Archive of Our Own

The fight had been hard, way too hard for how few heroes they had, and Hitoshi chalks it up to poor planning of the schedule as he narrowly dodges away from something that would definitely have impaled him. A gross image to think of oneself, but an image he’d processed nonetheless. It hadn’t been anything too difficult to dodge, but it hadn’t necessarily been easy either.

Luckily, though, Hitoshi is no longer the bean pole he was at the beginning of first year at UA, so he’s quick and strong enough that he leaps sideways before the pole can ram through his vital organs (and possibly a few non-vital ones). Thankfully for him, the villain doesn’t have control of the pole after it’s in the air, so Hitoshi can ignore it without worry for now. He uses his momentum to kick off the wall he ends up against and launches himself toward the villain.

There’s a crackling of viridian energy in the air and, right as his capture weapon snags the villain and traps their arms to their sides, a steel-toed boot collides with the villain’s head. The villain is knocked out on impact, eyes rolling up in their head as they go boneless in Hitoshi’s capture weapon’s hold, and Hitoshi lets them go as he lands before whirling around and facing the next villain. He can feel sweat rolling down his neck and he’s sure he’s going to stink when he gets back to the agency (hopefully they fixed the hot water after it didn’t work this morning), but that is of little importance right now.

Right as another villain comes barreling at him too fast for him to properly get out of the way, he blinks and the air is suddenly stolen from his lungs as-

“You okay?” Midoriya doesn’t stick around to find out, setting him down thirty feet away from where he’d been mere micro-seconds ago, before zipping off in a blur once more.

For a second, Hitoshi feels vaguely nauseated. He’ll never get used to working with Midoriya because Midoriya will just move people he works with if they can’t move in time. It’s disrupting and insane and food for the budding ‘adrenaline junkie’ side of himself. Hitoshi doesn’t want to like it as much as he does, but it’s a bit drugging.

But he can’t let himself get high off of it for two long, as someone is throwing a car at him and he has to move now-

The car explodes when it hits the building behind him, tank full of gas igniting with a FWOOM, and Hitoshi is barely out of the way in time. The ends of his hair are singed, he’s sure of it.

Well, he thinks to himself as he throws a punch at the next villain he snags in his capture weapon, I needed a haircut anyway.

Ponytails are annoying and he’d been planning to get his hair cut for a little while now, but this is motivation enough to actually add it to his mental checklist. Maybe he’ll go to that place Ashido had suggested, the one with the chibi panda in the window. Or maybe he’ll get almost shot in the face, only dodging because he’d already been getting out of the way of another car turned projectile. Hitoshi grits his teeth as the bullet carves a line in his eyebrow and along his temple.

Blood streaks down his face and some gets into his eye and holy shit that hurts. But he can’t think about it now, so he yells in anger and knocks the villain out with an elbow to the temple.

He’s upright for a second before someone else is crashing into him and they both go down like a pair of dominoes. Hitoshi barely manages to keep his head from bouncing off the road, somehow catching the other hero’s head before it can do the same, and he launches his capture weapon at the villain who’d thrown the hero at him. The villain slices a chunk off of it and Hitoshi launches to standing and charges them, leaping and flipping nimbly over them before spinning and slamming his heel into the back of their head.

Well. Hatsume isn’t going to be very pleased that he’d damaged his capture weapon.

But, he supposes, that she’s probably used to things breaking at this point. She’d been a leading support item designer and engineer since she’d graduated from UA and someone with a track record of helping all sorts of heroes should almost definitely be more than familiar with heroes returning with broken things. That’s not to say she won’t get upset, Hitoshi just hopes that she doesn’t blow up at him in particular.

(Like I need to think about that right now.)

With a leap and a dive and a lunge and a roll, Hitoshi grabs a kid and dives out of the way of another blast from a villain. He hugs the kid to his chest as he rolls, careful to make sure the kid doesn’t get hurt at all, and he does his best to ignore how the child is sobbing and crying. Despite how long he’d been doing this, Hitoshi will never get used to that.

Of course, he’d seen other heroes get upset when kids got upset too, but he really does not have time for this because yet another car is flying at his face and this is getting repetitive. With a yelp, he leaps backwards and out of the way and puts the kid down in a relatively safe spot. Then, because he’s never been good at reminding himself to take a breath before charging back in, he charges right back into the fight with blood roaring in his ears and anger singing in his veins.

With a furious kick, Hitoshi knocks out the villain doing the car-throwing and whirls around to face everyth-

BANG-

Ears ringing, Hitoshi hits the ground like a sack of stones. Time slows and spins and Hitoshi’s ears feel as if they’re being stuffed with cotton or something of the like, anything to impair it. His head bounces painfully off the asphalt and he distantly hears someone scream his name.

And then he’s out cold, mind shutting down to the triumphant laughter of another villain he hadn’t seen behind him.

He comes to a few minutes later, the fight clearly over, and he is lying down on the asphalt trying not to black out again. He’s losing a lot of blood from various other places on his body as well as from his head, and the world is starting to spin around him something awful. He can feel the it run hot from every wound and it’s… unbelievably terrifying. Bile bubbles up in his mouth and, vaguely, Hitoshi realizes he’s going to puke at some point.

Hitoshi can hear other heroes yelling and collecting the few people who had been in the area when the attack had started. He isn’t needed right now.

Running footsteps trigger his fight or flight reflexes and he bolts to his feet, blinking through the blood and pain to try to see where this next attacker is coming from. Worry spears through his veins like ice, did we not get them all? How many more are there?

But he only sees a blur of a familiar forest green before Midoriya’s face actually comes into focus.

His brow is creased with concern, eyes spilling over with it, and he looks like he wants to hug Hitoshi but is too afraid to. Honestly, Hitoshi wouldn’t be opposed if he weren’t so worried about getting blood all over everything Midoriya has on. He knows that the great Hero Deku has multiple versions of the same suit for the sake of not stinking all the damn time, but it’s still a habit.

Midoriya’s hands are warm and timid, shaking, when they touch his face and, before Hitoshi is even processing it-

(His lips are really warm…)

It’s only after Midoriya tilts his head to kiss him more firmly that Hitoshi realizes what’s happening.

