Work Text:
Hitoshi Shinsou was about five seconds from attempting to hang himself with tinsel.
He stood in the mall atrium in a green sweater, striped socks, and an elf hat complete with pointy felt ears. His nose and cheeks had been coated with pink blush, courtesy of the folks over at Sephora, and his nametag turned into a sparkly red ornament that declared him “Santa’s Helper Hitoshi.”
He wondered what horrible travesty he’d committed in a past life to deserve this.
“Welcome to Santa’s Workshop, here’s your bag,” droned Hitoshi holding out the bright red, patterned monstrosity probably a bit too high for the kid at the front of the line. The little blonde boy jumped up, snatched it out of his hand, and sprinted past the rickety plastic fence into a land of fake snow and cheap toy assembly sets.
The kid’s mother scowled at Hitoshi. He blinked at her slowly, raised his eyebrows.
“That’ll be five dollars,” he said, “cash or card?”
She scoffed, dug around in her handbag, brought out a crinkled five, and shoved it at him. He reached out to grab it; she slapped it into his palm, stuck her nose in the air, and followed after her son.
Hitoshi let out a long-suffering sigh and checked his watch. 7:00 p.m..
He still had to be here for another two fucking hours.
Two hours until they could close down the Workshop. Two damn hours until he could mosy on over to Starbucks Coffee in the company of one Izuku Midoriya.
He wondered if Christmas lights would make a decent noose.
Hitoshi was an employee of the U.A. Mall, the greatest shopping destination this side of the Mississippi. Specifically, he was a seasonal hire at the GameStop (where the more you trade, the more you save!) sandwiched between Auntie Ann’s pretzel shop and Great American Cookies, directly across from the entrance to the Regal Cineplex.
Any and all mall employees were encouraged to pick up extra shifts at “Santa’s Workshop,” also known as a fenced-off section of the breezeway decorated with massive amounts of fake snow, rickety plastic Christmas trees, and a rotating cast of Santas. For only $5, you could send your snot-nosed little brat on a winter adventure, complete with small plastic parts, stale sugar cookies, and face paint that probably isn’t skin-safe.
A real holiday treat.
But, Santa’s Workshop paid him a whopping two dollars an hour on top of his meager wages, so, naturally, Hitoshi had donned the elf ear hat at three in the morning on Black Friday and hadn’t taken it off since.
Hitoshi robotically let sets of kids and caretakers through the gate until the Christmas dystopia until it was at capacity and proceeded to ignore a set of dads that began to shriek at him that they had been waiting in line, “For an hour and a half, you can’t just turn us away!”
He could literally feel his eyes glazing over, their voices becoming a mere buzz in his ears. He let his gaze drift over to the activity tables inside the Workshop. His eyes fell upon a tuft of green hair.
“Are you even listening to me?” asked the shorter dad, shrilly.
“No,” Hitoshi replied impassively, glancing at the man before looking back at the freckled man- Izuku, he now knew- bent over the cookie decorating table, carefully showing a little blonde girl in a green dress how to pipet icing.
The dad huffed incredulously, gathered up his little girl, and dragged his husband away from the Wonderland, stomping far more aggressively than what was necessary.
Hitoshi watched Izuku shower sprinkles onto the girl’s cookie; his lips quirked into a smile when she jumped and clapped with delight.
It was unfair for someone to look that damn cute in elf ears.
“Damn, Shin,” said his coworker, Denki, as he changed into his elf costume for the fourth day in a row earlier, “you must really like kids!”
Hitoshi deadpanned. Denki snorted and whipped out his phone to snap a photo of his ever-suffering friend.
“God, you look like Santa barfed on a racoon,” Denki hooted, slapping his hand on the counter.
“And you look like a squirrel that stuck a fork in an electrical socket,” Hitoshi shot back with no real venom in his voice.
“You gonna say hey to that cutie over at Auntie Ann’s on the way to the Workshop?” asked the blonde, waggling his eyebrows.
“I do not have a singular clue what you are talking about,” Hitoshi replied flatly as he grabbed his water bottle and phone from behind the counter.
“Don’t lie, man! I see you eyeing him every time he comes in here to look at the All Might merch!” Denki teased, leaning back against the drawers behind the desk and crossing his arms.
“Not a clue,” Hitoshi repeated, pocketing his phone and plodding towards the door, the felt shoe covers dragging against the repugnant red-and-black carpet.
Denki cracked up. Hitoshi flipped him the bird. A scandalized mother out in the breezeway covered her daughter’s eyes to shield her from the unsavory sight of Santa’s favorite disgruntled helper telling capitalism to go fuck itself (in less certain terms).
