Work Text:
“Will you go out with me?”
Midoriya is buried in his winter coat and it’s below zero outside and the words jump out of him too fast to take back. He feels the sweat stick to his armpits, three layers in. The cold bites at his exposed face and his ears, and his body and the world are at odds but he keeps his eyes on the boy in front of him.
He’s holding out Shinsou’s gloves, because Shinsou had shoved them into his hands when they had left the school and snow was falling. Shinsou hadn’t complained about the cold on their walk, only shoved his own hands deep into his coat pockets. Midoriya held his own hands, warm and enveloped in black velvet gloves (Shinsou seemed to have small fancy things like this, always gifts, never bought for himself).
Shinsou’s holding the door open to go inside, smiling about something mundane Midoriya had said, and Midoriya had rolled up the gloves to return and the words had just tumbled out. He couldn’t help it. Shinsou had been kind, and Midoriya’s feelings finally jump out, only just in time.
The wind blows snow into the open doorway. Far inside, there’s someone yelling at him to close it, but Shinsou’s frozen, turned to face Midoriya. His cheeks are ruddy from the cold, and he is staring at Midoriya.
The yellow light cuts across Shinsou’s face, and the rest is in the shadow of a cold night.
“What did you say?” he asks, his voice rough and high in disbelief, that smile twitching in confusion, like a grasshopper ready to leap. Midoriya has a sinking feeling, and tries, tries, tries not to lose courage.
Midoriya takes a deep breath. “I—I like you, Shinsou.”
The grasshopper leaps away, leaving only an empty husk, nothing for the winter. Shinsou’s face looks shocked then–growing disbelief, his mouth twists into—distraught—then—
Slam, click, lock. Shinsou’s expression freezes into expressionless, but it’s too late. His mask cannot hide the devastation that spilled out, a molten lava meltdown flash frozened in Midoriya’s retinas. It can’t hide the splotchy-redness that spreads over his face, replacing that cold blush.
Midoriya's heart explodes like a panic alarm. Midoriya squeezes his hands. “Shins–”
“Don’t.” The word cuts through the air, none of Shinsou’s careful control. It sounds like fracturing ice. Midoriya flinches. He wishes they could walk backwards, retrace their steps in the snow, that he could keep his mouth shut. The wind blows, snowflakes like glass against his skin.
Shinsou expression is unreadable. “Don’t say it again. I–I’m sorry,” he says hoarsely. Shinsou turns away, face hidden by a pull of his jacket around his mouth, and yanks the door open again.
All the words have died in Midoriya’s throat, too thick to swallow, and his stomach bile refuses to take it. He feels his own face grow hot, unbearably so, and he wishes for hypothermia to bite his nose off.
Shinsou steps inside, the warmth and light spilling out of the doorway and onto the snow-covered steps, and he doesn’t turn to check if Midoriya follows.
Left behind in the cold, Midoriya realizes that he’s still holding the gloves.
Midoriya stands outside Shinsou’s door with a bowl of apple slices.
He can hear classical music slipping out from under the door. It’s barely noticeable, but for the past year Midoriya has spent enough time on the other side of this door listening to that music, pencils and notebooks scattered in the guise of studying. In reality, both of them were usually off task, playing video games and talking and eating fruit.
Now, Midoriya has the gloves in one hand and the bowl of fruit in the other, and he takes a deep breath. Something had to be done, before the awful crack he had made between him and Shinsou broke into an uncrossable ravine.
His hand darts out before he can regret it. The first knock is too soft, and Midoriya resolves himself and knocks twice, louder.
The music doesn’t pause, but Midoriya hears the shuffle of feet before the door swings open.
Midoriya sees the wetness of the snow shine on the coat Shinsou hasn’t taken off. His beanie is pulled off, and his hair looks even messier than usual, like he’s been running his hands through it. Midoriya had gone to his room immediately, stripped off his layers to freak out for ten minutes, and then come up with a plan.
“That was fast,” Shinsou croaks, phone in his hand. He does not try to smile.
“Uh. I was. My phone’s in my—” Midoriya shoves the offerings forward, before Shinsou can slam the door in his face. “Here.”
Shinsou only stands there, staring at him, and Midoriya fidgets. He wants to hand these over and then run to his room and never come out. He could die there. He could ask All Might for transfer papers.
Before he can do any of that, though, Shinsou reaches out and takes the bowl. “You should come inside.”
