Archive of Our Own ^beta

I

In the first week, Hitoshi can honestly say he doesn’t feel much of anything, aside from exhaustion, and weariness at the thought of all the exhausting things yet to come.

“So, do we have to work on whatever our partner is working on?” another student asks for the sixth time.

The professor’s hand twitches and stops just short of dragging down his face, a perfect reflection of how Hitoshi feels. “No. Your partner is just there to bounce ideas off of. A second pair of eyes, a second brain. They should be involved, but shallowly. You will be working on your own campaigns.”

“Then what’s the point of the partner?”

“In case you get stuck.”

It really doesn’t sound that complicated to him, but about half the class still looks beyond confused, every iteration of the same question wearing down their advertising professor’s patience just a little bit more. It must be hard to be creative-minded in such a logistical, scientific school, he muses, mind continuing to drift further to his own scientific homework.

“If there are no further questions,” the professor finally announces, and it sounds like there are, but they’ll catch on soon enough, “I’m going to assign your partners. Also, I probably shouldn’t even say this, but two weeks from now, if you and your partner are not happy working together, you may break up. No divorce court, just a fault-free split. Shared custody, no hearings.” Several students begin to look confused again, so Aizawa-sensei caps the speech and begins reading off names.

“Kodai and Awase. Rin and Hatsume. Shiozaki and Kuroiro. Shinsou and Kaminari. Utsushimi and Mora…”

Hitoshi taps a finger on the table as his name registers a beat late, along with the one attached. Kaminari. Kaminari… his mind stalls, comes up blank. If only he’d paid attention during the ice breaker last class instead of dreaming of his dorm bed, with its fluffy lavender pillows and…

“Hey, you’re Shinsou, right?”

I’ve got to start drinking more coffee, Hitoshi thinks, and turns his head to see a small blond boy standing beside him, hip cocked to lean against his table in a way that exposes a strip of skin above his jeans. Hitoshi blinks and looks away. Other students have also moved around the room to speak with their partners, he must have drifted off harder than he thought.

Right, the other boy is still looking at him. “I am. You’re… Kaminari?”

“The one and only.” He winks, but there’s a tired droop in his eyes that almost makes it look like a blink.

“Nice to meet you.” One hand rises to his hair, nervously scratching at the freshly shaved buzz just behind one ear and touching on some of the piercings there. He tries not to notice Kaminari watching. “What are you thinking… For your campaign?”

That seems to dislodge his attention; Kaminari easily slips into the vacant seat beside him and tosses open a bright yellow notebook. “Oh, I had a few ideas right away, but I think I want to go with this clothing brand me and my friends like! They have workout gear, stoner gear, party gear, street gear, punk gear – you name it!” Most of the pages flip by too fast for Hitoshi to see clearly, but he catches glimpses of sketching among the notes scrawled double sided on each page – bodies, mostly, figure drawing and apparently fashion if his campaign choice is anything to go by. “Their current advertising is mostly broken up by style, which, y’know, makes sense, so I was thinking of focusing my campaign on that broad-ass range specifically, like, ‘Hey! We’ve got it all! One stop shop for every unique freak on your team!’ Something that will draw a lot of different people in. Sound cool?”

Hitoshi blinks. Then, slowly, he nods. “You’ve… thought a lot about this?”

It’s Denki’s turn to blink. “Oh! No, no, this is just all I scribbled down while Aizawa-sensei was outlining. Well, I just came up with some of that on the spot – hold on.” He leans down to scratch some more characters onto the page, and Shinsou nosily looks on. Among more doodles of (somewhat) related objects, he reads,

• cat food (fine dining? tourist destinations?)
• outdoor paint - pride month overdone
• eggs. so many ways to cook. mmm eggs…
• neptune - something for everyone thing - unique freak

Chaotic. Still, he’s impressed Kaminari was able to spit out so many ideas so fast. He must be in an actual creative department.

“So, what were you thinking for yours?” Kaminari asks, turning wide yellow eyes back on Hitoshi.

Embarrassed to admit that so far he’s thought of absolutely nothing, Hitoshi starts tapping the desk again instead of answering right away. What are things he likes that could have brands attached? Coffee, for sure. Music, perhaps, he could try advertising for a certain band – though that would involve revealing his taste to the class for critique, the last thing Hitoshi could ever want to do. Something punk, like jewelry or tattoos? Or really punk, like a non-profit or environmental work?

Silently, he scribbles a list and slides the paper over for Kaminari to read.

“Wow!” he chirps after skimming, “Cool ideas, dude, these have like, a ton of potential. D’you have a favorite?”

