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Izuku has always loved flowers. Actually, scratch that - Izuku doesn’t just love flowers, he adores them. Adores their uncanny ability to convey so much despite the complete lack of spoken word. Adores the hidden meanings laying hidden behind an innocent façade, each species representing a completely different facet of feelings. Adores the watercolour splashes of pigment that dye each petal in vibrancy.
But what Izuku loves most about flowers isn’t the flowers themselves. No, it’s the recipient’s reaction that claims a special place in his heart. Nothing, Izuku thinks, could ever beat the feeling of pure euphoria that courses through his body – the sensation vaguely reminiscent of the green lightning of One for All, but even better - when the intended first lays eyes on the flowers. There’s been many times Izuku had been so very tempted to snap a picture of the moment of realisation, immortalising the complete radiance that shone off his friends in a glossy photograph, but even he wasn’t that reckless.
So, he contents himself with the mediocre reconstruction his mind creates when called upon, slightly off in many aspects but close enough that he can ignore the minor errors. Because his mind may not always remember the exact colour of the carnations, or how much sun was sprawling across the desk, but it always, always remembers the exact expression his friend’s make when their brain starts back up after the initial shock, understanding flooding their mind.
It isn’t always a grand affair, sometimes its nothing more than a slight widening of the eyes, or a subtle parting of the lips, occasionally even a barely there tinge of rose smattering on high cheekbones. But it’s always worth it. It’s why he’s been doing it for so long despite no one knowing it’s him. If he can add just a smidge of brightness to someone’s cloudy day, then the slight dent the flowers make in his wallet doesn’t feel so deep anymore.
A couple of flower arrangements later and he was somehow Class 1-A’s personal flora vigilante, his calling card of precisely arranged bouquets being left for almost every student in the class at some point or another (his classmates seemed to think it was pot luck when they’d get theirs, a random day in random month, but Izuku was far more organised than that).
Honestly, it was only a matter of time before he got caught out. He just didn’t think it would be like this.
It all started on a Tuesday.
Uraraka was trudging behind her classmates on their way back from Training Ground Beta, physically and mentally exhausted. Usually she loved physical training - she always had enjoyed exercise and the dopamine rush it gave her – but she just couldn’t focus today. She knew she only had herself to blame; she hadn’t been sleeping as well these past few weeks and had spent all of last night sobbing her heart out to her parents on video call.
Don’t get her wrong, she loves it here at UA. There’s no where else she’d rather be, and she’s insanely happy to have been granted such an amazing opportunity, but the financial and emotional burdens of living by herself had really been getting to her recently.
It wasn’t so bad at first. In fact, she’d found the newfound freedom of living alone quite liberating, but as time continued on the solitary nature of her small apartment quickly began to weigh heavily on her. She missed her family; missed her parent’s steadfast presence, missed her fathers homecooked meals that tasted like heaven, missed her mother’s warm and tight hugs that seemed to somehow fix everything.
Her parents, always understanding, told her they’d be happy to have her back home if she decided she wasn’t cut out for everything, but that felt too much like giving up. She’d gotten so far; she couldn’t pack up and leave now!
So, she’s been trying to stick it out. It’s been hard - insanely hard - and she’s pretty sure she could fill the entire UA swimming pool with the number of tears she’s shed these past few weeks, but Ochako Uraraka is nothing if not determined.
She’s fairly sure her friends have caught on that something’s off with her by now, she never has been the best at hiding things, and is extremely glad they’ve given her space and not badgered her about it, she doesn’t think she could bare having any more sympathy and concern heaped onto her right now.
She’s gotten so used to that space that, when she walks into the classroom to find everyone crowded around her desk, she panics immediately. They suddenly part, awfully reminiscent of the red sea (wait, would that make her Moses?) when they spot her, and it’s then that she sees the subject of their attention.
An arrangement of white magnolias and magenta geraniums taking up a good quarter of her desk.
“What the- flowers?” Uraraka spluttered, ducking her head to hide her rapidly reddening cheeks. Someone had really gotten her flowers? Plain old Ochako, with no defining features apart from her slightly above average levels of optimism?
“Ey, Uraraka! Got yourself a secret admirer there, eh?” Kirishima teased.
