mina’s been here so many times that they’ve got a soft spot for her. It doesn’t take Mina longer than ten minutes to convince them. Also, they have to be very quiet. Also, it’s Mina’s birthday. It wasn’t exactly difficult to persuade the nurses.

It’s a small gathering – only the usual group plus Mina’s parents, though they leave pretty early. There’s a cake and water and hot-dogs and that’s about it, because after all they are still in a hospital. That is, until Kaminari – of all people – gets a tequila bottle out of his backpack.

‘No fair!’ Mina screams, crossing her arms over her chest. ‘I can’t drink.’

‘I won’t drink with you,’ Tsuyu assures her, kissing her cheek.

That was an hour ago. Now everyone – except Mina; including Tsuyu – is drunk and almost delirious. The nurses have come to ask them to low their voices at least three times, and at least three times they’ve failed at doing what was asked. The cake is completely gone, and the bottle of tequila is about to face the same fate.

‘I have work tomorrow early,’ Kaminari murmurs, sitting against the wall and with his legs over Shinsou’s. They are holding hands, and Eijirou has learned today that they’ve been together since they finished high school. ‘I’m going to be so hungover.’

‘I’m not,’ Mina retorts, sticking her tongue at him.

It’s that time of the party – the quiet time. They pass the bottle of tequila around and slowly take small sips before passing it to other person. No one speaks too much now; whereas they were loud and messy before, now they are silent and calm. Eijirou takes his time watching the faces of everyone in the room, the emotions displayed in them. He wasn’t invited to many parties when he was in college; this is kind of new to him.

He watches in silence, almost as if he were invisible. He watches Tsuyu and Mina lying in the hospital bed, hip to hip and leg to leg and shoulder to shoulder, whispering secrets from time to time and giggling quietly to the other, kissing when they think no one will notice. He watches Kaminari and Shinsou, touching too but in a different way, in a more intimate way – Shinsou draws circles over the back of Kaminari’s hand gently, touches his face with the tips of his fingers and looks at him like he hung the moon, while Kaminari comes closer and closer to him as if to merge into one person.

Eijirou watches Bakugou, drunk and lying on an uncomfortable, green couch, as far away from the rest of them as possible. He watches the way his nose scrunches when someone says something funny but doesn’t laugh; how he pushes his hair away from his forehead from time to time; the way he rubs one of his ear piercings when he’s trying to figure out what to say when someone asks something.

And Bakugou watches him, too. Their eyes meet somewhere in the middle ad neither of them bothers to look away. They are having a conversation, though no words are being spoken. It almost feels like standing naked in the middle of a hall, though now only Bakugou can see him.

He wants to say something, but he doesn’t know what. It’s been a long while since he was drunk for the first time – away from all his doubts and fears and whatnot. He wants to press himself against Bakugou like they did seven years ago, wants to kiss him like the world is about to end. He’s not afraid, Eijirou realizes with a start.

He’s not afraid anymore. If he was a little braver, if he had a little more courage, he’d take Bakugou’s hand right now and walk him to his house. He’d say, ‘No one’s been here apart from me in months,’ and then he’d drag Bakugou inside. He wants to be different tonight. He wants to be another person completely tonight.

Bakugou stands up then, swaying a little. He opens his mouth, hiccups and says, ‘I’m going home.’

Eijirou thinks: I can say something now, or never. So he says, ‘I’ll go with you.’

Kaminari and Shinsou hum their goodbyes; Tsuyu is already asleep. But Mina looks at Eijirou with intensity in her big eyes, a smile that means a thousand things all in one. Eijirou smiles back.

Outside, they don’t say anything. Nurses give them strange looks as they pass, but that’s about it. The walls and floor and ceiling are too white, and Bakugou walks in zigzags and Eijirou does too. He doesn’t think he’s ever been this drunk – not even in graduation night – and he feels like he could do anything he proposes. He could fly to the moon, if he so desired.

Bakugou bumps into him, and by the smirk on his face is intentional. Eijirou bumps his shoulder against Bakugou’s, and the next thing he knows is that he’s slipping on the floor.