Midoriya ignores the off-kilter feeling. The tension drips from the walls, piling at their ankles like the snow outside. Midoriya pushes through it, each step heavy as he walks into the room. By habit alone, he takes a seat on the edge of the bed.
The apple slices sit on the desk. Midoriya’s still clutching the gloves, so he places them on the bed. Midoriya doesn’t know how to position his legs, so he sits criss-cross. His back is ramrod straight, and he does not take his eyes off Shinsou.
In his wheelie chair, Shinsou pulls his knees up to his chest. He looks exhausted, and not like he’s trying to keep it together. Are his eyes red-rimmed?
Midoriya’s heart hurts. He hangs his head, swallowing the thousand-pound weight in his throat. It hits his stomach, falls down all four floors to the kitchen.
“Can we still be friends?” Midoriya begins, his voice so soft he doesn’t even hear it at first. He clears his throat, starts again. “I–can't. Lose you. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay,” he replies, toneless.
Midoriya presses his lips together, swallowing the pathetic reply that begged to crawl out. He should've prepared something. He only came in with the apples and the gloves and didn’t think he'd get this far. He pushes forward, hands in his lap. “Can we just pretend this never happened? I didn’t mean–These feelings aren’t your problem, they’re mine. Please don’t–”
“It’s not your fault,” Shinsou cuts him off, insistently. “You don’t really feel that way.”
MIdoriya tilts his head. That sorrow is temporarily swallowed by Shinsou’s strange wording, and he hesitantly says, “What?”
"Your feelings," Shinsou says, lifting his head off his knees. He aims his gaze from the rug to him. They’re heavy with guilt. "They’re not real. I’m sorry."
Midoriya parts his lips, trying to find the words. "What? Why are you sorry?"
Shinsou looks pained, gripping the sleeve of his jacket. “Because it’s not what you want,” Shinsou says. “It’s what I want.”
It happened about a week ago.
They had been studying, but an hour ago Midoriya had flopped onto Shinsou’s bed and declared himself brain dead. Shinsou had snorted, and Midoriya had ignored his deriding comments to try and beat the Elite Four instead. Now, Shinsou was pulling his covers over Midoriya’s sleeping form, taking the Gameboy Advance from Midoriya’s hand and closing it.
A soft waltz played from Shinsou’s shitty laptop speakers, low enough to be drowned out by Midoriya’s occasional snoring.
Shinsou didn’t spare a glance towards the clock, knowing whatever time will make him unhappy when he calculated how much time was left before his alarm. He wished he slept better than he does, but old habits die hard, and he would not go gently into the night without at least a dozen facts memorized. He studied at the sleeping mass in his bed.
“‘Just a small nap, ’” he mimicked. He patted the top of Midoriya’s head. “You should know better by now.”
Shinsou yawned, stretching up arm towards the ceiling. “You are gonna bomb tomorrows quiz,” he continued. Sleep. His resolve crumbled. “Me too, I guess.”
He reached across Midoriya to grab an extra pillow. Along with that, a couple Pokemon plushies too, for extra comfort. With how Midoriya rolled around in his sleep, they were gonna end up on the ground anyway.
Shinsou didn’t mind when Midoriya slept in his room. Sure, it meant that Shinsou was sleeping on the floor, but he had a lot of blankets and pillows and a nice, fluffy rug in the shape of a Gengar that he was particularly proud of. He enjoyed the company too, the days Midoriya came to his room to study.
It would always devolve into random conversations about the mundane, and Midoriya flopping onto Shinsou’s bed and commenting about his newest playthrough of Pokemon Fire Red, and Shinsou spinning in his chair so fast he almost fell over when it could catch on the rug. And when night crept on them and Midoriya yawned and stayed in his bed, big, green eyes begging not to be kicked out, Shinsou conceded to their class’ number one liability.
He’d never admit it, but Shinsou found comfort in looking over his shoulder to find someone there, sleeping and at peace around him.
He dropped down to his knees, adjusting the pillow and the blanket and the Yamask and Espurr plushies into a sizable sleep nest, then paused, looking over at Midoriya again.
Midoriya is contorted in the weirdest sleeping position, somehow looking both comfortable and uncomfortable and tangled up in Shinsou’s blankets. He snored. Shinsou felt the corners of his mouth turn up. Shinsou folded his arms on his bed and rested his head on top of them. “Midoriya, can you hear me?”
No response. He blew a small gust of air, which resulted in a scrunched nose in subconscious annoyance. He smiled.
“Answer if you think All Might is better than Eraserhead,” he whispered quickly.
