Work Text:
One day, the circus was in town,
making him lose his frown.
He begged his mom to go
and she couldn’t say no.
Holding her hand in the streets,
the child had flush covering his cheeks.
The ringleader loudly greeted them all,
into his bright and colorful home.
They had lions and tigers as pets
with people flying like birds.
He was cheering like nothing before.
Greedy little kid; he wanted more.
And he got, oh he got.
The most beautiful creature made by God.
It was a boy like him,
made his heart sing an unknown hymn.
He had hair made of sunglow
And a wide, feral smile that made his white teeth show.
He walked like he was older.
Not larger or smaller; wiser, but colder.
He breathed and juggled fire for the audience,
awing he world with his gaudiness.
It was powerful, it was wild.
His cheeks were painful from how much he smiled.
The circus stayed in town for days long
and his heart filled with hope.
With a temper tantrum to go once again,
his brothers and sister would soon relent.
The boy was as magical as before.
And the hymn pumped his heart sore.
He meets the boy out of blue;
in a secret hideout that no one had a clue.
Clothed tattered and face with no paint
Still looked as ethereal as the very first day
He was playing alone until he came along
Crimson eyes staring into his soul.
He was brash, he was rude.
Despite that, he mightily said “I want to play with you.”
They didn’t talk, nor played together.
Until the circus’ stay didn’t last forever.
Next year, the magical world returned.
And the boy was there, breathing fire with his lips crudely upturned.
He wants him to leave but doesn’t leave himself,
scolding like his mother when he fell from the shelf
His actions and words are vastly contradictory.
But in the end of the day, he learns his name is written like victory.
They separate and they meet.
It’s bitter and it’s sweet.
They grow as the years passed,
but his uncontrollable heart never stopped
It sings when they collided
and cries when they united.
It Judges the fourteenth year of age
to be the time the feelings escaped their cage.
With convulsions and blood.
In his hands, so many petals that they flood.
Red and white like his hair,
filling his lungs instead of air.
With some gold like the sun;
reminded him of the boy like other none.
His family was loving and kind,
they didn’t need problems like this in mind.
It worsened when the circus was in town
and every time he felt he’d drown.
In forests, trees and alleys,
he hid his blood, petals and cries.
A shadow found him fatefully once.
A parasol, lace and elegant stance.
She knelt next to him with a slow hand
encouragingly rubbed his back
“Does it hurt?” “a lot.”
“I can make it stop.”
When done, she carried him away, him leaning her arms.
Soft words, promising a way out of harms.
She had a flower shop, grim and looming;
haunted, he’d heard the neighbors assuming
She was of fame, they said, widowed and rich.
All afraid to say the word witch.
A black cat waited for them,
eyes intelligent, hostile, devoid of condemn.
She put him in a chair like he was fragile
and his stomach twisted, coughing another bile.
“Am I sick?”
“No child. That’s not the word I would pick.”
Her eyes were soft and kind.
Another cough pushed any thoughts behind.
“So young to be chosen
for a love forsaken and rotten.
It kills you from inside with beauty;
those flowers are only doing their duty.
Love, a kind friend it is not.
When unrequited, even the young it’ll rot.
Cease it when loved back;
only then it’ll lose the power of making you hack.”
It’d been there all along;
for whom his heart was singing for.
It was clear as the sky
whose path he would abide.
She turned sad and pled
to only think with his head.
His voice could only refuse;
for the fiery boy he couldn’t lose.
With a sigh of defeat
took the bloody petals and washed them clean.
Stitched them carefully back together;
giving back flowers with no blather.
The shop’s inside was full of flowers, but none was for sale.
“There are others like you, it’s my job to keep them safe.”
She adds some of his own, preserved to last in time,
in a collection of many others, proud and with no sign of grime.
On some, the petals gave place to thorns, flowers to vines.
“Not in all of them their heart or mind aligns.
Some of them are willing to let go of the hurt.
Some other I had to actually dig out of the dirt.
Their insides are like gardens, flowers made their nests.
My job is to see them as pests.
Bring me the petals from here on,
then complete give them to your love in hopes to fawn.”
That year as well, the circus was in town.
Clutching his bouquet, nervousness clamped him down.
After the show, again in wonder
he crossed to backstage border.
Sneaky and silent like a rat,
he looked for the one that stole his heart.