“Oh, no- I mean- It’s probably nothing! Maybe it’s a prank? Yeah, it’s probably just someone poking fun!” she rapidly defended. It couldn’t possibly be anything other than that? Right? Right?! There’s no way on earth she’d ever be lucky enough to receive such beautiful flowers.
She darted over to her desk, weaving between the crowd of her classmates barricading it. Better nip this whole thing in the bud before it spirals out of control and she ends up even more embarrassed, Uraraka thought while plucking off the small white card attached to the plastic wrapping with slightly more force than necessary. “Or maybe they’re on the wrong desk? They’re probably meant for Momo or Jirou or-“
Nope.
‘For Uraraka Ochako’
That was definitely her name. Right there. Printed in black ink.
“What does it say?” Izuku asked, pushing through the throng of nosey classmates to stand beside her.
“Oh! Um- it says ‘For Uraraka Ochako, one of the kindest people I’ve ever met. Keep going, your dream’s within reach!’” Miraculously, she somehow managed to read the contents of the note aloud without spontaneously combusting because that was not at all what she was expecting, it’s such a sweet and thoughtful message!
“That’s- that’s so kind! I don’t know who it was, but if it’s anyone in this room, thank you so, so much!” She grinned, bowing to no one in particular.
“Aw man, wish I’d thought of something like that.” Kaminari whined, flopping backwards into his chair.
“What a friendly gesture! I had initially assumed it was something untoward and was going to suggest we all set some class rules and boundaries, but if it is a mere innocent pick-me-up present, then I suppose that is an exception.” Iida said, leaning forward to inspect the flowers just in case.
“That is so cute, oh my god!” Mina gushed, gazing dramatically with her hands cupping her face. “Ugh, you’re so lucky, I wish someone would do that for me!”
(The next day when Mina entered the classroom to see a bouquet of indigo delphiniums, she squealed so loud that All Might appeared to defend his pupils from a villain, was met with a hyper pink girl squeezing every student from 1-A to death in individual hugs, and left with a look of pure confusion imprinted on his shadowed face.
Needless to say, Izuku had a lot of explaining to do during training that same night.)
Soon enough, everyone collectively forgot about the whole flower incident, passing it off as a one two-time thing. Everyone had their own theory about the true motivations of the anonymous flower leaver, but it was a general consensus that it was a mystery best left unsolved (the culprit quite clearly didn’t want recognition for their kind act, and if that’s what they wanted, who were Class 1-A not to comply?).
This unspoken agreement to put the situation behind them is why Kirishima is stunned to find a bunch of baby pink amaryllis sitting innocently on his desk a few weeks later.
“The elusive florist strikes again!” Mina exclaimed, drawing her classmate’s attention immediately. Uraraka whipped around, eyes widening. “Oh, they got you one too? How cute!”
“Woah, guess it’s not just girls they’re into. You think they’re Bi?” Kaminari asked, peering over Kirishima’s shoulder to stare at the delicately arranged flowers.
“I don’t think they are leaving these tokens for romantic reasons, Kaminari. I would say that their incentive is more altruistic than that. It seems more that they are leaving these gifts to try motivate their classmates and make them happy.” Iida chimed in, ever the upstanding moral compass.
“What does it say, kero?” Asui ribbited, pointing at the familiar white card attached to the flowers.
“’For Kirishima Eijirou, one of the manliest people I’ve ever met. Your quirk is amazing and you’ll save so many people with it someday, keep fighting!’” Kirishima read aloud, fingers clenching around the message. So manly, he thinks, blinking back tears.
He’d been struggling with his self-confidence recently, something this secretive sender must have noticed. It’s not that he doesn’t like his quirk, he’d never take it for granted, but sometimes he can’t help but wonder what it would be like to have a flashy, eye-catching quirk like Todoroki or Bakugou or Midoriya (sans the whole destroying his body every time he uses it thing).
Objectively, he knows how much good his own quirk can do, but it’s all too easy to fall into self-loathing over the obscurity it affords him. It’s not the type of quirk children would wish for, won’t make him the type of hero they look up to and idolise, likely won’t even get him into the top ten.
But that note, that little white card, feels like such a reality check. When he was a kid, he didn’t want to be a hero for fame, fortune and admiration – he wanted to become one to help people.
And if his quirk can allow him to do just that, then it’s a pretty damn good quirk after all.
“Aw, that’s so sweet!” Uraraka started to gush, but was cut off by sharp, callous laughter originating from Class 1-A’s resident firecracker.