He goes lightheaded faster than the time he’d been hit in the head with a falling metal door and his heart staccatos violently in his chest. His hands are shaky as they come forward and grip the front of Midoriya’s hero suit, trying to get some sort of balance (or even a horrible false version of it). For a moment, Hitoshi wonders if anything could ever be more right than this, but then he starts to feel lightheaded in a way that is related to neither his blood loss, nor the heady rush Midoriya’s kisses had given him at first.

Faintly, he hears himself hum something unintelligible against Midoriya’s mouth and, well, that seems to be enough of a warning for Midoriya because the next thing he knows-

Kisses are nice, Hitoshi decides, when Midoriya finally pulls away, leaving both of them panting for air.

Adrenaline buzzes between them, zinging up and down their bodies like the lightning of Midoriya’s quirk, and Hitoshi can feel Midoriya’s heartbeat thrumming against where his hands are pressed to his chest. Of course, this could be his own heartbeat pounding so hard he feels it in his fingertips, but if that were the case then Midoriya can surely feel it too. But Hitoshi isn’t about to shatter the moment by asking because the way Midoriya is looking at him right now, as if he’s about to either eat him or kiss him again, isn’t something he wants to interrupt.

Midoriya’s eyes are gorgeous, emerald green fading to a summery green around the edges with flecks of honey gold that flash in the light. Hitoshi only wishes he had his camera and could take an actual picture of them and print them on a 3D model or something because god knows he can’t stand here and stare for all eternity. What he wouldn’t give to do that, though…

Well, suffice it to say that particular list is incredibly short, the only thing on it being his vision for obvious reasons.

For a long, long time, Hitoshi forgets that he should probably say something to Midoriya, but his mind is still half in the stratosphere right now and the only thoughts crossing his mind are something akin to ‘oh my gods,’ and ‘holy shit.’ And, of course, other intrusive thoughts that he promptly extinguishes. That is, until his vision swims again and dark spots dance across Midoriya’s face, and Hitoshi feels liquid nitrogen flood into his knees.

He stumbles and falls forward, face planting right into Midoriya’s chest, with a pained grunt and a small, breathless gasp of pain. Midoriya squeaks like he had in high school and catches him awkwardly, holding him up so he doesn’t fall over again, and Hitoshi would definitely thank him if it didn’t feel like his lips were being injected with local anaesthetic.

Distantly, Hitoshi is aware of Midoriya scooping him up into his arms like he’s a princess in some fairytale and running off. He thinks Midoriya is yelling something, sounding particularly distressed when Hitoshi closes his eyes.

There’s a high pitched ringing in his ears and Hitoshi really wishes Midoriya would stop yelling. Seriously, he’s.

He’s.

He’s fine.

It’s only by luck and pure coincidence that Hitoshi throws up after Midoriya puts him down again. Hitoshi leans heavily against Midoriya’s side, his other shaking hand planted on what he guesses is an ambulance cot or something, as his stomach voids itself of its contents. Admittedly, he hadn’t eaten much or consumed much in general in the past few days, but it still hurts and dry heaving is none so glamorous. It’s painful and awul and Hitoshi closes his eyes against the bitter tears gathering there.

There’s a hand on his back, rubbing mind-numbing circles into his skin through the fabric of his suit, and Hitoshi wonders if that’s still Midoriya next to him. His mind is too far away and too cramped with fluff and battered by the effects of blood loss for him to properly process anything but the fact that he is still dry heaving and it still hurts.

Finally, Hitoshi stops feeling like he’ll die if he doesn’t rid himself of any nutrients in his body, and it’s now that his tears decide to roll down his cheeks, hot and bitter and fat. Something brushes them away, something that is definitely not a tissue, but again: Hitoshi can’t process anything.

A voice breaks through the muddled cacophony in his ears and Hitoshi hears it say, “Rest. You’ll be okay.”

And yeah, that sounds like a good idea.

Hitoshi’s out like a light.

The next time Hitoshi wakes up, it is to the insistent ping-ping-pinging of a heart monitor in a hospital room. When he opens his eyes and blinks blearily at the far too bright white ceiling above him, he wonders for a moment just whose hospital room this is and why he’d fallen asleep here. It’s odd, really, that he would have fallen asleep in someone else’s hospital room after a fight like that. He would normally have been bouncing off the walls or trying desperately to get his bloodstream clear of adrenaline.

It takes him all of fifteen minutes to think that maybe, just maybe, this is his hospital room and, once he’s actually had the thought, it becomes rather clear to him that this is the case. He takes a few moments to be a little disappointed in himself for not even thinking of it for however long, but then he pulls himself out of it and takes stock of the room and his situation.

His ribs ache but they’re not painful enough to be broken. His head feels like it had been put in a pressure cooker for upwards of fifteen hours. The rest of his body is beyond exhausted and he wants to never move again. Fairly normal post-fight stuff. The room, meanwhile, is a standard hospital room with a window and another bed that’s empty and clearly hasn’t been used in a while, and when Hitoshi manages to convince himself to actually turn his head further, he spots a meal on a tray next to him. It’s a nice thought, eating, and it makes his stomach rumble pitifully…

But he feels entirely too dead inside and nauseous to try to sit up let alone try to eat something.

It’s not quite on cue, but the knock at the door still seems so very right, perfectly timed, and for some reason it makes Hitoshi’s head spin and his ears ring. He winces and closes his eyes again as something builds in them, and he can’t seem to find his voice to respond.

After a minute and a half, the knock comes again but the person outside doesn’t wait this time, they just open it and slip silently inside. They must think that Hitoshi’s still asleep, based on how quietly they’re walking and moving around the room. It should set off his suspicions or something akin to that (alarm bells?) but Hitoshi is too tired for that. He lets them come closer, waiting until his ears stop ringing before he finally opens his eyes.

The nurse’s face is kind when they see his eyes open and they offer him a warm smile and a soft, “You’re awake. How are you feeling?”

