Work Text:
‘HOW THE FREAK DO YOU WRITE ROMANTIC STUFF FREAKING FREAKING FREAK SHOW KICKS A CAN DOWN THE ROAD AND IT SPIRALS A MILLION GAJILLION MILES AWAY ARRRRGH!!!’
Shouta frowned at the chicken scratch on the page.
There was no particular reason Shouta was sitting here with Yamada’s notebook in hand and… ahem, invading privacy. But in his defense, it was a complete accident that he had noticed this little dog-eared green book lying innocently on the floor beneath Yamada’s desk. By now, Shouta should have grown accustomed to knowing what belonged to who, and the lime green of the object that forced Shouta to squint could belong only to one person. So, he was absolutely dumbfounded that he didn’t initially recognize the notebook.
Everything was scratched with a hurried hand, as if the owner had far too many thoughts in his head and had to force it out onto the page before he promptly exploded-- which Shouta couldn’t help but think was very very possible. Each page was messy. Strange, full of convoluted text that dizzied his tired eyes.
On one side there were several notes, completely unrelated to the topic of heroes. Some names sprinkled around, some tips on speaking, and apparently a chalked up script in some way, announcing, ‘PRESENT MIC’S PREMIERE!!!’ in blocky bold letters. Who Present Mic was was completely lost on him.
Then, on the other side, there were several sketches of various designs. Some were long and arching, others were thin and scraggly, but in total they all seemed… very artistically untuned. Yamada must have been bursting with his “DJ energy” (he spoke to Shouta about himself using those exact words-- it was not funny) when he was doing these, and several more pages of more logos of different shapes and sizes revealed exactly how fevered Yamada was. Then, the logos disappeared, replaced by blank paper.
God, even looking at Yamada’s writing was giving Shouta a headache, and it wasn’t nearly as bad as speaking to the DJ himself. Yet, this erratic nature, both sadistic and tender, Yamada had towards his possession fascinated Shouta to no end. Apparently, there were many gentle words scrawled in it: chalked up messages of encouragement to himself, recollections of memories, a love letter that never got finished. All of these should have been lovingly taken care of and tidied neatly… but the actual state of the notebook refused to reflect any of that. Instead, it looked as if it had been dropped in mud puddles, thrown against walls, bitten by dogs, and left to rot in a dark cabinet for at least a week. Several grease stains dotted the pages, leaving Shouta to chalk up a picture of Yamada writing frantically while shoving noodles down his gullet. Disgusting. Too many pages had folded corners, and the marker used to color or highlight was far too garish and heavy that it bled through everywhere else.
If anything, it was just mess, mess, and more mess.
But, Shouta’s own masochist curiosity led him to continue till he was at the apparent page regarding the writing of ‘romance.’ The corner of this particular paper looked to be folded a minimum of six times. As for the contents itself, many words weren’t readable as the chicken scratch just declined to pure obscurity. The red marker that criss crossed like a murder scene across the page wasn’t helping either.
‘I HATE WRITING!! I HATE WRITING!!!!!!!!! UGHHH!’ read Shouta. His brows pinched in, admittedly warranted confusion. Who knew smiling loud Yamada was so negative at times… or he was being far too dramatic as he usually was. Judging from the sheer amount of everything written in capitalization, Yamada was always dramatic in there.
Apart from the loud sentences Yamada had sputtering around, there was an actual semblance of organization for several seconds. Here, the writing appeared neater, less tight, as if he finally gave them the rest to breathe. The words were organized into sweet little paragraphs:
‘I KNOW YOU DON’T KNOW ME WELL, AND I DON’T KNOW YOU WELL, BUT, HEY! THAT’S OKAY, BECAUSE WE STILL HAVE CHANCES TO GET TO KNOW EACH OTHER BETTER!’
Sweet jesus, please stop writing like that.
‘I KNOW THIS SOUNDS REALLY REALLY STUPID, BUT IT’LL BE AWESOME IF WE WERE FRIENDS, YEAH? YOU’RE CHILL AND FUNNY AND…’
Here, it looks like Yamada waited a bit too long. The ink blotted thickly around the ‘D’ of ‘AND’, burning a hole into the page. But, despite the absolute wrecked appearance that this splatter of ink did to the paper, Yamada continued to barrel on. Shouta couldn’t help but be reluctantly concerned for Yamada’s wellbeing at this point. All those chemicals from stained ink couldn’t have done well for his lungs.
‘WE’VE BEEN SITTING NEXT TO EACH OTHER FOR AWHILE, AND I HAVEN’T SAID ONE THING TO YOU!!! YOU KNOW HOW MUCH THAT SUCKS?? I MUST BE THE MEANEST PERSON ON THE PLANET RIGHT NOW, AND YOU LOOK REALLY
LONELY NEED A FRIEND
INDEPENDENT ALL THE TIME, AND IT WOULDN’T HURT TO GET TO KNOW YOU.’
The page crinkled in Shouta’s hands as he reread that particular paragraph once more. Sitting next… was Yamada talking about him? That made particular sense, considering Yamada’s assumption of the mysterious ‘you’ being ‘lonely’. However, coming on strongly was an understatement for what Yamada was writing. In fact, it was overwhelming as the next paragraph described the many positives that he attributed to Shouta. It was worrisome. Shouta’s face as he surfed the continual contents took on a rather unappealing flush. Flattery was uncommon, and the sudden discomfort he received from this overpool tempted him to close the notebook and just pretend like it never existed. At this rate, Shouta might assume that Yamada was infatuated with him--
‘AND I THINK I LIKE-LIKE YOU.’
Crap.
