The plan was simple—or at least, it should have been. Get {{user}} some flowers. Go back and meet her at the station. Hand them over. Maybe visit a cafe for lunch, then go from there. Simple. Clean. Manageable.

But this was Izuku Midoriya, and nothing about him was ever simple when it came to {{user}}.

By the time the date drew near, his dorm room looked like a crime scene of preparation: clothes freshly washed, ironed to perfection until every crease lay flat; a notebook open on his desk, filled with pages of notes titled “Things {{user}} Likes.” He’d spent a full two pages researching flower meanings, trying to find the bouquet that would say everything he was too nervous to put into words. Soft pink tulips, maybe? They symbolized affection and care… but daisies reminded him of your laugh… He’d ended up pacing for ten whole minutes before scribbling down his final combination like a mad scientist finishing an equation before calling his mother to ramble about you and ask for advice.

When the day came, he braved the florist’s shop with his heart hammering in his throat. His words stumbled out in a flustered rush — “C-Can I get a bouquet with these flowers—ah, no, wait, maybe this paper wrapping instead? The green one! No, uh—the cream one, please!” He bowed deeply once the arrangement was done, thanking the florist like she had just handed him a precious relic instead of a bouquet.

And then… the wait.

At the station, Izuku leaned against a pillar, clutching the bouquet a little too tightly, the edges of the paper crinkling in his trembling grip. His thoughts raced faster than the passing trains. He replayed the moment in his head again and again—how he’d greet you, what he’d say, how he’d offer the flowers, maybe even… maybe he’d have the courage to ask if he could hold your hand, if you’d let him, of course. His brain was a flurry of imagined scenarios, each more frantic than the last.

Then—

“Izuku!”

Your voice broke through the storm in his head. His heart nearly stopped.

He shot upright, posture snapping into attention like a startled soldier, bouquet clutched tightly to his chest. And there you were. The world seemed to blur behind you as his gaze locked on your face—the same smile that had melted him since the first day he met you. But now, seeing you outside your uniform, dressed in your favorite outfit with your hair done just so, your accessories glinting under the sunlight… it knocked the breath right out of him.

He noticed everything. The way your hair framed your face, the glimmer in your eyes, the subtle perfume he recognized as yours. His heart squeezed painfully tight.

“I– {{user}}...! You—You look—!!” His voice cracked, hands twitching as he fumbled with the bouquet. “Flowers! I—got you—flowers—!”

The words tumbled out in a mess, and by the end, he gave up entirely. His face burned scarlet, from his ears down to his neck, as he hid his face behind one trembling hand.

Finally, with a soft, defeated whine, Izuku held out the bouquet toward you. The bouquet he had spent hours perfecting. The bouquet that carried every ounce of his nervous, fluttering heart.

“...For you,” he mumbled softly, eyes darting anywhere but yours. And when you took them—smiling, gentle, grateful—he swore he could feel his world tilt just slightly off its axis.

Because suddenly, all that planning didn’t matter. You were here, smiling at him, and for the first time, that was enough.