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I.
“You wanna explain what you were doing?”
“Not really, no.”
Shouta stares at the teen currently entangled in his scarf. They avoid making eye contact, whistling innocently and turning their head like it’ll make them disappear from Shouta’s vision.
He glares when they stare at their legs and kick their toes together, like this is some kind of joke. Vigilantism is not something he feels that fond of joking about at this moment. Granted, they noticeably hadn’t used a quirk so legally it can’t be considered vigilantism, but whether they were doing it quirkless or not didn’t matter, they were still getting involved with criminals without a license.
What they’re doing is absolutely being a vigilante, even if the law left a perfect little loophole for them to exploit and claim otherwise.
He studies the kid, feeling his confusion fester.
He’s been living in and thus patrolling Musutafu for the majority of his time as a hero, only branching out to other cities and prefectures when he’s forced to do so and physically cannot return to Musutafu during his usual patrol time.
He doesn’t remember seeing this teen at all.
Granted, there are too many singular people in Musutafu, but by god, Shouta would recognize someone like this. Their features stick out like a sore thumb even among people with quirks, and it’s clear whatever quirk they possess is not a mutation type.
Slim legs that remind Shouta of a beanpole, lengthy arms that seem to reach a bit too low to be considered natural, big hands and feet (which are bare, something that’s both confusing and concerning all on its own), and their hair sticks out in any scenario. It’s a huge puffy mess of wavy curls and fluff, almost looking like a lion’s mane, divided down the middle to separate a forest and a lavender field. Their face is littered with freckles, and paired with the eyebags gives them a very unsettling look, making them look much younger but also much tireder and world weary in a way Shouta doesn’t think a child should look.
They don’t even bother to hide their face! Shouta should be able to recognize them easily with all of these features!
They’d stand out in a crowd but Shouta doesn’t ever remember seeing them.
There’s not even a vague sense of having met them, he wholly does not recognize a single feature on them.
“You should consider yourself lucky I’m not arresting you.” He wouldn’t. He could never bring himself to arrest a kid, especially one that clearly just wants to help, even if they’re obviously trying to pass it off as something else. He can see it.
Does he question why a kid is getting involved in things such as this? Yes. Does it concern him? Absolutely.
What kid decides to grow up this quickly? What has this teen seen in their life that they decided a burden like this had to be placed on their shoulders?
“The fact that you’d arrest someone my age for no reason is pretty funny,” They snort, shoulders bouncing with their laughs. Shouta’s eye twitches.
“Just because I didn’t see you directly use a quirk doesn’t mean you’re not committing a crime.”
“Mmm, no, it kinda does,” They snicker. Cheeky brat. Shouta grunts.
“Is this a joke to you?”
“Something doesn’t have to be a joke to be funny.”
He can feel the gray hairs forming.
II.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in bed at this hour?”
The purple and green-haired teen freezes from where they’d just been about to take a step. Slowly, their head turns and they make eye contact with Shouta. The whistling, night breeze ruffles their hair, and the light of the streetlamp above them makes them look a touch more menacing than they have any right to be.
“Insomnia,” They reply flatly, like it’s a viable excuse to completely leave their home at 3 AM.
“Insomnia didn’t make you walk out the front door,” Shouta debunks almost instantly.
“Stimming,” They try again. Shouta internally raises a brow. He didn’t know Musutafu’s resident problem child was neurodivergent, but he supposes it fits them in a way. He remembers seeing them become wholly and totally distracted by a stray cat one of their prior meetings when he was trying to scold them.
Which… Understandable, he’d had to hold himself back from petting the cat too when he’d seen it earlier. But the kid hadn’t even tried, he’s pretty sure they couldn’t even if they wanted to, with how they reacted. The moment the cat’s meow reverberated throughout the alleyway, Shouta is pretty sure he heard the kid’s neck crack with how fast they turned to face it. They were holding the cat a mere seconds later, having practically lunged for it, and spent at least an hour simply sitting there, propped up against the wall and holding the cat, petting it with wide, awed eyes as it purred incessantly.
