Chapter Text
Shouta did not quite know what to expect of class 1-A when he transferred from Gen Ed. into the Hero Course. He’d never been good at interacting with other people or figuring them out, but he did know that the Hero Course felt slight animosity towards him for kicking their collective asses at the sports festival. Which, wasn’t his fault, by the way. They all relied way too heavily on their Quirks, and if they’d put in half the physical training he had to undergo just to even get that far in the tournament, then they might not have all lost as easily.
His opponents with mutant-type Quirks had provided a little more of a challenge, naturally leaning towards close combat with their extra limbs and spikes and what have you. During his one-on-one match in the semifinals against Iida Tensei, Shouta had actually feared he’d be beaten and lose his one chance to get into the Hero Course. But a lucky hit had pushed the other out of bounds, and Shouta had landed in the finals, where he won first place.
Which, apparently, a lot of people did not like.
Some of the crowd had been rooting for him loudly, shouting encouraging words--but others were booing him, probably those with bias against people whose Quirks weren’t powerful enough to make it into the Hero Course on the first try.
Shouta hadn’t particularly cared about his detractors, and he still didn’t care. He didn’t feel upset when he took the desk of the person who’d been booted from the Hero Course so he could take their place, and he ignored the ripple of disgust that visibly passed through some of his haughtier-looking classmates.
He also didn’t feel upset when in the boy’s locker room, they looked at the hero costume he’d received only four hours ago and sneered at how plain it looked. He didn’t feel upset, but his ears burned a bit. The principal had asked him for costume details three days ago, and he didn’t have any ideas, so he had simply wrote ‘something simple and easy to move around in, preferably dark colors.’
The costume he’d gotten was a black suit that was almost skin-tight, combat boots, and a utility belt. Not to complain so soon after finally achieving what he’d wished for years, but Shouta kind of hated it all.
Especially since it made movement harder rather than easier. It rode up in some places and was tight behind his knees and up near his rear, restricting his leg movement, which he relied on to be quick and acrobatic.
At least the suit was sleeveless, and he didn’t have any trouble punching some idiot in the face when it was his turn to step into the ring drawn by their teacher. He won easily, flipping her over his shoulder and driving his elbow into her throat, and their teacher declared his win. Standing up, he winced when he felt the suit ride up again, and heard other kids snicker--mocking him, as if his costume was the worst amongst them, even if it really wasn’t. They were all merely looking for an excuse to dislike him.
Shouta was entirely used to this ordeal. All of it--kids laughing at him, hating him, looking down at him. His Quirk was hated, for either being ‘too useless’ or for being ‘evil’--after all, what else were people supposed to call a Quirk who took away what they saw as essential to themselves?
He was kind of poor, but it wasn’t like anybody knew that here. In his previous school, which didn’t have a mandated uniform, he’d been teased for his baggy clothes, and the dismal shape they were in.
And his personality--he wasn’t very sociable, blunt in his words and unable to properly understand other people who tried interacting with him. Well, that was a lie. He did understand people--but it would take him a while to figure someone out, and by then they would have given up on him, writing him off as distant or uncommunicative.
All in all, Shouta was pretty used to this less-than-friendly attitude, and he’d built up good enough resistance against all of it. The walls he’d constructed would keep him from feeling embarrassment or shame or loneliness. He would ignore everyone who tried speaking to him and focus only on the propositum: to become a hero.
He didn’t need friends. He didn’t need people. He could do this school thing entirely by himself, and he didn’t need anybody else.
Only that didn’t really work out as well as he had planned--because he had not been accounting for Yamada Hizashi.
Yamada was annoyingly friendly.
He’d been that way to Shouta ever since he had transferred in and taken his seat at the then-unoccupied desk beside him. Yamada had extended a hand, a huge grin on his face, and Shouta had simply eyed it before averting his gaze, silently ignoring him. This didn’t seem to at all deter him, though, for he kept smiling at Shouta despite being brushed off so obviously.
Shouta only remembered Yamada because the entire stadium had been handed out earplugs due to the nature of his Quirk, but luckily for everyone, Yamada had lost his second match in the third round and never made it to the semifinals.
Yamada offering Shouta his hand wasn’t the only friendly attempt made his way--Iida Tensei had flashed a grin, calling out a “hey!”, and the class president had introduced him to the class pleasantly with a smile on her face, but after he ignored them both once they didn’t really try being nice to him again. At least they weren’t rude.
Yamada, however, was absolutely relentless. He didn’t leave Shouta alone, no matter how much Shouta turned his back on him or purposely looked the other way.
“Hey, Aizawa! It’s a beautiful morning, isn’t it?!” Yamada had shouted at him from across the training field less than a week into his new class. Shouta had turned away from him, teeth gritting angrily, and occupied himself with adjusting his utility built.
“Come sit with us at lunch!” Yamada invited loudly on the Tuesday previous, slamming his hands on Shouta’s desk and half-startling him awake from his nap. Biting the inside of his cheek, he buried his face pointedly into his arms again with a huff.
“Aizawa, wanna see something funny?” Was a question shot his way almost constantly, and Shouta never once acknowledged Yamada or gave any indication that he heard him speak--which would have been an impossible feat, considering that Yamada was three times louder than a normal human being.
Perhaps Yamada was trying to annoy Shouta out of the Hero Course--some weird tactic he’d concocted while everyone else’s mockery and disdain failed. If this were the case, then unfortunately for Yamada, it wouldn’t work--but Shouta would still punch him if given the opportunity. Maybe knock a few of his teeth out if it meant finally getting Yamada to shut the hell up.
And speaking of which...
“Aww, that’s really cute!” Yamada cooed in the locker room, and Shouta glanced up to see the other boy looking at his lockscreen over his shoulder. Shouta’s lockscreen was of the mangy gray kitten he had been sheltering for the past month, and seeing Yamada’s stupid grin made anger flare up within his chest.
Just leave me alone, Shouta seethed silently to himself, before slamming his locker shut and stomping his way out onto the field. He’d had enough of Yamada bothering him every couple of seconds, and wanted to punch something. Badly.