Midoriya snored.
“Figures.” He moved to sit on the floor, back against the bed.
He was so tired and just wanted to pull back the covers and crawl into his bed, shoving the other boy against the wall. He’d claim the warm spot Midoriya was currently generating, revel in it. He didn’t have the gall to wake Midoriya up and kick him back to his own room, though. He’d miss him too much.
Shinsou let his head fall back. No, that was the problem, wasn’t it.
He didn’t know what possessed him to say it out loud. Maybe it was the sleep deprivation. Maybe it was the way Midoriya had laughed particularly joyously at his jokes today, or how he had claimed Shinsou’s bed without asking, like it was already given, like always. Somehow Midoriya had snuck his way around Shinsou’s defenses.
How unguarded had Shinsou become, to give away things freely?
"I wish you liked me," he whispered. The magic, damning words. A desperate wish. In the following silence, everything feels frozen. Midoriya could be feigning sleep. He could have woken up.
Midoriya only snored a buzzing sound. Shinsou’s quirk tugged at that, curious, but Shinsou drops it before it can find purchase. He cleared his head, letting the buzzing come through, and shut his eyes tight.
I’m an idiot.
He rubbed his eyes, and then pressed hard until he saw stars.
The sleeping boy barely stirred.
Shinsou sat back. He’s glad his quirk didn’t take hold. What a sickening, stupid wish. One that wouldn’t have worked. Midoriya would sleep, unbothered and unaware, and Shinsou wouldn’t bring this up, would let this die inside as another secret he keeps.
Shinsou knew he was a coward. And as far as he’s gotten with pushing and fighting for a place he wants to belong, he can’t do that here. There’s a difference in looking and taking.
He will want, and he will say nothing, not even ask.
He really is pathetic.
He got up, turned off his desk lamp, and settled down on the rug with his blanket and pillows. In the shrouding darkness, intrusive thoughts snaked in, curling around his brain.
If it had worked—
Shinsou pushed that thought to the far recesses of his mind. He didn’t know all the limits of his quirk, but he knew enough. The mind is a solid thing. And commands, physical commands are solid. Emotional ones aren’t. They are nothing.
“Goodnight, Midoriya,” he whispered.
“I understand if you hate me,” Shinsou says, voice small. Shinsou’s hugging his knees. His socks are mismatched, peeking out from the legs of his pants. Midoriya blinks a couple of times.
“So you’re saying,” Midoriya says carefully. “That my feelings aren’t real, because a week ago you tried to mind control me in my sleep?”
The bags under Shinsou’s eyes have never looked darker. “Yeah.”
The classical music still croons, tinny from Shinsou’s desk. Midoriya takes a shallow breath. He reaches behind him, grasping for a Pokemon plushie, and throws the first one he finds at Shinsou.
Ditto nails Shinsou in the head. “Hey!” Shinsou recoils back, eyes wide in shock. He grabs the pink pokemon before it falls to the ground, clutching it in confusion.
Midoriya grabs another and just squeezes this one to his chest. Espeon doesn’t deserve this. He Espeons at Shinsou, threateningly. "Stop freaking out. Right now.”
“Don’t threaten me with my baby,” he says, holding his hands up. He still looks distraught. “I’m sorry.”
That wasn't the reaction Midoriya was hoping for. “You shouldn’t be,” Midoriya emphasizes. “You should be sorry because you’re wrong."
“What?”
Midoriya feels the heat on his face and gathers his emotions in a deep breath. “I like you, Shinsou.” He touches his chest, Clutches at the heart, the same one he’s always had, under scarred skin and muscle and heartbreak. " I like you.”
Shinsou just stares at him, eyes not and shakes his head. “You’re not thinking straight.”
“I’m fine.”
“You're not.”
“I am. I could do this all day.” Midoriya twists back, looking for Umbreon.
Shinsou squeezes the Ditto in his hands. “You should hate me, ” Shinsou says, like he hasn’t heard Midoriya. “Why don’t you? I basically coerced you.”
Midoriya turns back to face him. “Into what? Having a crush on you? That’s just called being yourself.”
Shinsou breaks a little bit here. He gestures with the Ditto, teeth bared. “Weren’t you listening? I fucked up. And now you have—feelings that aren’t yours.”
“You’re wrong,” he maintains. He gets to his feet, frustrated, and closes the distance between them. “I like you.”
Shinsou’s chair hits the back of his desk when he tries to scoot away, but Midoriya grabs his shoulders. He clutches them tight. “Shinsou, I mean it.”