Pissed at the intrusion, make up still of his face,
once again, he looked unlike his age
With a blush on his cheeks and trembling hands bloomed.
The bouquet was handed exactly where he stood.
Question in ruby eyes, pretty and intense.
For one moment just for him, he dropped the pretense.
It filled him hope, childish and naïve.
Proud in his mind that the sickness will leave.
Both of them flinched, him slammed into reality;
a call for another show, crimson filled with glee.
A fear was planted in its wake;
that wanting him away was a mistake.
The circus left during the week.
It made his resolve turn weak.
He couldn’t take his love away from something he loved;
he wanted his affection returned and not shoved.
The woman still made him flowers, asked of his beloved.
He reminded her of her late wife, as he was told.
Days turned to months, waiting and stitching.
Coughing petals, thorn filled lungs horribly itching.
His home was moving on wheels
and he couldn’t follow on his heels.
Their time together was brief;
his helplessness filling him with grief.
The witch’s house became familiar;
confidant and safe, instead of peculiar.
His breathing turned short and harsh;
from then on, nothing he could easily brush.
Gaggling words and unable to eat,
becoming all too aware of his slow heartbeat.
By adulthood, he couldn’t freely breathe.
His family was throwing a feat.
The doctors were unable to help.
It was like the flowers were only a figment in his head.
“You passed your limit already.
Let me remove the flowers or for death be ready.”
Until the circus came like before.
With that, a realization shook him to the core.
He thought his love was unhappy here
and that he stayed out of fear.
But that was far from the truth.
His hope was fiction of youth.
With the sound of a glassy heartbreak;
from a dream he was now wide-awake.
The circus would leave the town,
His mind and feelings started the countdown.
Until the last day,
he held himself at bay.
His lips constantly traced his hidden, bloody desire.
It’d be meaningless now, it was waiting to expire.
Relished in the last moments he could hold,
it’s just like the witch had foretold.
The night before they leave,
the flowers from his chest the witch would cleave.
Her smile as she put him to sleep is empathetic.
Like sobs before the blackness and a flash of electric.
He wakes up in a daze,
blinking away the haze.
Breathe out, breathe in.
There is something uncomfortable crawling in his skin.
He misses the last show, no longer eager.
Now gone are his days living as a dreamer.
The last gift is placed and like a phantom he disappears,
maybe if the me from before, my note would be filled with tears.
For this ‘he’ feels like another,
like a book you’ve just finished its last chapter.
I was selfish and vile,
wanting to keep you by my side.
Your soul was always free like a bird,
you’re walking from me ahead.
I could never hold you in bind.
Thoughts of me as a lover weren’t even your mind.
I saw signs created on my own.
Deceived by the faces you have shown.
Even though in the face of death,
I fearfully made the choice to draw another breath.
You must know that from the flowers you hold,
You’ll always be my first love
Finally, now that I’m free from your deadly spell,
I can wholeheartedly bid you farewell.
Shouto.
Nevertheless, the paper is stained with tears; but they are not from the writer of the poem.
Bakugou Katsuki clutches the pages in his one hand, make up and salty tears mixing with the drying ink. His other hand is dripping too but he can’t seem to register the pain caused from the piercing thorns and the blood that drips down his hand onto the floor.
That bastard half and half, he curses brokenly under his breath; always holding everything in and deciding for everyone else like he’s better than them.
Coward, he wanted to scream as loud as his vocal cords could support his voice. Taking the fucking easy way out and leaving with his tail under his legs silently like no one would notice.
But then again, so was Katsuki for the exact same reasons.
And that hurts more than a bunch of fucking beautiful plants.
**
It is a while until they stop in that town again. It was small to begin with and just filled a full crowd the first day, so they don’t stay as long as in other places.
Placing his feet on the ground, he skips he preparations and makes a tour. He’s never been in the inner part that isn’t the local market and from what he realizes it’s more than spacious for its sparse population.
He’s past the point of trying to convince himself that he isn’t looking for Todoroki, whipping his head at the smallest flash of deep vivid red, white or both. It causes him frustration and anger to boil inside of him in a mix of helplessness.
Memories overwhelm him when he’s at the place where they met while he was here. His only place to get away from the pressure of the circus and be alone by himself. Just as he believed he had found it, Todoroki appears with his doe eyes and adorably awkward demeanor and asks him to play together and be friends, like Katsuki wasn’t the freak of nature everyone else in town and pretty much everywhere saw him and his family to be. Either that, or pure objects of entertainment with no other purpose and need.