Shouta tended to take his anger out in field and combat training, but today his rage was in rather excessive supply. Usually, it benefitted him in combat, and he didn’t have to worry about broken limbs and shattered teeth simply because he didn’t care enough. Letting his anger out via combat was a good stress reliever, and he enjoyed getting to put his years of gymnastic and martial arts training to use.
Not today, though.
And especially not in his godforsaken costume.
He’d forgotten about the fact that movement was restricted in this costume, and complicated maneuvers were strongly advised against. Perhaps the support course saw him using mostly his fists and not his legs within the tournament, and assumed that his arms were where he’d need to be able to move freely. But he’d been throwing punches rather than delivering kicks because the arena had been small, not quite big enough to do his usual bout of acrobatics--which meant the support team misunderstood where his strengths lied, and designed his costume around the idea that he’d mostly be using his upper body.
Which resulted in what was perhaps the most embarrassing moment of Shouta’s life.
He’d been aiming an upwards kick at one of the larger kids in class--one with some sort of blood manipulation Quirk--when he heard it.
Riiiiip!
And then he felt it.
Warm, humid air was hitting a sliver of skin on the back of his thigh, and he tumbled to the ground instantly as he moved to check what had happened.
The leg of his suit had torn open when he’d kicked, stretching the fabric too much and resulting in the tear. Not a small one, either--the location of the tear and the length of it meant that he might as well just discard the whole costume and get a new one, because attempting to repair it would be a waste of time.
Shouta liked to think that thanks to the walls of resistance he’d built up against mockery, he’d be immune to feeling things like humiliation towards something as simple as his clothing ripping apart.
Only the moment that someone noticed his costume had torn, they had pointed a finger and shouted, “Dude, your costume has a huge hole in it!”, and he felt his face heat up and his neck burn in shame as he kept his leg pressed flat to the ground. You could see his underwear, and he wanted to die. He was sitting flat on his ass in front of everyone, with his costume torn, kitty-cat underwear on display for the world to see.
Shouta considered asking the kid with the blood manipulation Quirk to stab him right then and there, and leave him to bleed out. At least that had some form of dignity in it.
“Go back to the locker room and change,” his teacher said when she noticed, waving her hand dismissively. “And go to the office and file a request for a new costume.”
Shouta nodded silently, scrambling to his feet, and his humiliation only furthered when he felt the air against the back of his thigh again. He felt like the entire student body had its eyes on him, and he hated the attention. He barely made it three steps in the direction of the locker room when somebody rushed forward, throwing their jacket in his face and causing him to let out a strangled yelp.
Biting back an angry comment, Shouta turned to glare at whoever had unceremoniously shoved it against him, only to see that the person was Yamada, looking a bit sheepish, but smiling all the same. The threat now dying completely in his throat, Shouta turned his head away, pretending he hadn’t made eye contact with the other.
Shouta glanced down at the jacket, noting the leather material, before moving to tie it around his waist, positioning it so it would cover most of the tear in his leg. He now felt a lot less exposed, and the walk back to the locker room didn’t feel as embarrassing as it could have been.
Shouta changed into his normal school clothing, shoving the torn costume in his locker and slamming the door shut. He hesitated when he looked down at the leather jacket, wondering what he should do with it. Leave it here, on a bench? But that seemed...almost rude, and he wanted to thank Yamada for the gesture.
Yamada had been really annoying, but at least what he had done was helpful.
So Shouta grabbed the jacket, tied it around his waist again, and went to the administration office to file for a new costume. He repeated the same instruction he had written previously, this time adding a bolded: LOOSE CLOTHING ONLY.
Returning to the locker room, he saw that there was nobody inside, but there was clear evidence it had just been used, if all the trash and discarded socks meant anything. When they had field training, they usually did it until the bell rang, and if the class had already been in the locker room then it meant that school was out already.
Shouta sighed, biting the inside of his cheek as he made his way back to class 1-A. The door was half-open, and he heard a couple of chattering voices inside, though he couldn’t hear what exactly they were saying. Pushing the door open the rest of the way, he made his way to his desk, pointedly ignoring those around him. But then a voice called out--
“Aizawa!”
Oh. Oh god.
Shouta suddenly remembered that he still had Yamada’s jacket around his waist.
Oh god.
Looking up silently, Shouta watched Yamada approach with that big dumb grin on his face again, eyes alight with humor as he ran a hand through his styled blond hair. Shouta had no idea what color Yamada’s eyes were, considering they were always covered by amber shades, so he was a bit surprised to see a vibrant green when Yamada pushed them out of his face to give Shouta a sincere look.
“Can I have my jacket back?” Yamada asked, sounding unnecessarily happy. Why did he have to sound so joyful all the time? What was the point?
“Yeah,” Shouta mumbled, surprising himself when he spoke for the first time since joining the Hero Course. Staying completely silent was easy in this class, and he didn’t think he’d spoken once aside from introducing himself when the teacher told him to.
He slid Yamada’s jacket from his waist, making a half-hearted attempt to fold it, before shoving it towards the other without another word. When Yamada didn’t immediately take it he allowed his eyes to flicker upwards, and he froze when he saw Yamada staring with his jaw dropped.
“What...?”
“You can talk?!” Yamada yelped, voice rising about ten decibels at once. Shouta flinched at the sudden loudness, and Yamada’s mouth quickly snapped shut, an apologetic look in his eyes.
“I introduced myself the first day I was here,” Shouta said flatly, releasing the jacket from his grip when Yamada finally grabbed hold of it. “Maybe if you stopped talking for more than five seconds, you’d have heard me.”
Yamada didn’t say anything, but Shouta noticed his shoulders slumping, and he kind of felt like an asshole. Gritting his teeth, he turned away from the other, gathering all his things up in his bag and slinging it over his shoulder. He battled with himself fo a couple of seconds, going back and forth between ‘say thanks’ and ‘walk away.’
Finally, he swallowed his pride, and looked back at Yamada, mouth twisting downwards into a scowl.
“...Thank you.”
Immediately, Yamada’s expression brightened, and he lowered his sunglasses back down on his face, shielding his shining eyes from view.