It’s possible they have a form of ADHD or such.
“Again, it doesn’t make you leave your home at the asscrack of dawn.”
“Small apartment.”
Shouta sighs in defeat, he misses the sudden look of confusion on the kid’s face before it’s gone, instead replaced by smug triumph.
“Who did you find tonight, Problem Child?” He asks instead.
“A dude was trying to steal someone’s car,” They begin pridefully. “I tied him to a park bench two blocks down.” That poor man, Shouta decides. Oh well, it’s his own fault, he supposes.
“I’m assuming you knocked him out too,” Shouta guesses.
“‘Course I did,” They grin, following Shouta as he begins to make his way down the street to find the aforementioned man. Shouta is only mildly salty that they have to actively shorten their steps so as to not outpace him with their lengthy legs. This kid is, what, 13? Verging on 14? And they’re just shy of being a full head taller than Shouta. He doesn’t like that. At all.
“There better not have been any serious damage, both to the man and the car.”
“There wasn’t,” They say quickly.
That probably meant there is, in fact, permanent damage. Hopefully it was to the car and not the man.
It also meant Shouta would probably have to take the fall for it because there’s no way he’s letting the police know he’s allowing a vigilante to run all willy-nilly around Musutafu.
God dammit.
(When they got there, Shouta nearly smacked the cackling teen when he discovered they had spray painted a face onto the car and the man was completely fine.
Where did they even get the paint from?!)
III.
“Problem Child.”
“Yes?”
“What do you have there?”
Silence.
“A smoothie.”
Shouta’s eyes flick down to the brunette kid, looking to be about 10 or 11, a male, currently being held against the teen’s hip while wrapped up in a very thick blanket. The kid is practically drowning in it, but seems to have no problem with being trapped in the false burrito, if anything it appears he enjoys it. His face is dirty and the exhaustion is clear in his eyes as he struggles to keep his eyes open.
Shouta momentarily wonders what situation this kid was stuck in to look like that.
He says momentarily because the problem child proceeds to noisily slurp at the smoothie in their other hand, as if to prove their point that they’re only holding the drink and not a child. It successfully distracts Shouta for the moment, he’ll give them that.
“Problem Child.”
“Yeah?”
“That’s a whole-ass kid, Problem Child.”
“Yeah.”
His eye twitches.
“Where did you find them?”
“A house.”
“Put them back.” Shouta glares.
“No.”
“Problem Ch-”
“You’re saying Problem Child a lot,” They snicker.
“And I’ll say it as many times as it takes for you to believe that KIDNAPPING KIDS IS BAD.”
“I never said it wasn’t.”
The kid in the teen’s arms seems to realize this won’t end anytime soon when Shouta lets out an enraged noise. He watches Shouta attempt (keyword: attempt ) to scold the vigilante for “stealing him from his own home” for a hot minute before yawning. His eyes shut and his mind slows, and everything goes dark.
(Shouta and the teen actively lower their voices when they hear soft snores coming from under the vigilante’s arm.)
IV.
A question that’s been on Shouta’s mind since his second meeting with the vigilante is why the teen never wears a mask, or even has a known name, for that matter. The public have taken to calling them a variety of names that rarely ever hold any consistency in theme. He vaguely remembers a civilian referring to them as Field, another as Lavender, and a third as Emerald. A cop had called them Garden at one point too. Frankly, he thinks the first and last are the most fitting.
He understands that, as an illegal vigilante, they’re going to have secrets and keep parts of themself hidden, but that’s the thing.
They don’t actively try to hide anything .
They don’t wear a mask, their hair certainly isn’t a wig, they’re not wearing makeup, and the only clothes they wear are a hoodie with the words “vigilante hoodie” in white written across the chest, and different pants that can range from cargo shorts to tights. Shouta cannot remember a single instance in which he’s seen the kid wear shoes, they’re always bare footed.