“It’s fucking creepy if you ask me.” Bakugou sneered, crossing his arms defensively. “What are you shitheads gawking at? Not my fault you’re all dense as fuck. Someone’s leaving flowers and notes for people in class, sneaking in when no one’s here – sounds like a shady bastard to me!”
“Don’t be so pessimistic, Bakugou! I think it’s a lovely gesture, what harm are a bunch of flowers going to do? Make you sneeze to death from allergies?” Kirishima laughed, the rest of the class joining in.
“I’ll blow your fucking head off your shitty body, you stone fucker!” Bakugou raged, shooting explosions from his hands and advancing far too quickly towards the red head.
“Kacchan, stop!“ Izuku yelled, clutching his upper right sleeve and diverting Bakugou’s attention (and explosions) to himself.
“Let. Go. Of. Me.” Bakugou ground out, expression coated with malice and tone promising a slow and painful death. “Now.”
Letting go of his sleeve as if he’d been burned, Izuku staggered backwards slightly, arms raising instinctively to cover his body.
“Sorry bro, but I think you’re taking this whole thing a little too seriously! I’m sure whoever it was just wanted to help, not hurt anyone.” Kirishima intervened, huffing out a weak laugh to try diffuse the tension suddenly coating the classroom.
“This is all fucking bullshit.” Bakugou fumed, storming away from the cluster of prying students to his own desk.
Kirishima sighed lightly, shaking his head at the childishness of his friend? Acquaintance? Person he hangs around with? No, friend. He understands that he’s concerned, even when said concern is hidden under thick layers of profanity and yelling, but he can’t help but disagree with Bakugou’s analysis of the situation. Or maybe he’s just biased, but if an arrangement of flowers and a two-sentence message can bring so much relief and aid, how could the intent possibly be malicious?
He just hopes he’ll find out the sender someday in the future, so he can properly thank them. They definitely deserve it.
A month goes by in a flash, and soon enough the Sports Festival has come and gone, with Bakugou emerging as the winner. Todoroki, in spite of his attempts at rebellion, had given in to Midoriya’s taunts and used his fire, something which plagued his mind for days to come.
He’d spent so many years refusing to utilise his left side, refusing to use his father’s ‘gift’ to him, and all it took was some well-aimed statements from the freckled boy to send his resolve crumbling to the ground, the ashes of their remains blowing away like dust in the wind. He’d spent the rest of the night holed up in his room, refusing to open the door to anyone, even his brother and sister. They’d come knocking with the promise of his favourite food, cold soba noodles, but even that wasn’t incentive enough for him to leave his self-imposed den of solitude.
Going to school the following day was hard, but it’s not like anyone would notice Todoroki’s lowered mental state, he’d grown extremely skilled at hiding his pain behind a blank mask after all. He expected to enter the classroom, go straight to his desk and spend the full day alone, mulling over his complete lack of control (of the mental and physical strain).
He did not expect to find an arrangement of pink achilleas and magenta and white gradient carnations.
“What the-“ Todoroki mumbled to himself. “Why me?”
“Todoroki got flowers!” Kaminari yelled, pulling the focus of the class to the dual-haired boy and his desk. Exactly what he didn’t want – attention. How bothersome.
“Oh my god, they’re so pretty!” Mina exclaimed, staring in awe at the beautifully saturated petals. “Even prettier than the pink dahlias Momo got the other day!”
Picking up the small white card, he turned it over and read the message, gaze growing colder.
‘For Todoroki Shouto, one of the most resilient people I’ve ever met. You are more than your father’s legacy, make your own place in the world!’
“Who was this? Who left these?” Todoroki said, tone icy and hard. The whole class seemed to tense up, everyone (barring Bakugou, who’d sooner die than back down from confrontation) standing stock still upon seeing the boys heterochromatic stare. “Hmph, what cowardice. I had higher hopes for the supposed guardian angel of this class.”
Turning away, Todoroki went to throw the flowers into the bin, but was stopped by a desperate arm clutching onto his wrist.
“You can’t just throw them away, they’re a present!” Todoroki slowly twisted his head, finding Midoriya as the wrist-grabbing culprit. “I’m sure the person only meant well, it would be mean to throw away their gift to you!”