He hasn’t thought about any of them past writing them down, but doesn’t say as much. “I want to do some research… See what’s standard in each field.”

Kaminari nods along enthusiastically. “Uh huh, I hear you. Don’t be afraid to do something different, though, if you don’t like what you find. That’s the best way to stand out!”

Hitoshi nods as he pulls his laptop from his backpack, and they spend the remainder of class doing their own research. Before they’re dismissed, Kaminari jots his number down on a paper scrap and slips it to Hitoshi with a wink, then he disappears into the sea of departing students. Hitoshi traces the messy characters with his own pencil.

Text me for coffee - Kami

II

The second week, Hitoshi is surprised to find himself… a little inspired.

If he’s being honest, Hitoshi has never had much interest in his electives; even though he tries to pick ones that look worthwhile, he’s usually too swamped with work for his major to put in the effort they deserve. Last semester’s wonky ceramic bowls fill his small dorm space, mathematically abysmal but still aesthetically pretty star charts line his walls from the semester before.

But this class is different. If he’s being completely honest, Kaminari makes it different. He shows up to class every day brimming with ideas – sketches and taglines on sticky notes and napkins crammed between his notebook pages – both for his own campaign and, occasionally, Hitoshi’s as well. Kaminari pushes all of Hitoshi’s ideas that extra mile, taking them from a ‘neat concept’ to something real and intriguing. He’d never dreamed anyone could make so much depth out of a K-cup.

Kaminari’s hard work inspires him. Their in-class sessions quickly bleed into their shared free period after, a time when Hitoshi would usually try to find a quiet classroom to nap in or trek to the nearby corner store for canned caffeine. He likes the easy way Kaminari tags along, tossing around endless ideas about their campaigns or chattering lightly about his friends. They’re an eclectic bunch, Hitoshi gathers, and he can’t always keep up with who said what and why it was so funny, but he finds peace in listening, and Kaminari doesn’t mind when he just hums along.

“Hanta seriously didn’t get why he wasn’t allowed to compete in Crocs,” Kaminari cackles over his own can of coffee, splashed citrine and peach in the early morning light. Hitoshi shades his eyes. “He was all like, ‘They’re not gonna slip off, that’s what the strap is for!’” Kaminari snorts. “Dude’s skipped every gym class since we were fifteen, on God. Does not even own running shoes.”

Sero Hanta is the stoner friend, as far as Hitoshi can recall, and he admittedly missed whatever details involved him participating in sports, which are usually his friend Eijirou’s thing. They’re meeting way early this morning, getting coffee and breakfast before their morning classes so they can review their final written outlines for their campaigns. The caffeine didn’t kick in until about the middle of the story.

“That’s funny,” Hitoshi hums, his usual unemotive response to such anecdotes, but he knows Kaminari can tell he means it. Running on power naps for two and a half years has left Hitoshi too tired for properly expressed emotions. It puts most people off, he’s come to realize, when it appears as though every interaction bores him, but Kaminari isn’t fooled.

“Uh huh. Think he was secretly relieved he wouldn’t have to actually run – Anyway, how are you feeling about your outline?” Kaminari tosses his bag down, effectively claiming one of the picnic benches in front of the chemistry building, where Hitoshi’s first class will begin in a little over an hour.

“Fine. Working with you… It’s better than I could ever make it… on my own.”

To his surprise, Kaminari blushes. He’s been so blatantly flirty for the past two weeks that Hitoshi never dreamed he’d be so easy to fluster, let alone with such a passing – not to mention understated – comment. Kaminari has done almost everything except pick the product, and Hitoshi was merely being honest.

It’s… very cute.

Procuring his laptop, Hitoshi clears his throat. “I’m going with the ‘pre-coffee deadpan’ approach.” According to Kaminari, one of the few people to ever witness him in such a state, it’s even worse than his normal deadpan. “No peaceful sunrises… No early morning yoga. K-cups for two hours of sleep, already late for work… ‘This mug is tethering me to reality’ type brew.”

“I love it!” Kaminari laughs, color recovered in his cheeks. “It fits you, it’s different, Aizawa’s gonna go nuts!” He gives Hitoshi a friendly squeeze on the arm – he moves steadily closer to his hand every time – and pulls out a single printed sheet, sliding it to Hitoshi. “So, I didn’t want to go too heavy handed on the pride thing, since it’s been done to death and yet is still so disingenuous, because obviously corporations have no heart, but I do imagine launching the campaign in June, and I stuck with the ‘Unique freak’ thing.” He takes a breath. “Uh, I really hope you like it!”

