Chapter Text
In a general sense, Shouto was quite prideful. He didn’t like accepting help, he liked to win on his own when he could, and he most certainly did not run away. Not unless it was absolutely, without a shadow of a doubt, the only option; and even then, sometimes he’d try and fight. Not that he didn’t understand the importance of teamwork, because he did.
Anyway, his work ethic wasn’t the point. The point is that apparently when it came to Hanta, his flight was much stronger than the fight instinct; because almost as soon as Hanta smiled at him his heart positively ripped out of his chest and flew away. Shouto had no choice but to run after it.
Seriously, he ran.
He was pretty sure he’d moved slower in actual life and death situations.
By the time he’d locked himself in one of the bathroom stalls, he was bright red and puffing steam. It was as if all the feelings he’d tried to bury in the past few years came surging to the surface, a horrible chemical reaction really. One that bubbled, fizzed and exploded its way out of the beaker.
He felt like, all he could hope to do was clean up the mess afterwards.
Holy fuck. Holy fucking shit.
Midoriya came bulldozing in after him and banged on the stall door with such force the hinges shook.
He expected rage. He expected Midoriya to be so over his shit at this point. He expected Midoriya to give him a talk about career priorities or drag him back into the ballroom and have him come up with some embarrassing excuse as to why he’d run in the first place.
After all, he’d seen Midoriya lift an entire military tank one summer like a shopping bag. He knew full well if Midoriya wanted him to move he’d move. If Midoriya wanted you to do anything, you did it. No questions asked.
He didn’t expect him to laugh.
“Ok. So that’s new.” Shouto could hear the smile in his voice. The devious little shit was enjoying this, of course he was. He and Bakugou had been drilling Shouto about his feelings for years. It was only a matter of time before Midoriya finally lost his cool and found the whole situation hysterical. Stupid Midoriya and his stupid healthy, stable relationship. “I’ve never seen you run—”
“I didn’t run!” Shouto denied, scrambling to collect the broken pieces of whatever dignity he might have left, it was futile, and they both knew it, “I just—I didn’t get to use the bathroom before I left.” Didn’t stop him from trying, though.
Midoriya had the audacity to let his little snickers grow. He giggled, full-bodied and jovial which felt like a sharp slap in the face, “Alright if you say so.”
Shouto could barely think straight over the sound of Fetty Wap blasting in the ballroom.
How does he look like that? We called each other two months ago and he definitely didn’t look like that. Oh my god, I’m going to die. This is how I die. I’m going to die from attraction. Is that even a real thing?
“You know, you should probably be telling Sero all this and not me.”
Fuck.
I can’t do this. What’s a good, not at all humiliating, excuse for leaving a party? Family emergency? Stomach bug? Death?
“I did literally warn you beforehand. He’s hot.”
Shouto, tone was gruff and serious, “He’s a God, Midoriya.” He collected his breathing, rubbed his face raw with hopes of somehow dragging the very uncharacteristic indecent thoughts from his person.
The physical attraction was as strong as it had ever been, which was distracting to say the least. Hanta had always been pretty. His eyes were bright and clear, hair always perfectly fluffy, his skin glowed with dazzling energy, he smelt good all the time even after training and patrols. Even when he’d been roughed up a bit, he looked great. He could pull off any look. The hero costume tight as hell, lazy sweats and a vest that exposed his massive arms and strong collarbones, a formal suit that sucked at his thighs and ass. Even a dirty oversized shirt with food stains. Hanta always looked good. Always.
But right now—
“He looks obscene.”
The way he looked wasn’t exclusively why Shouto had run.
For one, Shouto was an adult now. There was no childhood innocence left, no feeling or situation he could possibly mistake for something else. He had a career, a long one. he’d experienced more of the world, different types of people and circumstances. So, he understood the severity of his situation. He understood that, without a doubt, he was in love with Hanta.
He had been for years at this point.
