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“Sensei?” Shinsou begins one summer morning, the heat already thrumming through Shouta’s veins even at the early hour.
Shouta looks over at the boy who sits beside him, a carbon copy with his legs drawn up and arms thrown loosely over his knees. His fingers twitch and fiddle and Shouta thinks it interesting that he won’t look over at him even as he addresses him. Shouta lets his answering silence wash over them both, comfortable and familiar as the older man brings his foot towards his body, stretching his hips comfortably as they rest between rounds. They’ve been going at it hard, trying to get Shinsou used to the rigors of hero training, and Shouta is more than willing to say the boy has done well so far.
As expected, eventually the silence gives way to words.
“Do you…I guess I mean– Do you have…? No, that wouldn’t be it, of course you would have, everyone does–” Shinsou begins to ramble to himself. Shouta is mildly amused to find that this is not unexpected. At length, Shinsou seems to settle on just what he wants to say. “What’s your favorite food?”
The question takes Shouta by surprise, but even more so does the look of earnestness that blankets Shinsou’s face as he turns to look at him. Slowly, Shouta unfurls his leg until they both stretch before him where he sits on the ground. He feels his lips purse in thought.
Where is this coming from?
“Shoyu ramen, but only from a specific place I first discovered back in my broke, trainee days,” Shouta says easily. There is a stifling breeze making its way across the UA grounds, irritating in its incapability to cool anyone down. He turns to the boy and smirks. “You were probably expecting something along the lines of jelly packets, weren’t you?”
Shinsou’s sweat-damp skin comes alive with a bewildered expression as his hand comes to scratch at the back of his own neck. “Uh, no, not really. I just…well I didn’t know, did I? I guess I had hoped no one’s favorite food was jelly packets,” he says sheepishly.
“You got me there.”
Shinsou takes a breath. “And, what about color?”
Shouta quirks up an eyebrow.
“Sorry, I mean what’s your favorite color,” he corrects.
Shouta takes a moment to answer this one, eyeing the boy with a steady gaze. Shinsou is obviously uncomfortable under his watchful eye, but far better than he used to be, at the beginning of their…relationship? Agreement? Shouta still isn’t sure what to call it most days. All he knows about it is that he feels a certain tug, a connection he finds comes easily with almost all of the children he teaches. The curse of having a soft heart, Yamada would say.
“Yellow.”
The boy smiles slightly. “Is that why your sleeping bag is yellow?”
“The sleeping bag is yellow because that was the first one I could find that I thought was comfortable, but it is a nice coincidence, I suppose.” Yellow reminds him of the golden buttons on his UA uniform gleaming on his first day of high school, of meeting his best friend, of the faded collar his childhood cat used to wear.
Of his goggles that hang around his neck when he’s in uniform, a reminder both of duty and something far heavier.
The breeze causes the ends of his hair to tickle just at the edge of his chin. He scratches absently.
“There’s not much yellow around your apartment that I’ve seen,” Shinsou says, almost as if to himself. “I- I mean, not that there should be, I’m not telling you how to decorate your house–”
Shouta interrupts his stuttering with a wave of his hand. “I know kid, relax,” he says amusedly, a huff of laughter exiting through his nose. “That’s just because I can’t decorate, I don’t think that will come as a surprise. How often do you see me wear anything other than my uniform and the same monochrome black outfit? The less choice the better in my opinion—variety is not always the spice of life.” Shouta enjoys streamlining an otherwise stressful existence; why make it harder with extra decisions when he already must make those of the life-or-death variety regularly?
“Those pink sweatpants aren’t monochrome.”
Shouta whips around, eyes wide. “I thought you said you didn’t see those?” He eyes the boy suspiciously.
“Kinda hard not to, sensei. You were just that much too slow closing your door, I guess.”
Oh, they’re teasing now.
“I’ll remember this, kid. If it ever gets out that I own such a thing, I will know where it came from and there will be swift retribution, mark my words,” Shouta deadpans, but even so, he sees Shinsou’s mouth wobbling from his attempt to not burst out laughing. “Swift is my middle name.”