They read each other’s proposals in mostly-silence; Kaminari taps at the keys, Hitoshi’s purple pen squeaks on the page.

“You doin’ anything tonight?” Kaminari asks offhandedly as he reads, or pretends to. He knows Hitoshi’s campaign forward and backward, even two weeks into the semester.

“Going to bed,” Hitoshi offers candidly. It’s what he does every night – or tries to.

The other boy laughs – sharp and loud and two times exactly, like he does every time Hitoshi just tells him the truth – and it’s not a mean sound. “Naw, dude! Come ice skating with us.”

Slowly, Hitoshi lifts his eyes from lavender comments to blink owlishly at Kaminari. “Ice… Skating?”

Kaminari giggles, lower and longer and softer this time, and rolls his eyes. “You heard me! Yes! Nothin’ good is frozen yet, but the rinks around here are opening up, and I mean, we haven’t been skating since last year.” Kaminari slips into a fantastic pout, tiny eyebrows scrunched upward while his lips point straight down.

Instead of snorting like he only-kinda wants to, or answering, which he’d kind of rather not do, Hitoshi asks, “You like… to skate?”

And it’s so, so easy to prod Kaminari in any direction, as he lights up like a bulb and exclaims, “Oh, totally!” He taps Hitoshi’s laptop shut and turns to face him on the bench, one leg pulling up as the other swings above the dying grass. He says quickly, “Your outline looks great, but feel free to discover spell check,” and then begins. “I love to skate, and I would actually go so far as to say it’s what ties my little band of unique freaks together. It’s really one for us all. Or are we all for it? I dunno.” Kami shrugs a little. “Eiji likes anything that can be a workout, y’know. And then Hanta, Mina, and I literally met way back in our club days, lotta ponds where we grew up for skating in winter. Hanta and I did hockey and Mina did figure skating. And then – get this – this is the only time I ever see Jirou and Katsu like, really hang out.”

Hitoshi is sure this is the first he’s hearing of some of these people, but that’s just how it is with Kaminari, he finds. It all sounds like nonsense until names and personalities start recurring, and Hitoshi can add little bits to his mental models of Kaminari’s friends with each story he tells. One of which he’s still going with.

“– Just slow laps. They’re both from much further south and totally hate the cold, so they’re always all bundled all winter. It’s so funny! Looks like they’re too bulky to go any faster.” When Kaminari laughs about his friends it’s full bodied, from the stomach, and he curls inward. “Yeah, sometimes we two v two while Katsu and Jirou ref just from what they can see sitting on opposite sides of the ice. It gets pretty heated with them shouting loud enough to be heard.”

Kaminari chuckles again and sighs, and Hitoshi has had enough time to make up his mind.

“So? You wanna come along, right?”

“No.”

“HAAH, what?!” Kaminari yells, and several nearby students who have begun gathering before classes give him looks, which he ignores. “Duude, you’re really gonna be in bed by three thirty in the afternoon?!”

Actually, Hitoshi has never even worn a pair of skates in his life, and doesn’t really feel like clinging to the wall for dear life while four of them whiz around, and even the southern two keep a steady pace. It sounds cold and unforgiving, at least so he’s heard.

“I have homework.” True, of course, although he will be out of class for the day by three thirty, and none of his work is that pressing right now.

Kaminari scoots closer on the bench, a softer pout directed fully at Hitoshi. “I’ll buy you hot chocky,” he pleads, and something deep in Hitoshi sighs.

It feels like acceptance.

So this is how Hitoshi finds himself at three forty five: fingers already half numb, a borrowed pink cheetah print scarf wrapped up to his ears, and a tall boy he just met yanking on the strings of his skates.

Sero Hanta fits his stoner reputation, with his flannel jacket and colorblock hoodie, faded jeans, and the heavy boots he kicked out of before sliding into skates. His overgrown black hair falls almost mullet-like around his neck, covering his forehead in curls. Party in the… all around, apparently. He’s very friendly.

“Denki says you’ve probably never been skating before, but like, don’t even sweat about it dude.”

“I’m freezing,” Hitoshi mumbles.

Hanta continues, “Killer Katsuki will, well, kill you if you bring him down, but me and Jirou are real patient, and I bet Denki will hold your hand ~”

“Kaminari… Denki?”

Laces finished, Hanta slowly extends from his crouch. “Dude ain’t even told you his name yet? Yeah, man. C’mon!”

It’s an ordeal of an afternoon.