He understood that the person he’d loved had left him. Twice. He knew that wasn’t Hanta’s fault either, he couldn’t blame him for that, he was only doing what any sensible person would do by helping their career. Yet, it hurt. It stayed with him. He mourned as if Hanta had died.
It was all so messed up.
Shouto couldn’t articulate his feelings well. He even had trouble understanding what it was exactly he was feeling. However, he knew without a shadow of a doubt that he’d missed Hanta. Much more than he thought he could ever miss a person. He felt hollow, just…sad. Painstakingly empty, even.
He’d missed him so much that simply saying hello seemed like a tragedy.
Shouto wouldn’t have been able to get his mouth to move, let alone speak coherent sentences. Even from the incredibly brief moment they’d laid eyes on each other, he could tell that Hanta was so different now, even the way he stood was different. He was proud, radiant…Shouto feared he’d changed completely. He was terrified that he’d speak to Hanta and it would be different, awkward, polite even.
Where did that leave him? To feel this horrible melancholy forever.
He hoped Hanta was that same somebody he used to know. That’s all he could really do.
But it was scary. It was scary to see somebody you loved after a long time, and discover you still loved them just as much as before. Maybe even a little more. For one to feel the same, look the same, after so long and the other be completely different. It was jarring.
Hanta was now completely out of Shouto’s league. He didn’t stand a chance.
When Shouto unlocked the door, stepped out, he immediately got an eyeful of mischievous gleaming green.
“Well, aren’t you lucky then.” Shouto was already exhausted from this conversation, but Midoriya was far from done, “I’m serious. You should’ve seen him on the flight, he barely slept. He just kept going on about getting to see everyone again, you specifically. It was kind of annoying actually.”
That does sound like something Hanta would do.
Goddamn you, sweet, beautiful Hanta, I beg you’re still in there somewhere.
His lips tugged up before he could stop them, “You’re full of shit.”
Midoriya whacked him on the shoulder, hard, “If I’m full of shit then you’re the city’s sewage plant. Now get the fuck out there and get your man before I get mine to throw you into a new dimension.”
Shouto stood, eyes wide, smiler wider. The term my man-made Shouto feel far too giddy. “You really have been spending too much time with Bakugou.”
Midoriya crossed his arms over his chest, “Are you really going to let this moment slip you by? Who knows when you two will be in the same room again, it could be weeks, months years!” There was a frustrated passion in Midoriya’s voice, one that was deep-rooted and personal. Of course, Midoriya had gone through similar torture with Bakugou. Shouto really discovered what the term inconsolable meant then, “I don’t want you to carry more years of regret, because you were too worried to do something now.”
“Midoriya.”
The man in question rubbed his freckled face, “Don’t make me carry you out of this bathroom, you know I will.” Shouto didn’t make a move, “I know you’re scared, but trust me. You really have nothing to fear.”
He did trust Midoriya, he’d literally saved his life countless times. He knew if there was one person in the world he could trust, no matter what, it was Midoriya.
“You’ve been restless for years over this, don’t you want to be able to breathe again?”
“Of course, I do. What type of question is that?”
Midoriya put his hand on his shoulder, a sturdy, firm grip that grounded Shouto in reality, “Then confess, Shouto. Trust me.”
Midoriya’s certain tone and words put him at ease a little. He took a minute to think, to hype himself up.
Ok, Ok I can do this. Just walk in, say hi. He’s one of your best friends, it’s not hard to just ask a question. Ask about America or something, anything—not the weather though. Never ask about the weather.
Shouto did what he was told and re-entered the party.
It seemed louder than before, more energetic. Mina and Uraraka were spinning around in circles wildly, legs slipping out from underneath them on the alcohol-soaked woodwork. Kaminari, Shinsou, Jirou and Yaoyorozu had piled into the tiny photo booth, adorning stupidly large glasses and inflatable flamingos. Kirishima was talking to Eri, who had a big smile on her face and a cup of apple juice. Aizawa was nearby, watching with this fond fatherly smile. At that moment, nobody had a care in the world. It was great, and Shouto was struck with deep-rooted gratitude that this was his class. That these were his friends.