“Yamada-sensei said you don’t have one, so I don’t think that’s true.”
“Well aren’t we sure of ourselves today?”
And even as he says it, he marvels at the exchange between them right now.
Seeing Shinsou like this, comfortable in his own—slightly embarrassed—way, when at first it had been like pulling teeth to get the kid to talk to him in any capacity other than ‘yes sensei’ and ‘no sensei’ and repeated promises that Shouta wouldn’t regret helping him, makes him feel like the sun isn’t doing its best to beat him into the dirt. Like the suffocating air around them is instead cool and refreshing.
Shouta places his hands behind him, leaning all his weight onto the small bones of his wrists. “So where have the twenty questions come from? Got something on your mind?” he asks casually. This has been going well but Shinsou will draw the line somewhere, as the past has taught him. Shouta will respect the boundary when it is presented.
Shinsou clears his throat. “Oh, um… I guess, just…I don’t know much about you. Or, I realized I don’t think I do, and we’ve spent time together but I sort of realized that I didn’t know the things you find out about a person when you first make a friend and–”
Shinsou stops, even his breathing halting in his chest as Shouta watches the realization wash over his face of what he has just said.
Shouta has to fight back his own bark of laughter, now.
“Friends? You think we’re friends?” he asks invitingly, his head tilted in question. He can’t hide all of his amusement, a smile fighting to curl up his mouth, but sue him, he’s not perfect.
“A-ah I– I don’t– I’m sorry sensei I shouldn’t have said that–” he stutters, something like actual fear overtaking his body. Shouta sees as he begins to shake and his eyes seem just a bit more bright than they were a minute ago.
The boy goes to stand.
“Sorry I asked, I was just being nosy, I feel better now! Super rested! Let’s just get back to it, yeah?” he babbles and Shouta watches as he turns away.
Shouta does not move from his spot on the ground.
“Shinsou.”
It’s a trained response the way Shinsou stops everything he is doing, still turned away but every nerve focused towards Shouta’s quiet voice that barely rises above the wind.
“We can be friends.”
At first it’s almost as if nothing was said, the boy held at attention like a deer caught in headlights, unsure whether it should run or stay its ground, but as the seconds pass, Shouta sees how the tension bleeds from Shinsou’s shoulders. His cheeks are ruddy and his mouth is slack as he turns around to face Shouta who is still a level below him.
“F-friends?”
Shouta allows the smile now, small and soft. “Sure, kid. Friends. I’m still your mentor, and you have to listen to me as I’m in a position of authority over you, but I don’t think both things can’t coexist. You’re smart enough to know when one is required over the other, I’m not worried about it,” he says matter of fact. He rises now, the scant few inches he has over the boy who only seems to be growing more like a weed every day becoming more prominent as he walks forward. Shouta holds out his hand, open in the space between them. “Friends.”
As Shinsou brings his hand forward and grasps Shouta’s, the handshake leaving a little to be desired on the boy’s side of things, Shouta feels all the pieces come together.
Shinsou had been nervous to try and get to know Shouta in any capacity other than mentor-mentee, and he’s proud of the kid for attempting the icebreakers every child learns at a young age. Shinsou’s natural propensity for seclusion and low self-esteem only makes what he’s attempted today more impressive. Shouta brings his other hand forward, placing it firmly on Shinsou’s sun-drenched shoulder.
“You did good, kid.”
Shinsou all but beams.
As they walk back to the middle of the field they have reserved for the next hour, a new sort of thread tied between them that hadn’t existed moments prior, an idea suddenly strikes Shouta.
“So what’s your favorite color then?” Shouta asks nonchalantly. He doesn’t look over, his eyes focused forward as they walk but it doesn’t take much to hear the small catch in Shinsou’s voice when he answers.
“Purple.”
“Should have known.”
Even the heat can’t bring down the burning energy they both seem to find during what’s left of their session.