Before he can hit the floor, though, Bakugou grabs him by the front of the shirt and pulls Eijirou towards him. Eijirou tries to catch himself, but the force of Bakugou’s pull sends him colliding against Bakugou, and he’s not strong enough (not now) to hold them both, so they end up pressed together, Bakugou’s back against a door.

They are both breathing heavily, adrenaline pumping through their systems. One of Bakugou’s hand is still grabbing Eijirou’s shirt, meanwhile the other is holding him by the waist, hot over the fabric of his jeans. Eijirou’s palms are pressed against Bakugou’s chest, and he can feel his heart over his skin, beating fast as a rabbit.

Seven years – it’s been seven years since they were this close. Maybe it’s that he’s changed or maybe it’s the alcohol coursing through his veins, but Eijirou inches himself closer and closer until he can smell Bakugou’s cologne, his sweat, everything of him. He wants to put his teeth to Bakugou’s skin, open his shirt and undress him right now in this hospital hall.

Bakugou lets go of his shirt and holds his breath, eyes not leaving Eijirou’s. His hand hovers over Eijirou’s cheek, so close Eijirou feels its heat. Bakugou opens his mouth, rosy lips and white teeth and pink tongue, but in the end he closes it again. Kiss me, Eijirou thinks. Kiss me again. Kiss me and never stop.

Eijirou presses his thumb against Bakugou’s throat, making him close his eyes. His breath smells of cake and tequila and something foreign, something Eijirou cannot decipher, but he does not care. He licks his lips, open his mouth, inches ever so closer, goes for the kiss—

A nurse’s heels tap-tap-tapping on the floor are heard, and just like that the moment is gone. Bakugou pushes Eijirou away harshly, almost to the floor. He says, ‘Fuck.’ He looks at Eijirou, wide-eyed and rosy-cheeked, and says again, ‘Fuck.’

And then he’s gone.

FERN – SINCERITY

So. Eijirou spends the night next to his broken washing machine.

Needless to say, he doesn’t open the flower shop the next day. His brain doesn’t stop repeating the scene from the hospital with Bakugou like a very bad movie – the way their bodies were pressed together, how Bakugou’s hand hovered over Eijirou’s skin but never touched it, not even once.

He’s… Eijirou doesn’t know what he feels like. Disappointed, yes – he was pretty sure Bakugou would kiss him; muttering some curse words and running away wasn’t definitely something Eijirou thought would happen. If anything, he should’ve been the one doing the muttering and running, not the other way around.

There’s also shame and embarrassment and anger, because what the fuck. How is he supposed to talk to Bakugou – or any of his friends, for that matter – now that he’s been so awfully rejected? He’s pictured the image a thousand times through the night: Bakugou coming into the flower shop like nothing happened, Eijirou having to ignore the elephant in the room. Not telling Bakugou that they already dated is one thing – not talking about the hospital is another thing completely, and Eijirou isn’t sure he’s ready for that.

His phone beeps with a message from Mina. Eijirou’s been wrapped in a blanket in a fetal position for almost eight hours straight; his back and neck and whole body crack when he sits up to read the message.

                09:45 come to the hospital!!!!!!!!! urgent!!!!!!!! quickly!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

*

‘You’re fine.’

Eijirou’s up and running to the hospital in no time, and in ten minutes sharp he’s in Mina’s room, disheveled and smelling of alcohol from yesterday and wearing the same clothes… which isn’t really a new thing, because his washing machine is still broken and he hasn’t had the time to go to a laundromat in the past month.

But the point is: Mina’s fine – she probably has never looked better than today, even. She’s sitting up on her bed, surrounded by bouquets of flowers Eijirou’s arranged for her these past few days, drinking orange juice from a straw.

‘I’m peachy, thanks for asking,’ she says, slurping. Eijirou is sweaty and tired and hangover, so he surrenders to Mina’s antics and slumps down on the green armchair beside her bed. ‘You’re not looking so fine yourself.’

Eijirou moans in response. Mina hums.