Shinsou makes a frustrated sound, but he doesn’t pull away. “I’m gonna talk to Aizawa,” he says. “Maybe he can fix this." And Midoriya knows that it's the last thing he wants to do. He can see it in Shinsou’s face.
“There’s nothing to fix,” Midoriya insists, squeezing his arms. “Shinsou, this isn’t a quirk thing.”
“It’s always a quirk thing,” Shinsou edges. “I was messing around with my quirk and I didn’t tell you. The brain–when it sleeps, it can absorb all sorts of subconscious things, things it doesn’t actively realize. I could’ve—”
“You didn’t.” Midoriya decides to change tactics. “Maybe you should lay down,” he says, pulling Shinsou to his feet.
Shinsou plants his feet onto the ground, mouth in a straight line. “I’m fine,” Shinsou shoots back. The chair slides and then bumps into the rug. Midoriya’s had enough of this.
A couple minutes and some fighting later, Shinsou is, against his will, laying down on his bed.
"I hate you,”' he says helplessly as Midoriya begins to pile Pokemon plushies on top of him. He gets a Psyduck to the face for that. It falls to the side, and Shinsou stares at Midoriya, who hums.
Midoriya finds Umbreon on the ground and tucks it under Shinsou’s arm. "I think you’re wrong. In fact, I have an inkling you like me. Which would be nice, because I like you too.”
Shinsou winces. "You can't like me," he says, haltingly.
"Why not?"
"Because—there's no reason to."
“Ah?”
“I—”
He drops Yamask on Shinsou’s face. "I refuse to listen. You are getting buried until you believe me."
Shinsou stays silent then, and Midoriya sits back and stares at the Pokemon pile. He had always loved the amount of Pokemon plushies Shinsou owned, found it awesome to sleep with, made sure to cuddle each one equally every time he visited. There were so many times he’s laid here, and Shinsou always kept his distance at his desk, would choose to floor to sleep on instead of kicking Midoriya out of his own bed.
“It doesn’t make sense,” Shinsou finally whispers. “You're…you. And I'm...”
Midoriya sighs, holding the Rowlet he gifted Shinsou on his birthday. That’s somewhere to start.
“Okay,” he says, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. “You’re saying that these feelings only existed since last week?”
The Pokemon pile nods.
“Well, I can disprove you, easy."
It wasn’t a special day. Not at all. It was an unremarkable spring morning, and Shinsou was holding an orange, walking into the courtyard.
Because the universe had a twisted sense of humor, Midoriya was already in the courtyard, trying his best not to cry. He sat on an old stone bench with his head casted down.
They weren’t friends, but Midoriya heard his footsteps slow, pause, and then start again. Someone sat down beside him.
Shinsou peeled the orange leisurely and nonchalantly, talking about the most random things, like Kaminari's latest catchphrase, or how he suspected that Aizawa was beginning to leave sleeping bags around to trick them into thinking he was everywhere. He splits the orange into sections as he aims a couple jibes at Midoriya, but the lack of response made him drop it. Shinsou's voice filled the air, and it distracted Midoriya more than the rustling trees with their heavy plum blossoms, pink like flesh wounds.
Midoriya listened, more because he didn’t want to get up and leave. And then there was an orange slice in his hand.
“Eat,” Shinsou said, and then looked away, as if he really couldn’t care. And why should he? They had spoken very few words to one another since Shinsou’s transfer. They weren’t friends.
Yet, his hopeful heart still said, and Midoriya didn't know how he had anymore hope at the moment to spare.
Midoriya feels the sensation of a hand pressing his fingers shut, and he moves automatically. He placed the orange slice in his mouth and bit down. It spilled in his mouth, citrus and sweet and hand warm, and he swallowed. Soon there is another slice in his hand.
He realized there were tears streaming down his face when the citrus mixes with a salty taste. Still, he ate. Shinsou did not say anything, only replacing each slice with a new one.
“Thank you,” he murmured, as they finished. Shinsou only nodded, chewing on his last slice. Midoriya sat there, staring at his hands, staring at the base of the tree in the courtyard, covered in fallen blossoms.
When the silence elapsed for long enough, Shinsou finally asked what’s wrong.
Midoriya tried to explain, he really did, but what came out instead was a rattling gasp. It felt like the words were choking him, closing his windpipe, and all he could do was whimper. He cannot bridge the gap.