Anytime they get hurt, they return the very next day looking good as new. He asked about their sudden injury loss in sheer bafflement the first time they showed up with no sign of being harmed. They’d just appeared behind him without a single scratch, even though they’d been bleeding at the head the night prior.
“Oh, I don’t have to worry about stuff like that like this,” They’d answered honestly, if a bit vaguely.
They didn’t have to worry about it… They didn’t have a healing quirk, he knew that much. They confirmed a while ago that their quirk did not heal them or others. A family member, maybe? It’s possible. His information on their family is vague, like much else about the kid, but he does know some things.
He knows the kid’s parents are in a poly relationship, which he can respect. Two men and a woman. They have a younger sister that has a strange fascination with bugs, and often recruits their older sibling to help her collect and store them. They also have two cats, a lizard, and their mother has a service dog for arthritis. He was particularly interested in the cats, and learned that they’re twin calicos, named Tick and Tock. The lizard is named Juniper and the service dog is a border collie named Toffee. He doesn’t know anything else past that. He doesn’t know the names of any of the family members, including the Problem Child themself, or a last name. He doesn’t know where the parents work, or where either children go to school.
Really, he doesn’t even know the vigilante’s gender. They appear male at first, but they have such a slim build, and their waist is tiny against thicker hips and thighs. For all he knows, they could be a girl with a stockier build and deeper voice. It’s on the deeper side, but it has a specific note to it that gives it a sound that seems a little out of masculine range.
Or they really could just be committed to expressing their gender as a non-binary and Shouta is causing himself unnecessary grief over misgendering them.
Another thing he puzzles himself over is that in their answer about their healing injuries, they’d specifically said “I don’t have to worry about it like this”. The use of “like this” was… odd. Like they were referring to something about themself that isn’t a stable consistency. He isn’t sure if he can say it’s a part of their quirk. It’s not healing, he knows that much. But what other quirks could a person have that isn’t healing, but that gets rid of injuries?
Puzzling himself over it too hard makes his head hurt. He consulted his husband, Hizashi, on the matter a while ago and he’d been just as stumped, only able to tell Shouta to investigate further.
“Hey, kid.”
So he will.
“Hm?” The teen hums from where they’re sitting on the very ledge of the roof, Shouta sitting a few feet away sucking on a jelly packet. “What’s up, ‘Raser?”
“Can I ask you some things?”
“Sure.” Another thing, he mentioned it earlier, but they’re completely willing to answer Shouta’s questions. They seem to be certain he won’t be able to trace any of their answers back to them and, god dammit, they’re right. Shouta even asked Tsukauchi to run a search on them, to find anyone with their consistent information, but nothing came up. A couple families had popped up, but none of them exactly lined up with what Shouta had heard from the teen.
“Why are you so open?” He asks, wincing at the sloppy wording.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, I’m almost 90% certain that every cop in Musutafu has seen your face by now. You’re setting yourself up for arrest on the inevitable day that one of them spots you,” He explains. “You could easily avoid that if you wore any kind of mask, really. But you don’t.”
“Oh,” They chuckle, kicking a leg aimlessly. “I don’t have to worry about that. It’s fine.”
“That’s another thing,” He almost snaps, pointing at them accusingly. “You’re so honest with your answers but they’re so fucking specifically vague.”
“And you make it too easy,” They grin cheekily, turning their head to show him that bastard-like expression. “You never press but you always react. It’s hilarious.”
He sighs, opting not to mention that he doesn’t push them for answers because he doesn’t want to make them feel cornered.
“You also have never confirmed an age, gender, or even an alias with me. I’ve just been calling you kid, or Problem Child in my head for the past couple years. It’s annoying to talk about you, you know that?”
“Maybe don’t talk about me then,” They snort. “But I’m 14.”
Shouta halts.
“What.”