“You’re welcome, dear listener! I was glad to be of assistance!”
Shouta scoffed and walked past, not sparing him another glance.
Three days later, Yamada was at his desk again, as he usually was, talking and talking and talking until Shouta was sure that his ears were going to bleed.
“--and then she said, ‘what do you mean? ’ And then my dad said ‘exactly what I just said!’ And then all the pancakes with flash grenades in them started--”
“Do you ever stop talking,” Shouta asked blandly, annoyed. Yamada kept going, taking the interruption smoothly and changing the direction of his sentence without hesitance.
“I could if somebody actually talked back!”
“Why do you want me to talk to you?” Shouta straightened up into more of a sitting position, though he was still half-draped across his desk. “What do you want from me?”
Yamada had one of those big grins on his face again--the kind with way too many teeth showing.
“I want to be your friend!”
Shouta did not know how to respond to that. He wasn’t expecting that sort of answer. Maybe a ‘to annoy you’, or perhaps a ‘because I’m bored’, but certainly not ‘I want to be your friend.’ There was now an embarrassing flush rising to Shouta’s face, so he buried it in his arms again and gave a huff.
“...Am I really bothering you that much?..” Came Yamada’s voice, significantly quieter than Shouta had ever heard it. He risked a glance in Yamada’s direction and saw that he was looking down at his feet, muted expression barely betraying his insecurity. There was usually such an arrogant, loud expression on his face that seeing it like this made Shouta feel like he was looking at a different person.
“Yes. You just won’t shut up,” Shouta finally said after several moments of silence, and Yamada nodded in understanding, before he smiled again, though this time it didn’t seem genuine.
“Thanks for your input, listener!” At least his voice sounded the same. With that, Yamada scooted his chair back into its spot, and Shouta lowered his head back in his arms.
At least he could nap in peace, now.
...Not.
The lack of noise now seemed infuriating to Shouta, who had become so accustomed to the constant din of the past two or three weeks that the silence was almost painful. Shifting in his seat restlessly, Shouta tried focusing on the other noises of the classroom, but without the constant chattering of Yamada everything else seemed deathly quiet.
When he did finally drift off, it was into an uneasy sleep, his conscious gnawing at him and telling him that he was a garbage person. Sure, it was true, but he didn’t need his brain reminding him of it every five seconds.
Half an hour later, unable to take it anymore, Shouta got to his feet when the lunch bell rang, making a decision to go to the cafeteria for the very first time since school had started. He didn’t actually have any lunch money, but he made his way there anyways and scanned the area, looking for Yamada, who usually brought his own lunch. He spotted him at the edge of the cafeteria, looking positively mopey now that there was nobody around to notice.
Shouta debated with himself for a couple more seconds before taking a deep breath, and approaching the table. He said nothing as he slid into the seat across from Yamada, and when Yamada’s jaw dropped his lip curled.
“What?”
“You--” Yamada looked like a fish out of water, eyes wide behind his sunglasses, before smiling so big Shouta was able to see every one of his teeth. “You’re gonna sit with me?!”
“Everywhere else is full,” Shouta replied, but it was a painfully obvious lie--people were still in line getting lunch, and there were plenty of empty tables scattered throughout. Averting his gaze when he heard Yamada give a disbelieving snort, Shouta kept his eyes trained on his shoes and repeated the same question in his mind about fifty times:
Why did I do this?
Yamada was talking again, ecstatic that Shouta had joined him, but Shouta never made eye contact with him and kept his head bowed. He only relaxed when someone else joined them (he didn’t look up to see who) and it seemed all of Yamada’s attention redirected itself towards them instead.
Shouta was left alone for maybe about five minutes, and even started dozing off a bit. Then a half-eaten lunch was shoved towards him, and he glanced up to see Yamada and Iida looking at him expectantly.
“What,” he asked flatly.
“Where’s your lunch?!”
He blinked. “I don’t have one.”
Yamada gave him a pointed look before shoving his lunch a little closer, and Shouta sighed.
“I’m not eating your lunch.”
“Don’t worry, I’m full already! You can have it!”
“I’m fine,” Shouta said, pushing the lunch away and trying to ignore that the sight of the karaage chicken was making his stomach rumble. It was one of his favorite foods, but there was no way he could accept this. It’d feel shameful.
“How are you fine without any lunch?” Iida snorted. “I’ve never seen you eat lunch, ever.”
Shouta fixed him with a steady, dead stare, and said, “I consume food via osmosis.”
Yamada snorted, ducking his head into Iida’s shoulder and fighting back laughter.
“You should talk more,” Yamada said when he finally calmed down, and Shouta arched an eyebrow. “I like it when you talk.”
“I’ve only ever spoken a couple of times,” Shouta said, disbelieving. Yamada shrugged, before attempting to push his lunch back towards Shouta again.
“Stop.”
“Eat!”
“No. I’m not eating your food.”
“But it’ll go to waste!”
“Well, that’s a you problem,” Shouta said, propping his chin on his hand and training his gaze elsewhere. Yamada gave a deep moan and Iida laughed at his overdramatized dismay. Shouta felt himself relax a little more, and by the time lunch was over he had forgotten what he’d even come here for.
But it was too late for apologies now, and he just raised a single shoulder in a shrug when Yamada asked if he’d sit there again next week.
And Shouta did. He sat with Yamada and Iida every day the next week, never once bringing his own lunch and always responding dryly to Yamada’s comments. He even accepted Yamada’s suggestion for a hero name, not really that good of thinking up things like that himself. When Shouta had presented his hero name, some people had snickered, but Yamada stood up loudly, clapping for him and whooping. As if he hadn’t been the one to give Shouta his hero name in the first place.
The endless amount of energy Yamada had seemed infectious, and Shouta even found himself fighting back a smile when he saw Yamada parading around in his hero costume, snapping the collar of his jacket every five seconds.
“Did you get your new costume yet?” Yamada asked eagerly when he noticed Shouta watching, and Shouta’s gaze snapped back to his own clothing, trying to pretend he hadn’t just been smiling at the other.