Shinsou wrapped a hand around his shoulder, and Midoriya leaned in instinctively. “Alright,” Shinsou accepted. “We can just sit here, then.”
And they did. Shinsou kept talking, until Midoriya had snorted at something he had said. Then he pulled at that thread, discussing dumb names for Pokemon he had saw on the internet, and eventually Midoriya was laughing gross tears into his jacket. Shinsou laughed, too. He brushed his fingers through Midoriya’s hair, a comfort Midoriya hadn’t realized he needed.
Somehow, Shinsou ended up walking him back to his room, with the excuse that he was headed back to his own room too. Midoriya didn’t have the energy to point out that Shinsou lived a floor below him.
“You’re sure you’re okay?”
Midoriya leaned against his door. He smiled, if only by force of habit. “I will be,” he placated. Even if it wasn’t the truth, the least he could do was put his–classmate at ease, after the trouble Midoriya put him through. His eyes felt raw. He felt raw, like someone rubbed him from head to toe with steel wool. “It’s just–hard, today.” Everyday is just hard.
“Small victories count,” is the only thing Shinsou said. His eyes were blunt, his words honest and straightforward. “Just waking up is enough.” Then, just a touch softer. ”But if it’s worth anything, I’m glad you exist, Midoriya.”
The words echoed in Midoriya’s head, even when he closed the door behind him. Why him? Why didn’t Shinsou leave the courtyard when he saw him?
Things don’t get better immediately, but Midoriya does count victories in the simple things. A completed basket of laundry. A half-finished sheet of homework. The ease of laying in bed, sleeping a couple minutes more. Cold showers on a hot day. Text messages from friends who notice his absence. A small kindness from someone who could be a friend.
He could feel it get easier.
Days are tracked by calendar dates but also with the slow acclimation of Shinsou into his new class. Midoriya noticed him more now: on the dorm couches squished between Kaminari and Kirishima, leaning against his desk mid conversation with Iida about physics, swinging through the training grounds with his capture cloth, Ojiro following close behind.
Midoriya watched and counted small victories.
Oranges tasted different too. Each new slice carried the memory of that morning. The sweet citrus in his mouth, mixed with salty tears. The sound of Shinsou’s laugh, how it rolled and softened everything. The gentle brush of Shinsou’s fingers in his hair. He felt the ghost of laughter against his lips, an unintentional twitch into a smile.
Small things.
One summer day, Shinsou brought him a bowl of sliced fruit and asked if he’d like to study math sometime.
I’m glad I exist, Midoriya thought.
Shinsou is very quiet after that.
Midoriya reaches in and grabs one of his hands. "They say that things that live from spring to winter are resilient," he adds.
Shinsou sits up on his own, the plushies scattering around him. His eyes look softer, and his shoulders look less tense, but still apprehensive. He stares at where Midoriya holds his hand. "Isn't it the other way around?"
"If you give it a chance, sure." Midoriya squeezes a little, and is emboldened when Shinsou squeezes back. He slowly interlocks their fingers. It's a new sensation. “Your hands are cold,” Midoriya says.
“Yeah.”
“You always run cold and yet you gave me your gloves,” he says. They’re on the floor somewhere, lost in this mess and yet the cause of it all. “And when we were walking, I was just thinking about how I wanted to hold your hand.”
Shinsou looks at him, then. The look on his face is open, but not in a sad way. He studies Midoriya’s features carefully, like he’s looking for something that was there all along. Midoriya’s chest flutters.
"You did?"
"I do," he confirms. He straightens up. “Now, reject me.”
“What.”
Midoriya holds on tight. “Reject me if you don’t return my feelings. That’s the honorable thing to do. Just tell me," he squeezes his hands. "Do you like me back?"
A whirlwind of emotions flies through SHinsou’s face, and he doesn’t hide them.
"I—love you so much," Shinsou says, like he's gonna break. Midoriya presses his forehead to his. He feels Shinsou’s hand against the back of his neck, keeping him there, wanting him there. He wants to cry.
Midoriya’s lips tremble into a smile. "See? That wasn't so hard," he laughs.
"It was like, the hardest thing in the world," Shinsou gripes, pulling him close. Together, they’re so warm. The plushies are spread around them, some falling off the bed, but nobody cares.
"It's good. You got through it, okay? It's the small things."
"Yeah,” he says, smiling, nuzzling Midoriya’s cheek. Midoriya wraps his arms around him then, and hugs him, hard.
“I love you,” he whispers. “I’m glad you exist.”