“Yeah,” They hum, like they hadn’t just willingly given Shouta vital information that could help him find them. “As for a gender… I dunno what I connect with most yet. Most people use he and him, but I know you use they, them and you’re not the first or last to do so. Some have used feminine pronouns. It kinda just depends on the person who’s talking about me’s personal preference at this point. I don’t care either way.”
Shouta blinks as he listens to them prattle on.
They gave up the information so easily he’s having trouble wrapping his head around it. Do they not realize the danger they’ve just placed on themself by doing so? The target they just painted on their own back? Did they even think it through? They must not have.
“I don’t have to worry about that. It’s fine.”
Except they did.
They’re so certain no one will be able to get to them, even with the knowledge of age, gender, appearance, and family. That’s why they don’t fear talking. Shouta doesn’t know how exactly they’ve become so untouchable, but it’s clearly working.
“And… your name?” Shouta asks tentatively.
They’re silent for a solid minute, staring out into the many lights and sounds of the city, eyes concentrated and considering.
“I’ll get back to you on that one.”
Shouta’s only seen that look in the eyes of pros who faced a life-threatening danger too soon and are terrified of continuing. It’s a scared, unsure, and contemplative look, like life has tossed too many curveballs a person’s way and they’ve been struck and knocked off their feet by each and every one.
It’s a look that concerns Shouta.
And it’s why he doesn’t press, instead shifting the topic to the kid’s cats once more, asking what they’ve been up to.
V.
When Shouta finally sees his Problem Child again a week later, the uncertainty is still there.
“Is it okay to not know who you are?” They’d asked in lieu of greeting him with their usual smug quip.
“Are you asking my personal opinion on the matter?” He asks carefully as he crouches down next to them. They’re sitting on another roof ledge, this time with their legs dangling dangerously over the side. They’re slouched over, like they’re carrying a weight that’s too large for even someone of their stature to hold, and they’re staring out into the vast expanse of the city like they’d been doing that night a week ago.
They hum a soft affirmation, making Shouta pause to think. The question means a lot to them, he can see it in the desperation that momentarily flickers across their face. He’s made the mistake of missing it before. Said something he didn’t mean or understand because he rushed to give an answer, because he didn’t quite grasp the full weight of what was being asked of him until it was too late. The consequences were never pretty. So he wants to give them the best answer he can.
“I think knowing who you are is important,” He begins. The kid’s breath hitches next to him and he quickly continues before they can misunderstand. “But I also think it’s an illogical ideation to know who you are so quickly.”
A pause.
“What do you mean?” They ask, their voice sounding so much younger than Shouta ever remembers hearing them. They’d always seemed so big, both figuratively and literally, like they were larger than life itself and nothing short of death would drag them down.
But now?
Now they sound exactly like what they are.
A child.
“I mean that you’re 14, kid,” He answers simply, feeling something in him weep for the lost look in his Problem Child’s eyes; feels something break at the glassy sheen that covers those heterochromatic orbs as tears threaten to fall. “Don’t tell yourself ‘I have to know who I am now’, because you don’t. You’re still just a kid. Expecting you to have everything figured out right now is a ridiculous and irrational expectation to hold yourself to.”
They don’t respond, so Shouta continues.
“The whole fun part about being a kid is figuring that out. You’re supposed to test new things, try whatever you think has a chance of interesting you. You’re supposed to do stupid things because you don’t know what’s for you and what isn’t yet, but the fun part about it is trying it anyway because it’s different and new.” That gets a soft huff of laughter from the teen, and Shouta counts it as a win. “You’re not even in high school yet. You still have so many chances to sort out whatever is confusing you and find a path your skills let you travel down.