“Yeah,” he said, holding up the dark shirt and pants. The outfit was black, and, according to the note the support course had left him, had an automatic insulation and cooling feature that activated under certain temperatures. He’d sent back the utility belt and boots with the torn latex of the last costume, and had received simple shoes with puffy soles and a harness-like pack in return.
The soles are full of air and make for easier and quicker movement!!!! The little note read.
He didn’t really have an opinion about it, but the harness...backpack...thing was a bit difficult to strap on. It was necessary though, meant to be full of antibiotics, bandages, caltrops, and whatever else he could think of.
Fighting in it, Shouta felt alright. Definitely better than the suit.
But since the shirt and pants were separate, and since he was often flipping or in mid-air, the shirt often rode up his stomach, skin being tickled with gusts of air. It was so bad that once when performing a backflip, landing on his hands, the shirt had revealed nearly his entire torso, causing him to instinctively curl forward in an effort to cover himself. Only the strap across his chest belonging to the backpack prevented full exposure.
So the costume was kind of inconvenient.
But it was only an annoyance and not necessarily a hinder on his abilities, so after training he placed it back in his locker, fully intent on using it again.
Yamada marched over with purpose, halfway undressed and only in his leather jacket and school pants--he wasn’t even wearing a shirt. Shouta tried to pretend that Yamada wasn’t standing right there, because if he did he’d end up staring at Yamada’s rather well-toned chest and--
Bad Shouta. Stop that train of thought, right now.
“So? How do you like the costume?!” Yamada asked eagerly, and Shouta fought back a snort of laughter.
“You almost sound like you’re the one who made it.”
“Well, I just wanted to know if you liked it!”
“I like it...better than the first one,” Shouta admitted, remembering the entire previous experience and cringing internally. He was going to remember that for the rest of his life. “And speaking of that...”
Shouta’s hand lingered on his locker door, done getting dressed back into his school uniform, but closing it meant he’d have to look Yamada in the face and he wasn’t prepared for that. Making eye contact with Yamada’s chest--face, he meant face --was not ideal in this sort of situation. The sort of situation where he thanked him again and then apologized for acting like a dick.
So Shouta took a deep breath, fighting back a bout off irrational nerves, and said, “Thanks again, for giving me your jacket when that happened.”
“Of course!” Yamada said, placing his hands on his hips. “That sort of thing happened to me once in the third grade, and I know how embarrassing it is! I was just trying to help a bro out, you know?”
“Yeah,” Shouta said, voice monotone, before shutting his locker door slowly. “And...sorry...for being rude...”
The last part came out barely above a whisper, and Yamada cocked his head to the side, frowning a little.
“What?”
Slamming the locker shut entirely, Shouta turned on his heel, mumbled out “Sorryforbeingrudetoyou” and left as fast as he could without running.
He was an idiot. Stupid. Dumb. He hated himself. Why did he have to say it like that? Why did his words rush out? And slamming the locker door--god, that somehow made the whole situation seem even worse. Raising his hands to his face to flatten them against his reddening cheeks and hide them from the world, Shouta got to class before everyone else and gathered all his things, fully intent on leaving campus with his head ducked low.
Unfortunately, the universe was not on his side today.
Just as he was making his way down the hallway, thinking he still had time and slowing down his movements, someone skid into his view and came to a rest before him, hands on their knees and bent over, gasping.
“Dear God,” Iida panted, eyes screwing up. “I’m gonna kill Hizashi. Do you want to go out?”
A beat.
“What,” Shouta said intelligently.
“To the arcade,” Iida clarified, still heaving. “With us. He was afraid you’d leave too quickly and he wouldn’t get the chance to ask, so he sent me after you. He’s still getting dressed.”
“I...” Shouta struggled to think of an excuse, but his mind was currently blank and refused to come up with anything. He didn’t have anything going on at home--in fact, he never went straight home, always opting to walk around the city instead. He hated sitting in that little boxy dumpster of a house, filled to the brim with things, and just thinking about it prompted him to nod his head slowly, eyes finding Iida’s.
And then he instantly regretted his decision, because of what he’d just done. He still felt a little embarrassed, not very good at apologizing to or thanking people, so he considered backing out of it and running home when Iida returned to the locker room to give Yamada his answer.
Eventually, Shouta decided against ditching the both of them, and instead waited outside the classroom, arms crossed and head bowed.
The arcade would give him something to do for a couple of hours, at least.
Forty minutes later, Shouta found himself sandwiched between Iida and Yamada as they flexed in ridiculous poses, pulling faces at the camera. He was regretting his decisions once again, especially when Yamada started editing the photos and added a bunch of cutesy Hello Kitty stickers around Shouta’s exhausted expression.
“What kind of games do you like to play?” Yamada asked when they scooted out of the photobooth, and Shouta stretched his aching limbs, grunting. They’d been in there for ten minutes because Iida and Yamada had wanted to edit the photos to perfection, and since they were sitting on either side of Shouta he hadn’t been able to escape.
“I’ve never really been to arcades all that much,” Shouta said truthfully, scanning the area boredly. “I’d probably play pinball, I guess.”
“What about dance games?!” Yamada asked excitedly, bouncing on the balls of feet.
“No,” Shouta said, and repeated it again when he noticed the glint in Yamada’s eyes. “No.”
“Just get it over with,” Iida advised, slipping his hands into his pockets and fixing Shouta with a look. “He’ll keep bugging you about it until the day you die.”
“Pleeeeease, Aizawa!” Yamada begged, clasping his hands together and putting on an exaggerated pout. “Do iiiiit!”
“Why should I?” Shouta asked, raising an eyebrow, and Yamada grabbed Shouta by the shoulders, pushing their faces closes together.
“Because. I. Am. Your. Friend,” Yamada stressed, sounding completely serious. Shouta had stiffened up the moment he’d been grabbed, and now with Yamada so close in his personal space he only felt himself tensing more. He wasn’t used to this--he knew Yamada was affectionate and liked grabbing onto people, but it hadn’t happened with Shouta yet--not until now, at least.
