Ever since he could remember, the Mineta household had three rules.

Behave.

Don’t cuss.

And lastly, never, under any circumstances, fall in love.

Mineta remembered being held in his mother’s arms, the way her dark eyes and pale skin seemed so beautiful, despite the sickness they foretold. He remembered her shaking hands as she caressed his face and whispered with a scratchy throat to never love.

He didn’t understand, his parents loved each other, why was it a bad thing? It wasn’t until many years later that he realized his mother was a lover. She loved and she loved, and his father was the only that had ever returned it.

Mineta had many memories of watching his mother cough up blood, of seeing her get countless operations to remove the branches of love that squeezed the life and air from her.

Mineta didn’t think love was too beautiful after that.

His mother had eventually succumbed to her sicknesses, something that was crushing no matter how prepared you were.

Minoru was only seven when he coughed up his first petal. It was a daisy for a girl in his second grade class. She was nice and shared her pencils with him.

He had run to his father, tears in his eyes as he held a soggy petal in a shaking fist and asked if he was going to die too.

That was the first and only time his father had hit him, a crime of passion and rage as his only child made the same foolish errors that cost him his wife. His father then fell to his knees and held him, whispering that he was sorry.

He got his first surgery after that, by then hibiscus had started to grow as well, for the sweet man that fed the birds every day outside the house. These would be the first of many.

Waking up and seeing those people again was strange. He felt nothing for them, worse than strangers. His mouth didn’t tilt up in a smile when they were funny and his eyes didn’t water when they felt sad. They were just people.

Mineta hated the long pink scar that went down his chest, hated the way the other kids poked it and adults stared. He only wore shirts that went past his collarbones, though he remembered how his mother’s scar he gradually crept up and over until her chest was healed mincemeat.

The cycle repeated every few years, a flower cropping up and needing removed. He felt bad about costing his dad so much, but no matter how hard he tried, Mineta just couldn’t stop loving.

His teenage years were the worst, those times when he’d fight his dad to keep his emotions because that person was ‘just that special’ and he didn’t want to lose his emotions. He was stupid, he knew it, but he was compelled to rebel until his father and him both broke down. He always got it in the end, and things went back to normal.

Then there was UA.

He had gotten accepted by some miracle and with his head held high and his chest free of plants, he was entering a new chapter of his life.

It went well. He would sit with his father each night as he did homework, them both waiting with baited breath for a cough, but one never came. For the first few weeks he never felt so much as an itch in his lungs or a tickle of his throat. It felt nice.

Maybe it was because he had such a small bubble. He had Denki as one of his first close friends and Sero was pretty nice, but nobody else really interacted with him. He flirted with a few, playing a dangerous game, but flirting wasn’t love. In fact, the more he objectified them, the less likely he was to fall in love with them as people.

See, Mineta loved constantly. A boy bursting at the seams with love to give, but none to receive. He fell in love with people for their little actions and their personalities. He didn’t need their love back, that had never been the point. He loved friends and neighbors, classmates and strangers, and even those who hurt him would sometimes sneak into his heart and lungs.

He supposed it wasn’t too surprising when he started to cough and hack, choking until a few tiny yellow buds laid in his hands. He was at home, flushing them in his panic to hide his misdeed. He wasn’t sure what flower yet, but he was nearly positive it was a flower for Denki. It didn’t hurt yet, friendship flowers never hurt too bad, it was when they started to grow out of control that they would start to burn and scratch on their way up.

He didn’t tell his father, it wasn’t an emergency yet.

— ✿ —

Eventually someone brought up his scar.

The boys were changing into their gym uniforms and Midoria had curiously mumbled about the long, precise scar that bisected the small boy’s chest. That had brought many pairs of eyes to it, including Denki’s.

“Oh wow, never noticed that. Heart? My sister had open heart surgery once, it was weird.” He talked in his fast, oblivious way, giving Mineta an alibi.

“Yeah, it’s not an issue now though.” He shrugged, avoiding their eyes as he pulled on his shirt. Midoria’s eyes burned into him the rest of the day.

— ✿ —

It wasn’t long before he managed to cough up an entire marigold, revealing the breed of Denki’s flower. He smiled and spat out the small amount of blood in his mouth, carefully rinsing and drying the flower before placing it between the pages of a blank book.