“I didn’t know what the hell I wanted to do until my very last week of summer before highschool,” Shouta admits. He sees the kid turn their head minimally, and knows he’s caught their attention. “Yeah. I was in a similar spot for a while, I grew up wanting to be a hero but that dream seemed unattainable for a while,” The kid’s grip on the edge of the roof tightens, just barely, but enough for Shouta to notice. He doesn’t comment, instead continuing. “I couldn’t for the life of me figure out what else I wanted to do. Heroics was the only thing that made sense to me. Sure, other things held my interest for a short time, but it always came back to heroes eventually.”
“What convinced you?” The kid asks, turning their head just enough to let Shouta know he has their undivided attention.
Shouta lets a small smile form on his face at the pure innocence and curiosity emanating from this kid at his question.
“I did,” He says. “I just took my time, I didn’t rush myself. I asked myself what I thought I would be best at and genuinely enjoy, and I let that sit in my mind as I continued on with life. I watched a hero fight at the scene one day, and it just clicked. I wanted to help people, I didn’t want people to feel helpless.”
“Wouldn’t it have made more sense to become a limelight hero, then?” The kid tilts their head. “That way people could actively know who you are and feel comforted by your mere existence?”
“Maybe, I thought that would have been a good choice too. It’s why my debut was public, when most Underground Heros’ debuts are private, I wanted to give daylight heroics a chance to help assure people I wasn’t afraid to help,” Shouta explains. “But I discovered that I didn’t do so well in crowds, and that I was a bit too blunt to be in the public eye. My presence would have only made people uncomfortable, so I swapped over to underground heroics. I had to take an extra course on it after I graduated, but it was worth it to me. Even after I graduated I still hadn’t completely figured it out, but I let myself experiment and try something new, and I found what worked best for me.”
The kid hums, swinging their legs.
“Did that answer your question?” He asks, leaning forward to get a better look at their face when they turn away from him.
“Kind of,” They answer carefully. “It helped, thank you.” They pause to give Shouta a smile. “But my situation is a bit different. I think your answer will definitely help me up to a certain point, but the rest will be up to us.”
“‘Us’?” Shouta echoes with a raised brow.
They just smile wider.
“You know how you asked for a name?” They ask instead.
Shouta only nods, unsure where they want to take that.
“You can call me Habiki.”
Habiki? Echo?
“It fits you,” He decides after a moment.
The kid- Habiki smiles a touch wider, it’s toothier, and more genuine.
“It does, doesn’t it?”
+ I.
Really, it’s by sheer luck alone that Shouta spots the kid, much less even remembers him.
The head of brown, verging on blonde, hair is strangely recognizable to Shouta. It and he looks much cleaner than he did last time Shouta saw him. He’s standing in front of a restaurant, ignoring the hustle and bustle of people walking around him. His nose is buried in what appears to be a comic book. It seems like he’s waiting for someone, if the way he repeatedly glances at the windows and entrance of the restaurant means anything.
The kid is basically loitering, Shouta realizes. But he doesn’t really see a problem with it. He’s clearly waiting for someone and will be gone in a few minutes, most likely.
He’s not completely sure what pulls him to interact with the kid he’d only seen once before. He hadn’t even properly interacted with the kid, just saw them held protectively by Habiki, sleeping peacefully. But something urges him to ask. Maybe it’s the fact that he’s nearing desperation to learn more about the teen that runs among the streets at night, especially after their most recent interactions.
He’ll admit, his attachment and worry for the teen is playing a part, telling him to approach the kid they’d wrapped in the blanket. He just wants to know,
He needs to know.
He’s done his necessary errands for today anyway, he thinks. He should be able to quickly check in with the kid, just to see how he’s doing since he’d last seen him.
Maybe he’ll know something about Habiki outside of their… nightly activities.
With that in mind, Shouta approaches the young kid. It’s been almost a year since he’s seen him, there’s a chance he doesn’t even keep in contact with Habiki, much less remember them or Shouta.