When he was finally released by Yamada, who’s eyes had flashed with something akin to understanding before he let go, Shouta was able to relax and mull over his words for a moment.
Because he was Yamada’s friend.
Was he? They hadn’t known each other long. Definitely not long enough to be considered friends. Maybe ‘acquaintances’ of some sort. Shouta hadn’t ever really had friends, so he wouldn’t know. He preferred to be alone, but he did talk to people sometimes--he may be a loner, but even loners have a need for some form of social interaction every now and then--and Yamada...
Well. He may be the closest Shouta had ever gotten to an actual friend. He and Iida both.
So Shouta gave in, slipping his jacket off as Yamada lead him over to a bright, blinking dance game with colorful arrows and an array of songs (mostly k-pop) on the large screen. Yamada chose an easy mode first, and a song with lots of bouncing that Shouta half-heartedly participated in, watching Yamada out of the corner of his eyes. Yamada wasn’t just following the directions the arrows gave him--he was fully copying the dancers onscreen, going all-out like he was giving a performance in front of a crowd.
“You’re so dramatic,” Iida snorted when the song ended, Yamada panting heavily and grinning at his perfect score. Shouta had barely amassed half the score Yamada had, mostly because he wasn’t trying. At all.
“Oh, come on, you can do better than that!” Yamada complained when he saw Shouta’s score, though there was a smile on his face and he didn’t sound too serious.
“I don’t like dancing,” Shouta said, distaste evident in his voice.
“You could pretend that it’s not dancing,” Yamada suggested, tapping a glowing arrow with his foot. “More like...patterns. Oh! Maybe you could pretend it’s like fighting. Fighting and dancing can be really similar.”
“I’m aware.” Shouta glanced around the arcade, scouting out something else to do. “But I still don’t like it.”
“Alright,” Yamada said, giving up, and he heard Iida snicker behind them. Shouta suddenly felt a hand encircle his wrist and he was yanked in the direction of a new game, stumbling at first due to the unexpectedness of it, but regaining himself just in time to see Yamada’s exuberant face, an expression that made Shouta’s heart flutter mysteriously.
They ended up staying at the arcade for nearly two and a half hours, the last thirty or so minutes spent in the little pizza parlor squeezed into a corner of it, almost like it had been added as an afterthought. Iida insisted that he pay for all of them, and though initially met with protests, when he revealed exactly how much yen was stored in his wallet their mouths quickly snapped shut and the protests died down.
(Shouta was less reluctant to accept food from Iida than he was with Yamada. Iida had money to throw around, and he might as well take advantage of some of it.)
Time passed quickly, and before Shouta knew it he was heading home, waving a half-hearted goodbye to the other two as they went off in the direction of their own houses.
They lived on the other side of town, the wealthier side, and Shouta watched them disappear around the corner before finally making his way to the less fortunate side.
From then on, Yamada became a constant in Shouta’s life. Iida too, but Iida also had other duties to uphold--namely, babysitting his younger brother, so many times he and Yamada were by themselves when they went out--which was often, because Yamada invited Shouta to the arcade repeatedly, and sometimes a nearby fast food place for dinner.
And Shouta...liked it.
A lot.
By then, he’d gotten used to Yamada’s constant affection--the way the other threw his arms around him, pulling him in close for many hugs, hand ruffling his hair. He always laughed whenever Shouta made a face, and Shouta tried to hide the fact that he actually liked all the touching. He’d never really had anybody else to be this close with before, and it wasn’t until Yamada was all over him constantly did he realize that he’d unknowingly been touch-starved his whole life.
Yamada was fond of delivering many types of affection, whether it be encouraging words or compliments, hugs or high-fives. He was like that with all his friends, and his affection seemed to be in endless supply--but especially with Shouta.
Shouta never exactly instigated any of the affection, but he did often hint that he wanted it, or would quietly scoot over to Yamada, putting himself in the Hugging Danger Zone. Hardly anybody allowed Yamada to be like this with them--hands constantly running through his hair, rubbing his back, pulling him in close for what could almost count as a cuddle--most people drew the line at the back-rubbing, content with just high-fives and the occasional hug, but Shouta, with his newfound craving for affection, was practically all over Yamada every time they went out together.
And despite doing his best to accept all of Yamada’s affection with a bored or even annoyed look, despite the fact that he did his best to never look like he was asking for Yamada’s touch, it seemed like Yamada knew anyways, and was happy to scoot Shouta practically into his lap and oblige.
It was during one of those moments where Shouta had slumped forward on the table, hoping Yamada would take the opportunity to run his fingers through Shouta’s hair and stroke his head, when it happened--
“Hey, can you call me Hizashi?”
Shouta’s head snapped back up, and he squinted at the other boy, eyebrows quirked up in confusion. It took him only a second to figure out what Yamada was asking, but it didn’t keep the puzzled expression from his face.
“Huh?”
“I just wanted to know if we could be on first-name basis with one another,” Yamada said, chin propped up on his hand as he looked back at Shouta. “I mean, it’s fine if you don’t want to, but I like calling all my friends by their given names.”
(There it was again. That word. Friends.)
“...Fine, I guess,” Shouta agreed without much thought, though he made an effort to sound reluctant and put his face back down in his elbows. He relaxed when nimble fingers carded through his hair, and maybe even subconsciously nuzzled up against Hizashi’s hand. It was nice, and shortly after that Hizashi dragged Shouta to the arcade again to kick his ass at the dancing game. Shouta retaliated by winning hundreds of tickets on a puzzle game, and when Hizashi’s eyes lit up with the thought of all the prizes they could get, Shouta handed his tickets over to a little girl and said he didn’t want them anyways. Hizashi looked utterly betrayed.
About one month into being transferred into the Hero Course, Shouta started noticing that his feelings towards Hizashi had developed into something...not very friendly.
Friendship was definitely there, yes, but Shouta was now starting to believe he’d developed some sort of crush on Hizashi. If he took a step back to analyze his own feelings and actions, he came to the conclusion that the constant want for his friend to hug him and pet his hair and pull them close together was a result of a crush that had manifested as a result of this being Shouta’s first-ever friendship with anybody, ever.