Hitoshi didn’t do crushes. He didn’t have time for wooing and relationshipping- he would honestly rather hang out with his dads or his cat than spend money on overpriced food and time on inane conversations.
At least, that’s what he told himself every time he found his eyes scanning the Auntie Ann’s storefront, not-so-subtly looking for a puff of green hair and a bright smile.
Hitoshi was most definitely Not Obsessed with the short baker who was built like a burning brick shithouse, with curly hair and stupidly sparkly eyes. He positively was Not Disappointed whenever he didn’t see that baker behind the counter. He absolutely did not only crave pretzels when he knew that a certain employee was on shift. And he obviously did not choke on his own tongue when that friendly neighboring employee came over to ask about pre-ordering All Might Rises while still wearing an apron and sporting a smudge of flour on his freckled cheek.
Nope. Not one bit.
Because Hitoshi Shinsou did not do crushes.
And he was most definitely did not do crushes on people whose names he didn’t even know.
Anyway.
Hitoshi didn’t see the baker as he made his way to the Workshop- and no, he was not looking for him at all, he just happened to be looking in that general direction. He trudged to the Christmassy monstrosity, ignoring the points and shouts of kids saying, “Look at that tall elf, mommy!”
He made it to the corner of Macy’s and Bath and Body Works without much ado, reported promptly to the cordoned-off “Employees Only” table. He signed the clock-in sheet, discreetly wrote down 5:55 p.m. instead of 6:00 because seventy-five cents was a fortune, thank you very much.
He went to pick up his nametag and suddenly found himself clotheslined with the plastic table. He grunted, grabbed the corner to keep himself from falling face-first onto it and cracking it in half.
“Oh my god, I am so sorry,” someone squeaked from behind him, jumping away. Hitoshi froze. He knew that voice. He turned around slowly.
There, in front of him, stood the Auntie Ann’s dreamboat in the flesh, closer to Hitoshi than he’d ever been before. He was waving his hands around frantically, stammering out apologies faster than Hitoshi could even comprehend them. His face was bright red. Hitoshi could still see all of his freckles even through the blush.
“You’re fine, don’t worry about it,” blurted Hitoshi, cutting off the green-haired man mid-sentence. He stepped out of the way, gestured vaguely to the time sheet.
“You’re clocking in, right?” he asked. The shorter man nodded. His hair bounced around, seemingly with a mind of its own. Hitoshi thought he might actually implode.
He stood there, awkward and stupid, as the other man signed in. He watched his hands- scarred, he noted, wondered where those came from- skate over the nametags and finally, finally, pick one up.
Izuku.
“Uh, where are you stationed?” asked Izuku, snapping Hitoshi out of his thoughts.
“Gate,” he said. He mentally punched himself and wondered if everyone acted this stupid when they had not-crushes on people.
He spun on his heel and started toward the gate, quite literally wishing that he didn’t have a mouth. Izuku scurried after him.
“You’re Hitoshi, right? From GameStop” he asked. The purple-haired man nodded stiffly. The bell on top of his hat jingled faintly. He was overcome with an urge to violently rip it off.
They reached the gate. Mina from Victoria’s Secret looked like she was entirely prepared to kiss Hitoshi full on the mouth and practically sprinted to clock out. Izuku stopped, peeked over at Hitoshi sheepishly.
“Are you here until close?” he asked. Hitoshi nodded again, eyes locked on the floor.
“Izuku!” a brown-haired girl clad in a pink-and-red elf outfit called from the sugar cookie table, “You’re stationed here tonight!”
Izuku gave her a wave in acknowledgement, then turned back to Hitoshi. They stood there awkwardly, not making eye contact and clogging up the line of disgruntled parents with their hyper children. The dull murmur of shoppers’ footsteps and conversations filled the air.
The shorter man broke the silence.
“Would… would you want to, uh, get coffee after this shift?” Izuku asked.
Hitoshi snapped his eyes up to that freckled face. Izuku’s cheeks were pink again. He was chewing on his lip anxiously. Hitoshi blinked at him slowly.
“Yeah,” he replied softly, “yeah, that would be nice.”
Izuku beamed, and Hitoshi was suddenly quite convinced that the sun had somehow become an Auntie Ann’s employee.
The brunette called Izuku’s name again. He glanced over at her, grinned at Hitoshi again.
“I guess I’ll see you later?” he asked.
Hitoshi’s lips quirked into a tiny smile.
“Yeah,” he replied, “can’t wait.”
Okay. So maybe Hitoshi Shinsou did do crushes. Sometimes.