The flush on his face now resembled a particularly nasty sunburn. Was this supposed to be a confession letter? Was Yamada, a student he barely knew apart from usual interactions, genuinely infatuated with him? Shouta continued reading, just to make sure, but the next paragraph was scribbled out by a wicked black pen. The words that were just barely discernible appeared to just be Yamada attempting to justify this crush on ‘A DUDE I DON’T EVEN KNOW THAT WELL.’ At least Yamada was somewhat self aware.
Shouta attempted to scour the other pages for more, but it was back to silly doodles and minuscule notes that he suddenly didn’t care about anymore. It could be that Yamada wasn’t talking about him... Trying to mollify his growing distress, he flipped back to the page with the confession and double checked if there was anything to even suggest--
Yup. There it was. ‘AIZAWA SHOUTA.’ His name in these bold chicken scratch letters that he was only now getting accustomed to. Points to Yamada for being brave, he supposed… and while Shouta was (Not really? He wasn’t entirely sure himself) incredibly flattered, he just… didn’t know Yamada enough to even contemplate a crush, much less a relationship with the other. Besides, his life was much too unstable at the moment to focus on such things. Then, there was also the fact he wasn’t very interested in it at all.
His hand came to rub at his red face, hoping it’ll die down and cure his racing heart. This was all right. It was uncomfortable, but he had no worries. He could just replace the notebook where it was and act as if the contents were never swallowed by him.
The clock on the wall read 15:50. Had he really been in the classroom for this long? It was stupidly fortunate there was no one around, but at the same time, he was one of the few that would continue sticking to his chair after classes were over. So, it was the opportune moment to just slide the notebook back to the floor. Shouta was just about to shut it when the door slid open.
“GIVE ME A SEC, OBORO! I SWEAR I LEFT IT IN--” Yamada turned to lock eyes with Shouta, who stood there absolutely hating the world. Yamada’s loud voice died on his lips, leaving his usual charismatic self absolutely dumbfounded for something to say. Several emotions were immediately discernible in clear order: Surprise. Neutrality. Suspicion. Hard contemplation. Realization, and finally, it settled on absolutely horrendous and blushing panic.
“I read what you wrote about me,” was the first thing that left Shouta’s stupid mouth.
“Yeah?” Yamada squeaked. The renowned hero student with the matching vigor to the celebrities on television suddenly became this giggly school girl. It was incredibly strange. Discomfort and concern drenched Shouta from head to toe.
“And I don’t feel the same way.” Might as well get it out before they were forced to do anything he didn’t want to do.
It was then the blush that tainted Yamada’s face deepened, and he lowered his gaze to the floor. Fortunately for the both of them, his eyes were covered by those frustrating sunglasses he always wore. When he spoke, it was strained too light, “OH. YEAH, I DIDN’T EXPECT YOU TO, HAHA! THAT’S COMPLETELY ALL RIGHT, YO! SERIOUSLY, I--”
“Stop talking.”
That got Yamada to shut up quick, but his eyebrow did twitch in irritation.
Shouta had to do this… delicately. Delicate wasn’t his style, but he felt bad. Guilt was a heavy thing, and the green notebook in his hands weighed him with the burden of the world. “I didn’t mean to look through your stuff, and you’re… annoying.”
Yamada’s fists tightened.
Okay, not the right words.
“Not annoying, I mean…” Shouta attempted to replace this heaviness in his chest with air. “I don’t know this friend or romance thing and I really shouldn’t have read what you wrote. That wasn’t right… but even though I say some pretty… bad things, what you wrote about me was really nice, and that should mean something. And… I think… you’re pretty cool too… even if the marker you use makes me eyes bleed.” Silence. The quiet he would consider blissful was suddenly grating. “And your designs were nice,” he tacked on lamely.
“Thanks,” Yamada mumbled, uncharacteristically quiet. Shouta couldn’t tell if he was being sarcastic or not.
What was Shouta doing? Grr… He knew he was a terrible kid, but he didn’t know what to say next. Words would be insincere, and all he knew to offer up was a ‘sorry’ on a plate. Action. Action, that was what heroes were for right?
“Just because I don’t know you well or feel the same way, doesn’t mean… uhm… it can’t happen? It’ll be nice if we… can maybe talk more or something?” he said wobbly. He was on a dangerous tightrope. Admittedly, Yamada was annoying sometimes. But, that particular adjective applied to everyone he knew, even friends he had in the past. But, judging from what he had read in the notebook, Shouta now knew Yamada was wickedly creative, hopeful, and always filled to the brim and boiling with energy. Sure, maybe Yamada was distractible, messy, and carefree, but everyone in the world had those ticks to them that kept them ticking. So… that was something.
Apparently, Yamada was less than convinced by those trembled words. Instead, he approached, snatched the notebook from Shouta’s hands, and grated a little, “Yeah, no thanks. Don’t really want to hang out with someone who tells me to shut up.”
Shouta cursed under his breath. “That-- I really didn’t mean that. I’m really really sorry, I’ve never talked to you and no one’s ever confessed to me before so, I really don’t know how to act. But, you… sound cool… I’m sorry.”
It was then that Yamada unleashed a groan, a little harrowed chuckle breaking past his lips. “Man,” he said, “I’m WAY too tired for this kinda stuff.” Tucking the notebook, the whole root of their current interaction, under his arm, he made his way for the door, but before he stepped through the threshold, he gave a half hearted suggestion, “How about lunch tomorrow? If you hate me, then we won’t have to talk ever again and I’ll get over you. But if you don’t, then… I dunno, we’ll see from there, yeah?”
Shouta could only nod hollowly. He considered apologizing once more, but Yamada was gone before the words could bubble in his chest. The door was shut, and far away, he could hear Yamada’s yelled greeting to Shirakumo.