“I agree with Midoriya, it would be poor taste to throw away such a thoughtful present.” Iida said, staring thoughtfully at the two.
“Well, not all gifts are wanted. Imposing something on someone and forcing them to be grateful and treasure it? Just because they meant well does not mean I should have to like them. Once they’re given to me, it’s my right to decide what to do with them.” Todoroki grits, attempting to pull his arm out of Midoriya’s inhumanly strong grasp.
“I- I suppose, that’s true. It’s up to you what you do with them. I just thought that, well… everyone would be happy to receive flowers. I know I would be.” Midoriya said, voice trailing off into a whisper, expression like a kicked puppy. The green haired boy let go of Todoroki’s wrist slowly, gently pulling his scarred hand away.
And it’s then the truth of the matter hits Todoroki, and presumedly the rest of the class as well – Midoriya was yet to receive flowers. Over half of the class had received some form of flowers by this point, it was likely he was worried he’d never receive any. And with the added fact that Midoriya had no friends for the whole of middle school, no wonder he was so anxious about the possibility he’d be left out, he’d spent his whole childhood ostracised from everyone his age after all.
“Thank you for understanding. And not pushing the matter anymore.” Todoroki said tentatively, and in a moment of courage, walked back to his desk and sat the flowers back where they were originally. The rest of the class gawked at him, clearly surprised at his complete 180 in attitude.
He sat down, turning to face out of the window beside Yaoyorozu’s desk, resting his face in his right hand, elbow propped up on the desk. Watching the clouds drift through the sky, he almost missed the grateful smile Midoriya shot him, almost. He gave a slight upturn to the edges of his lips in return, the closest to a smile he’d ever expressed in class, and tried not to laugh at the flustered look that took over the freckled boy’s face.
Yeah, not throwing away the flowers was definitely worth it.
Tensei.
Midoriya.
Stain.
Midoriya.
Todoroki.
Midoriya.
Nomu.
Midoriya.
He almost got himself, Todoroki and Midoriya killed.
Midoriya almost got kidnapped by a Nomu.
It was all his fault.
He was to blame.
If he hadn’t gone on his self-righteous revenge mission, a pro-hero wouldn’t be critically injured. Todoroki and Midoriya wouldn’t have almost sacrificed themselves to try save him. Midoriya wouldn’t have almost been taken away by the League of Villains.
So much could have gone wrong, so much did go wrong, yet they were so willing forgive him. So willing to empathise and understand his point of view while pushing how flawed it was. If it weren’t for them, Iida would probably still be wallowing in self-pity in his bedroom, refusing to visit his brother in hospital, refusing to take his brother’s hero name. Refusing to come to terms with his cards and make a hand out of them.
He doesn’t know how he could ever thank them enough.
He entered the classroom, his two friends still on his mind, and came face to face with a bouquet of yellow gladiolus, resting atop his desk.
And Iida was confused, because of all times for him to receive his flowers, why now? Why after he’d done so much wrong, hurt so many people, should he be rewarded with a sunny collection of affection?
Before he could even clock his actions, Uraraka’s concerned face popped up in front of him. “Iida? Are you okay, you’re shaking pretty badly.”
“I- I am fine, thank you for asking, Uraraka. I was just caught off guard by the flowers.” Iida replied, trying to soothe the brunette’s worries, the affirmation clearly not alleviating her anxiety one bit. “I swear, I just did not expect to receive them today of all days, especially after the events that transpired because of me the other day.”
“Isn’t this a perfect time to receive them then?” Midoriya posed, deep in thought. “I mean, you’re obviously going through a hard time, and the whole Stain debacle has just added to your list of worries, right? You’re dealing with your brother and your guilt over everything at the same time, it can’t be easy. Maybe it’s a sign that your life is going to get better soon, like a good omen?”
Those words, that explanation, struck Iida so hard that he was surprised he hadn’t toppled over. The combination of Midoriya’s analysis and empathy touched him more than he cared to admit, especially since the green haired boy hit the nail on the head.
He felt so guilty.
“Midoriya, I- I am truly apologetic for the Stain incident. I am completely to blame for it, and I am very sorry for the danger I put not only you, but Todoroki in. It was completely wrong of me to seek justice myself out of anger rather than leaving it to the Pro-heroes. I cannot even begin to think of how to-“ Iida rambled, feeling the wall he’d erected to keep his emotions in after the Sports Festival come crashing down, only to be cut off by a smiling Midoriya.
