Aizawa Oneshots and More

Full Bloom

HIII GUYS!!!! I am, once again, sorry for my disappearance! Lot of stuff been going on, but I am here! 

ALSO!!! I GOT A NEW LAPTOP! SO I CAN WRITE MORE NOW! I CAN ACTUALLY MAKE MORE CHAPTERS!

BUT ALSO ALSO, ON A BIGGER NOTE!!! WE HAVE REACHED 100K READERS !!!! A WHOLE 100K!!! THAT IS SO AWESOME! 

Literally! I cannot believe it! Thank you guys so very very much for reading my stories and leaving support and all the nice comments and requests!

I was going to consider this chapter the "special" for the 100k but if you guys want something else, a different kind of chapter or something, please let me know!

Requests ARE open! Also if I'm forgetting a request or something PLEASE let me know and I'll get to it immediately <3 I can actually keep track of my shit now so YAY!

I love you guys sm!!! Thank you all again!!!

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The morning sun pours through the tall front windows of the shop, golden light catching on hanging ivy and the bright faces of gerbera daisies in the display cooler. A warm breeze creeps through the cracked door, rustling the edge of a floral care manual on the counter. it 's early enough that the street is quiet, just the low hum of the city waking up and the comforting clink of your shears against a glass vase.

You're elbow-deep in eucalyptus stems, trimming them for a custom order, when the bell over the door chimes.

"Good morning, Mizuki," you call, not even looking up.

"Morning!" your elderly regular chirps, already making a beeline for the peonies. "You remembered I'd come early today, huh?"

You smile and set your shears down. "Of course! You said your granddaughter's recital was this week? Coral and white, right?"

"That's right. Something gentle but proud."

You set to work with practiced ease, plucking blooms from different buckets, fluffing petals and arranging them in a short-stemmed bouquet. Mizuku chats idly about the weather, about her granddaughter's nerves, and about how flowers always help ease the tension. You wrap the bouquet in soft paper, tie it with twine and hand it over with a little sprig of mint for luck.

"She's lucky to have you," you say with a smile.

"Oh no, sweetheart," the elderly woman smiles. "She's lucky to have you. No one makes flowers speak the way you do."

You laugh softly, brushing stray petals from your apron. "It's just stems and colour theory."

"It's love. You just don't see it 'cause you're giving it away all day."

The words stick with you longer than they should've. Even after Mizuki left and the morning rush comes and goes, you find yourself glancing at the little shelf behind the counter where you sometimes displayed overstock. It's full of forget-me-nots and yarrow sprigs. Pretty, but meant for others.

You never thought much about it before. You're always the one wrapping flowers, offering comfort or celebration or an apology through delicate things with brief lifespans. There isn't much room to wonder what it might feel like to receive them.

Still...

It might be nice. Once. Just to know what it's like.

But you shake the thought away before it can take root. You're not lacking for love. Not when he holds you at night like you're something he can't believe is real. Not when he remembers how you take your tea and brings home new books for your tiny reading nook. He doesn't need flowers to show he loves you.