Hitoshi opens his mouth to answer and all that comes out is a dry rasp. He coughs weakly and the nurse hums a small laugh, something that’s still somehow kind and like they’re being sympathetic despite clearly laughing at him. Eventually, he gets his voice under control and clears his throat. It hurts like hell, as if he’d just swallowed shattered glass or something like that, but it works well enough.

“Like death.” Hitoshi mutters.

The nurse’s eyes glitter and they nod a little. “Yes, that makes sense. Would you like some water? You can just nod if that’s easier.”

And so Hitoshi does because water sounds absolutely blissful right now.

The nurse, after they’d placed the end of a straw in his mouth, has to tell him to slow down half a dozen times. Hitoshi doesn’t listen for the first few times and ends up half water-boarding himself in the process which is just entirely too fantastic. The nurse just shakes their head with a sigh and lets him keep drinking when he is no longer drowning in the wake of his own poor life choices.

The water is as blissful as he’d hoped, cold and soothing and so very nice. Finally, Hitoshi is finished and he releases the straw so the nurse can move the cup away and put it on a table by his head that he can’t see. The sigh that works its way out of Hitoshi’s mouth is calm and soothed and rather satisfied sounding, for all that he still feels vaguely like he’s swallowed a handful of gravel. Now, though, the gravel is polished and less horribly dusty than it had previously been, which Hitoshi is grateful for.

“Your vitals all look fine.” The nurse says as they look over the heart monitor and adjust a few things, “You’re still on a fairly high dose of morphine and you’ve got one hell of a concussion, so I’m going to dim the lights for you, alright? Would you also like the window closed?”

Hitoshi nods and rasps, “Please.”

“Does your head hurt?” The nurse asks as they go to close the curtains and the room is swathed in a more comfortable, dimmer light.

“I feel like I got hit by a train.” Hitoshi closes his eyes.

The nurse laughs again, that soft sweet chiming sound, and they say, “That’s about normal. Rest and when you’re awake I can let your visitor in.”

“My…” Hitoshi blinks his eyes open and looks up at her. “My what?”

“He’s been rather avidly waiting for you, asking every time he sees anyone whether you’ll be alright.” The nurse’s eyes sparkle, “He’ll be in when you’re awake.”

And, as the morphine takes hold of his system once more, his brain decides that sleep sounds enticing enough to slip into unconsciousness without much issue. The last conscious thought Hitoshi has is something along the lines of: ‘Who came to see me?’

As luck would have it, when he’s awake next, Hitoshi sees a face swimming in his blurry vision. It’s someone he recognizes, at least he thinks it is, and for a moment, Hitoshi can’t even begin to fathom why someone would come see him in the hospital. People don’t normally do that, do they? They usually come to see someone who’s injured-

Ah.

Right.

Hitoshi groans breathlessly and closes his eyes, trying to clear his vision even the slightest bit. If he could just drag his head from this sleep-ridden fog, he’d be able to see just who had come to see him but, as usual, sleep has finally managed to grab hold of him and it isn’t about to let go so easily. So Hitoshi fights with himself for a long few moments, contemplating just passing out again for the good of his head and his conscience. Eventually, he ends up reasoning with himself that, if this person is here now, they’ll still be here after another half hour nap.

As his consciousness drifts in and out of a rather unrestful sleep, Hitoshi finds himself taking stock yet again of what hurts and what doesn’t. His ribs ache something awful, his head is pounding, and the rest just seems to be weighed down by exhaustion. That last one is something he’s more or less familiar with, thanks to his rather abnormal sleeping habits (if one could call being riddled by insomnia a ‘sleeping habit’) and tendencies to work long hours and train longer hours. More often than not, when he finally lets himself go home, he’s worn out to the point of collapsing and as soon as he’s within a relatively safe range of his bed or couch, he’s out for the rest of however long he’ll let himself sleep.

Not the healthiest practice, but it’s working for him for the most part. Or at least, he thinks it is. It’s rewarding, at least, he’s improving a lot.

What snaps him out of his reverie is a hand touching his forehead.

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, Hitoshi peels his eyes open and stares at the person like they’ve got four eyes and three head. And, as he stares at them more, his vision finally decides to let him actually see who it is and-

“M’doriya?”

Midoriya’s concerned eyes flash at that and he scoots forward, the plastic chair squeaking softly on the laminate floor. His hand never leaves Hitoshi’s forehead, soft and warm and oddly grounding.

“Hey, Shinsou,” Midoriya’s voice is just as soft as his hair looks, “How do you feel?”

Hitoshi has to try multiple times before his voice actually works. “Like shit.”

Midoriya snorts and it’s possibly the cutest thing Hitoshi has ever witnessed. “Yeah, well, I believe that. You took a real beating in that fight.”

“Don’t remind me.” Hitoshi closes his eyes and tries his best not to lean into Midoriya’s touch. “Ribs hurt.”

“Just your ribs? Doctor said you had one hell of a concussion.”

“Shut up.”

Midoriya laughs, this time, and Hitoshi half wishes he hadn’t winced at the sound because Midoriya notices (he always notices) and immediately cuts his laugh short to whisper an apology. For a moment, Hitoshi contemplates just telling Midoriya it’s fine, but then he decides that, for the sake of not making his head feel like a plinko machine, he’ll just keep his mouth shut. His ears ring for a long few moments and it’s only when they clear that Hitoshi truly processes how quiet the room is.

It’s… rather eerie. He’s not sure he likes it.

“M’doriya?”

He gets a response immediately: “Yeah? I’m right here.”

“Good, just…” Hitoshi’s voice cracks and he wishes his throat wasn’t so dry.

“Just?” Midoriya prompts him.

“Just…” Hitoshi tries again, voice little more than gravel, “Stay.”

For a moment, the room is silent.

For a moment, Hitoshi thinks Midoriya is going to say ‘no.’

For a moment, he’s scared of losing him, as stupid as that feels.

But then Midoriya sighs a little and says, “I’m not going anywhere.”

Hitoshi can hear the smile in his voice and it warms him right down to his toes. He’s probably got a dopey, morphine induced grin on his face but he couldn’t possibly care any less. Midoriya is staying, he’s staying and indulging Hitoshi’s stupid request because he’s wonderful and Hitoshi definitely doesn’t deserve it.