He’d been in denial, at first--he’d thought maybe he just wasn’t used to having friends, and this was something friends really thought about one another, but it soon became evident that this wasn’t the case. Shouta considered himself friends with Iida as well, but he most definitely wasn’t following him around like a lost puppy and was definitely, most certainly not seeking out physical affection from him, even though Iida was just as affectionate as Hizashi was (albeit rather than hugs and head-petting, Iida was fond of putting people into headlocks. For whatever reason.).
It was only when he was over at Hizashi’s house, studying for an English test together, did Shouta finally conclude that he had a crush on the other boy.
“Hey, Shouta,” Hizashi said, fanning his face with a piece of paper and glancing up to make eye contact. Their final exams were fast approaching, and the summer heat wave was upon them. The air conditioning in Hizashi’s house wasn’t working properly, and they’d opened all the windows in an attempt to lure in a stray breeze. Unfortunately, they weren’t so lucky, and they were both currently sweating through their shirts and waving their homework near their faces, hoping to cool down.
Hizashi had spoken for the first time in ten minutes (which was highly unusual, but Shouta chalked it up to the heat) and when Shouta lifted his eyes to face him, he saw that Hizashi was yanking his shirt off and tossing it behind him, where it landed in an ever-growing pile of laundry.
“I--” Shouta sputtered, not sure what was happening, and Hizashi glanced back at him, smiling a little sheepishly.
“It’s just super hot,” he laughed. “I was going to ask if you wanted to take your shirt off and switch it out for one of my tank tops, but I thought that’d be kind of weird.”
Shouta would have declined if Hizashi had asked before, but now that he was faced with Hizashi’s chest, the room suddenly seemed about four thousand degrees hotter. Hizashi was much thinner than Shouta, but his chest was a little more muscular than the rest of him--which Hizashi claimed was from years of helping his father lift heavy sound equipment. According to Hizashi he'd incorporated that into some weird training ritual shortly before the Yuuei entrance exam, recognizing he was physically weak, and as a result gained a good amount of upper body muscle.
(It’d sounded funny, at first--hearing the sentence ‘bench pressing sound equipment’ had drew an involuntary laugh out of Shouta, but he wasn’t laughing anymore. No, his face was burning, as was his entire body, and he suddenly wished that he had never looked up from his less-than-interesting vocabulary notes.)
“Do--do you want to take off your shirt?” Hizashi’s voice broke through Shouta’s thoughts, alarmed. “You’re really red all over. You’re not getting heat stroke, are you?! Hold on, I’m going to go get you some water!”
And then he scrambled to his feet, pushing past Shouta and thundering down the stairs of his house.
Shouta buried his red face in his hands and ran his fingers through his curly hair, tugging at it because dear god Hizashi was attractive. His well-built chest and his bright green eyes and his hair which looked permanently windswept and his horrendous taste of fashion that consisted of leather and chains and zippers--all of it, Shouta found attractive, and he didn’t know if those was because of newfound personal preference or if it was because it was all linked to Hizashi.
Shouta ended up going home shortly after Hizashi returned with water, claiming that he really was feeling woozy because of the heat and he needed proper AC, pronto. Hizashi apologized several times, offering to walk Shouta home to make sure he didn’t collapse, but Shouta brushed him off with a shrug and left all by himself.
He managed to avoid thinking about Hizashi shirtless until about five minutes from his house, when an image of it suddenly resurfaced in his mind and he buried his face in his hands again.
Shouta wished it was the winter season, so he could start wearing heavy scarves again without feeling like he was dying, and could successfully hide his face from the rest of the world. If he was going to start blushing every five seconds, he’d rather just die.
But with his newfound feelings towards Hizashi, Shouta did not entirely know how to react. He just knew that he definitely wanted to be around Hizashi a lot more, because Hizashi brought a smile to his face and made him feel weirdly warm inside.
So one day, after arduous amounts of training at school, Shouta offered this to Hizashi:
“Want to go out to this café with me?”
He was met with Hizashi’s wide-eyed, disbelieving stare, and instantly ducked his head, wondering if he’d said something wrong. That didn’t sound weird, did it?.. Had Hizashi figured him out?..
But then Hizashi’s hands were grabbing at his upper arms, and he was being shaken by the other vigorously.
“Who are you and what have you done with the real Shouta?!”
“Calm down, you idiot,” Shouta grumbled, prying Hizashi’s fingers off of him. “Fine, if you don’t want to go, then I’ll ask Iida instead.”
“No! Wait! I wanna go!” Hizashi cried out eagerly, face shining with excitement. This would be the first time Shouta had offered for them to go out somewhere, and the blond boy looked eager to take this once in a lifetime opportunity. Iida ended up tagging along anyways, and when the three of them arrived at the café Shouta had mentioned, his friends gawked at the sign.
“Purrfect Confurctionary,” Hizashi read, rolling his r’s and sounding a little amazed. “Is this...a cat café?”
“I wanted to try it out,” Shouta said, and glanced at the others when they gave him bug-eyed stares. “What?”
“It’s just, you know, super cute,” Iida said, flopping his hand around in a few short gestures. “Very unlike you.”
“Shouta’s cute!” Hizashi protested, and Shouta choked on his own spit. “It’s not the cats I’m surprised about! It’s just that this place looks super busy, and I didn’t think he’d like that!”
It was true, the café looked pretty busy--it had just opened recently, after all--but Shouta hadn’t been able to think of another place to invite Hizashi out to, so he’d said the first thing that had popped into his mind.
Though now, with the way they were both looking at him a little weirdly, he was starting to think maybe it wasn’t such a great idea after all, and was overcome with regret and a reluctance to enter the café. At least, reluctance to enter it with them.
“Well, if you two don’t like it, I’ll go in by myself,” Shouta said, voice coming out colder than he’d meant it to, and the others instantly scrambled after him as he pushed inside. The interior was decorated in pleasant pastel pinks with the occasional mocha-brown, and just beyond the greeting counter he could see dozens of cats, batting curiously at customers with their paws or tumbling around with toys. Shouta could feel his heart melting, though he kept his expression blank as he asked the greeter for a booth.
