The scent of lilies always lingered on his fingers.
It clung to his sleeves, soaked into his collar, followed him like a second shadow. No one at school ever mentioned it—but sometimes he saw the way they wrinkled their noses when he passed by. They didn't have to say anything. Satoru understood what they were thinking.
He just didn't care. Not when he was here.
Hanabira Flowers was a narrow little shop with wood-paneled walls and soft, chipped tiles. The front windows were foggy in the morning and hot with sunlight by noon. Flowers crowded every shelf and hanging basket—daisies, baby's breath, hydrangeas, tiny potted cacti with googly eyes glued to their pots.
It was a mess of life and color. He loved it.
Satoru stood behind the register, trimming the stems of a bouquet his mother had half-finished. His scissors were old, the handle wrapped in tape, but he moved with care. One stem at a time. Precision gave him something to focus on.
"Try not to cut them so short," his mother said from behind him. "You'll ruin the balance."
"Sorry," he mumbled.
"It's okay, sweetheart. Just use your eyes, not your fear."
She passed behind him with a small cough muffled by her sleeve. Her hair was tied back in a loose bun, silver streaks growing bolder by the week. The apron around her waist was stained with pollen and water spots.
She still moved with grace. But slower than she used to.
Keiko leaned against the doorframe, watching with crossed arms. Her uniform blazer was open and wrinkled, her socks uneven. She looked like she'd fought someone on the way home, which wasn't impossible.
"I had to scare off Shun and his goons again today," she said casually.
Their mother sighed. "Not with your fists, I hope."
"No. Just my eyes." Keiko smirked. "My fists were the backup plan."
Satoru stayed quiet, his hands moving automatically. He couldn't look up.
"Did they touch you?" their mom asked, voice tight.
Satoru shook his head. "No. Not today."
She stepped closer and brushed his bangs out of his eyes. "You don't have to take it, you know. You can tell someone."
"They won't listen," he said quietly.
There was silence for a beat. Then Keiko snorted. "If it gets bad enough, I'll just break someone's nose again."
Their mom shot her a look. "Keiko—"
"Kidding. Probably."
---
Later that afternoon, Satoru sat in the back room alone, refilling the small vases used for delivery orders. His hands moved in silence, damp sleeves sticking to his arms.
He could still hear them—those boys at the gate. That sharp moment when he'd frozen. Again. Every time, it was the same: his throat closed, his body locked up. His mind filled with static. Like his fear had hands and they were wrapped around his lungs.
He hated it. Hated how small he felt.
But in here, in this place of soft petals and glass jars, he could pretend to be something else. Just for a little while.
He set a vase down. His reflection blinked back at him from the water's surface.
"Maybe I'm not supposed to be brave," he whispered. "Maybe I'm just… meant to stay out of the way."
But the words tasted wrong. Even as he said them.
---
Out front, a customer was asking about hydrangeas. A woman with sharp lipstick and sharper opinions.
"Your boy works hard," she said, half-whispering as Satoru passed by. "But it's a shame, isn't it? Quirkless, in this day and age. No future for boys like that."
He pretended not to hear her. Pretended not to see the flicker of apology in his mother's eyes as she handed over the flowers with a practiced smile.
It wasn't the first time someone had said it. It wouldn't be the last.
---
When night fell, the shop closed early. Rain had begun to tap lightly at the windows, gentle and steady.
Satoru sat on the shop counter, swinging his feet as Keiko mopped the floor. Their mother dozed lightly in the backroom, a book open on her lap.
"You're really quiet today," Keiko said without looking up.
"I'm always quiet."
"Yeah, but usually you think louder." She gave him a sideways glance. "You alright?"
Satoru hesitated. Then nodded.
Keiko leaned on the mop handle, one brow raised. "You ever gonna talk back to those jerks?"
"I don't know what to say."
She studied him. "Then maybe say nothing, but stand up. That's how it starts."
Satoru looked at her, the way her eyes were tired but still burning with something fierce and warm.
He didn't answer. Not yet.
---
Later that night, he sat at his desk, staring at the blank page of a notebook.
He wrote nothing.
But he kept the pen in his hand long after the lights went out.