A Flower's Affection (KiriBaku Flower Shop AU)

Eijiro Kirishima-"Ow"

        Kirishima groaned loudly upon waking up, regretting all of his life decisions. He fought with his numb, tired legs to get out of the sheets, dragging himself over to the standing mirror. He sat up, using his elbows and the bed as a brace, and groaned again upon seeing the state of his aching shirtless chest. Misery claimed him, and he fell back onto the mattress with a whine of self-pity, not caring to move even if the world started falling down around him.

        No, that was a lie. He had a certain drive to save the world, and it was because of this stupid, manly drive that his muscles were in the state they were in. His workout and late-night jaunt across the city had left his legs and shoulders tingling and extremely sore. He hadn't had the energy to stretch properly when he returned, and his body was paying for it now. Across the center of his chest, right above his sternum where the bullet had embedded itself last night, bloomed a very colorful, painful bruise of so many shades of red and purple and blue and black that if he didn't know any better, he'd say he'd been attacked by paintball guns in his sleep (which would also leave very similar bruising).

        He glanced at the clock. It was 6:30, and the shop opened at 8:00, so he probably needed to get up now. The plants needed to be watered, and he needed to be fed and take a shower before the customers started showing up. Fridays were a popular day, full of people coming in for gifts for the weekend, so he couldn't afford to close-up today. Literally couldn't afford it. He forced himself out of bed. 

        Well, he tried to force himself out of bed. His legs gave out a few steps from the bedroom door and he collapsed, faceplanting into the smooth, cool, hardwood floors. Or this works too, he thought.

        After working at it for a bit, he managed to get back up onto his feet, his legs nearly giving out again as he dropped into a squat, trying desperately to work the lactic acid out of his muscles. He managed to make it to the bathroom, reaching into the medicine cabinet and taking a painkiller to get him through the day. He leaned heavily on the banister on the way down the stairs, limping to grab his apron and struggling to get it over his head. A light jog this morning would hurt like hell, but he needed to work out the pain and didn't want to break from a daily habit.

        Attempting to ignore the pain until the medicine kicked in, he tended to the flowers, trying to remember if his employee had class today. The guy was incredibly shy and had terrible anxiety, so he didn't like to be asked many questions and Kirishima hadn't managed to ask him where he went to school. He was older than Kirishima by a couple of years, but neither of them really minded. Kiri knew he liked plants--they didn't try to talk to him or force him to make substantial life decisions.

        A group of girls walked by the store window and stopped, gawking at him. Kirishima waved, and they blushed, hurrying away in fits of giggles. He lowered his hand slowly, confused, but caught sight of his reflection in the glass and immediately realized he was still shirtless, barefoot, and wearing a pair of form-fitting sweats. Flushed with embarrassment (he couldn't tell if it was firsthand or secondhand--he thought he had a great body), he rushed upstairs to grab a shirt, thankful that the apron had at least covered his nasty bruise.

        He didn't exactly notice which shirt he put on, but the pain meds were starting to take effect and he managed to grab a pair of running shoes out of his closet without too much trouble. Making one last pass over the welfare of his shop, Kirishima darted out the door, already starting at a steady pace. He had under an hour to run his three-mile route and stop by the coffee shop for some breakfast, less time than usual if he wanted to make it back to the store on time.

        His pace hurt at first, but he soon fell into a rhythm as the stiffness worked its way fully out of his muscles. With a slight jolt, he remembered that this route would bring him by the jewelry store from last night, and a sort of morbid curiosity overtook him. Were the blockades still up? Were detectives still on the scene? Maybe Eraserhead was patrolling early this morning.