He had so many lovely things in life. Things he never imaged he’d have.
Midoriya’s right, I need to take this chance.
He spotted Bakugou and Hanta talking in a far corner. He couldn’t hear them, but he could see their mouths moving. Whatever was said on Bakugou’s part was quick and snappy, like some kind of telling off. While Hanta was smiling, teasing. Just like old times.
Before Shouto even realised he’d been walking, he and Midoriya were standing with them.
“You untwisted your panties candy cane?” Bakugou said with a sneer behind his cup.
Shouto’s brain was clearly somewhere else because all he replied with was a far too confident. “Yes.”
Hanta snorted next to him, big shoulders shaking with the effort of smothering his joy before it became uncontrollable. Shouto couldn’t help but glance up and watch the cheeks behind Hanta’s hand turn a pretty pink. When he looked back, Bakugou was smirking at him, obviously figuring out the deeper meaning.
Yes, I’m ready to be honest about my feelings.
“About fucking time.” Shouto would never tell Bakugou he was grateful, but he didn’t think he had to, he was sure he knew. “Let’s get the glorified boombox to change the music, I can’t stand this crap.” And then he and Midoriya were running off, giggling like children who were staying up late without their parents knowing.
Then there were two.
There was a thick beat of time, he probably could’ve grabbed it with his bare hands if he tried, before the body next to him was turning in.
“Drink?” Hanta asked, looking down with a welcoming smile.
That was Hanta. There was no doubt about it. The smile Shouto had learned years ago was plastered on his lips. He might’ve looked a bit different with the fashion, body mods and tan, but...it was still Hanta.
I really need to stop overthinking everything. It’s just Hanta. Beautiful, lovely, sweet Hanta.
He said a silent prayer just encase, “Absolutely.”
*
Shouto wasn’t entirely sure how many drinks he’d had, but it was enough. Enough for him to willingly dance with his classmates like a frolicking child, enough for him to join in on the silly truth or dare games and limbo contest. It was enough for him to, for one night, be the true embodiment of an extrovert.
His head killed already, he could feel his stomach churning with the promise of vomit if he didn’t slow down on the excess movement and tequila.
Hanta was having a great time, so that counted for something. Shouto had front row seats to his wide smile, gleaming eyes and boisterous laugh.
He’d just finished laughing when he wheezed, “I’ve never seen you so energetic, I didn’t know you had it in you.”
He couldn’t tell if the booths they sat in were always this small, or if Hanta really was just that much taller and bulker now. It was like watching an adult try and squeeze into the child safety swings in parks.
“It’s going to be out of me in a minute, I think I might just hurl it all over the dance floor and sleep for a thousand years,” Shouto said with an unfortunately honest grimace.
“Not before I get a picture.” He gestured vaguely to the booth in the corner, a mass of prop things cluttered around it. “It’s a crime that we don’t have any together.”
We do, Shouto thought, “Are you sure you’re going to fit in there?” is what he said.
Hanta rolled his eyes. He’d been subject to a million tall jokes already, “I’m not that much bigger, you guys just haven’t seen me in a while.”
Shouto’s stomach twisted, “Your perception is warped.”
“No. you’re all super dramatic.” As if to taunt Shouto, Hanta crossed his arms over his chest effectively pushing his—
“What cup size are you?” Shouto hated himself, truly he did.
Hanta snorted and looked down at his squished chest that did very much look like tits. How is that even possible? “Mina and I trade bras now. Back support ya know? It’s a serious business.”
Hanta was joking, Shouto knew he was joking. But oh lord, to be Mina Ashido in this fictional world—
“You wanna nab the booth?”
Shouto was glad to be pulled out of his drunken daydream. Nothing good would ever come from wallowing in that cesspit.
*
Hanta wasn’t known for his bright ideas, but this…this just took the cake.
“Do you want to—” Hanta gestured awkwardly to the inside of the small booth.