He had started the tradition when he was ten, each flower and petal. getting it own page where he’d write who it was for. It was a bittersweet thing to reread the loving words once the feeling was gone.

He wrote Denki’s name and a few things, but left the rest blank. He had time to fill it in, it wasn’t bad enough to warrant the school loss yet. Maybe during break.

— ✿ —

Mineta was surprised next time he coughed up a marigold, only to see it tangled with a beatutiful and broken chocolate cosmos. He sighed, knowing their was a second plant in his chest.

He spent the night trying to narrow down the suspects, and as morning light creeped into his room, he decided it must be Jirou. He didn’t know her well, but Kaminari loved her deeply. He supposed he loved her by proxy then.

She soon got her own page when a flower finally came up whole.

— ✿ —

The night after the USJ incident was a sleepless one. He spent the night curled up on his bathroom floor, choking on petals and stems. He eventually sat surrounded by the carnage, picking out the flowers and gently setting them aside so he could clean.

Black heather for Mr. Aizawa, the man willing to die to protect them all. It meant admiration, if google wasn’t lying.

A water lily for Tsu. It was nearly whole and he wasn’t surprised. The way he had felt when Shigaraki’s hand closed over her face... He wasn’t surprised.

There were a few he didn’t know. A few leaves he couldn’t place and a sickeningly orange petal were set aside for later. He’d undoubtedly cough up larger chunks eventually. For now he cleaned the lily and heather, giving them their own empty pages.

— ✿ —

One by one, he filled his book. He had never had so many plants at once, and it was hard to breath after training sometimes. It was still bearable from practice and the mildness of his feelings, at least. Most of his class was there, from Midoria to Sero, Koda to Aoyama, and Tokoyami to Iida, they found a home in his heart one way or another. The orange petal was revealed to be for Allmight and Present Mic even earned a ranunculus by proxy to Aizawa.

His book was filled with writing about his classmates and how he believed they had earned their flower. It was a fun hobby to distract him from the knowledge he’d lose it all one day. It hurt quite a bit sometimes, but it was his heart. He dreaded losing so many people at once.

By then he lived in the dorms, flushing his broken flowers and hiding his book of love under the bed where nobody could find it.

— ✿ —

Mineta had been lounging in Denki’s room late one night, the two angrily playing CS:GO. Denki had done something stupid and Minoru just had to laugh, a rough sound from the years of abuse.

“I love you bro.” He said jokingly, stilling when he realized the finality and danger of the statement. If Denki openly refused him, things would only get worse.

But instead Denki smiled his bright smile, giving him two thumbs up.

“Love you too, bro! Now let’s go kill some people!” He yelled at the screen, entering into a waiting area for players.

Mineta stopped coughing up Marigolds.

— ✿ —

It was strange. He had never just stopped coughing petals, they always had to be removed.

Mineta smiled at the ceiling of his room, heart pounding. He was loved! This is what it felt like to be loved!

— ✿ —

There was only one time in his life Mineta had fallen in romantic love. He had fallen so deeply for a pretty and kind girl from his middle school, coughing up thorny coral roses for her. He had fought to keep those flowers, but his father had dragged him to the ER immediately and they were gone by morning. Romantic love wasn’t like admiration or friendship. It hurt so much more. It wasn’t friendship that killed in the end, it was always love. People always died for that kind of love.

He supposed he should have seen it coming.

The way Shoji looked at him with some level of distancing was simple. The way he barely tolerated the smaller boy was normal. There was nothing special about Shoji emotionally, but Mineta was enraptured.

Where Mineta was short, Shoji was tall. Where Mineta was despised, Shoji was loved. Where Mineta was a pervert, Shoji was a gentleman. Where Mineta was weak, Shoji was strong.

They were polar opposites that had no business together, yet Minoru often found his mind wandering in class or his dorm. Shoji was so warm and homely, beautiful in a way that a guy had no business being.

Mineta had always assumed his end would start with a pretty face and soft hands, some beautiful dame he’d die for. Shoji wasn’t that. Shoji was a sharp jawline and strong arms, someone way better that would never need saving. He instead was a savior. In the end, it didn’t make a difference. Mineta learned young that love didn’t discriminate.