Hizashi and Iida were chattering away behind him as the greeter lead them to a booth with plush brown cushions. She took their drink orders with a smile before clacking away on her heels, and Shouta’s attention shifted from her retreating back to the black-and-white kitten already approaching.
“So...cat cafés?” Hizashi spoke up as Shouta leaned over slowly, silently gesturing for the cat to join him. He didn’t respond to the other until the cat jumped onto the booth with him, headbutting against his side curiously.
“I like cats,” Shouta said simply.
“But cat cafés?”
“Lots of cats.”
“What the fuck,” Iida said, eyebrows drawing together. “That’s so cute. What the fuck.”
Shouta gave him an unimpressed stare, though it was hard to take seriously when there was a cat pacing in his lap, looking for a good napping place.
“Like, no offense, Aizawa, but you’re what I think of when I think ‘edgy.’ No, not edgy--angsty. Like, curled up in your bed, listening to My Chemical Romance, crying because nobody understands you and you hate humanity. That’s what I think of when I look at you. I don’t think of cat cafés. But now I do. And I’m going to be thinking about this forever.”
“What the hell is My Chemical Romance,” was all Shouta said back. Iida just stared, before rubbing his face with his hands. Hizashi laughed.
“I knew Shouta liked cats,” Hizashi teased, the warm look on his face doing weird things to Shouta’s chest. “Just not this much.”
“Well, I...” I wanted to take you out somewhere to do something I enjoy, Shouta thought. I wanted to take you somewhere that made me happy, just like you take me out all the time to places you like.
Of course, there was no way he’d ever admit that out loud. It sounded way too romantic and sappy, and he didn’t need Hizashi to know he had that side of him.
The side of him that wanted to be sitting in Iida’s place instead, right beside Hizashi, so he could lean over and silently beg for Hizashi to pet his hair and hug him. The side of him that wanted to pet cats with Hizashi until the sun set and then walk home with him and kiss him because Hizashi’s lips looked really soft and he really liked him and--
Shouta’s face was flushing again, but his expression masterfully remained deadpan, and he lifted the cat from his lap to hide his face with it under the pretense of looking it in the eyes.
The cat stared at him judgmentally, before sticking its tongue out slightly. Blep. Shouta blepped back.
Thankfully, they got their drinks soon, and they were able to avoid conversation for a bit--Shouta with black tea, Iida with a macchiato of some sort, and Hizashi with a drink that looked at least eighty percent ice cream. Of course, the silence was broken not soon after, but not by Hizashi.
“So what’s the occasion, Aizawa?” Iida asked curiously, now joined by a cat of his own. It was ginger and had jumped onto the table to curl beside the warmth of Iida’s drink, and Iida was stroking along its back. Shouta tried thinking of an excuse, of something to say, but nothing came to mind, so he just shrugged, saying,
“I just felt like coming here.”
“With Hizashi and not me?” Iida pouted, feigning hurt. Shouta hadn’t invited Iida, and Iida only came along because he heard them talking and assumed he was invited as well. Although, apparently, Iida did know that he wasn’t invited--he’d just come anyways.
“I wanted to go out,” Shouta mumbled, keeping his eyes trained on his drink. “I didn’t know if you had to babysit Tenya or not...”
“You didn’t ask.”
What was Iida doing? Interrogating him? For what? He hated being put on the spot like this.
“Stop asking questions,” Shouta snapped, and he lifted his eyes to glare at the other. He saw that a weird sort of grin had spread across Iida’s face, a look of understanding in his eyes that Shouta didn’t like.
“Oh,” Iida laughed, the grin on his face of the shit-eating variety. “I get it.”
“There’s really nothing to get,” Shouta said flatly, though his heart was pounding. Hizashi, who had been watching their entire exchange with a concerned look on his face, cut in with a nervous little laugh.
“So, uh, we wanna order cake, or...?”
“I’m actually going to go play with the cats over there!” Iida said brightly before Shouta could respond, and Hizashi stood up to allow Iida out of the booth. As Hizashi was sitting back down, Iida glanced back at Shouta and shot him a wink.
Fuck. Fuck, he’d been figured out by Iida--in about fifteen seconds, no less. Who knew how long until Hizashi figured out that Shouta had developed some weird, stupid crush on him?
He tried distracting himself by petting the cat, but across from him Hizashi was sipping from his drink, occasionally pausing to lick cream from the corners of his lips. Every time he did so, Shouta couldn’t help but stare, and couldn’t help but find the action pretty.
Because Hizashi was pretty. Like, really pretty.
Damn it, why did he have this stupid fucking crush? Why did this crush make everything Hizashi did look wonderful and nice and pretty? Why did he even like Hizashi this much?
Hizashi was friendly to everyone, and loud and full of endless amounts of energy. He was really pretty and liked hugging Shouta and letting Shouta sit in his lap so he could play around with his hair. He helped Shouta with his English homework and dragged him out places, coaxing small laughs out of him and encouraging Shouta to do his best at silly arcade games.
But...that was it. Shouta didn’t really know Hizashi that well--didn’t know much about his home life, or why Hizashi wanted to be a hero, or anything like that. This was all just some stupid crush, based on the fact that Hizashi was nice to him and also happened to be exactly Shouta’s type--tall, blond, and with a smile that made Shouta want to smile back.
It was a stupid crush, Shouta knew. Illogical, really--having such feelings towards your friend would give you nothing but trouble, as evidenced by the fact that Shouta could not stop thinking about Hizashi. He couldn’t--even during class, his eyes occasionally strayed over to his friend, just to see what he was doing, how he was faring during the lesson.
It was driving him insane. Not Hizashi himself, but just the idea that he, Aizawa Shouta, had developed a crush on somebody after knowing them for a month, if even that. Aizawa Shouta, who prided himself on having constructed nigh-impenetrable walls, had had them torn down easily by some loud kid who was annoyingly persistent and annoying friendly.
And annoyingly pretty.