The hand on his forehead shifts a little and starts combing through his hair. For a moment, Hitoshi feels like a cat or something. Then he’s immediately beginning to feel his grasp on reality slip between his fingers like sand. He’s falling asleep again, all because of Midoriya’s stupid fingers in his stupid hair and-

“Sleep.” Midoriya says quietly, “I can see you fighting it.”

“Don’t want to.” Hitoshi rasps, fighting with everything he has (and everything he doesn’t).

Midoriya laughs and it’s quiet and soft and more a chuckle than anything else. Eventually, though, as his fingers continue to work their way through Hitoshi’s hair in hypnotic patterns, he says, “Sleep, Shinsou. I’ll be right here.”

And so Hitoshi sleeps.

When he wakes up next, the fingers in his hair are gone.

For a moment, Hitoshi panics. Midoriya had promised, hadn’t he? He’d promised him that he’d be there when he woke up. He’d promised, so where-

“-can’t be alone?”

“Technically he can, but I’d highly suggest against it.”

“I can take care of him. It’s partly my fault he’s in this mess in the first place.”

“Deku, being a hero doesn’t mean you’re personally responsible for every injury your team sustains.”

“Well, I know, but-”

Hitoshi grunts from the bed and the conversation stops. He’s staring at the dimly lit ceiling, watching this or that little black dot zoom around the room like tiny birds or bugs or something, though he doubts they’re alive. There are soft footsteps and then there’s a hand on his forehead again. Midoriya’s face appears on the left and someone he recognizes is probably a doctor appears on his right.

The doctor looks at him disapprovingly as Midoriya murmurs a greeting and gives him that soft little smile that fills his stomach with molten lava and his knees turn to jelly. Hitoshi tries to smile back but it feels wobbly and uncertain and, after only two seconds of an attempt, he drops his face back into its comfortably unemotive state.

“You’re being discharged.” The doctor tells him in that same monotonous voice he recognizes from fitful sleep and just before his surgery. “But you can’t be home alone because of your concussion, so Deku has volunteered to take care of you.”

“If that’s okay with you of course.” Midoriya says in a rush, looking as anxious as Hitoshi had ever known him to be.

Hitoshi blinks blearily up at the two of them before slurring something like, “Sounds fine to me.”

Midoriya visibly relaxes and his smile gains a few million watts, making Hitoshi wonder if he’s managed to actually blind anyone with it yet. The doctor just rolls her eyes and pats his shoulder.

Slowly, over the course of half an hour, the two of them get Hitoshi to sit upright (with some help from the mechanical hospital bed), and they hold him up when his head spins. His vision blacks out a little but he still feels more less conscious and, when it clears, he feels as back to normal as one can with a few healing broken ribs and a concussion so bad you can’t really see straight. He’s upright in another hour or so, standing shakily on his feet as a nurse helps him into a pair of sweatpants. He thanks them about a million times, to which the nurse just whispers a joking reply about them being glad Hitoshi isn't an old man.

Hitoshi huffs a small laugh and, despite how much his ribs complain about it, it feels nice to do something so mundane. The nurse gives him a grin in reply and sits him down on a hospital wheelchair, apologizing for how uncomfortable it is, and offers to help him put on the hoodie Midoriya had provided after raiding his apartment. For a moment or two, Hitoshi tries and, once he’s managed to get stuck in it, he sighs in defeat and asks for help.

The nurse’s laugh is sweet and they help him with it easily, as easily as if they did it every day of their life which, Hitoshi supposes, may not be that much of a stretch.

Once he’s dressed (sort of), and got a pair of cheap sunglasses on to protect his concussed brain from the light, the nurse wheels him out into the hallway and they meet up with Midoriya at the nurse’s station where Midoriya had been signing for Hitoshi’s release. And, of course, giving a few of the nurses minor heart attacks because ‘Hero Deku is standing here asking for help with his friend oh my gods.’ Hitoshi can’t really blame them, even he gets a little star struck every now and again when working with Midoriya.

The nurse wheeling him over calls a soft ‘hello,’ to everyone at the nurse’s station and Hitoshi gives them all a weak little wave.

“Oh dear, you’ve got quite the concussion, don’t you?” One of the nurse’s says.

“How could you tell.” Hitoshi mutters.

This makes her laugh, though she keeps it quiet for his sake.

The papers are signed in the next few minutes and, after grabbing some overpriced mochi and smoothies from the hospital cafeteria, Hitoshi finds himself in Midoriya’s car being done up like he’s a child who can’t do it himself. He tries to protest, tries to do it himself, but Midoriya just shoves a piece of mochi in his mouth when he opens it to speak and says something about ‘being responsible,’ and ‘taking care of you.’ Hitoshi just sighs, gives up, and munches on the too-large bite of mochi Midoriya had shoved at him.

Finally, finally, Midoriya is sitting in the driver’s seat and backing out of his parking space. Hitoshi does his best not to think about the way Midoriya’s shoulders look in his shirt and he does even better than his best to not look at the way his cheeks dimple when he smiles. It’s a painful endeavor, but one he intends to survive because he really shouldn’t be thirsting after the person who’s going to be babying him for the next month. Besides, it’s probably just his concussion making him think like this. No big deal.

The car ride is entirely uneventful, and Hitoshi honestly would have fallen asleep for all of it if the roads weren’t crowded as fuck and they kept stopping and starting sproadically. He could hear Midoriya muttering unhappily under his breath and, for just a moment, Hitoshi wants to know just what he’s saying about this whole situation. Maybe he’s talking about how stupid some drivers can be, or maybe he’s worrying about someone getting into a crash. That sounds like a viable thought for someone as worrisome as Midoriya to have.

Then again, says Hitoshi’s brain, he has more faith in people than anyone ever gives him credit for. And yes, Hitoshi sighs to himself, this is true. Midoriya probably believes everyone is doing their best to stay out of trouble and to drive safely, because of course he’s thinking something like that.