“Ah—no, after you.” He was sure he’d never heard Shouto stutter a day in his life, but clearly, the idea of having to squeeze into a tight space with him was what really made Shouto nervous.
He couldn’t blame him, there was absolutely no way they were both going to fit on the pathetic plastic bench that was inside. It didn’t even have back support! Whoever was in charge of this specific booth needed firing, immediately.
Hanta wished he would’ve just kept talking in that large, secluded drinks booth instead of suggesting this. He was nervous, sue him. His brain was going a million miles a minute thinking of how the fuck he could confess to Shouto. It’s not like he could just say hey do you want another shot? By the way I’ve been in love with you since we were fifteen, do you want tequila or is vodka ok? Although if he kept drinking, he might end up doing just that. He had a habit of doing dumb shit when he was drunk. Namely looking at Shouto with disgusting puppy dog eyes, as Bakugou called them.
That’s when the booth plan entered his mind, and instead of thinking about it like a normal person, he opened his big mouth.
“Uh right—let me just” Hanta ducked into the photobooth, the cramped set-up mocking his growth, and scooted to the far end of the bench. Well, as far as he could go. Even then, horrifyingly his legs took up most of the space. He wasn’t claustrophobic per se, but he had an affinity for open space. He kinda had to since most of his work consisted of swinging between skyscrapers hundreds of feet in the air.
His discomfort must have shown because Shouto laughed at him. It was sudden, he tried to swallow it down, but it was no use. Hanta could see the amusement in his eyes.
Hanta huffed, crossing his arms to try and make himself smaller as Shouto ducked into the booth, “I’m glad someone’s having fun.”
Two people couldn’t fit in here. Not with the door closed. Hanta really didn’t want to keep the door open, either. He didn’t want Midoriya’s mischievous giddy glint in his peripheral. He wanted photos with Shouto, physical memories he could hold onto if his confession went south and this ended up being the last time they saw each other.
“Oh hush.” Shouto looked down at the bench with a nervous expression of his own, “Is this thing going to hold our weight?”
Hanta shrugged, “If it didn’t, we’d get a funny picture out of it.”
“Your priorities seem a little wonky.” Shouto teased. He looked at the bench, then down at his own thighs, “I’m not going to fit.”
Hanta couldn’t lie, it really did look that way. Shouto was stood with his thighs completely squished and one still looked like it would spill off the end. Not to mention the fact he was hunched under the low ceiling.
If the two of them, for whatever reason, had to stay in this space they’d probably die of suffocation in a day or two. Even though they were like two sardines in a can, Shouto was still very polite and apologetic when their knees bumped.
Hanta’s lips loosened watching Shouto rock back and forth tentatively on the balls of his feet, “You could sit on me.”
All the air inside the booth was promptly sucked into their lungs.
Out of all the things I could’ve said, sit on me? Seriously?
To Hanta’s glee, Shouto didn’t so much as widen his eyes at the suggestion, “I might crush you.” He said.
Oh?
Before any unwanted tension could build, Hanta slapped his thighs with a wide grin plastered on his face, “You’ll have a hard time crushing me now.” Shouto smiled softly, “Bakugou even called me Godzilla earlier, I think that says enough.”
“A compliment from Bakugou? You must be all but indestructible then.” Shouto joked along. Hanta shrugged, “Only one way to find out, I guess.”
Shouto turned around, giving Hanta an eyeful of just how well fitted his slacks were, and quickly—as if he too was shaking with nerves—lowered himself onto Hanta’s thighs.
It was then that four things occurred to him all at once.
1) He had no idea where to put his hands
2) Shouto was by no means as feather-light as he looked when he flew through the air on his ice.
3) Having Shouto in his lap put him dangerously close to areas Hanta would much rather, at this moment at least, keep to himself.
4)How the fuck are they supposed to pose like this?
At least Shouto seemed comfortable. There was very little tension in his shoulders, and his back slouched down in a similar way to how he’d sit on their little chair back at the apartment.