“Hey,” He starts simply, and a tad too suddenly, he realizes a second later when the kid jumps five feet in the air. A purple gas reminding Shouta of Nemuri puffs out of his body for a split second in his shock, then dispersing and Shouta feels bad for scaring the kid so badly he activated his quirk in his fear. The gas clears after the moment of shock when the kid turns to face Shouta properly, but the air smells of mustard and Shouta has to take a step back to avoid inhaling any remaining particles in the air.
The kid’s stance relaxes considerably when he gets a good look at Shouta, recognition in his eyes.
He remembers, then.
“Sorry,” Shouta apologizes. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”
The kid shuts his comic book, his grip on the booklet so tight Shouta fears he might tear it.
“It’s fine…” He responds, but Shouta gets the feeling it is very much not fine.
“Still,” Shouta sighs. “I shouldn’t have just snuck up on you like that while you were clearly distracted.”
“No, you shouldn’t have,” He agrees. Shouta’s eyebrows raise. “But it’s fine.”
He’s not sure what else he can say to that. He sighs.
“Sorry, kid, I know you recognize me but I never caught your name,” He admits, grabbing the back of his neck.
“I never threw it.”
Sweat is practically pouring down the poor kid’s face.
Okay. Smart ass under stress. Got it.
“It’d be helpful if you did.”
He doesn’t say anything, simply staring at Shouta with squinted eyes.
“I don’t have to tell you,” He says after a moment. Shouta tilts his head. Understandable. Yes, he’ll respect the kid’s wish if he really doesn’t want to tell Shouta his name, but he doesn’t understand the wariness.
Before he can speak, a bell chime echoes through the air.
“Katashi!” A voice that can only be described as happy shouts. It chimes much like the bell that came before it, if a touch softer.
So much for not wanting Shouta to know his name.
The kid sighs tiredly, but turns to face the owner of the voice nonetheless.
Two teens are standing in the now open doorway to the restaurant, both holding a recyclable plastic bag in one hand, full of what Shouta can see is takeout boxes. One is tall with wild purple hair and deep eyebags, the other is short with messy green curls and freckles.
It reminds Shouta of Habiki, he thinks with fondness.
“Sorry for the wait,” The taller says, digging out a drink in a plastic cup and passing it to the kid, Katashi is what the shorter had called him.
Katashi takes it with a grunt, sipping quietly and he turns his attention back to his comic. Clearly, he’s done with all conversation.
The shorter one seems to finally notice Shouta there, jumping much like Katashi had.
“Sorry! We didn’t see you there,” He eeps, face flushing pink.
“Don’t worry about it,” Shouta waves a hand dismissively. “You’re clearly busy.”
The greenette goes to say something again, before pausing. His eyes almost look as if they physically sparkle.
“Eraserhead…” He whispers in awe. Shouta cocks a brow. It’s not often people recognize him, especially out of uniform. His taller friend snorts and gently elbows the greenette’s side.
“Can’t believe you still react like this,” He murmurs, almost too quietly for Shouta to hear. It’s clear he was aiming to speak too quietly for Shouta to hear. Why, he’s not sure. Embarrassment, maybe? He saw the recognition on the boy’s face too, a few seconds after his friend had spoken his hero name. Two friends who are his fans.
They look about 14 to 16, so they’d be born around the time he entered UA. It’s possible that they were old enough to remember his debut or one of UA’s ridiculous festivities that aired all the students publicly. That means they’d have a chance of being fans since they were kids. Maybe the taller friend is teasing the other for still reacting the way he would if he were still a young kid that just discovered him.
Spotting the FatGum hoodie the greenette is wearing and watching him bounce as he stares at Shouta in excitement, Shouta can safely assume the boy is a hero fanboy.
“Can we go?” Katashi asks from behind the older teens, bored.
“Oh! Yeah, sure!” The green one smiles, adjusting his grip on his plastic bag and books. He turns back to Shouta, bowing at an almost perfect 90 degree angle. “It was a pleasure to meet you, Eraserhead-san!” He beams.
The taller snorts in obvious amusement, but lowers himself into a higher bow.