The trip from the car to Midoriya’s apartment building and then to the elevator and then down the hall is similarly uneventful, if not a whole lot more annoying. Hitoshi is really starting to get sick of feeling like he’s a rag doll, something that can’t really hold itself up properly, but he isn’t exactly able to see straight enough to trust himself with walking alone. Midoriya serves as a living crutch and, despite Hitoshi’s protests, has one strong arm looped securely around his waist and the other pressing to his chest ever so gently. Midoriya’s hold is warm, secure, and Hitoshi would melt into it and fall asleep if he weren’t standing up.

Finally, the elevator comes to Midoriya’s floor and they both get out, though Midoriya does more of the work than Hitoshi. Once Midoriya’s door is unlocked and their shoes are off, Hitoshi finds himself sitting on a surprisingly comfortable couch. With a long, satisfied sigh, he leans back and tilts his head back further to rest on the pillow Midoriya propped up there. Really, it shouldn’t surprise Hitoshi that Midoriya is super intuitive and helpful, but he keeps re-realizing it anyway because screw rational thought, he has a massive concussion.

The lights are dim, thank heaven, and the curtains are all drawn so the light in the room is limited at best. Hitoshi lets his eyes fall shut and, for a moment, he just listens to Midoriya fumble with his AC unit. It’s nice, quiet, and oddly domestic in a way that Hitoshi hadn’t really ever experienced before.

He’d messed with his own AC unit more times than he could count, but it had never quite felt peaceful like this does.

Maybe it’s just the concussion talking.

Finally, Midoriya seems satisfied with the setting on the AC unit, and he walks over to what Hitoshi assumes to be the kitchen section, if the sounds he’s making are any indication. He hears a fridge opening and a container being pulled out and-

Hitoshi wakes up to a bowl of freshly cut fruit being pressed into his hands. He blinks blearily at the bowl for a moment, the fruit a little more than a little blurry, and his hands shake a little when he takes hold of it. Thankfully, someone sets it on his lap and presses a fork into his hand. When Hitoshi looks up, he sees that yes, it’s Midoriya. Not that he’d expected someone else, but…

Gods, his head hurts.

“Thanks.” He slurs, doing his best to make sure that it doesn’t just sound like an audible keysmash.

Midoriya’s smile is warm and makes his eyes crinkle just a little at the sides. It’s beautiful, and Hitoshi only wishes he had the words. Or, well, that he could speak the words.

Unfortunately, he can’t speak the words, so he just thanks Midoriya again and brings a piece of what he thinks is a strawberry to his mouth. He chews and, as it turns out, he had in fact picked up a strawberry with his fork. Score one for Hitoshi. The couch dips beside him as Midoriya sits down and, admittedly, having him nearby is becoming such a comfort that it’s starting to scare Hitoshi just a little. He’s here to get better because the doctors say he can’t be alone, not to get friendly.

But he’s still wildly concussed, so he lets himself enjoy it for the moment. He can’t really tell if Midoriya has his own bowl of fruit, but Hitoshi is far more focused on the blueberry that refuses to be stabbed. Eating something fresh after an IV for so long is- refreshing. Really refreshing. Hitoshi decides that he needs to give fruit some more credit. Maybe he should ask for something else…

His next bite is a bit of peach and Hitoshi hums softly to himself. It’s sweet, just a little tart, and melts in his mouth with a massive burst of flavour. He isn’t sure when he shuts his eyes, but Midoriya gently tells him to open them again a few moments later. Hitoshi does, because he knows Midoriya is right, but he also really wants to nap.

“Tired?” Midoriya asks when there is no more fruit to be found in the bowl and Hitoshi feels himself swimming in and out of consciousness.

The sound Hitoshi makes is only vaguely affirmative, but Midoriya takes it well enough and oh so gently scoops him up into his arms.

The last thing Hitoshi remembers is Midoriya’s fond smile and quiet murmur of ‘sleep well.’

Waking up to find Midoriya making dinner (or whatever meal he’s making, Hitoshi has no sense of time anymore) is something Hitoshi could definitely get used to. Unfortunately, it’s been a week of him doing so by now, and he’s still not used to it. He’d started to feel like he was overstaying his welcome on the fourth day but, after a conversation that Hitoshi had had some trouble focusing on, they’d decided (Midoriya, mostly) that Hitoshi needed to stay here for a bit longer.

Midoriya didn’t trust him to be on his own with this much of a concussion, and Hitoshi really didn’t mind staying here. Midoriya’s guest bed was comfortable and he just genuinely likes spending time with Midoriya. He’s sweet, considerate, and more attentive than Hitoshi thinks he needs, but it’s still very much appreciated.

And, of course, staying gives Hitoshi an excuse to see him smile a lot more.

It’s a nice smile, with the way his eyes sparkle and crinkle at the corners, and the way his cheeks dimple and each dimple swallows a handful of freckles each, and the way it seems warm, even though Hitoshi isn’t touching it. It’s kind, full of something Hitoshi doubts he’s ever truly felt, and it makes him feel so much better in any situation. It’s not his Hero Deku smile, no, this is his smile and it’s…

It’s beautiful.

Midoriya places a bowl of udon in front of him and, for a moment, Hitoshi wonders if he knew before this week that Midoriya could cook. Of course, he’d assumed he could cook enough to survive on his own, but he didn’t know he could cook like this. It’s interesting, and definitely doesn’t do something weird to Hitoshi’s heart.

Stop that, he thinks to himself, Even if you did like him like that, he doesn’t see you like that. Don’t get your hopes up.

The two of them eat together, casual conversation flowing easier than Hitoshi ever expects it to. As usual, Midoriya does most of the talking, as is his way, but Hitoshi really doesn’t mind. He’s always sort of enjoyed just listening to people talk.

It’s only when Midoriya stops talking and gives him an expectant look that Hitoshi processes he has most likely been asked a question.

“Uh,” he says, elegantly, “Sorry, what?”

“You weren’t listening.” Concern puts a crease between Midoriya’s eyebrows. “Are you feeling okay? Do you need to sleep? Advil? Maybe I should-”

“No,” Hitoshi grabs his arm before he can stand up (before he can leave). “It’s okay, Midoriya, I’m fine. Just zoned out.”