He waits; seeing the sky turn dark until he absolutely has to go and perform.
Todoroki’s not among the crowd too. He’s handsome face and unusual features made him stand out and Katsuki always spotted him from the moment he steps on the ring.
Not today, however, and neither the next two nights.
**
The whispers pass his ears but he couldn’t care less. He’s fully aware of what this looks like, a person of the circus rummaging the alleys, searching for the town’s witch. His hands carry the box like it’s lifeline and, in a way, it is.
The poem doesn’t use many words to descried the flowershop, but Katsuki fully understood what he was looking for and now that he finds it, it’s not that far off. Dark and unhospitable, daring him to go in. It raises the hairs on the back of his neck in a last attempt of alerting him of the danger.
Bolting is an alluring idea, until his palms hurts from pressing right over one corner of the box, and the fog evaporates giving place to other things.
He barges in with a stomp, making sure she knows that he’s here and demanding her presence.
The inside is hauntingly beautiful; rich dark wood and pure white marble decorate the whole place accompanied by the vast variety of flowers guarded by glass like exhibitions in a priced collection. It brings chill down is spine now when he knows where all that beauty comes from.
In the corner of his eye, he sees colors he’s been waiting for.
Far in the corner between blue and pink, presented prettily in a beautiful structure. They look regal and clean, ‘preserved to last a lifetime’.
The witch responds in kind; her heels thudding in the wooden floors but he doesn’t do her the satisfaction.
“Ah…” she stands next to him; she’s tall with dark hair and mysterious beauty and even more mysterious voice “My most recent acquisition. It took me years but I believe it was worth it. Have you come to give them back? They all belong together after all, don’t you think?”
The words overfill his already bottled up rage. “Is that all it’s to you? Property?” he hisses out.
She pays him no mind, “Many of my collection? Yes. Flowers like these are like rare jewels. I am simply fascinated to collect them. Occasionally can be useful for some more advanced spells.” She continues. Without taking her eyes from the red white and yellow arrangement, she traced her fingers on the pristine glass.
“This one? Not at all.” There is a fond smile on her lips, “That child was so afraid but wanted them so bad.” A low chuckle, almost like a whisper. “Haven’t talked to a human in decades, not civilly, at least. It was refreshing to see that there are still beautiful flowers in between the weeds.”
“His eyes were sparkling I stitched the very first flower. They were already beautiful in their uniqueness.” She finally looks at him and he feels trapped in her steely dark gaze. Her eyes are different shades of dark green.
“But if that was like the stars, talking about you was like the shining moon. He told me all kinds of things. A kind side under a rough exterior, the best and most hardworking at your art. Always walking ahead.” She steps closer so he looks up at her.
“But all I’m seeing now is face made of guilt.” Another step and he almost loses his balance, stepping back with the box clutched tightly against his chest.
The fear subdues, as always; he’s not here for her. She’s not the first bully he looked up ready to fight and she certainly won’t be the last.
“I don’t give a fuck what you think of me. I want a way to fix this.”
“For what purpose, boy? He doesn’t need a savior now. The boy has grown to a full man now; handsome, went to study in the great city, with a great character, kind heart and fortunate by the higher powers. If not already, he’ll find someone else that loves him back and won’t cause him any sort of suffering. Even if it does, I’m always here to take the pests away from him.” The words hit him to the point of freezing on the spot; she takes full advantage to whisper ominously in his ear.
“Or is it to save yourself from having the same fate?”
The look on his face must be satisfactory as she leans back and away with a smirk.
He coughs and his body betrays him.
“How fittingly has fate chosen. Your flowers are the color of the blood spilled for you.” She hums happily and his swears are cut off before they even begin by another fit.
“I can cure you of this.” She says while his insides burn tears in his eyes, “I can take them away now. You must have some of yours inside that precious box you so dearly hold. They’ll make a great addition here, next to the violets to break all the blues in the west part of the shop. Away from the red and white as they don’t fit together. They are too gory.”
She speaks like it’s completely normal that the coughing has brought Katsuki to his knees, floor staining with his blood.
He must speak, his mind chants over and over. He’s Bakugou Katsuki for fuck’s sake, he didn’t give all those years in the streets before the circus found him, he doesn’t give up in the face of people’s shitty opinions and he sure as hell won’t give up because of some fucking witch that likes to play with his mind.
