Chapter Text
The swing set conversation changed everything. Not loudly. Not visibly. But fundamentally.
Shinsou didn’t look at Izuku the same way after that. He looked at him like someone holding something fragile—but not breakable. Like something worth protecting. And Izuku didn’t know what to do with that.
It started three days later. Shinsou walked him home. Izuku didn’t ask him to. Shinsou didn’t ask permission. He just… did.
“You live alone,” Shinsou said as they reached Izuku’s apartment building.
It wasn’t a question.
Izuku stiffened.
“Yes.”
“For how long?”
“…a while.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s enough of one.”
Shinsou studied the building. Old concrete. Cracked stairwell window. Flickering exterior light.
“…does anyone check on you?”
“I’m fine.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Izuku shifted his weight. The hallway lights buzzed faintly behind the door. Oro floated slightly above the entry steps, watching both of them with narrowed eyes.
“…you don’t have to babysit me,” Izuku said quietly.
“I’m not.”
“It feels like you are.”
Shinsou exhaled slowly.
“…I just don’t think you should be alone.”
The words landed heavier than intended. Izuku’s chest tightened.
“I’m used to it.”
“That doesn’t make it okay.”
There it was again. That refusal to let things slide. To let him minimize himself.
Izuku looked away first.
“…I’ve been fine.”
A lie. They both knew it.
Oro drifted down until he hovered between them.
“…he’s not wrong,” Oro said quietly.
Izuku’s jaw clenched.
“Don’t.”
Shinsou frowned.
“…don’t what?”
“Nothing.”
Izuku forced a small smile.
“I’m fine, Shinsou. Really.”
Shinsou didn’t look convinced. But he nodded.
“For now.”
It wasn’t an agreement. It was a postponement.
The first time Shinsou came inside, it wasn’t planned. It was raining. Hard. The kind of rain that soaks through fabric in seconds. They’d been walking when the sky opened up.
Izuku fumbled with his keys under the awning.
“Come in,” he muttered.
“Are you sure?”
“Yes. You’ll get sick.”
Shinsou hesitated only a moment before following him inside.
The apartment was small. Too quiet. The kind of quiet that echoes. Izuku dropped his bag on the chair by the table.
“Sorry. It’s… not much.”
Shinsou stepped inside slowly. Not judging. Observing. There was only one pair of shoes by the door. One toothbrush in the bathroom. One plate drying by the sink.
“…you really are alone,” Shinsou said softly.
Izuku busied himself with a towel.
“It’s peaceful.”
Oro snorted from the ceiling. Izuku shot him a look. Shinsou noticed that.
“…is he here?” he asked quietly.
“Yes.”
“…what’s he doing?”
“Judging me.”
“Fair.”
That almost made Izuku smile.
Shinsou walked to the window. Looked out. The rain distorted the city lights into blurry streaks.
“…does he ever leave?”
“Sometimes.”
“Do other ghosts come here?”
Izuku hesitated.
“…yes.”
“Do they all bully you ?”
“Hey, I don't bully him.”
“Oh shut up, you do bully me.”
“What?”
“I'm talking to Oro, and the others are-”
“Worse, they hurt me.”
The words barely made it out.
Shinsou turned slowly.
“…what?”
“It’s fine.”
“That doesn’t sound fine.”
“I can handle it.”
“That’s not the point.”
The tension in the room shifted. Heavier. Protective. Oro hovered closer now. Not joking. Not relaxed. Watching Shinsou carefully.
“…they don’t come in when he’s here,” Izuku added quietly.
Shinsou’s eyes flicked to the empty space Izuku was staring at.
“…why?”
Izuku looked at Oro. Oro looked away.
“…they just don’t.”
That wasn’t an answer. Shinsou noticed. He filed it away.
The sleepover wasn’t planned either. It happened because Izuku didn’t sleep. Shinsou noticed.
They’d been studying. Hours passed. Midnight. One a.m. Two. Izuku’s eyes were rimmed red. But he didn’t yawn. Didn’t blink heavily. Didn’t slow down.
“…when was the last time you slept properly?” Shinsou asked.
“I sleep.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
Izuku looked at the wall. Where faint shadows shifted near the ceiling.
“…it’s easier to stay awake.”
“Why?”
Silence.
Because ghosts are louder in the dark. Because hands reach further when the lights are off. Because whispering gets closer when you’re vulnerable.
“…just is,” Izuku said finally.
Shinsou stood. Walked to the door. Locked it. Checked the windows. Closed the curtains. Then he walked back and sat down on the floor across from Izuku.
“…I’m staying.”
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
Oro floated near the ceiling light. Watching.
“…you trust him,” Oro said quietly.
Izuku didn’t respond. But he didn’t argue either.
That night—no other ghosts came near the windows. None hovered outside. None pressed against the walls. The apartment felt—calm. For the first time in years.
Izuku fell asleep sitting up. Mid-sentence. Shinsou noticed. He didn’t wake him. Just shifted closer. Sat back against the wall. Stayed.
The next morning, Shinsou didn’t comment on the dark circles. Didn’t tease. Didn’t question. He just handed Izuku a cup of tea.
“…you can come over instead,” he said casually.
Izuku froze.
“What?”
“My place. My dads won’t care.”
Dads. Plural.
“No,” Izuku said immediately.
Shinsou didn’t flinch at the sharpness.
“Why?”
“I don’t need—”
“Midoriya.”
Izuku’s breath hitched slightly.
“I don’t need help.”
Shinsou held his gaze.
“You don’t need to earn it either.”
The words landed harder than any accusation could have.
Oro looked between them. Thoughtful. Quiet.
“…you’re scared of adults,” Oro murmured.
Izuku shot him a glare.
Shinsou tilted his head slightly.
“…of what they’ll do?”
Izuku looked away. Didn’t answer. That was answer enough.
Shinsou, meanwhile, muttered that he needed an Ouija board because he's getting tired of only hearing half of the conversations.
“They’re not like that.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do.”
Izuku’s hands curled into fists. Trusting adults had never ended well. Doctors. Evaluations. Whispers. Sedatives.
Shinsou noticed the shift. The tension. He softened slightly.
“Just dinner,” he said. “Once.”
Not permanent. Not official. Just—once.
Izuku hesitated. Long enough that the silence grew heavy.
Oro drifted closer to Izuku’s shoulder.
“…you don’t have to stay alone forever,” he said quietly.
Izuku swallowed.
“…just dinner,” he repeated.
Shinsou nodded once.
“Just dinner.”
He didn’t leave that night either. And when he finally walked back to his apartment the next day to grab fresh clothes, the ghosts didn’t follow him. They hovered at the end of the street. Watching. Waiting. Like something had shifted. Like the balance had changed.
Oro stood beside him. Arms crossed.
“You can trust them,” Oro murmured.
Izuku frowned.
“How would you know?”
Oro’s eyes drifted toward the direction of U.A.
“I knew them.”
‘Yeah, you knew everyone.”
“No, just you'll see.”
Izuku didn’t understand what that meant. Not yet.