“Right.” Midoriya nods, not looking at all convinced. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay.”

This is something that has become something of a habit between them. Midoriya apologizes a lot, for almost everything, and Hitoshi always tells him it’s okay because it always is. There’s rarely anything Midoriya actually needs to apologize for, but he does it anyway, so Hitoshi always assures him it’s okay. He doesn’t mind Midoriya’s infinite number of apologies, but Midoriya has sort of told him in half-spoken snippets that other people find them offensive.

That just made Hitoshi mad, but he hadn’t told Midoriya as much. It’s better he doesn’t know.

“What were you saying?” Hitoshi asks.

“I asked you if the udon was okay.” Midoriya says, the crease between his eyebrows is already smoothing just a little. “It’s my mom’s recipe and I’m never sure if I actually do it justice.”

Hitoshi looks down at the udon. Then he looks back up at Midoriya, smiling just a little bit, “It’s good. I love it.”

Midoriya’s whole being lights up. “Really?!”

He reminds Hitoshi a bit of a puppy.

Hitoshi nods and Midoriya seems infinitely pleased, even saying something like “I’m really glad you like it!” This, again, definitely doesn’t do something to Hitoshi’s heart.

Ignoring whatever bullshit definitely is not going on in his chest, Hitoshi starts eating again under the guise of not wanting the udon to get cold. Of course, this isn’t necessarily a lie, and it’s certainly enough to convince himself, but it isn’t necessarily the whole truth either. But Hitoshi isn’t about to admit that to anyone, much less himself or Midoriya, so he stays quiet.

The udon really is good.

They’re well into the second week by now, and Hitoshi’s heart keeps jumping off cliffs and down sets of stairs to avoid this or that feelings-inducing cute thing that Midoriya does. He’s done for, he really is, but he is refusing to acknowledge it until he is decidedly alone, back at his house.

This presents a new struggle: getting to his house.

The doctor said that he shouldn’t be alone for about a month, because they were pretty sure that there was a quirk affecting him as well and they didn’t want him to get hurt while alone. Hitoshi understands that, really, but it isn’t doing anything good for his heart. Mind you, Hitoshi has a feeling that he’d known that going in, and accepting to stay at Midoriya’s place may not have been his smartest plan, but he had no idea where else he would go, and he hadn’t acknowledged any blooming feelings for Midoriya he might have had at the time.

Thus, he plans to die of feelings before the month is over and then die again when he gets home, wallowing in self pity and drowning in ice cream or something. Maybe cookies instead. He did have that dough in his freezer…

With a sigh, Hitoshi realizes just how freezer-burned the dough will inevitably be when he does get home.

Great.

“I’ll be right back!”

Uraraka beams and waves, “See ya in a bit, Deku.”

And then Hitoshi was alone with Uraraka and the awkwardness in the room rose a million fold. Hitoshi fidgets furiously with the hem of his sweater, and waits for his impending doom, or whatever it is Uraraka has planned for him.

Finally, she says, “So he kissed you.”

Hitoshi’s face goes as red as a tomato.

“You know it was on live television, right?” Uraraka asks, sounding a bit worried, “And it’s all over the news now. Gossip magazines and networks are spinning it way out of proportion.”

“I can’t even be in a well lit room, Uraraka, I definitely haven’t seen any of this.” Hitoshi grumbles, crossing his arms in more of a way to hide than an expression of frustration. “And besides, it’s not like I care.”

“Uhhh your face says otherwise.” Uraraka gives him a goofy smile, “Are you sure you don’t care?”

Hitoshi nods.

Uraraka sighs and stands up to sit down next to him instead of across from him. The room is silent for a moment, a painfully long moment, and Hitoshi almost wishes he could get up and run for his life or something similarly stupid. Then Uraraka touches his arm gently, and it’s so oddly reassuring that Hitoshi gasps softly under his breath.

“Don’t lie to yourself.” Uraraka says after a moment, “Lie to me about this, lie to Deku about this, but don’t lie to yourself, okay?”

Well it’s a little late for that.

“I can see it in your face, Shinsou.” Uraraka continues. Then she nudges him gently and, when he looks at her, he sees that she’s smiling that bright smile that makes her eyes sparkle. “You like him, don’t you?”

“I…” Hitoshi hesitates. Then he nods, just a little bit.

“Good.” Uraraka says, squeezing his shoulder, “Now don’t lie to yourself about it. You don’t have to tell Deku-”

“Really? I thought, out of anyone, you were going to be the one telling me I had to tell him as soon as possible.” Hitoshi says.

Uraraka wrinkles her nose, just barely visible in the dim room. “I’m a bit pushy, but I’m not destructive. Especially not to my friends. And, y’know, I had a thing for Deku for at least a year and a half, maybe longer. I didn’t say anything because I didn’t want it to come between me and my dreams.”

“That’s…” really admirable.

“A little weird, right?”

“No,” Hitoshi says in a rush, “no, not at all. I just… that’s admirable, that you did that.”

“It.” Uraraka blinks owlishly at him. “It is?”

Hitoshi nods. “Definitely.”

“Well… thanks.” Uraraka nudges him with her shoulder again, like an over friendly cat.

Hitoshi lets himself smile just a little. It’s silent again, for just a few moments.

Then Hitoshi says, “So you’re saying that I don’t have to tell Midoriya, but I should at least admit it to me.”

“And you do need to talk to him about the kiss.” Uraraka says, “Because that was uh. That was a big spectacle.”

“Right.” Hitoshi would rather choke to death. “Of course.”

“And, Shinsou-”

The door opens and the conversation dies in an instant. Midoriya steps through the door, doing that million-watt smile of his, a convenience store bag in his hand, and he takes off his shoes before shutting and locking the door. He looks a little windswept, like the weather had had its fun with him just a bit.

“Hey, I’m back!” He says pleasantly. “I think I got everything you requested.”

Uraraka hops to her feet. “Let’s hope so! Wouldn’t want to send you back out there.”

“Haha.” Midoriya’s eye roll was nearly audible. “Shinsou, I got what you requested too. Not sure how you like these marshmallow chocolate cookies, but whatever.”