‘I know what happened yesterday,’ she sing-songs all of a sudden. Eijirou doesn’t move, but on the inside he’s hearing the Kill Bill sirens, and panic rises up his throat in the form of bile. ‘Hitoshi followed you two because Bakugou left his keys, and he saw you. And he told me. So I know.’

‘Nothing happened,’ Eijirou mumbles. And it’s true – he slipped, Bakugou caught him and that’s that. ‘We didn’t – nothing happened.’

‘Sweetie,’ Mina says, voice sweet, placing a hand on Eijirou’s knee. ‘Katsuki’s head over heels for you.’

‘Sure,’ Eijirou snorts.

‘Really! He doesn’t show it, but he is. There’s… Katsuki’s stupid for not remembering you, but I assure you that he likes you.’

‘My washing machine broke,’ Eijirou blurts out then. Mina raises her eyebrows and, for the first time, that doesn’t stop Eijirou from going on. ‘A month ago it just broke. Like… I checked the hoses and tubes and stuff, but it still doesn’t work. And I called my mom and she told me that it was fine, not to worry – it’s just a washing machine, y’know? But it’s my washing machine. It’s older than me. And it’s broken.’

When Eijirou looks up at Mina, she’s not looking back at him surprised or flabbergasted or like he’s the weirdest person in the face of the earth. She nods along and keeps quiet, telling him without any words to keep going. So he keeps going.

‘I made out with Bakugou against that washing machine when we were in school. I – sometimes I go to the basement to sleep because it feels more comfortable than my bed. It was my safe place, when I was little, and it still is. And the washing machine has always been there. I even called a fucking technician, but when he came I didn’t open the door. What kind of person does that?’ He laughs without mirth, shakes his head. ‘What if they can’t fix it? What if it’s broken forever, what then? It’s mine, it’s always been there – I don’t want to change it. I don’t want anything to change.’

And yet, everything’s changed. Eijirou puts his hands in his head, knocks his forehead against his knees. A month ago he didn’t have any friends; a month ago he only had himself to go by. Now he’s got friends, and now he’s opened up, and it’s scary. He’s not a people’s person. He’s not made of the stuff of friends.

What’s more, he pushes people away. That’s his modus operandi: he enjoys the few boyfriends and girlfriends and friends he manages to make and when they get too curious he blocks their numbers, ignores their calls, pretends they don’t exist.

He’s been doing fine so far. He’s afraid of breaking the chain – starting anew.

‘Kirishima,’ Mina says now, pouting. She get up from the bed and against Eijirou’s protests walks with shaky legs towards him. She kneels before him and presses her palm to his cheek. ‘Hey. Look at me.’ Mina cracks a lopsided smile. ‘It’s okay to be scared of change, love. Especially after so long, but that doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing. Change can bring you beautiful things.’

‘That’s the problem,’ Eijirou admits, to himself and to the rest of the world. ‘I don’t want to mess everything – this – up.’

‘You don’t have to,’ she says, drawing circles over his cheeks. ‘Relationships are complicated, I’ll give you that. But they are changing constantly – adapting, getting better. Hitoshi would kill everyone that dared to harm Bakugou, and yet they are always at each other’s throats. At first I couldn’t stand Denki, and now he’s one of my best friends. We’re humans – we are always going to change; every day and every hour and every second we’re changing. It doesn’t have to be for the worst.’

She pauses to wipe at the tears running down Eijirou’s cheeks, then continues, ‘I can promise you something: you are going to mess up. But unless you kill someone, every problem can be solved. We’re a tough group. It’s hard to get rid of us.’

Eijirou gives a strangled, watery laugh. Mina kisses his temple. ‘Now, about that washing machine of yours. You don’t have to throw it away if it’s unfixable. You don’t have to do anything with it. Buy a new one, go to a laundromat – but don’t throw it away.’

‘No?’

Mina grins, then. ‘You don’t have to rush; do things at your own pace.’

*

That same day, Eijirou calls the technician’s company.

LOTUS FLOWER – REBIRTH

This time, Eijirou is ready when the bell rings.