Hitoshi lands on his ass more times than he ever thought possible, though very few times on the ice itself, which he supposes is some consolation. The ice is fucking slippery, and gets its fair share of spills, but Hitoshi is unprepared for how difficult it is just to walk in his skates.

No one told him about this. Getting on and off the ice is a guaranteed spill from either direction. At least skates were built for ice, and he can understand the basics in theory: push, and slide. Push, and slide. His blades will not slide on the firm foam padding surrounding the rink, nor will they bend, nor will they even stay upright.

“Keep your ankles stiff!” Mina, the girl with fluffy pink hair, advises him, then she elbows Hanta. “Jeez, didn’t you even lace him up right?”

“Parade march!” Hanta suggests, “High knees!”

“The faster you go, the more balanced you’ll be!” the jock boldly proclaims.

The pale blond – who doesn’t seem so demonic and crazy as the stories had made him out to be – just laughs at him every time.

And Kaminari – Denki – had done just what Hanta thought he would.

After Hanta patiently makes it four or five meters with him, pulling Hitoshi kindly back to his feet every time they slipped out from under him, Kaminari comes flying up, stopping short in a way that kicks snow all over Hitoshi’s ankles.

“Hi there.”

Hitoshi nearly loses his balance.

Kaminari shoots out, fast as lightning, and somehow slams them both back into the wall before Hitoshi can collapse, then they’re just standing there, chest to chest. Well, Kaminari is very short, so it’s more like chest to stomach.

“...Hello,” Hitoshi finally replies. He hopes the burning in his ears is just his piercings giving him frostbite, and not a blush.

Hanta snickers loudly behind them, but Kami doesn’t pull away until he’s caught Hitoshi’s eye and winked. “Still toddlin’ like a fawn? Hanta’s better at catching than teaching.”

“Hey man, I can only lead you to the door –”

“I know, I know, but you can’t open it,” Kaminari rolls his eyes. “Philosophy major,” he mutters to Hitoshi. Then he leaves Hitoshi at the wall, stopping a meter or so ahead and pointing to his skates. “Watch my feet. Make a T, dominant foot in back, then push.” He glides a few feet down the ice. “Move the other foot forward, T, and push.”

It looks so simple when he does it.

Hitoshi tries to position his feet right, but they just keep sliding around. “I… can’t.”

Meandering back, Kaminari rubs his chin. “Trouble balancing, eh?” It’s about to get serious, apparently, because he waves Hanta off to join the others.

Then he comes right up in front of Hitoshi, and grabs his hands.

“Try this way: Make a V with your feet.”

Hitoshi manages, despite suddenly feeling much warmer than before.

“Good! Push out, then circle around and bring your toes together, like carving out a ball. It’ll push you forward without lifting your feet off the ice.”

Very slowly and clinging to Kaminari’s hands, Hitoshi manages to do as he’s instructed (though he feels like Kami may be pulling him just a little bit.)

“Fantastic!” For such an excitable guy, the shadows beneath his eyes have never diminished, and Hitoshi wonders idly what it is that weighs him down. “– Can do them one foot at a time if you want, or go backwards!” Kaminari is still saying. He’s doing this now, in fact, going back slowly in alternating strokes, pulling the taller boy along. Hitoshi focuses on keeping his blades straight, not the heat of Kaminari’s fingers.

They go almost half a lap like this. In the few crossing moments when Hitoshi is feeling both brave and steady at once, he attempts a few shaky strokes to propel himself, but mostly it’s Kaminari who pulls him, practicing what he calls his, ‘Backward swizzles – don’t laugh, that’s the real name!’

When they’ve reached the far side of the ice, the two slow pacers glide up on either side of Hitoshi, startling him out of his concentrated swizzles. His hands tighten on Kaminari’s but they only wobble.

“New guy,” the girl with pitch purple hair greets from his right. The blond on his left stays silent.

“…Hello.”

“Oh, hey guys!” Kaminari exclaims. “This is Shinsou, my partner for advertising this semester.”

The blond snorts. “You must be carrying all the weight.”

Before Hitoshi can adamantly deny this, Kaminari squawks, “NO! No, no, no, and no, it is actually MY turn to be the brilliant one, don’t squash this for me, Katsuki.”

Killer Katsuki. He’s not supposed to pull on this guy.

“Kaminari is… incredibly creative,” Hitoshi speaks up. To his amazement, the others cease their squabbling to pay attention. “He’s groundbreaking. Definitely going to get me an A.”

It’s funny to see Kaminari go so red in front of his friends. “I –! Uh –! I hope that’s not all you want me for, Shinsou!”