“I forgive you, Iida.” Midoriya said softly, gazing tenderly at Iida. “I was never angry at you, a little annoyed at how ready you were to endanger yourself, but never angry. You clearly regret what you did, and I accept your apology. I’m sure Todoroki feels the exact same way.”
“I do.” Todoroki agrees, appearing out of nowhere. “What you did was reckless, and the kind of impulsive stupidity I’d expect from someone like Bakugou (“I’ll fucking murder you, Half and Half bastard!”), but you were dealing with a lot at the time and struggling to cope. It’s clear you weren’t thinking straight. I appreciate your ability to accept and own your mistakes, so stop feeling guilty and start living the life you’ve been given another shot at.”
“Thank you both. I am more grateful for your forgiveness than you will ever understand.” Iida said, and smiled for the first time in weeks.
“Oh, what did your card say?” Uraraka chirruped, leaning forward.
“’For Iida Tenya, one of the most upstanding people I’ve ever met. Remember that you have friends who care for you, you are never alone!’” Iida read slowly. “A very kind, and true sentiment.”
The yellow flowers suddenly seemed far brighter after that, and Iida couldn’t stop staring at them, thinking of how thankful he was to have such incredible friends.
Such amazing, compassionate, forgiving friends.
Bakugou Katsuki was not having a good week.
First of all, fucking Deku had to go and get himself jumped by some extras that went to their middle school, and of course Bakugou had to rescue the shitty nerd like always. Honestly, how the fuck was Deku supposed to become a hero if he can’t even defend himself from a bunch of weak-ass shitheads?
Second, his psycho mother ripped him a new one for breaking his phone (it wasn’t even his fucking fault, it was only cause he was trying to defend Deku that he even smashed it!) and refused to pay for a new one. So now he’s stuck with no fucking phone for the foreseeable future, how the hell is he meant to do anything without it?
Lastly, he was late for school because a shitty villain decided that he wanted to destroy the road he usually walked to school, so he had to try find his way to UA (without Google Maps or a phone) because of the stupid diversions. Walking into the classroom at half nine to the disbelieving stares – because Bakugou may be rude and crass and violent, but he’d never, ever been late to school before – of everyone was goddamn annoying.
“The fuck are yous looking at?” Bakugou snarled, stomping over to his desk, throwing his bag onto the desktop and sitting down.
Aizawa raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. “May I continue the lesson now, or are you going to keep interrupting with your colourful language?”
(As if the entire class hasn’t heard him curse up a storm after a phone call with Present Mic. Now that’s a vocabulary that would put a sailor to shame.)
“No, you can continue.” Bakugou ground out, resisting the urge to explode the whole classroom.
Lunch came by far slower than he’d hoped for, the three hours of lessons dragging like a bitch, and Bakugou swore he could have eaten a horse by the time the dismissal bell rang. He spent the full lunch with Shitty Hair, Raccoon Eyes and Pikachu (What? He’s shit at remembering names, sue him.) badgering him about why he was so late and filling him in on whatever useless gossip was travelling around the school (“Why the fuck would I care about whether Icyhot and Deku are fucking or not? There’s gotta be more interesting shit than that happening.”).
So yeah, a pretty fucking awful week so far. Bakugou honestly didn’t know what else could possibly go wrong, but apparently the universe hates him and has enacted Murphy’s Law on him or some shit, because what did he find sitting on his desk when he entered the classroom after lunch?
Fucking flowers.
“Fuck this shit!” Bakugou exploded. “Oi, stalker! You got some fucking nerve leaving your creepy-ass flowers on my desk! I swear to fuck if I ever see another goddamn lathyrus anywhere near my shit I’ll hunt you down and blow your brains out!”
“Um- Kacchan?” Deku tentatively spoke, raising his hand slightly to signify his questioning.
“What?!”
“How do you know they’re lathyrus?” Deku asked, pure confusion plastered on his face.
Pure silence.
“Shut the fuck up.”
“Aww, does Kacchan have a secret soft side hidden deep down? A burning passion for flowers? A desire fo-” Pikachu teased, cutting himself off with snorts of laughter. “Aw man, this is priceless!”