“Shut up, they’re good.” Shinsou mutters.

Midoriya laughs and tosses him the bag. It lands perfectly in his lap and Hitoshi doesn’t dwell on that fact for longer than a second or two.

He has better things to think about.

“So my mom wants to know if you want to come for dinner?”

Hitoshi looks up from his hot chocolate and blinks owlishly at Midoriya for a long moment, not fully processing what exactly he’d just heard. And, for as long as he’s silent, Midoriya waits patiently for a reply. He’s probably doing it because of his concussion, or whatever, and Hitoshi’s grateful (for once) that someone is treating him like he’s just a little bit fragile.

Midoriya’s mom wants him to come for dinner? That’s so out of the ordinary, for Hitoshi, he’d never had anyone really ask him over for dinner, let alone someone’s parent requesting him for dinner. That was even more out of the ordinary and it had almost certainly never happened to Hitoshi before. He isn’t sure how to think about the offer, really, and he’s pretty sure he’s bluescreening really hard right now.

After another few moments, presumably too long, Midoriya smiles a little and waves a hand in front of Hitoshi’s face. “Hey, you in there?”

Hitoshi grunts. “Yeah. Yeah, sorry.”

“That’s alright.” Midoriya says, “Think about it, okay? You don’t have to make the decision right away.”

“Alright.” Hitoshi nods, despite feeling a little like he doesn’t have much of a choice either way.

He goes to dinner.

The evening is uneventful, and made all the more pleasant because of that. Midoriya got the day off, so he looked well rested and casual and oh, so warm. That can partly be blamed on the big grey hoodie he’s wearing that, though a little baggy, does absolutely nothing to hide his musculature. Not that Hitoshi’s complaining, of course, he’s come to terms with the fact that he’s thirsting after Midoriya something awful. It’s way easier to deal with than the potential feelings brewing in his heart.

Mrs Midoriya is a kind woman, round and soft, and she insists on Hitoshi calling her Inko because when he called her ‘Mrs Midoriya,’ it sounded like a mouthful. He’d had to take a few tries to get it right, and she’d laughed a little every time he stumbled over it, which hadn’t made him feel chastised or anything remotely similar. She was just nice, had the same blinding smile as her son.

Dinner was phenomenal, and Hitoshi finally figured out where Midoriya learned to cook the way he did. He also accidentally made an out loud comment on it, which had made them both laugh and had caused Inko to nudge her elbow into Midoriya’s side teasingly. It had been nice to watch, just a family being a normal family, and Hitoshi had to bite his tongue to not make another loose lipped comment on that.

Inko had also insisted on keeping the lights dim for Hitoshi’s sake, despite him trying his best to convince her that it was fine. Midoriya hadn’t agreed either and, when Hitoshi had made a half assed lunge for the light switches, he’d snagged him by the waist and tugged him good-naturedly away. Hitoshi had ignored the butterflies exploding to life in his stomach by elbowing Midoriya and shooting him a little glare.

When the two of them got back to Midoriya’s apartment, Hitoshi was ready to drop again. He’d been getting tired more easily since his injury, which was as frustrating as it sounded. As someone who’d been able to keep going for days on end in high school (and even a month ago), being ready to pass out after barely two hours was infuriating.

Gracelessly, and with no sense of protecting his head, he flops onto the couch. Midoriya sighs, eye roll almost audible, and he says, “You should be more careful.”

“I’m fine, Midoriya.” Hitoshi mutters into a pillow, ignoring the horrible pain in his head.

Midoriya sighs again and Hitoshi feels the couch dip when he sits down. Then he hums faintly as Midoriya’s hand starts combing through his hair. This is a familiar dance by now, something neither of them really acknowledge outside of when it’s happening. Hitoshi always makes a point to enjoy it for as long as it lasts, whenever it happens.

“Shinsou…”

He hums a little louder in acknowledgement.

“You’re uh…” Midoriya hesitates. Then he sighs and says, “Nevermind. Want something to drink?”

Had Hitoshi had more energy, he’d have insisted Midoriya tell him what was wrong, but he’s exhausted so he lets it go and nods a little. “Sure. Thanks.”

The weight on the couch lifts and, in no less than a minute and a half later, Midoriya nudges a can against his side and Hitoshi climbs to sitting up. They sit next to each other, awkwardly, and they drink their- Hitoshi hadn’t even really noticed what it was, so he checks. Some tropical fruity soda thing that Hitoshi hadn’t expected someone like Midoriya to like. It seemed a little out of character.

“You like this stuff?” Hitoshi wrinkles his nose a little.

He hears Midoriya laugh next to him. “Not at all. Ochako needed to get rid of it and left it here when she left last time she was here. Little shit.”

Just like any other time Hitoshi hears Midoriya swear, this one catches him off guard. It’s nothing too big, said as casually as the rest of what Midoriya had said, but it still seemed just a little out of place for someone as kind as him.

Maybe Bakugou’s wearing off on him or something.

“This stuff is gross.” Hitoshi wrinkles his nose and takes another sip. “Seriously, how does anyone drink this?”

Midoriya laughs. “I think it has something to do with the fact that you don’t like sweet things much.”

“Maybe. But also this is just gross.” Hitoshi rolls his eyes.

“Then why’re you drinking it?” Midoriya raises an eyebrow, giving him a crooked smile that does something awful to Hitoshi’s psyche.

“Because it shouldn’t go to waste.”

“Right.” Midoriya snorts, “You’re too charitable.”

“I’m a bastard.” Hitoshi counters.

“A total bastard.” Midoriya agrees.

Hitoshi shoves him, which only makes his head pound and Midoriya snort just a little too loudly. With a wince, Hitoshi falls still and puts the can down, pinching the bridge of his nose gently. Midoriya notices immediately, because of course he does, and Hitoshi tries his best not to lean into the hand on his shoulder. It’s warm, steady, and makes him feel just a little more secure.