He had known it was the beginning of the end when he spent his weekend dry heaving and coughing up blood and dirt. It felt like hours before he finally managed to spit it out.

A lavender rose.

The entire flower, excluding its stem, lie on his bathroom tile in a pool of blood. He gently picked it up, hands shaking at how large it was in his hands.

He washed it carefully, as if any harsh movements would make the beautiful flower crumble to dust.

It made his book bow as he placed in between the pages. He carefully scrawled the name and closed it, placing four flower interpretation books on top to pin it down. He couldn’t resist looking up the rose and it’s meaning, signing to an empty room as he replaced the book and rehid them.

Oh Shoji Mezo, you were a strange one.

— ✿ —

As expected, things went downhill fast.

Mineta knew it was coming, he had known for a while that there were too many plants, more than there had ever been, and the raging rose bush starting to grow was making everything worse. He knew the school had been warned about his medical past and tendency to catch Hinaki, they’d immediately zero in on his labored breathing.

It was hard to train when every breath burned and every cough left speckled of blood on his hands. He didn’t eat much anymore, anything solid impossible to swallow. Even drinking was hard and seemed to encourage his plants.

It was even hard to sit in class, every time he would meet the eyes of his classmates, he’d feel their flower try to claw its way up.

He spent many classes with petals between his teeth, excusing himself to the bathroom to spit them out when there were too many. Shoji was the worst. He seemed to glance over often, his cold and mysterious eyes were always enough to get Mineta sprinting to the restroom to cough up a flower. He’d be as quiet as possible, fingers down his throat as he pulled the thorns free and wrapped up the bloody flower in toilet paper.

He was never able to throw away Shoji’s flowers, so he kept them. They had a small dollar store vase that he’d look at when he was in pain. It made him feel better, though he didn’t know why.

— ✿ —

They had just finished a mock battle when Mineta’s tiny lungs gave up. He fell to his hands and knees, coughing and gasping. It burned, tears streaming down his face. He knew he shouldn’t have participated so much, but the battles were easy to get lost in.

His classmates were staring and his teacher crouched beside him, a hand on his back.

“Breathe kid.” Mr. Aizawa said blankly, but Mineta felt the concern. He gagged, wheezing as blood dribbled down his lips.

Finally a few petals and a bramble worked themselves free. He could feel the confusion of the class and Aizawa, but Aizawa’s was a different kind.

“Dammit kid, how many do you have in there?!”

Mineta responded by descending into another coughing fit as Mina’s daffodils and Bakugou’s snapdragons fought for their turn to escape.

— ✿ —

There was a trail of petals and blood to recovery girl’s room, a trail of unrequited love and hardship. There were orchids, freesia, babys breath, and protea. Hydrangea, tulips, and amaryllis. From torn petals to leaves to stems, thorns, and even a few full buds, they lay in the hall. They would eventually be cleaned up and thrown away, as if they weren’t special, as if they weren’t the rawest, deepest show of emotion possible.

Recovery girl eased the pain, but she couldn’t heal a matter of the heart. A sickness with the power and longlivety of a quirk. They called an ambulance despite his protests, and with many pairs of eyes on him and more petals falling from his lips, they took him away.

He begged the blank faces of the doctors to leave his flowers alone, to at

least spare his lavender roses, but they didn’t pity him with an answer. Hanaki was rare, but he knew they were still trained to removed every trace. As of his flowers were malignant tumors.

He struggled, willing to fight to keep the feelings for his classmates. The classmates that didn’t care about him. The classmates that wouldn’t notice him gone. Still, they were a team. They’d been through so much and each and every petal and thorn was worth the pain. Someway, somehow, these strangers had coaxed Mineta into being willing to die for feelings he’d never be given.

Of course, in the end, the doctors won.

— ✿ —

Mineta knew the feeling well. To wake up to en empty chest. It was emptier than usual, as if they had taken his heart out along with his flowers.

He listened to the doctor tell his father about his flowers. How they had spread from his lungs and were starting to seemingly fuse with his body. He talked about how lucky Mineta was to survive and how risky his future could be if he let things get out of hand again.

The doctor told about how they had found a rose bush growing around Minoru’s heart, clinging to it. How they had taken it out, ripped away his lavender roses.

He cried silent tears.

