Work Text:
Shouto has never really thought about what he wants to be, outside of the context of freedom and the ways he dreams of finding it. He had always wanted to be a hero, watching All Might with his mother on the couch—
And then there hadn’t been a choice anymore, so Shouto hadn’t wasted time or energy on dreams that have no way of coming true.
The classroom is in uproar around him: their homeroom teacher stands at the front of the room, looking seconds away from mass homicide. Or he’s seconds away from smiling, Shouto really can’t tell the difference between Aizawa’s moods.
A sheet of paper stares up at Shouto from the desk, clean and white: an information sheet on Class 1A’s latest adventure in education—
“What the hell is this?!” Bakugou’s voice explodes from the front of the room, and while Shouto usually has very little patience for his behaviour… he can’t help but agree.
Mandatory Non-hero experience week
“It’s exactly what it looks like, Bakugou. Each of you are required to either independently source a week-long work experience opportunity, or you will be assigned one according to your preferences. And, no— “ Aizawa drawls, shuffling through his paperwork. “You may not be exempt. This is mandatory— which includes you, Bakugou. This is meant to help you all assess your dedication to your hero studies, and whether this career is truly what you want for your futures.”
The aforementioned blond growls out something Shouto can barely decipher but he knows for a fact that it’s impolite, and probably profane. Midoriya is scribbling madly on the page in front of him, and while some of his classmates seem thoughtful… they seem to at least be thinking of something.
Shouto returns his gaze to the paper on his desk, and wonders what he’s meant to put down. He’s never planned on being anything other than a hero, always knew this was where he would end up. Shouto has always had minimal choice in the whole affair…
But the paper doesn’t ask for parental permission, and Shouto realises that this is entirely his choice.
So under preferences, Shouto scrawls down his interests and wonders where he’s going to be next week.
Hobbies
Reading, gardening
Preferences
Put me wherever you think my father would most disapprove.
⋅•✧────── ☾ ──────✧•⋅
It turns out, floristry is what Aizawa decides fits him best. Or it’s what Aizawa decided will piss off his father more, and Shouto’s really fine with either thought process at this point.
Regardless, Shouto hides his almost smile in his cereal bowl when his father burns the information letter three days later in a fit of rage and demands Shouto reorganise the work experience week.
“It’s mandatory, and it was assigned to me.” Shouto’s approximately eighty-five percent sure that if he asked Aizawa to switch him, he would— but there’s a special sort of pleasure in lying to his father about something that makes him angry.
So Shouto shows up to his work experience week as directed: a light blue dress shirt, dark pants and leather shoes. The letter also stated to bring ‘a willingness to make mistakes’: Shouto thinks it’s a joke, but he also doesn’t want to make mistakes. The white and blue sign above the storefront reads ‘The Art of Arrangement’— the colour scheme seems to be a theme, and the curtains lining the front windows are the same pastel blue.
The doorbell chimes loudly as he enters, and when he looks up there’s an actual old fashioned bell there instead of an electronic doorbell. It’s quaint— but Shouto thinks it’s oddly… cute.
His sight is assaulted by a wave of green foliage and the smell of wet soil as Shouto shuts the door behind himself. There is so much , greenery covers every surface like a miniature forest has upended itself into the shop but somehow the space isn’t cluttered at all.
Each pot, every arrangement is in a perfect place and Shouto wonders how the staff manage it.
“Good morning! You must be Todoroki-kun!”
Shouto turns toward the speaker— a stout, stocky woman with curls just like the shade of coral and the widest grin Shouto’s seen on someone who isn’t Midoriya Izuku… he wonders if they are related. “Good morning, Naitou-san.”
“I see you were admiring the chaos! I hope it’s not too much for you.” She says, wiping her hands on the brown apron ties around her waist as she rounds the workbench that takes up a small corner of the storefront.
Shouto shakes his head. “No, everything looks like it’s in its right place.”