“Free skating lessons,” he adds.

Katsuki laughs again, harder this time, but it’s a testimony to Kaminari’s teaching skills when Shinsou doesn’t wobble as he’s left free standing so Kami can try to pummel the potentially dangerous boy. But he just glides backward, dodging the wide swipes easily.

“Steady, punk,” Jirou drones, and Hitoshi thinks she’s talking to the blonds until she slips a small hand into his. “You’re doing good,” she adds when Hitoshi stares dumbly at her.

“…Thanks.”

After that, Hitoshi only wipes out in his attempts to get on and off the ice, unable to adjust quick enough to the vastly different surfaces. Kaminari holds tight to his left hand for the entire afternoon, Jirou and Hanta switching off on his right. Like he was promised, Hitoshi has fun, and Kaminari buys him hot chocolate and makes him feel included.

After their rentals are returned and the group is heading their separate ways back to campus, Hitoshi grabs Kaminari’s hand at the bus stop.

“I had a good time… Denki.” The name tastes heavy on his tongue, but Hitoshi likes it.

Kaminari does too, if the sudden color in his cheeks is anything to go by. “I – Me too, I did too,” he says quickly.

Hitoshi chuckles, and holds his hand until his bus arrives.

III

With the arrival of the third week comes Hitoshi’s first hint of concern, when something new, but not entirely shocking happens.

He’s waiting for Kaminari outside the communication arts building, trying to illustrate his idea for a sliding mix-n-match ad for Kaminari’s campaign. Hitoshi is early for once – the shower in his dorm coughed and coughed but refused to produce hot water this morning, so he left sooner than usual after running a comb through his puff of lavender purple locks and splashing his face in cold water.

Kaminari usually beats him here, which is probably why Hitoshi has never seen the tall, muscled man walking Kaminari through the gate, one arm slung around his skinny shoulders while the other hefts both of their bags. Kami is talking animatedly, hands flailing as he tells a story, but the unknown boy hardly looks interested, instead flicking and blowing at his flyaway stygian curls. When he turns to Kaminari and utters something, the smaller boy’s face falls and becomes pinched, closed off, like he’s disappointed but trying to push through it. He starts to pull away at the vending machine with his favorite energy drinks, deflating further when his bag is dumped in his arms and the other boy starts to turn away.

Hitoshi assumes that’s the end and starts to turn back to his paper, but not quick enough to miss Kami get pulled back by the waist, and see a rough kiss planted behind his ear.

Huh.

That’s…

Well, none of his business, Hitoshi thinks as he turns resolutely back to his work. What Kaminari does is none of his business. They’re just class partners, and Hitoshi has no right to stake claim on anyone, for that matter, being… the way that he is. If Kaminari wants to hold his hand when this muscular boy isn’t around, wants to wink when he can’t be seen, fine. Hitoshi has other things to worry about.

“Hey,” Kaminari mutters a few minutes later, slipping in across from Hitoshi with a sunny yellow can. He’s still glancing over his shoulder, and Hitoshi spies a small bruise hiding behind his ear, where he was just kissed. When he turns back, the shadows under his eyes are cast in a pretty (worrying) lavender purple, deeper and puffy closer to his nose. He looks even more exhausted than Hitoshi feels.

Hitoshi wants to ask what just happened, if he’s okay, if he got any sleep, but all that comes out is a muted, “…Good morning.”

“Whatcha got there?”

He scratches a few quick whizz marks to each panel and passes it over. “A playable ad,” he explains, “Swipe… to mix and match.”

Kaminari’s eyes seem to clear as they skim the page, then he smiles. “This is great! You made this for me?”

“I… did.”

“Aww, Shinsou!” Kaminari brushes a fake tear from beneath his weary eyes. “I feel so special. Thank you!” Their feet meet under the table, Kami’s converse taps his boot a few times before retreating.

They transition smoothly into campaign work, and Hitoshi doesn’t get to ask about the guy.

IV

Fleeting as it was, by the fourth week Hitoshi has nearly forgotten the sight of Kaminari being dragged around, buried it under lab reports and data and teasing quips and smiles.

Hitoshi’s roommate is almost always in class or with his boyfriend, but when he pushes the door in with Kami chattering in his ear about Eijirou’s ‘manly’ attempts at flirting, there he sits, typing away at his desk.

“Midoriya,” Hitoshi says, surprised.

Green eyes skim right past him, and Midoriya asks, “Denki?”

At the same time said boy runs right into his back and whines, “Shinsou!”