— ✿ —

His father was angry, of course. He expected that, knew it was coming.

His father didn’t hit him, just held him in shaking arms

“They took my roses. My lavender roses...” Mineta whispered into his father’s shoulder. His father had looked up with sad eyes, wiping a tear from his sons cheek.

“Lavender.” He breathed, voice shaking. “You both always loved lavender.”

Mineta remembered the lavender curtains his mother would always fret over, the lavender dish towels and lavender soap. He remembered the lavender sun dress she would wear to the beach and lastly, the vase of dried lavender roses that always sat on the counter.

Realization dawned on him.

He stared at his father, struggling to find the words.

“Lavender roses.. that was your flower.” He choked out, voice cracking and throat burning from the fresh wounds.

His father nodded and hugged him again, consoling his son.

“I’m so sorry Minoru.”

He once again descended into sobbing, knowing his lavender rose bush was probably in some biohazard bag, far away from it’s place around his heart.

— ✿ —

It took a long time to return to school.

He entered those familiar halls and looked at the shining floor, clean of his petals, just like his chest.

He arrived in class and avoided the eyes of his classmates, nodded at the words they said. He could talk to them if he wanted to, but his throat still hurt and despite the memories, they were just people. Strangers.

The day was so slow, yet fast. A torrent of emptiness. He never felt a tickle in his throat or pollen on his tongue, just a dry mouth and achy throat. An empty chest that would one day fill again until the cycle killed him like it had killed his mother. He wondered if that had been his peak, if he had been meant to die with a chest full of love, but surely he’d move on and forget the feelings and would fall in love all over again. He doubted he’d ever see lavender roses again, and in a way, he hoped. He hoped to never see a vase in a window that showed the love he never had, to see a lavender sundress on a woman who didn’t look sick, a woman who didn’t have a chest full of love to give.

When class ended, he trudged to the dorms, ignoring Denki. He still felt love for his friend, a strong relief against all the emptiness.

“Thank you, and you’re great, but I need some time.” He finally managed, giving Denki a half hug that turned into a full, crushing hug between two people who’d die for each other.

“Hey Mineta?” Mineta stopped. His room was so close, just a few paces away, but the voice was soft and familiar. He knew he could leave, but something compelled him to humor the person he’d nearly died for.

Shoji stood in the hall, main hands awkwardly in his pockets while the others fidgeted. He was surprised to not see a mouth from one arm. Shoji was talking to him directly.

“Yeah?”

Shoji fidgeted again, clearly thinking as he stared down at the carpet.

“I looked up Hanaki. You... You had those flowers for a long time, didn’t you?” He sounded so concerned and it made Mineta’s chest twist with something that burned. He wanted to cry, but nothing came. He just stood and looked up the the giant before him.

“Yes.”

Shoji flinched, though he didn’t look surprised. More so, he looked resigned.

“Each flower is for a person, you had so many kinds. And your scars, you’ve done this before.” Shoji never showed emotion either, but there was this shakiness to his voice. They had been partners for many projects before Minoru started to avoid contact to keep his secret. He wondered if Shoji somehow felt guilty for not knowing.

“I did. I have.”

Shoji’s eyes met his, those steely and enrapturing eyes he used to love so, so much. Now they were just eyes, but in a way, he still liked them.

“How? Why?” It was a question of desperation, as if he couldn’t fathom the idea of someone bearing pain to keep their love. Clearly he had never been in love, and that was good. Shoji was young, and while he’d never grow plants on his lungs to prove it, he’d love one day and he’d be happy in a way Mineta only dared to dream. Let him be oblivious. Ignorance was bliss.

“Why?” Mineta laughed, a sound so bitter that he was surprised it was his own. “Because Shoji.” That name spilled from his lips with the slightest twinge of pain in his heart as phantom thorns gripped it.

“I’m a lover.”

—

That night he read through his book, caressing the dried flowers and tracing the words that had been written with so much love and happiness. He eyed his vase, unable to bring himself to rid of it.

That night his closed his book and hid it away, several blank pages awaiting their flowers greedily.

That night as he laid down to sleep, he started to cough once again, the burn around his heart growing fierce.

That night, he placed a fresh lavender rose in his vase, gently cleaned with care and love.

It would be his little secret.