Unfortunately, it does nothing to dull the pain in his head and, after a moment or two, Midoriya has lifted him up (despite his weak protests) and is carrying him toward his own bedroom. Hitoshi sinks into the covers when he’s placed down, and tries once again to protest against this development, but Midoriya is clearly having none of it. He just plants a hand on Hitoshi’s chest and holds him still, so he can’t move to go against it.

“Just rest, okay?” Midoriya says quietly, brushing his other hand through Hitoshi’s hair. “You had a long day.”

“I’m fine.” Hitoshi closes his eyes. “It’s dark in here.”

“Clearly not.” Midoriya sighs, “Just sleep, okay? And the light’s staying off.”

“Aren’t you annoyed with sitting in the dark all day every day?” Hitoshi asks, feeling more insecure than he’s felt since he got here.

For a moment, Midoriya is quiet.

Then he says, “I mean, it’s not ideal, but it’s helping you, right?”

Hitoshi sighs slowly, “It’s annoying for you, though.”

“Rest, Shinsou.” Midoriya says again, and this time Hitoshi feels something like a kiss being pressed to his forehead.

Hitoshi doesn’t reply, can’t reply, even as the bed shifts when Midoriya stands up to leave. The door clicks softly as it’s shut, and Hitoshi tries to relax. Midoriya’s going to sleep on the couch tonight and Hitoshi feels really fucking guilty for that, but he’s also rather… grateful? For the bed?

His head is a mess. He won’t be getting to sleep for a long time now.

They were sitting on the couch when it happened.

Or, well, Hitoshi was sitting on the couch. Midoriya, on the other hand, was sitting upside down with his legs over the back of the couch and his head dangling toward the floor. It’s stupid, he’s stupid, and it’s made all the stupider when Hitoshi remembers that Midoriya is trying to drink something like that.

Upside down.

The number one pro hero Deku, everybody.

“So, Midoriya?” Hitoshi gathers his courage.

Midoriya hums in acknowledgement.

“You…” Hitoshi takes a very long breath in. “You kissed me on live television.”

And because he is ever graceful, Midoriya proceeds to choke on his drink and spray it out his nose before just falling right off the couch. He collapses to the floor and starts hacking and coughing, trying to clear his airways of whatever soda he’d been drinking. Hitoshi just watches, cringing a little because it looks painful.

Then, from the back of his mind, a sense of dread starts to spread throughout his body. It’s cold, gripping him with knife-like hands, and Hitoshi nearly bolts to his feet, concussion be damned. He grips his arms tight and stares at Midoriya, eyes wide as dinner plates as he realizes…

I’m in love with him.

Fuck.

Midoriya recovers a minute or two later and looks up at him, voice ragged. “Yeah, I did. Was it- I mean it was probably- I don’t know why I- well, no, I do know why I did it- but you probably- it was- did you- no, wait, I-”

“Midoriya.”

“I probably overstepped.” Midoriya starts rambling, “I overstepped and it was just because it was in the heat of the moment and the adrenaline was kicking my ass and I was worried about you because you got hit really hard because of me and I wanted to make sure you were okay, but-”

“Midoriya.”

“And you probably don’t even like me like that- oh gods, Shinsou, I’m so sorry- you’re probably in a- well, you probably have a girlfriend or something, I didn’t mean to do that, you probably wanted to go to her house, I-”

Hitoshi makes a rash, split second decision:

He grabs Midoriya’s face and kisses him to shut him up because god dammit he needed to stop and listen.

Midoriya goes still, tense, freezing in Hitoshi’s hold and, for about four seconds, Hitoshi thinks he’s made the biggest mistake of his entire life. And, of course, he feels a little lightheaded from the sudden movement, but then Midoriya’s putting a gentle hand in his hair and kissing him back and it’s the best feeling in the world.

They shift and Midoriya clambers up onto the couch, breaking the kiss for half a second before he’s close enough again, and Hitoshi melts into it with a dreamy little sigh. Midoriya’s free arm loops around his waist, holding him close in a way that has Hitoshi blushing high in his cheeks. If he could melt any more, he would disappear into this embrace, disappear into Midoriya’s chest, never to be seen again. He wouldn’t complain.

Finally, though, they have to pull away because breathing is necessary. Hitoshi pants for breath, feeling just a little cross-eyed, and he does his best to look at Midoriya. His face is foggy, but Hitoshi doesn’t care. Absentmindedly, he starts tracing Midoriya’s freckles with his thumbs.

“You…” Midoriya hesitates, biting his lip nervously.

“If you’re about to ask if I have a girlfriend, I’m going to bite you.” Hitoshi blurts, voice a little breathy, making the threat not nearly as threatening as he’d hoped.

“So you… don’t have a girlfriend.” Midoriya says slowly.

Hitoshi nods.

“And you… you like me?”

Hitoshi smiles, closing his eyes a little. “Something like that.”

“Oh.” Midoriya’s smile melts into his voice. “You do? Really?”

“Is the sky blue?” Hitoshi counters quietly.

Midoriya snorts softly and pinches his hip in retaliation. “Alright, sass master. I get it.”

“If you say so.” Hitoshi sighs, moving down to tuck his face into the crook of Midoriya’s neck. He’s warm, solid, and smells like home, and Hitoshi just melts into him even further. Midoriya’s arms loop securely around his back and they just hold each other for a moment, basking in whatever this is, fresh and beautiful.

Finally, though, Midoriya murmurs, “So um… would you be my boyfriend?”

Hitoshi doesn’t answer, just steals a kiss instead.

Seems like a fair trade off.

Hitoshi wakes up the next morning on top of somebody’s chest and, after a moment’s panic, the arm around his waist shifts just a little and he remembers. Once again, he melts and presses his face into the crook of Midoriya’s- into the crook of his boyfriend’s neck. He feels safe here, warm and hidden, for all that his back is to the room and anyone could be at the doorway.

“Morning, sleepyhead.” Midoriya’s voice was right by his ear, warm and raspy from sleep. Hitoshi doesn’t say a word, just hums sleepily as Midoriya combs a hand through his hair.

It’s nice like this. Slow. Calm. And Hitoshi’s shocked it ever came to pass.

But hey, this is just the beginning. They have all the time in the world to figure this out.