“Oh, Hitoshi!” Midoriya greets belatedly.

“Kaminari…” Hitoshi scolds mildly.

“Hi, Izuku!” Kami chirps.

The three boys take a moment to regain their bearings, then chorus, “What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” Midoriya justifies, and that’s fair.

“We’re married for the semester, I just go where he goes,” Kaminari explains to Midoriya with a laugh. His fingers are resting lightly on the rough, tilted bowl by the door where Hitoshi usually drops his keys.

“I forgot… a book,” Hitoshi mumbles to anyone listening. He could have sworn he left it right here on his nightstand, fairly certain he fell asleep reading. Then when his brain catches up, “We’re not… married.”

Midoriya has returned to typing with a sly little smile on his face, and doesn’t comment as Kaminari swipes the missing book out of an open wardrobe drawer – right, he suddenly recalls trying to finish a chapter while shoving his way into jeans this morning.

“This is the one right? About birds?”

“The Wind-Up Bird,” Hitoshi corrects as he takes the book. “It’s about… a man. Thank you. Let’s go.”

Kaminari beams, pleased to be helpful because he’s just sweet like that, and falls into step behind the taller boy. “We’ll see you later, Deku!” he calls before the door shuts behind them.

It’s outside the building that Hitoshi speaks again. “You know… my roommate?”

“Deku? Yeah man, he’s like, most friendliest guy on campus, try finding somebody who doesn’t know him.”

Prior to this – ‘this’ being the whirlwind extrovert named Denki that has crash landed in Hitoshi’s life – Midoriya was the only person around here Hitoshi could say he knew. If he could manage to befriend even Hitoshi, it makes sense he must have met every other person on campus on his way.

“You really… get around,” Hitoshi comments idly, and for the first time this semester watches as he says the complete wrong thing to Kaminari.

He barks, too loud and too sudden, and his tiny eyebrows crease deeply. “I do not!” he almost shouts, “And Deku’s committed, big time, he’s with –”

“Shouto.” Hitoshi is well aware.

Kami glares petulantly at the ground.

“That’s… not what I meant,” Hitoshi offers. He stops walking and places a hand on Kaminari’s shoulder. It takes a second, but their eyes meet. This is Serious Business. “You are… exceptionally kind. People like you. Midoriya is… the same way. It makes sense… that you’re friends.” He doesn’t often say so much at once, but the wrinkles in Kaminari’s forehead ease a bit with each sentence, so he keeps digging for more. “I never meant… to upset you. I’ll try… to watch what I say.”

The smaller boy lets out a deep breath. They’re still standing in the center of the sidewalk, and the occasional passing student gives them a funny look.

“It’s okay,” Kaminari finally says in a small voice. “I didn’t mean to react like that.” He rubs at his neck, hand clapped right over the most recent little bruise, much less subtle than last week’s. Hitoshi guesses this isn’t the first time someone has implied such things about him.

He doesn’t want to overstep, but Hitoshi takes his own deep breath and hedges, “You’re safe… with me… Denki.”

For a moment Kaminari stands and stares, untethered and lost. Then a determined look overtakes his face and he pushes forward, dislodging Hitoshi’s hand to press against his chest, both arms tight around his middle.

Hugging.

Hitoshi is familiar… with the concept.

So slowly, he lowers his own arms to rest lightly around Kaminari’s shoulders, patting a gentle rhythm. The muscles beneath him twitch, but when Kami pulls back and smiles his eyes are dry, so Hitoshi figures they’re okay.

V

By the fifth week, Hitoshi knows it’s very unlike Kaminari to be late.

He had expected it from his character when they met, only to be proven wrong when Kaminari beat him to every class and out of class meeting they set up, and Hitoshi is generally on time for things. Kaminari had explained that he practically ran everywhere he went, always got ready too early and then was too anxious to wait, and still built half-hour cushions into his schedule after Hanta made them late to everything in high school.

So when Kami still hasn’t shown ten minutes after the bell, Hitoshi pulls out his phone.

Hitoshi 11:11
U good ?

Kaminari 11:14
yes!! i’ll be tgere soon!! got hung up!!

Kaminari 11:14
is aizawa asleep i don’t wanna get heckled :((

Hitoshi 11:15
He’s knocked

Kaminari 11:15
word. omw five mins

When Kaminari tiptoes into the room fifteen minutes later, most of the other students are too engrossed in their work and discussions to notice, and Aizawa-sensei is indeed completely asleep with his head in one hand, facing his computer. No one but Hitoshi gets an eyeful of the state the other boy is in.