She hates him; that much is obvious from the look in her eyes as he struggles to get up.
“Like fucking hell I’ll let you slice me open.” He growls spitting away a couple remaining petals, “I’m here for another way.”
“Why should I help you?”
There might be a possibility, he smirks cruelly, like the times when he was in her position. It hides the hope that blooms more buds inside his body.
“Because I made a mistake and I want to apologize and answer properly. While I still feel.”
“Guilt can’t conv-”
“It’s not about fucking guilt!” he cries in a torn apart voice, his throat burns and constricts. He drools blood and saliva and feels like a pathetic piece of shit that is too weak to get up. Every time after a fit his mind reminds him that Todoroki suffered through that for fucking years, sneaking around his family and going on with his life like he wasn’t dying from the inside. Katsuki has been through is for almost a year and it’s like he’s standing on a high edge, ready to fall every moment he breathes.
“I was stupid and too late to realize how much I love that half and half bastard until he left me this stupidly tragic poem and part of his own guts for fuck’s sake! I took him for granted and I want to fix it.”
His tight fist slams on the floor hard to startle the animals the crow he just notices to start cawing in humanlike sentient annoyance.
The only sound in the shop now is the faint rustling of feathers and his panting. She still looks at him with disdain but with it, there is something new in the mix.
“There are conditions.”
He grins in relief and unafraid because he was prepared to make a deal with a witch and of course she’d have fucking conditions.
“Lay it on me.”
“When the time comes, you’ll know.”
“And when is that?”
“When death comes for you.”
“Then how the fuck do I know you won’t kill me at any moment?”
“You just have to put your faith in me.” He teeth are pure white and shine like the sharpest daggers for a moment; maybe it’s the sharpness of her devilish smile but then again, he’s heard many tales and legends of her kind.
“I feel so much fucking safe” he can’t help but say in the most sarcastic manner he could muster in his situation. Something pulls at his lungs, caging and disgustingly pulsating, thus his words come of curt and hissy like his exhales.
“Frankly, your opinion means little to me. I’ll do it only because we both care about the same person and want to see him live the best possible life the mortal world can give him. And if your useless self can achieve his happiness, then I’ll heed you wish.”
The witch takes the box away from his hands, all but kicking him back down like a stray when he makes a fruitless attempt to take it back. Stopping to the exhibits and doing something there, she then disappears in a closed door, all while he lays there convulsing like a bug. The crow flutters in front of him and it transforms in to an equally black as the darkest night cat, bright yellow eyes looking at him like prey with an amused but otherwise indifferent stare.
The woman comes back, holding a couple of small things, including a small pouch. The box is left behind.
“I keep it as part of my collection.” She states, “All of his flowers must be together to be truly beautiful. Yours will be added too as I said, they are enough.” She gives him a small glass with a red substance, “Drink this to lessen the blood loss and the coughing fits will stop too for the short time of seven days.”
“Only seven?” he asks and downs the drink; it’s sweet and smells good, a bad omen but now he has no choice.
“This much time I give you to find him and convince him of those feelings of yours.” She then hands him the pouch, too light. “This seed is made from his flowers and vines, along with yours. If he eats it the flowers will root once more, but so will the feelings. Do what you want. However, if you force him in any way to take it, I’ll know.”
The potion’s effect comes in waves; firstly, the cool down of his whole body and then the open feeling of breathing he didn’t know he missed until he lost.
Katsuki opens the small pour with careful and ashamedly trembling hands to reveal a small little thing that could be eaten in one bite.
This is his solution, his chance; everything can be solved with Todoroki taking this and the confession that Katsuki has locked inside him since fucking years ago without knowing.
If he succeeds- his mind supplies.
Clenching his jaw and schooling his expression. He’ll cross that bridge when he gets to it.
And regarding that he asks the witch, “It’ll take me seven fucking days to fucking find him. And that’s debatable!”
She sighs but her eyes shine with dark mirth. With a simple and elegant wave of her hand, the cat from before transforms back into the crow and settles comfortably on Katsuki’s shoulder.
“He knows where he is. It’ll take you one day to arrive. Your time will start from then. Now, get out of my sight.”
The crow pecks at his head, pulling hairs and flies away just as erratically.
Katsuki follows without looking back at the flower shop.
The next time he sees it, it’ll be to rub his victory at the witch’s face