“I swear to fuck if you say another word you’ll never be able to fucking laugh again, you glorified plug socket.” Bakugou threatened, glaring at the, now frightened, blonde. Pikachu seemed to understand the seriousness of his threat, because he cut off his laughter in record time, stepping backwards slowly. “Anyone else want to die today, or are we gonna move on?”
More silence.
“Good. Now fuck off back to your desks, extras.” Bakugou grinned maliciously as everyone returned to their own desks, some with less haste than others. He turned to the bouquet, ripped the white card off the plastic wrapping and almost tore it to shreds before his curiosity got the better of him.
‘For Bakugou Katsuki, the strongest person I’ve ever met. You’re better than you think you are, keep striving for your best self. Thank you.’
And despite the voice telling him to make a point of tearing it into as many pieces as possible and chuck it out the window, he didn’t. He just stuck it back onto the flowers, before stashing them under his desk.
Whatever stalker left this for him may be creepy as fuck, but at least they have their facts straight.
Damn right he’s the strongest person they’ve ever met.
When Izuku first wakes up, he doesn’t know where he is. His memories are all jumbled and warped and all he can remember is pain, so much pain, and a blinding light. He tries to sit up, fails, and flops back down onto the hard, stiff mattress. When he tries to lift his right arm, he feels a strange jabbing sensation, which he soon realises is an IV needle sticking out of his arm.
He eventually manages to pull himself up so he’s sitting at an obtuse angle rather than like a straight line, and looks around the room he’s in. It’s quite clearly a hospital room, that’s not hard to get from the numerous medical equipment and machinery scattered around him, not to mention the electronic beeping of what he presumes is his heart being monitored. He sees his mother, asleep, on a padded chair to his left, and a table to his right.
A table with a vase of flowers; one of the most extravagant arrangements he’s ever seen. Purple malvas, magenta zinnias, blue myosotis and white penstemons all precisely placed in the vase, emitting an aura of radiance and joy.
Slowly, he reaches his scarred hand out to pick up the pile of white cards that lay discarded beside it, retracting his hand to his lap once he’s certain he has them all.
‘For Midoriya Izuku, one of the most amazing people I’ve ever met. Please come back to us, I don’t know what I’d do without you here. The minute you wake up I’m going to give you the biggest hug you’ve ever had! – Uraraka Ochako’
‘For Midoriya Izuku, one of the most manly people I’ve ever met. Oh my god man you were so cool! Dude, the whole self-sacrificial thing for the greater good was so manly, but please wake up so I can tell you how awesome you looked! – Kirishima Eijirou’
‘For Midoriya Izuku, one of the most hypocritical people I’ve ever met. If I am not allowed to sacrifice myself in my brother’s name, you are not allowed to sacrifice yourself in the name of peace. Wake up so I can inform you about the risks of your actions and why you should not have acted so rashly thank you for saving the world. – Iida Tenya’
‘For Deku Midoriya Izuku, one of the most annoying people I’ve ever met. You’re not allowed to die before we become Pros, I am not becoming number one by default just because you’re six feet under! Stop worrying me everyone and wake up, my harpy of a mother’s been on my fucking case all week. – Bakugou Katsuki’
‘For Midoriya Izuku, the most reckless idiot I’ve ever loved. Wake up so I can tell you how much I’ve come to care for you in person. Please. – Todoroki Shouto’
Izuku reads through the cards, smile widening with each one he reads, until he reaches Todoroki’s. His smile drops, just for a split second, before coming back with the force of a thousand suns. Tears begin to form, clustering in his tear ducts before escaping and trailing down his face, leaving wet tracks behind them.
He reaches up, blindly swiping them away, before letting his arms drop onto the bed.
Because he knew it.
He knew what a difference some mere flowers and cards could make.
Alternative Ending (warning: major character death!)
“Are you coming, Todoroki?” Uraraka asks softly, gently placing her hand on his right shoulder in a show of support.
“Yes, I- I just needed a second.” Todoroki replies, still staring at the empty desk by the window. The empty desk that used to be Izuku’s. The empty desk that Izuku will never sit in again. “Have you got the flowers?”