Naitou laughs, deep and rich, like Shouto’s cracked the best joke she’s ever heard. He doesn’t know what he’s said that’s funny but he’s certainly not going to question it. “Funny that you should say that— that’s my quirk. I know where something should go just by looking at it, and…”
She steps forward, and Shouto braces by instinct. Naitou pauses… then steps forward once again, like nothing has happened but her eyes are softer than they were before. She tugs him slightly to the left, and there is a fern tickling his arm. “Now you look like you’re in the exact right place.”
Naitou steps back, and Shouto sighs in relief at his personal space being returned to him. He’s not sure why someone being that close had sent so many alarm signals through his mind, but he tucks it away for further thought when he isn’t at work.
It feels odd to think he’s at work . Part time jobs have always been something his father sneers at, something for lesser people. There’s a sneaking satisfaction in knowing he’s annoying his father just by being here.
Naitou hands him a brown apron, and Shouto begins what is going to be the best week of his life. He just doesn’t know it yet.
⋅•✧────── ☾ ──────✧•⋅
As the first day passes, Shouto learns a few crucial things about himself, and about his employer.
He learns that despite his father’s disdain for it, Shouto is good with plants. He has to be careful with his quirk, carefully stabilising his temperature so as to not damage or prematurely wilt the blooms as Naitou teaches him how to care for them. He learns that his ice is godsend in the world of flowers— he can chill the blooms, the ferns and the palms so that they do not fade while in the store.
He discovers Naitou had a son, Kazuki, who would’ve been around Shouto’s age now. His urn sits in the greenhouse, surrounded by creeping vines and a vivid cascade of what Naitou tells him are forget-me-nots. There’s something wistful, old and painful in her eyes when she trails her fingers down the flowers.
“He planted these, when he was just a tiny little thing. He… tried to make things grow, and he never got to see this one bloom despite how much effort he put into it. So… this is where he stays now.”
She turns to him. “You remind me of him, Todoroki-kun… such a kind soul.”
Shouto doesn’t know how to answer that, how to feel about the sorrow her words bring to the surface of his own heart. So when she smiles at, wet-eyed and warm— Shouto almost-smiles back, and it seems to be enough for Naitou.
Shouto also learns that Naitou Naoko is intensely, unapologetically, inescapably curious.
She seems to refrain, for the first two days, from whatever questions are clearly eating her alive inside out. But Wednesday morning brings another early morning at the florist, the air cool and damp in the chill of the barely faded dawn.
Shouto slips his apron over his waist and ties it securely. He quite likes the apron, weirdly enough— it’s comfortable, practical. It’s a shame it’s not suitable for heroics work.
The thought makes him unexpectedly sad.
“Todoroki-kun, can you come help me with these?” Naitou calls out from the back, muffled like she’s been moving something heavy.
“Coming Naitou-san!”
He’s greeted by Naitou attempting to unload the daily shipment of flowers— clematis, baby’s breath, fairy foxglove, tulips and Shouto spots the ever familiar blue of an autumn bellflower.
He holds one between his fingers, ever gentle. “These aren't a common arrangement flower.”
Naitou huffs, leaning over to see what he’s holding. “Oh, those. There’s a guy who comes in every week, and buys a bunch of those. Not sure who he gives them to, but he comes back every week anyway.”
Something settles in Shouto’s stomach, and he can’t identify what it is. “That’s odd.”
Naitou laughs and gestures to the pile of flowers they need to sort. They return to work, but Shouto can see her eyeing Shouto… or rather, his scar.
“Todoroki-kun, can I ask you something?” Naitou eventually asks, as they move to set up the storefront for the day.
Shouto sets a pot of some red climbing red flowers where Naitou has asked for them to be out, and wipes his hands free of the dirt. “Of course, Naitou-san.”
“Who burned you? Because…. because if it was your father, there…. there are places to ask for help, y’know.” Naitou isn’t looking at him when she says, like she doesn’t want Shouto to see whatever sadness is noticeably clogging her throat as she speaks.
Shouto stares down at this reflection in the metal pot, and sighs. “No, Naitou-san.”
“No to which, your father or the help?”
Shouto hums and turns to adjust a leaf frond in a nearby arrangement. “To both.”