He’s been listening to Take on me covers for the last hour, and he’s dressed nicely – jeans and that comic logo shirt he doesn’t know where he bought. His hair is tied in a ponytail in the back of his head, and he doesn’t really mind that his black roots are showing. He slept most of the night in his bed in his bedroom for the first time in actual years.

Above it all, Eijirou has prepared himself for the two possible outcomes: one, the washing machine is fixable and everything goes on as it has forever; two, the washing machine can’t be fixed and his world is turned upside down. But not to worry, Eijirou’s got a plan.

What will the technician’s son look like? Eijirou hasn’t spent the night imagining it like the last time, and to be honest, he doesn’t really care this time. He sends Mina a quick text message telling her that he’s already here, puts his phone in his pocket and opens the door.

It’s been said before – he’s not the luckiest of people.

So Eijirou isn’t really surprised when he opens the door and finds himself face to face with Bakugou. He’s wearing blue pants and a white shirt with the logo of his father’s company, and he’s frowning until he turns his head and finds himself face to face with Eijirou. It’s been three days since they saw each other – three days since the almost-kiss. Eijirou blushes.

‘I didn’t know it was you,’ Bakugou mumbles, confused. He fetches a piece of paper from inside his breast pocket and squints at it, then at the house’s number as if to make sure he’s got the address right. ‘No one told me your name.’

Eijirou can’t help it: he barks a laugh. Bakugou is dense. He doesn’t remember Eijirou by his looks or his name or his house. Mina is going to have a blast when Eijirou tells her later.

‘It’s fine,’ he says, stepping away from the door.

There are a lot of things he’s thought would happen when someone else stepped foot inside the house apart from him. Eijirou’s dwelled about it for months – but in the end, nothing happens. Bakugou comes inside and absolutely nothing happens: the air smells the same, the sounds don’t change. He doesn’t point out the broken tap from the kitchen and he doesn’t mind about the portraits on the walls.

Eijirou reminds himself: it’s a house. It’s just a house, after all.

However, Bakugou’s presence is life-altering, more so after the almost kiss. Eijirou wants to lock him inside a room and don’t let him go until he confesses whatever it is he has to confess. Why didn’t you kiss me? Eijirou wants to ask him.

‘You have a broken washing machine, right?’ Bakugou asks, looking as uncomfortable as Eijirou feels.

‘Yeah, it’s in the basem—ent.’

Oh – fuck. Oh, fuck. The basement. Eijirou pinned Bakugou against the fucking washing machine when they were young. There’s no way he doesn’t remember that. He flushes red, opens and closes his mouth like a gasping fish in his panic, but it’s already too late; there’s no way he can get Bakugou to go without sounding like a crazy person.

‘Are you going to tell me where it is or am I supposed to go look for the machine?’ Bakugou asks, and Eijirou startles when he hears the mirth in his voice. It is unexpectedly relaxing; Eijirou wouldn’t have never described Bakugou’s smoker voice as relaxing.

He gulps. ‘This way.’

He leads Bakugou through the kitchen and around the living room until they are finally in front of the stairs. He glances back to see if Bakugou shows any signs of recognition, but his face is black as they come, so Eijirou marches on.

The stairs creak when they step on them, and it’s somehow soothing. The sound is different than when Eijirou is alone – louder. It feels like a revelation of some kind, and Eijirou can’t stop himself from cracking a smile.

‘There it is,’ he says finally, pointing to the washing machine.

There are clothes piled up around it – he should’ve tidied up or hidden them somewhere, what was he thinking? – but Bakugou doesn’t comment on it. He hums in response and gets out some tools from his belt and gets to work. He says at some point, ‘You can go upstairs and I’ll tell you when I’m ready.’ Eijirou shakes his head and leans against the wall to watch him work.

Half an hour passes before the thought comes to Eijirou – he loves Bakugou. He’s loved him since they were seventeen, he’s loved him since Bakugou made the bells of his flower shop chime and he’s loved him since they almost kissed in the hospital after Mina’s birthday party three days ago. Eijirou loves him more than loves the washing machine – the familiarity of it. He loves this man beyond words.