He’s got more bruises – hickies, Hitoshi had finally realized – peeking out from the collar of his sweater than he did last time Hitoshi saw him, not so concerning in quality but certainly in quantity. However, as if the universe weighs him on a scale, he looks well-rested and alert, no shadows or hollowness around his eyes. Hitoshi is… unsure what to make of it. So he asks.

“How are you… feeling?”

“Oh I’m fine,” Kaminari answers breezily as he takes a seat, digging for his notebook and stash of colored pens. “Fine, fine, just got uh, caught up in what I was doing and didn’t notice the time.” Then he grins, too wide and too forced, and leans closer to Hitoshi, hand landing as far down as his wrist when he reaches out. “You spend all your time thinking about me? You’re so sweet!”

Embarrassed, Hitoshi mutters, “You’re… never late.”

A squeeze on his wrist. “I got distracted, Shinsou, it’s all good. Happens all the time.”

“Hitoshi,” he blurts.

“...Huh?”

“My… name. You don’t have to call me that, but… I thought… you should know.” He may have heard Midoriya say it last week, but there’s no way to know for sure.

Kaminari blinks at him, buffering, then lights up again after a moment. “Okay! Cool. Hey, thanks man. You, uh, know my name already.”

Hitoshi nods. Feel safe, he projects. Tell me what’s wrong.

Of course, it doesn’t work.

Later, when their brainstorming is interrupted by the end of class, they migrate out to the benches in the lobby to keep working; the first freeze of late fall has made it far too cold to work outside. Kaminari runs out for one of his energy drinks without a coat, and when he comes back inside his ears and nose are red and he won’t stop whining.

“Let me sit next to you,” he begs, bouncing in his seat with his fingers shoved beneath his legs, elbows pressed as deep as they can go into his sides. He’s shivering like a chihuahua, and Hitoshi can’t find it in him to say no.

“...Fine.”

“Yay~!” Kami sings, darting quick as lightning to the other side of the little booth.

Hitoshi knows he’s made a mistake as soon as he feels Kaminari’s small body press into his, soft and smelling vaguely of lemon. They haven’t been this close since Kaminari bodied him to keep him on his feet at the rink, but Hitoshi was too self-conscious and focused on his balance for that entire day to pay any attention to his surroundings. And besides, he wasn’t noticing Kaminari then in the way he is now. Wouldn’t have noticed that the lemony scent is wafting from his slightly still damp hair (probably making him cold), that when he sighs it’s minty from his fresh piece of gum (probably making him even colder). Wouldn’t have noticed that his nails are usually painted yellow, only the ring fingers standing out in black.

Kaminari makes happy little humming sounds as he nestles into Hitoshi’s pillowy black hoodie, one hand squeezing deceptively high on his bicep. Hitoshi makes a sound of surprise back when the cold fingers of Kaminari’s other hand suddenly push into his pocket to curl with his own. Kami giggles, and he whispers, “Thanks Hitoshi.”

And he wants to be charmed, but all Hitoshi can see are the lavender purple marks under Kaminari’s collar, can only think about who else is already fulfilling his needs.

VI

Halfway through the semester, the sixth week sees all Hitoshi’s previously ignored fatigue crashing down on him at once.

I could be taking a nap right about now, he muses as he gazes at the clock. It’s right when Midoriya – if he’s even around to begin with – always leaves to meet up with Shouto after his nearby class, and they spend the evening in the cat cafe where Shouto works. He could turn all the lights off and draw the curtains, curl up with his blankets and just… drift… off…

“Careful, Shinsou! If your head dips too low you’re gonna get hair in my hard work!” Mina yelps.

Hitoshi snaps his head up, blinking to focus on the lavender purple polish Mina has been carefully painting on his nails. The chemical smell hits him as she screws the bottle closed with a pointed look. He dips his head shallowly in apology and turns to see how Kaminari is faring beside him.

He’s fine, to no surprise, paying careful attention to his work as he brushes a deep crimson over Eijirou’s nails. He looks so innocent, not like the little devil that tricked Hitoshi into coming over. ‘I need you to check out some magazine thumbnails!’ he’d begged over the phone – his call caught Hitoshi just as the right bus for Kaminari’s dorm had pulled up to the stop. So he had conceded his hallowed nap time to do what he felt was right as a peer, and ended up getting roped into manicures.

“This color looks soo good on you,” Mina trills. “I thought you’d pick black, you seem like the type.”

“Next time,” Hitoshi muses, and she flashes him two thumbs up. “How long… does this last?”

