A Flower's Affection (KiriBaku Flower Shop AU)

Katsuki Bakugo-Carnival Hearts

Fun facts: I was going to name the last chapter Carnival Hearts, because aw~, but then realized we'd get much more of the Carnival and Heart bit in this one. 
        Also fun: I have a mini seizure every time I try to spell the word carnival. I don't know why.
⚠️Not so fun. Bakugo's anxiety⚠️

        He should have left by now.

        He should have dumped Katsuki's crazy ass on the side of the road by now, washed his hands of the obvious psychopath, praised his lucky stars to be rid of him, and skipped home humming a happy tune.

        But he hadn't.

        And Katsuki couldn't figure out for the life of him why he hadn't.

        Why he bothered soothing his fears with gentle whispers. Why he offered sensory points to get him grounded again. Why he stayed and patiently let Katsuki get a grip on himself without being pushy or invasive.

        Why he was still holding Katsuki's hand.

        Of course, the answers were simple, but the blonde's paranoia was sticking around, telling him that those answers were wrong. Kirishima hadn't needed to ask or hesitate--he'd known. He'd known what was happening to Katsuki, and he knew how to fix it. And he had fixed it. But he'd known, and he knew how because...

        Katsuki's hands shook, and he vaguely registered the grip over his palm tightening, assuring him that he wasn't alone. Oh, and he hated himself for how willingly he took to the comfort, how easily he fell into trusting this stupid, bumbling, oblivious redhead with his most troubling secrets.

        So many scars. The blonde shuddered, and he felt something drop around his shoulders, surrounding him in warmth and a deep, earthy scent. Kirishima's wrists. Kirishima's arms. Long, pale, faded scars cutting across the suntanned skin in a dizzying array of cross-hatched lines. They were old, very, very old, but they were there. They were there, and Katsuki absolutely hated them. Hated what they meant, their window-like glimpse into Kiri's past. They were there, and for whatever reason, Kirishima had let Katsuki touch them.

        He'd have expected the redhead to become scared and withdrawn, stuttering denial in a way that was just so Kirishima. The radiant sun. Everything's fine, happy-go-lucky Kirishima. But he didn't. He'd simply let Bakugo trace a few of his scars with the pad of his thumb, staying quiet.

        Until he'd asked about food, of course.

        And if Bakugo was being honest, the stark memory of being kidnapped by an evil slime-monster when he was fourteen had taken a lot out of him. He was fucking starving.

        So he let Kirishima pull him out of the bathroom and tug him towards the food court. Let him order something random and warm off the menu and pull them away from the cart. He realized that the comforting weight over his shoulders was the redhead's leather jacket as something warm was shoved under his nose. A small part of him noticed that the redhead was bare-armed without the jacket, and he fucking looked good, all broad-shouldered and thickly muscled, and Katsuki was pissed at himself all over again for ruining a perfectly pleasant date. Again.

        Now, he was simply standing there, leaned against a wall, standing next to a man who now knew one of his closest secrets, and it was driving him crazy. But Kirishima didn't ask. He probably thought it was an effect of the hero work they both took part in, but he'd be wrong. No, that particular villain hadn't been one Katsuki had defeated.

        It was his reason to be a hero in the first place.

        Another involuntary shudder passed through the blonde as he remembered the entire helplessness of that situation, being abducted by an asshole of a villain with a weird slime fetish that his quirk couldn't protect himself from. How the heroes had done fuck-all nothing. A fucking vigilante had saved him, with his stupid grin, and his stupid face, and his stupid fucking shoes. Not to mention that whiny little voice that followed Katsuki around wherever the fuck he went. (To be fair though, he'd saved the runt's ass more than a few times since then, to the point where it had almost become a game to save the other's ass. A very high stakes game, but calling it a game was the only way to stem the blonde's insufferably paradoxical superiority-inferiority complex.)