He chokes with his own spit at the realization, and Bakugou turns around to ask if he’s okay. Eijirou waves his hand around, red as a tomato, and nods frantically. Of all times, he thinks, I has to realize this now.

‘Kirishima,’ Bakugou says, snapping him out of his thoughts. ‘The drain hose is broken – completely unusable.’

‘Yes,’ Eijirou answers, a little disoriented. What does that mean?

He might have asked the question aloud, because Bakugou answers, ‘Usually I can fix it, but this damn washing machine is older than god.’ He snorts. ‘I can’t do anything.’

‘It is broken,’ he says aloud. Bakugou quirks an eyebrow but stays silent otherwise. ‘Unfixable.’

This washing machine has washed his grandmother’s clothes; his mother’s; his. It’s seen a lot of things; it’s brought him back from many panic attacks, and its soft rumble has helped him sleep countless sleepless nights. It’s seen his mom’s water break, and it’s seen Eijirou most of all, sleeping and crying and laughing and kissing boys. This washing machine has accompanied him through life.

It’s time.

‘You must think I’ve lost my mind,’ Eijirou mumbles, wiping at his eyes. ‘But I promise I’ve never felt better.’

Eijirou looks at the washing machine – broken, unfixable, finished – and he doesn’t feel devastated. He doesn’t feel like this is the end of the world, like something inside him has withered and died. Eijirou feels like a weight has been lifted from his back.

He takes a step towards Bakugou, then another.

‘Kirishima—’

‘You can call me Eijirou, if you want.’ Bakugou could call him anything – he could call Eijirou stupid and still he’d answer.

Bakugou sighs. ‘Listen, you don’t want… this,’ he points to himself. ‘You’re far too good. You don’t know me.’

‘You know, that’s funny,’ Eijirou says, taking another step towards him. Bakugou takes a step back, one two three until his legs bump against the useless washing machine. He’s sweating, visibly nervous. ‘I do know you. You are the one that doesn’t know me.’

Bakugou pins one of his piercings between his forefinger and thumb. ‘I’m angry all the time,’ Bakugou says, ‘and I’ll probably scream at you. I’ll snap at you and tell you to fuck off more than thrice a day, and I’ll—’

‘Bakugou—’

‘I don’t deserve someone like you. For fuck’s sake, you cry over broken washing machines—’

‘Bakugou—’

‘Ask Shinsou,’ Bakugou says, laughing self-deprecatingly. ‘He’ll tell you all about me.’

‘Katsuki.’

‘What?’

‘I know you.’ Is that so hard to believe? Even if he hadn’t almost dated Bakugou when they were young, even if they hadn’t gone to school together. Is that so hard to believe? ‘You’ve been coming every day to my flower shop for a whole month.’ Eijirou presses the tips of his fingers to Katsuki’s cheek and caresses his skin slowly, gently. Bakugou closes his eyes. ‘I know you have terrible taste in music,’ Eijirou mumbles, just above a whisper, and Bakugou huffs a laugh. ‘And I know you get angry easily. I know you love your friends deeply but don’t like to show it.’

Bakugou shivers when Eijirou holds his hand and interlaces their fingers, and his lips are slightly shaking. Eijirou puts his middle finger over them, and Bakugou parts them open with a sighs. ‘I know you don’t smoke and I know you don’t think you’re enough most of the time. I know it’s difficult for you to ask for help – and yet you asked me to come see Mina to the hospital when she asked. I know you’re dense as fuck sometimes.’

‘Fuck, Eijirou,’ Bakugou whispers, but he doesn’t say anything else.

‘I know you,’ Eijirou repeats, ‘and even if I didn’t it wouldn’t matter, because we have a lifetime ahead of ourselves.’

This time Bakugou presses his hand against Eijirou’s neck, buries his fingers in Eijirou’s hair like he’s got no time left. From up so close he looks – he looks vulnerable. Eijirou smiles. ‘There’s no rush,’ he says, repeating the same words someone very wise told to him once.

