With a defeated sigh, you dump water from the elaborate vase then trash it and the bouquet it houses.
This had to stop.
Every day for the last two weeks, Todoroki Enji had flowers sent to your agency; one bouquet more ridiculous than the next. If he tried to outdo this last one, you'd own a fucking florist and you weren't looking to change careers.
He was becoming increasingly persistent.
Slumping in your chair, you pick up the phone and dial just to have a back and forth with his gatekeeping PA. Only the threat of pitching a fit in the foyer of the biggest agency in Japan has her connect you to his line.
"Endeavor."
No greeting, just a statement. You roll your eyes. Figures he'd have a proportionate ego.
"No, it's Y/n," you decide to fuck with him childishly.
You hear the creak of leather, like he's sat up in his chair.
"It's good to hear from you. I thought the flowers hadn't reached you."
Glancing at the stems peeking from the trash can, you feel a guilty blush creep up your neck. He sounds so genuine.
No. No, fuck… no more toxic, complicated men, you scold yourself.
"Oh, I got them. Thanks. About that though, please don't send any more, it's not appropriate."
Understatement of the decade. He was newly divorced, not long after his not so deceased son rose from the dead.
May explain his God complex.
"Not appropriate?"
"No. I'm flattered but no."
He's silent for a moment. "Would you prefer jewellery?"
What the fuck? Before you're able to respond, he starts rambling.
"I didn't think you were the jewellery type… I've never seen you wear any, but if you prefer I cou-"
"Endeavor," you cut him off. "I mean no gifts."
The silence on the line is so absolute, you think you've lost connection for a moment until he exhales in defeat.
"If that's what you want," he says quietly and you murmur assent before cutting the call.
You'd be a liar if you'd said you hadn't half expected him to ignore your request and send another small garden.
You'd be an even bigger liar if you said you weren't slightly disappointed that he hadn't.
Those thoughts get locked up as the receptionist hands you an envelope made of thick paper. Groaning, you tear open the seal and remove the gala invitation.
Great, just bloody great.
"We could always go together."
You turn toward the masculine voice and smile at your partner.
"Not going to work up the courage to finally ask Rumi?" you tease and watch him blush.
"I don't think so," Shin admits a little sheepishly.
You smile, not unkindly and nod. "It'll be nice to not go alone this year."
-------
"You look as uncomfortable as I feel," you say, adjusting the top of your dress for what feels like the millionth time.
Shin chuckles beside you, holding out a drink and you take it gratefully. Anything to take the edge off being in a crowd.
"Just two wallflowers failing to bloom," he says and you smile up at him.
He wasn't wrong. The two of you had been absolute outcasts during high school with your quirks being more than slightly villainous in nature.
Fear and misunderstanding lead to being ostracized and kids could be cruel.
Having a passive quirk when strength was valued had disadvantages, being able to crawl into someone's psyché and reveal their sins had kept you on the outskirts until well after graduation.
"I hate these things," you say with a repulsed shiver. "I have to fight the compulsion to dig beneath the veneer."
He cocks an eyebrow and you shrug. "Just saying, this is the facade and my quirk wants to dig."
"Imagine the chaos."
Taking a sip of your drink, you survey the room and nod in agreement. "Maybe this is why they feared us."
"Want to clear the dance floor?" He asks mischievously and you grin, grateful for the change of topic.
"It can't hurt to try," you agree, putting your drink down to take his hand.
The two of you had naturally gravitated toward each other, becoming fast friends because even misfits needed someone.
Two songs later, you excuse yourself for a breather as Rumi cuts in, clearly making his year complete.
You smile to yourself at his flustered expression as you signal for another drink.
"I'll get it."
The heat at your back is as unmistakable as the huge shadow cast over you. Glancing over your shoulder, you look up at him and narrow your eyes. Was he used to just paying for everything he wanted and thought you could be bought to? For the price of some flowers and a drink?
"Endeavor," you say a little too sweetly, "it's an open bar and I'm not a hooker."
His face flushes and you bite your lip to stop the manic grin on yours.
"I wasn't… that's not… I didn't mean to infer that you're a h-"
Raising your hand, you cut him off.
