Chapter Text
Living your life in Tokyo, at the epicentre of Quirk activity, meant some time or another you’d have a story or two to tell about heroes and villains.
Shouto didn’t have one of those yet, and he was almost glad.
He liked the quiet of his life, enjoyed the still company of his flowers as he watched them grow and felt a pang of sadness every time he had to let one go for another home.
He lived a normal, humble life as the owner of a small flower shop tucked into a main avenue of upper east Tokyo, and he was unbothered by most things.
Then one day, a crack appeared in the well put together composition of his life.
Well, it was less of a crack and more of a crash.
The memory in his mind happens slowly, but he knows in reality everything happened very fast.
A body flew across his shop like a rag doll, crashing through the double-layered glass window and landing with a heavy thump on the floor.
He rushed towards the person, the man, and he took in the sight. He recognized the costume, the gauntlets, the mask.
Ground Zero.
Ground Zero was in his shop.
Ground Zero was bleeding out on his floor.
He fell to his knees on the ground and assessed the damage. There was a huge gash on the man’s navel, gushing out blood and more blood.
There was a split-second when Shouto saw someone flying at them from outside. It didn’t look like a hero, even if he couldn’t be sure. He sent his ice flying to block the entrance. It wasn’t exactly legal to use your Quirk like that, but he figured if he could protect Ground Zero’s life, they wouldn’t be too mad about it (whoever they were).
The wound kept gurgling, spilling crimson all over his white apron as he put pressure on it. It wouldn’t do. He wouldn’t make it like this.
Shouto was desperate. He couldn’t let a hero die .
He only had one idea, and it wasn’t a very good one, but he couldn’t even hear sirens yet and they wouldn’t make it here in time no matter how fast they could be.
He hoped the man lying on the ground unconscious could forgive him for this if he survived.
He placed his left hand over the wound and with great effort and control, started to cauterize it.
Ground Zero woke with a scream and Shouto had to use his ice to pin him down until he was finished. The wound stopped bleeding but the hero didn’t stop screaming.
Shouto pulled him closer carefully, grabbing the phone from the counter and calling the paramedics.
He pushed the sweaty bangs off Ground Zero’s face. It was scrunched up in pain and tears were spilling on Shouto’s pants, wetting the blood already on them.
The man was looking at him.
He kept saying it hurts, it hurts, it hurts .
And the more he said it, the more Shouto could feel it too.
When he heard the familiar sound of sirens, he melted the ice to reveal them, bloody and broken on the floor, flowers astray around them.
His white dahlias were covered in crimson.