This time, they aren’t in a hospital.

This time, they aren’t drunk.

This time, when Eijirou leans in, Bakugou meets him in the middle.

It’s all nice – Eijirou presses his body against Bakugou’s and buries both of his hands into his hair, pulls from it, making Bakugou moan. It’s peachy – he mouths at Bakugou’s neck, never mind that he’s still technically working, meaning to make a bruise; he pins him against the washing machine. It’s dandy – Bakugou gets his hands into Eijirou’s shirt, moans Eijirou’s name.

And then he shrieks, ‘FUCK,’ and pushes Eijirou so hard he falls on his ass.

Eijirou is good at kissing, but not that good. He watches Bakugou, wide-eyed and panicky, and for the life of him can’t figure out what’s got him so riled up until he says, ‘It’s you. Kirishima. From school.’

He can’t help it – Eijirou starts laughing so hard his stomach hurts, louder than he’s ever laughed in his life. He can’t believe Bakugou’s recognized him because Eijirou pinned him against the washing machine.

‘About time,’ Eijirou says, between giggles. He stands up with Bakugou’s help. ‘You’re so fucking stupid.’

‘You could’ve fucking told me,’ Bakugou mutters, flushing bright red.

Eijirou presses their foreheads together, kisses him again.

And again.

And again and again and again.

SWEETPEAS – GOODBYE

‘I could fit inside this washing machine,’ Eijirou comments, eyebrows furrowed. ‘It’s so big. I could shower inside this thing.’

‘You’re so fucking weird,’ Katsuki mumbles under his breath, letting the bag full of dirty clothes fall to the floor with a thump.

It’s been a week since Katsuki recognized him; a week since they kissed; a week since Eijirou’s washing machine was officially declared dead. So many things have happened in the meantime – this being one of them.

Because Eijirou doesn’t have any clean clothes left, he finally convinced himself to come to a laundromat, like his mother suggested when he first called her. After a thorough search on the Internet and late night kisses, Eijirou found one five minutes away from his house he deemed okay, and now here they are.

Katsuki was fairly impressed when he saw Eijirou’s piles and piles of dirty clothes. Said something along the lines of, ‘I can’t believe you own so many clothes.’ He’s made it his personal mission to try every single one of Eijirou’s shirts and hoodies – the one he’s wearing now, pink and warm, is in fact Eijirou’s – but to do that they have to be clean.

‘C’mon,’ Eijirou says. ‘We’re going to be late.’

There are so many washing machines here, it’s almost difficult to decide which one to use. In the end, Eijirou closes his eyes and points to one at random. They put the clothes in, some soap and cloth softener, and watch the clothes spin around for a whole minute.

Eijirou kisses Katsuki’s temple and holds up his hand.

‘Shall we?’

*

‘You were supposed to bring the balloons.’

‘Excuse me?’ Shinsou yelps, opening his eyes so wide Eijirou fears they might fall off their sockets. ‘I texted you last night! You were going to bring them! You even answered me yes!’

Katsuki rolls his eyes and gives Shinsou the middle finger. ‘Fuck off.’

‘I’m going to kill you.’

They are saved by Mina, who comes out of the hospital doors in a wheel chair at that exact moment. Tsuyu is the first to react – she springs to her feet and runs towards Mina in a flash. Shinsou gives Katsuki one last dirty look before he lets Kaminari drag him towards Mina.

‘You were supposed to bring the balloons,’ Eijirou whispers in Katsuki’s ear.

There is no need for balloons, though – Mina getting out of the hospital is good enough to cheer everybody up. She waves at them, screams, ‘What are you two lovebirds talking about?’

Katsuki rolls his eyes; Eijirou gives his hand a squeeze.

‘Y’know,’ Katsuki mumbles under his breath, eyes focused on Eijirou. ‘I think I love you.’

The washing machine, of no use anymore, is still down in the basement. Eijirou isn’t ready to give it up just yet. But he will, one day. There’s no rush.

‘I think I love you, too,’ Eijirou answers.

Mina screams, ‘Are you going to come, or not?’

They go.