“Sorry about him,” He says. “He loves heroes.” The words are meant to apologize, but Shouta can only find fondness and love in the taller’s voice and eyes as he gazes at the greenette.
“I can see that,” Shouta nods. “It’s fine. He’s better than most I’ve seen.”
The teen seems to find that amusing as he tosses his head back and laughs. The greenette’s face reddens once more and he swats lightly at the other. Shouta admits, it’s nice seeing them interact, in a strange way. The ease with which they move around and talk to and about each other. It’s fluid and soft.
It reminds Shouta of his own relationship with Hizashi.
He can see it. The affection goes beyond simple friendship, it’s present in the way the greenette blushes but doesn’t fight when the taller one wraps an arm around his shoulders.
A groan from Katashi cuts the two off and they turn to follow his wishes.
Shouta almost forgot the whole point of approaching the kid.
“Actually, I need to ask you something,” He starts, hoping the kid won’t straight up bolt. He wouldn’t be surprised if he did. Thankfully, the Katashi only hesitates for a few moments before turning to face Shouta with unraptured attention. The two older teens stay at his side, a few steps back. A silent comfort. Katashi clearly appreciates it, his form relaxing when the greenette places a hand on his elbow.
Maybe he’s related to one of them. He seems very attached to them.
“What do you need?” Katashi asks, tilting his head up to make direct eye contact with Shouta for the first time.
“Are you still in contact with Habiki?” He asks bluntly. Katashi pauses, sparing a look to the teens behind him. For some form of support, Shouta assumes. The older two share a silent conversation with one another in the form of a glance, before giving Katashi a nod.
Kids are weird.
“I am,” Katashi nods.
Shouta opens his mouth to ask but…
He can’t.
Habiki trusts him.
They’re open with him, despite the refusal to go too far into details, they’re still openly honest whenever Shouta asks.
They probably wouldn’t appreciate him going behind their back to ask others about them.
Habiki hasn’t given any signs of being in danger. If anything, they seem actively happy with their life. Something made them feel compelled to take matters into their own hands regarding the safety of others, but Shouta doesn’t know exactly what it is.
Actively looking for answers Habiki doesn’t want to give him feels wrong, now that he actually has a chance to get them from an outside source.
“Okay,” He says. “I just wanted to know. Are they doing well? They were… emotional when we last met.” Katashi’s brows raise, as if he wasn’t expecting such a response, but he quickly schools it back into his neutral expression.
A subtle glance to the teens, before he nods again.
“He’s fine. He says he appreciates your advice.” Katashi sends a glare to the teens when the shorter one giggles.
Shouta nods.
“Thank you.”
And that’s all that needs to be said.
Habiki trusts him. Maybe not wholly, but enough trust has definitely been established.
They’ll tell him if and when they want to.
If they don’t? Shouta can settle for being there and helping the teen as they grow.
It’s the least he could do.
(What the man misses when he turns away, is the way that the greenette promptly bursts into tears and begins to sob with elation. It earns the attention of many surrounding them, but the two other boys seem used to both the reaction from the boy and the crowd. The purplette pats the other on the back sympathetically, even as his own eye mist over with a similar emotion.
“You’re both horrid,” Katashi tells them as the three begin to make their way down the street, opposite the way Shouta came from and left towards.
“HE CAAAAREEESSS!” The greenette cries, clinging to the torso of his taller friend.
“Calm down, Zu,” The other tries to laugh. “We knew he cared, you don’t need to freak out every time it’s confirmed.”
“I can see the tears in your eyes,” Katashi comments almost boredly, flipping through his comic book as he sips at the drink he’d been given earlier.
“I’m not crying.”
“Sure you aren’t.”
It’s a shame Shouta is too far to hear the wail that leaves the greenette, a wail that disturbs the entire crowd around them to freak out and stare at the teens walking down the sidewalk.
It certainly would have answered a lot of questions, had he heard.)