She doesn’t reply as she stares down at the bouquet forming below her hands, and Shouto doesn’t chase the topic further. Wednesday is a quiet morning.
⋅•✧────── ☾ ──────✧•⋅
The bell chimes above the door somewhere after lunchtime, and Shouto hears Naitou greet whoever it is with a cheerful familiarity. He’s in the back, but when Shouto hears Naitou tell him to bring the bell flowers out, he makes quick work of it.
He’s not sure what he expects— but coming face to face with someone intensely familiar and all at once alien to him isn’t what he expects at all.
“Touya…?”
And it can’t be anyone else, Shouto thinks. His hair is dark… but the roots are white, shining underneath the rim of a cap. Wide blue eyes stare back at him and Shouto can only stare back. Touya is scarred, stapled together like it's literally holding him together and Shouto shouldn’t recognise him
But Shouto’s kept a picture of his brother next to his bed for years, stared at his face to remember that while Shouto is sore and tired and alone …. he remembers that Touya is dead .
Except…
“...Hi Shouto.”
Touya isn’t dead and Shouto’s fairly sure that he would recognise his brother in the dark.
Naitou stares between them, rapidly switching between their faces like she’s watching a very interesting tennis match. “You two know each other…?”
Shouto blinks and opens his mouth, and then shuts it. What is he meant to say? “This is my brother.”
Naitou opens her mouth, like she’s about to point out that Shouto’s already told her about his only brother this week and that his name was definitely not Touya … but she shuts it just as quickly. “I see.”
Shouto steps forward, flowers held out. A cold, scarred hand takes them from him— Touya stares at the blue flowers, familiar and fragile. “I’ll say hello for you, Sho.”
Shouto doesn’t know what to say, tucks the burgeoning joy deep in his chest and almost-smiles. Touya doesn’t smile back for a long moment— Shouto knows he’s staring at the scar, faded with age now.
And then he smiles, and leaves the shop like nothing has happened. Shouto sits heavily on a stool and cries, just a little, when Naitou wraps an arm around his shoulders.
She reminds him of his mother, and it makes his breath hitch just a little further.
Naitou doesn’t bring it up, and Shouto is grateful for it. But she watches him, all the rest of the day, with keen eyes.
Shouto goes home, and stares at the photo on his bedside for long hours. He wonders how so much has changed because of a little flower shop and a woman who seems to care.
⋅•✧────── ☾ ──────✧•⋅
“You know, sometimes it’s okay to trim the flowers off. Just because people like how they look, because it suits how they want an arrangement to look… sometimes it’s healthier for a plant to be allowed to grow as it's meant to, and drop what it needs to.”
Shouto wants to stay here forever.
⋅•✧────── ☾ ──────✧•⋅
Friday afternoon rocks around far too quickly, and Shouto finds himself hanging up his apron for the last time with trembling hands. Somehow, this tiny little storefront has become safe and like every safe place Shouto has ever found in his life, he’s not allowed to stay.
Naitou waits at the front door, and she’s shifting her weight nervously from one foot to the other.
“Thank you for a wonderful week, Naitou-san. I have learned a lot and I… I wish I could…”
Naitou grins and holds out a golden badge. It… it has his name on it, and Shouto peers at her in confusion. “Naitou-san…?”
“If you wish you could stay…. you don’t have to go, y’know? My quirk says your perfect place is here… and I agree.”
Shouto stares down at the badge, mind going a million miles. Shouto’s never really thought about what he wants in life, just cared about surviving long enough to be able to consider it one day.
But this… this is his decision.
Shouto takes the badge and turns to pin it to the apron behind him. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Naitou-san.”
She beams, eyes wet but happy. “See you tomorrow, Todoroki-kun.”
⋅•✧────── ☾ ──────✧•⋅
Aizawa Shouta blinks down at the paperwork in front of him, and groans in horror. He drains the rest of his piping hot coffee in one go and reaches for his phone, dialling a familiar number.
“Please, please tell me you will tell Endeavour his son has decided to be a florist and that I don’t have to do it.”