Back at their apartment. Not that it was their apartment anymore, Shouto had probably sold it for something more his own style. Hanta wouldn’t blame him either, he couldn’t expect him to keep it.
He made a pleasant hum in the back of his throat, “Comfy.” He went on “What poses should we do?”
“Uh—” Hanta’s brain tried to kick start, “We could do one funny one? one nice one? and then a wild card.”
“Wild card?” the look he gave Hanta, eyes bright peering over his shoulder, made his toes curl.
“Yeah, like a surprise.”
Suddenly, all attempts that Hanta had made to keep the air light were gone. A static tension settled in the booth. Shouto’s eyes were partly responsible, but it was the self-assured smile that drew all Hanta’s previous nerves to the surface.
No, you’re ok. Stick to the plan. You’ve come this far; you can’t back out now.
“Ok. Sounds fun. Ready?”
No.
“Yep!”
Shouto leaned forward and pressed the start button, “four or six?”
“Six.”
He set up the timer and sat back down—the bench giving a terrifying creak as he did so—much closer to Hanta’s chest than before. If he leaned back even a little, they’d be fully pressed together. He could feel Shouto’s hair tickling his chin, smell the sweet scent of lemongrass incense which was Hanta’s favourite—
The screen glowed, dusting them both in a yellowish illumination as the timer counted down from ten.
Nine.
Eight.
Seven.
All Hanta had was ten seconds. Ten seconds before he was going to make the most nerve-wracking decision of his life.
Six.
Five.
Ten seconds until he could no longer be just a friend of Shouto’s, or a fellow hero, or an old classmate.
Four.
Three.
Hanta was going to change the course of his future.
Two.
For better or for worse.
One.
Hanta smiled widely, Shouto put up a far too polite looking peace sign.
Shouto stuck his tongue out adorably, Hanta couldn’t help but stare.
Hanta swung a brave arm around Shouto’s shoulder pushing him out of frame.
Shouto placed his whole hand onto Hanta’s face and shoved him back playfully, laughing the entire time.
Hanta laughed loudly and threw caution to the wind. He wrapped his arms around Shouto’s waist and pulled his back into his chest. Shouto leaned his head back and laughed so deeply that he could feel the vibration through his back.
And for the last photo Hanta bit the bullet. He tucked his head down and kissed him. He wasn’t expecting to meet Shouto’s lips so soon, or that they’d be moving so eagerly against his own.
Tears pricked Hanta’s eyes when we felt Shouto’s hand cup his cheek.
A punched laugh pulled them apart. It was Shouto. When Hanta opened his eyes, he wasn’t sure what he expected, but it wasn’t the expression he got.
Shouto was smiling as wildly as he’d ever seen with thick tears welling in his eyes, threatening to spill over.
It was then that Hanta saw it. He finally saw what everybody else was talking about. Shouto looked at Hanta as if he was something to be treasured. As if he’d met his comfort character in the flesh or been given the object of his deepest desires.
Under that water gaze, Hanta turned to putty. He slumped down, tucking his head as far into Shouto’s shoulder as he could and hugged him like a python. Shouto in term twisted his body and wrapped his arms tightly around Hanta’s neck and shoulders—keeping him as close as possible.
Hanta wasn’t sure what compelled him to say, “They were right.”
But Shouto was clearly on a similar train of thought, “They were.”
“How long could we have been doing this?” was his next question.
Shouto laughed but it was bitter and sad, “Since the beginning of third year.”
Hanta groaned and tightened his grip, “Fuck.” He’d been an idiot, “I’m sorry Shou—I’m so sorry.”
“Me too,” Shouto patted his shoulder, Hanta unburied his face. Shouto’s eyes were bright, thoughtful. He held Hanta’s face in his hands, rubbing his thumbs along his cheeks to soothe the ache of their smiles, “But we’re here now.”
Hanta’s life hadn’t ended after ten. Instead, it marked the beginning of the rest of his life—a life with Shouto by his side.