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Izuku is terrified when the blue thread connecting him to Shouto turns a deep red.
Izuku has spent his entire life waiting for a red thread. The closest he’s ever gotten to red is a pale pink with Ochako, which had eventually faded into a deep, deep blue.
But now that he finally has a red thread, he’s beyond panicked.
Because he’s positive Shouto’s end of the string is still blue— the color Shouto always says it is. And Izuku can’t think of anything worse than being in love with Shouto and having to lie about it to save face.
Izuku was Shouto’s first blue thread. That much he knows. Wrapped around their pinkies, anchored to each other no matter the distance. And the moment Shouto first saw the thread is still the happiest he’s ever seen him, with a soft smile pulling at his lips as he impulsively locked fingers with Izuku.
Shouto had taken up the habit of moving his pinkie slightly when he wanted to drag Izuku’s attention over to him. For the first week, Shouto wouldn't even text Izuku, he’d tug on the string and Izuku would instantly follow like a fish on a hook.
Izuku thinks that that is where the sense of guilt is coming from— the knowledge that both he and Shouto have isolated threads for each other on a pinkie, knowing that it represents something deep and meaningful. Best friends. They’re best friends.
And he’s gone and ruined everything, for both himself and for Shouto. Because he can’t lie to Shouto about the color of his thread, not forever. He can’t hide that from Shouto. Shouto deserves better than that.
There’s another, more insecure part of him that worries that the thread will be severed if he tells Shouto. Shouto could get scared and avoid him. It wasn’t unheard of and the threads weren’t definite in most cases.
Izuku doesn’t even know if Shouto likes boys— he doesn’t know if Shouto is attracted to anyone, much less someone like himself. It wasn’t something Izuku had wanted to ask about, Shouto had enough on his plate.
Izuku had figured that Shouto would tell Izuku about such things on his own time. Because that’s what best friends do: they share things with each other. Eventually. Because keeping big secrets from one of the most trusted people in your life weighs on you.
But it isn’t lying if you neglect to mention it, right?
It’s just… blissful ignorance if you leave it alone and unsaid.
That is what Izuku tells himself, at least.
“Did you hear that Momo got a red thread?”
No, Izuku hadn’t. But he knew it was Jirou. Everyone knew it would be Jirou.
“I heard some people think it’s for soulmates. What about you?”
Izuku can’t breathe.
“What do you mean?”
“I mean,” Shouto’s head tilts to the side to look over at him from his place on Izuku’s comforter. “Do you think they’re that important? Do you think that the threads tie you to people who you’re meant to be with?”
Izuku is hyperaware of the thread connecting him to Shouto.
“I—,” Izuku’s breath hitches and he’s gripping the pen in his hand so tightly that he can feel the plastic strain beneath his finger tips. “— I might. I might believe it. It’s comforting to think that there’s someone out there who’ll love you no matter what.”
Izuku doesn’t expect a verbal response from Shouto, and he doesn’t get one until several minutes have passed, but he does get a soft smile and a tender gaze.
“I think so too.”
His hands feel so numb that he imagines a light tug on his pinkie tightening the thread even more.
“You know I can see your thread, right?”
Izuku drops his analysis notebook and thinks he’s going to hyperventilate. Yuuga’s grinning over at him, a gesture that would normally comfort him, but it only succeeds in making him nauseous.
“You’ve got the sight?”
“Yep,” Yuuga pops the ‘p.’ Seeing the threads of others is a rare talent, but it isn’t unheard of, and Izuku wonders if Yuuga has shared his secret— no, it’s not a secret, he just hasn’t talked about it and avoids the subject— with anyone else.
“It’s super, super red. Like, candy apple red.”
“I know what color it is.”
“Then why haven’t you done anything about it?”
Izuku pulls a face that has Yuuga doubling over with laughter for a good minute, so loud that Izuku worries their classmates will hear and rush over.
If his feet weren’t planted on the sidewalk, Izuku would have already fled in the opposite direction, but instead he stays there. Watching Yuuga wipe away tears, wheezing when he tries to stop and speak. It’s been a while since Izuku has felt so horribly awkward.
“You should—” Yuuga inhales deeply, face pink from the laughing fit, and places his hands on Izuku’s shoulders. “You should tell him.”
“No,” Izuku doesn’t shove Yuuga’s hands off of him, that’s not something Izuku would do, but he steps out of his grasp and takes a few steps back before Yuuga could tighten his grip and keep him still. “I can’t do that. I can’t tell him. It’ll ruin everything.”
“You’re overreacting, Izuku.”
“You’re underreacting.”
“That’s not a thing.”
“Yes it is,” Izuku’s hands are flailing about and his voice is on the verge of breaking. “It’s in the dictionary, you—”
“You’re changing the subject,” Yuuga rolls his eyes. “Tell him, I promise it’ll go well. Shouto is one of your best friends. He admires you. And he loves you. And he won’t abandon you because you caught feelings.”
“But his thread is still—”
“You can’t see the threads like I can. You won’t know until you ask him about it.”
Yuuga, Izuku supposes, has a valid point.
And Izuku is nothing if not impulsive.
He calls Shouto up to his dorm room by giving the string a particularly forceful tug that makes him cringe, because Shouto will rush up now, thinking that something bad has happened and Izuku needs help. Like with the Stain incident.
The memory makes his heart swell.
Shouto doesn’t knock— he never does, not when it comes to Izuku’s room— and the door swings open. His eyes are frantic and ice covers the fingertips of the hand not holding the door.
Izuku feels bad when Shouto’s expression twists into one of confusion when he sees Izuku sitting cross-legged on the floor.
Izuku doesn’t say anything, he just pats the spot beside him and gives Shouto the best smile he can manage in that moment: one that wobbles and has the unintended effect of making Shouto’s anxiety spike.
“Are you okay?” Shouto tugs on the thread when he’s seated.
Izuku tugs back. “Yeah, I’m alright.”
Silence ensues and Izuku feels like he’s going to burst and Shouto is looking around the room as if he hasn’t fallen asleep in it a dozen times before when studying.
“I have a red thread.”
Shouto makes a noise, so soft that Izuku almost didn’t catch it, and looks down at his hands, at the invisible strings that Izuku can’t see.
“It changed colors a few days ago.”
Shouto looks up at him. “It changed colors?”
Shouto inhales deeply and opens his mouth to speak, but Izuku beats him to the punch.
“It’s your thread. You’re the red thread.”
It takes everything within Izuku to not begin rambling, biting the inside of his cheek.
That’s when Shouto reaches over and lifts Izuku’s hand, locking pinkies with him, and Izuku thinks that Shouto might look even happier with this revelation than when the thread appeared in the first place.
“Your thread has always been red for me.”