“Hey? Shouta, you okay?” Hizashi’s voice sounded, pulling Shouta from his thoughts. He went to respond, before noticing that Hizashi had moved to sit next to Shouta on his side of the booth. They were now pressed up against one another, and the cat in Shouta’s lap had moved over to sit in Hizashi’s, stretched out lazily.
Realizing how close they were, Shouta felt like dying once again. Hizashi’s lacked an understanding of the concept of personal space, which was both a blessing and a curse--right now, sitting so close to him, it felt more like torture than anything else.
“Yeah, I’m fine,” Shouta finally managed to say, voice coming out quiet and maybe a bit strained. Hizashi looked skeptical, eyebrows raised as he fixed Shouta with an unimpressed stare.
“You sure, dude? Because you’ve been spacing out, like, a lot. Are you sick?”
“No,” Shouta said, and suddenly realized that he was subconsciously leaning even closer into Hizashi. Before he could pull away, however, Hizashi’s hand slid around his waist and dragged him into a position where Shouta was laying across the seat, head resting on his shoulder.
“You look exhausted,” Hizashi declared, patting Shouta’s hip. “Go to sleep.”
“But we only got here fifteen minutes ago,” Shouta argued, and the cat in Hizashi’s lap let out a meow as if to agree. “And I’ve got to pay for our drinks... I invited you out in the first place, so it’s rude if I fall asleep”
“Oh, come on, you fall asleep all the time, and you look so tired right now! Get some rest!” Hizashi urged, voice raising, and Shouta activated his Quirk for a split second in silent warning. “I’ll, like, sing you a lullaby or something if it gets you to fall asleep, okay?”
“Sing?” Shouta scoffed, shifting where he laid to make himself more comfortable. “You?”
“My Quirk has other uses!” Hizashi said proudly, puffing his chest out and moving to gesture with the hand still wrapped around Shouta’s waist. “I’m really good at singing because of it! I can reach a lot of high and low pitches, and alter my tone easily. Basically, I’m an amazing singer, baby.”
“Please never call me baby ever again.”
(Actually, that was kind of hot. Very Hizashi-esque. Shouta wondered what else Hizashi would call him if they were in a relationship. Probably other dumb things like that.)
“And I’ve been practicing singing a lot recently. My old man’s going on tour again during summer break, and he said he’d consider me for backup vocals if I behaved at school. I need a test audience, Shouta!”
“I’m sure you sound fine,” Shouta said, half-heartedly protesting, but eventually just told Hizashi to get on with it and sing already.
Hizashi’s thumb was rubbing soothing circles into his hip, and Shouta’s eyes finally slid shut after a couple of seconds of hesitation. He did feel tired, actually--he was staying up even later than usual these days, studying for finals--and when Hizashi had told him he looked exhausted, he sure as hell felt it.
He wondered if Hizashi was tired too. He had been texting Shouta whenever his studying ran too late into the night, and many a time Shouta received messages from the other as late as four in the morning. He then began wondering if Hizashi’s father was, like, in a band or something. He was going on tour? So that meant he was a celebrity or something, right?
Shouta had zoned out again, lost in thought, but when he came to he realized Hizashi was singing, soft voice carrying a melodic tune and occasionally delving into deep humming that he could feel in the other’s chest as a rumble.
(His head was on Hizashi’s chest. His tan, well-built chest. Shouta would have felt like dying again had he not been so comforted by Hizashi’s voice.)
He slept for about an hour, and then Hizashi woke him up when the owner said they needed to leave. Iida had apparently left a while ago after paying for his own drink, and Hizashi dragged a half-asleep Shouta out of their booth while apologizing to the harried-looking owner for overstaying their welcome. The warm evening air hit both their faces as they stepped outside, and after having spent so long in cold air conditioning, the heat was welcome.
“That was nice,” Hizashi laughed, rubbing at the back of his neck as they began walking aimlessly away from the café, his other hand buried in his pocket in an effort to look nonchalant. “Really nice.”
“All I did was sleep,” Shouta pointed out, and Hizashi laughed again, flashing Shouta a grin.
“Maybe so, but you looked super peaceful while sleeping, so I didn’t mind it at all. I had a lot of fun, Shouta. I want to do this again with you someday.”
Something about that didn’t quite register right.
“We already go out a lot,” Shouta mumbled, a bit puzzled. “What do you mean?”
Hizashi looked like he was struggling to find the right words, bouncing on the balls of his feet, before turning to give Shouta a genuine smile.
“I want to do this again someday--this being you feeling nice and happy. I could see it on your face when you were petting the cat and while you were sleeping. Normally you look kind of sad, kind of angry. I don’t know how to describe it. But today you actually looked kind of happy and I like that.”
They had slowed in their walking. The sun was setting behind Hizashi, washing his body in a golden glow and making his hair and eyes brighter than they already were. It was kind of hard to look at him for too long.
“Sorry if that was all too much,” Hizashi said after a long moment of silence, moving his hands to nervously pick at the hem of shirt. “I just really like hanging out with you, is all.”
“It’s okay,” Shouta said after a bit of hesitation, not quite knowing how to respond to all that. Hizashi laughed again, before holding out his hand for a fistbump, which Shouta gave.
“So, goodbye?”
“...Yeah.”
“Alright, then. See you tomorrow!” Hizashi said, giving an enthusiastic wave, before turning on his heel and walking in the direction of his home, leaving Shouta behind to replay their little scene about fifty times in his head.
Today you actually looked kind of happy and I like that.
I just really like hanging out with you.
His face must be glowing in the sunlight as well by now, so red he could practically feel the heat radiating off of his skin like a furnace. Rushing in the general direction of his own home, Shouta kept his head bowed, hoping his hair would hide his blushing face.
Why did Hizashi have to say things like that so sincerely? Why did he make Shouta feel like doing stupid and irrational things? Like kissing him and holding his hand? And asking him out on a date so he could forever be subjected to Hizashi’s endless quantity of affection?
God, he hated this crush, and yet he loved it at the same time--because at the end of the day, no matter how embarrassed he felt about it, the affection he felt towards Hizashi, a rather new feeling added to his vocabulary of emotions, was much more welcome than the loneliness he felt at home.