Chapter Text
"Oh, the weather outside is frightful,"
The holidays are nothing more than a capitalist scheme.
"But the fire is so delightful,"
Shoto knows this. Tells himself this over and over as soon as October thirty-first bids its spooky goodbyes. So why is he out here, singing Let it snow with a group of woefully off-key carolers?
Oh. Yes. Because of the notebook.
Full disclosure, it's the notebook that finds him. He'd like to say it is the other way around, but that would be a lie. It probably vibrates at a speed only he can perceive, though that is a silly thought to entertain.
Shoto doesn't do hope. He doesn't wish upon shooting stars or four-leaf clovers. He sets down goals and he works within a strict regime to achieve them. He wakes up, takes his coffee and takes the train to school. Three times a week, he coaches a soccer team made up of little kids as a part time job. Then he goes home, does his chores and homework, ignores his father's attempts at mentoring, and goes to sleep. The next morning, he does it all over again.
Some people would say —and in the case of his closest friends, have done so— that his life is a little empty. Shoto doesn't necessarily disagree with them, but he's always had little space for banality in his life. Initially, it is because of his father's strict upbringing (it is tough to stop and smell the roses when you're being groomed to inherit a business larger than your six-year-old brain can comprehend). Then, when he hits puberty and finally finds the courage to defy Enji, it's too late: his character has set. He sees no point in wasting his time on leisure walks or going to the mall when he could be finding new ways to spite his father.
It's not apathy, it's practicality with a splash of vengefulness.
The one thing he allows himself to find enjoyment in is Plus Ultra. The little corner bookstore slash café has the right combination of being low-key but popular enough to get lost in, and just dingy enough to make his father turn his nose up at it. Spiting his father is always a bonus in Shoto’s book.
And when the holidays approach and his mother’s absence casts a ghostly ache around his left eye, Plus Ultra is just the place to distract himself. He can feel closer to her through the love of books she instilled in him while also thinking of something else altogether. He can imagine it’s her who guides him through the maze of bookshelves and puts him right in front of the red moleskine notebook.
It initially catches Shoto’s eye because it’s so out of place: no title on the spine, too thin and small and splitting the shelf exactly in the middle. He pulls it out, intent on seeing it to its proper place, but the post-it note reading I dare you to look on top of it is almost mocking in all its pink glory.
Shoto isn’t much for excitement, but he does not, as a rule, back down from a dare.
The line beside this notebook belongs to: is empty, much to Shoto’s irritation, so he flips the pages until he comes to one with some writing on it. It reads, in neat handwriting, as follows:
Dearest reader,
I’ve left some clues for you to find around Plus Ultra. If you wish to decipher them, please turn the page. However, if you are not: a) a teenager between the ages of 16-18 and b)interested in women, I must ask you to please put the notebook back on the shelf.
Y.M.
Shoto is, to say the least, intrigued. Luckily, he fulfills both of those requirements (to a point, anyway), because he’s not sure he’d be able to put it down. He turns the page only to find a series of literary clues that eventually lead him to the little scenario at the back of the bookstore, where some seats fill up the space for readers who don’t wish to go just yet. Shoto isn’t much of a self conscious person, but the back of his neck feels slightly hot as he walks the little steps up to the lonely standing microphone.
He clears his throat slightly.
“Hmmm. Hello everybody. I’ll be making a rendition of the american Christmas song “All I want for Christmas is You”. Thank you.”
His lack of embarrassment notwithstanding, Shoto isn’t about to break out into song in the middle of Plus Ultra. Instead, he recites the song as if it were a poem - though he isn’t sure that’s any better.
“...Santa Claus won’t make me happy, with a toy on Christmas da- Hey!”
The microphone goes off. Shoto turns around, only to find the bookstore’s manager, Shoto’s easily irritable classmate, Katsuki Bakugo holding the mic’s cable.
“I wasn’t done, Bakugo.” he informs the blond.
“I don’t give a shit. You’re scaring away the customers. ‘Sides, you already got what you needed. It’s the last two words.” He grumbles, snatching the microphone from his hands in irritation. Shoto’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.
“What? How do you know…?” and then, “Wait! You know who made this notebook? Tell me.”
“I wouldn’t tell you if you gave me ten million yen.” Bakugo snaps, and seeing Shoto reach for his pocket, he quickly adds, “And don’t try to bribe me, asshole! I just told you I’m not gonna. Keep that shit up and I’ll make sure you never find her.”
Shoto perks up. “Her? What’s her name? What does Y.M. stand for?”
He’s half genuinely asking, half riling Bakugo up. When his classmate gets mad, he turns a particularly amusing shade of beet. It’s usually Kaminari and Kirishima that bring it out at school, so Shoto only ever gets to witness it from afar. Looking at the murderous intent in his eyes, though, it might not be worth it.
“Get out while I still let you come back you idiotic half-and-half bastard!”
And because Shoto would like to figure out the enigma of the notebook while he’s still alive, he does.
“Are you going to be alone on Christmas?”
That’s the secret message on the notebook. Beneath it, there’s another paragraph:
“So this is it. I leave the rest in your care. If you want, leave a message telling me about how this time of year makes you feel, then drop it off at the Sugar Rush coffee shop that’s on the way to Plus Ultra. If I like the message, you might hear from me again.
Y. M.
P.S.: While you’re there, you might try their peppermint tea. It’s lovely along with a scone this time of year”
Normally, Shoto would categorize this as a waste of time, but he’s too intrigued to back down. And hey, he did recite the stupid song, so the least he deserves is to make whoever put him up to it pay.
So he makes his way to Sugar Rush, drops the notebook in the little shelf with books and magazines, and waits.
“Dear Y.M.,
I’ve been visiting Plus Ultra for a few years now. This is the first time I come out with a book I didn’t pay for. I am a little intrigued by your choice of literature (“The Joys of Gay Sex”? Really?), but I did have fun while figuring the message out. So, although you asked two questions, I’m going to choose to respond to the second one. I don’t share my feelings about the holidays often, but the truth is that I’m not particularly impressed by them. Most years, they come and go. But some years they suck. If you’re writing messages to strangers in bookstores, I guess you must feel similarly.
I hope you reply. If you do, leave the notebook with the cashier at UA Pizzeria, she’ll know what to do.”