“Bakugou has them. Not sure who’s great idea it was to trust him with them, but I’m sure they’ll be fine.” She huffs out a half-hearted laugh, trying and failing to lighten the sombre mood. “Listen, Todoroki, if you want to leave it for another few da-“
“No. I need to do it now. I- I can’t keep pretending it didn’t happen.” He cuts in resolutely. “I keep waiting for him to walk through that door every day, you know? Or I’ll zone out and his desk will catch my eye, and my brain will think ‘Why is Izuku not there?’ and then it hits me, like a ton of bricks, that he’s gone. But my brain keeps forgetting, or maybe it’s just me refusing to accept the reality of the situation, and I just keep forgetting. And the pain of realising he’s not there over and over again is worse than anything. I just want it to stop.”
“Oh, Shouto.” Uraraka chokes out, raising her hand to cover her mouth instinctively.
“Oi, you guys coming or what? It’s getting dark, if we don’t get going we won’t be back by curfew.” Bakugou interrupts, tone softer than usual, less sharp and cutting. It would shock Todoroki if it hadn’t become the new norm. So much changed after Izuku died, Bakugou’s attitude is just one of a long list.
“Oh, yeah, we’re just coming!” Uraraka replies, discretely wiping at her eyes. “Come on, let’s go.”
It’s a short walk to the cemetery, only fifteen minutes from UA by foot (something they never knew before, and wish they’d never needed to find out). The sky had been dark and cloudy all day, just opaque enough to cover whatever rays the sun had wanted to shine down, but it hadn’t rained. Not yet, anyway.
The five of them stand in a semi-circle around Izuku’s grave. Uraraka had made a beautiful memorial to him in the school - vanilla candles and burning incense and the most radiant picture of Izuku they could find (but it still didn’t come anywhere close to the aura of brilliance he gave off in real life) - but they decided that they’d rather leave their token at his resting place. It just felt right, more personal, like the flowers could become connected to Izuku somehow.
Bakugou steps forward, breaking the perfect curve their positioning had made, and walks slowly towards the head of the grave, taking care not to step on the rectangle of packed down dirt. He goes to lay the flowers down, but stops briefly, something flickering in his eyes, before standing up straight instead. He glances around, passing over each of them before coming to rest on Todoroki.
“Oi, half and half. Come put these flowers down, will ya?” Bakugou says, making a ‘come hither’ motion with his free hand.
“Me?” Todoroki asks, pointing to himself in confusion. “Why?”
“It was pretty fucking clear that you loved him, if you thought you were subtle about it, you really weren’t. You should be the one to put them down, not his childhood tormentor.”
“Katsuki, no! Don’t say that! Izuku loved you-“ Uraraka cries out, going to walk forward towards the blonde.”
“And he shouldn’t have! I was so fucking awful to him, I treated him like crap for ten years, and he forgave me like all I’d done was forgot to call him or something! I don’t deserve the honour of putting these down, I shouldn’t even be allowed to fucking be here!” Bakugou yells, self-hatred and rage coursing through his words. “I- he- Todoroki, just hurry up and get the fuck over here.”
Realising he has no other option, Todoroki makes his way towards the spikey haired blonde. Choosing not to bring up the tears he sees rolling down the others face, he accepts the flowers before Bakugou walks back to his original spot.
“I- I suppose I’m supposed to say something then. I didn’t really prepare anything, but I- I just have to say something.” He starts, before standing tall and stabilising his wavering voice. “I loved you Izuku Midoriya. I still love you. I don’t think I’ll ever truly stop loving you. I try to live without regrets, you taught me yourself that life is too short to hold on to the past without ever looking forward, but there is one thing I will always, always regret until the end of my days. And that is never getting the chance to tell you that I love you in person. I just- I- fuck. Why did you have to die? It’s- it’s just not fair! Out of all people, you- you should never have died. All you ever did was try help other people, never yourself. You should have been rewarded, not punished! It’s not fair! You saved the world but I don’t want the world! I want you! I- I wanted you.”
Everyone had long since started crying, even Bakugou’s tears sobs were audible, loud and wrecked, wracked with guilt and regret. Uraraka turns and clings to Iida with more force than she’d ever though possible, resisting the urge to collapse in a heap on the soaking grass. Iida adapts to Uraraka’s additional weight, keeping her standing while silently crying himself. Kirishima digs his nails into his palms, clenching them tight enough to draw blood from the crescent indents.
And Todoroki- Todoroki lays the white lilies on the grave, takes a single step backwards, and lets out an ungodly wail of pain and loss to the heavens, demanding to know why Izuku?
And no one answers.