He closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of wet earth, dirt, leaf litter, familiar and comforting. His hands were caked with soil and dirt was an almost permanent nuisance under his short nails. If you had told Katsuki when he was younger that he would spend a majority of the rest of his life in a flower shop he would have punched you, yet here he is. After the way, the need for heroes slowly died out, a few hanging up the cape entirely and moving on with their lives. For Katsuki it wasn't a choice, his heart was too weak for the thrill, for the stress. He had lost almost everything in the war, his hearing, his heart, his life. He still had to wear a compression sleeve ten years later. He sighs and stands, dusting his worn jeans off. This had been his life, his world for the past six years. He had taken up gardening while in an anger management program and it just kind of stuck with him. He smiles softly at his impressive garden, the flowers bright, their scents sweet. He had become a well known florist, making a good amount of money for A arrangements. A sigh leaves him as he closes shop for the day, turning the open sign off. He grabs his jacket and locks the doors, his eyes drawn to the tattoo parlor across the street. He could see you through the window, your head bent as you fiddled with your machine. He steps in the door.