“Eh, maybe two, three weeks.”

“You can chip it,” Eijirou offers.

“No!” Kaminari cuts in. “I told you that’s bad for your nails!”

“You’re just saying that,” Eijirou whines.

“Look at this guy,” Hanta starts up from where he and the others are crowded around his desk, previously minding their own business. “Claims to want manly tough hands but can’t even tough out two weeks of polish.” He lifts his own sparkly green polished hand to cover a dainty gasp. Jirou snickers over Katsuki’s neon orange nails; Katsuki squints threateningly at Eijirou.

The jock dithers for a moment. “Y’all know the other guys on the team give me shit.”

“They’re pathetic!” Katsuki bites.

“Insecure in their fuckin’ manliness, dude,” Jirou agrees.

Eijirou cracks a small smile. “Thanks, guys.”

Kaminari lifts the hand he’s just finished painting and kisses Eijirou’s knuckles, declaring, “You’re the manliest of us all, sweet prince.” The sweet prince in question blushes, and the two groups dissolve back into conversation.

It takes hours for everyone’s nails to dry enough to leave, but before Hitoshi can politely excuse himself, Kaminari offers to buy him some snacks ‘in exchange for hanging out.’

“I don’t need… to be bribed,” Hitoshi reminds him as they walk arm in arm down the sidewalk; Kaminari is using the cold as an excuse to attach himself again. Hitoshi doesn’t truly mind, but he does plan on paying for this snack haul before Kaminari can get the chance to. “I’ll hang out… whenever.”

It’s testimony to how much their partnership has grown into more when Kaminari laughs in disbelief and squeezes his arm. “Nuh-uh, you totally would’ve gone home and gone to sleep if I told you what was really going on!” Kaminari can read him like a book after only a month. Hitoshi tugs at his scarf.

Maybe he would have gone home a few weeks ago, but something about Kaminari is starting to pull on him in a way he can’t ignore. His invitations, once sidestepped or at most endured, have started to become expected, even anticipated. He’s come to expect the company of the little blond, of seeing his phone buzz with Kaminari’s name. He wants to be there when Kaminari calls, wants to see him smile for his friends and maybe even for Hitoshi.

But it feels weird to tell him that.

For one, Hitoshi has… never felt this way. Never thought he could feel this way, after so many years feeling at most polite disinterest for his peers; even his tentative friendship with Midoriya is cordial, born of shared space and all nighters.

For another, he knows Kaminari’s charm ensnares not only him. Every few days he appears with another fresh bout of hickies, never uttering a word about them, or any number of partners, continuing to flirt harder than ever when Hitoshi tries to ask.

Until he can get a read on either situation, Hitoshi decides it best not to push, nor give in. He just needs a little more time. (And a little more sleep.)

“You don’t… know that,” he finally grumbles. “I do… other things.”

“Think about me, I bet,” Kaminari teases lightly, and Hitoshi does not bother responding.

They arrive at the shop a few minutes later, and Hitoshi lets Kaminari pull him excitedly through the aisles. He doesn’t chatter, just hums and gasps and clicks his tongue as he picks over the shelves. Hitoshi grabs some dark chocolate for himself, and a coffee can, and cautiously eyes Kaminari’s arms full of chip bags and a full sized jar of dip.

“I hope you’re not planning… to eat that for dinner,” Hitoshi deadpans as they step up to the counter. He’s already fingering his card in his pocket, body positioned in front of the reader and blocking Kaminari from it at the same time.

“Well, I was thinking of pouring spaghettios over them – I’m kidding!” He laughs hysterically at Hitoshi’s scandalized look.

“Whenever you’re ready,” the cashier says politely, and Hitoshi is so ready. Kaminari doesn’t even have time to think of his wallet.

“...Thank you.”

“Thanks, have a good night!”

All the smaller boy can do is scoop up the bags and trot after him. “Sh – Shinsou!” he finally protests when they’re outside. “You ruined my bribe!”

“Can I… ask you something?”

The sudden change in mood brings Kaminari up short, and he blinks uncomprehendingly, but Hitoshi has been dwelling on this more and more lately, and doesn’t know when he’ll get another chance to bring it up. It’s just the two of them on the evening sidewalk. “Sure?” Kami says unsurely.

Carefully, Hitoshi starts, “Stop me… if it’s none of my business, but… I see you with this guy sometimes, and –”

“Oh, Shindou?” Kaminari cuts him off loudly.

“His name is… Oh…” That’s funny.

“He’s just one of my friends!” Kaminari continues. The undertone of his voice is almost shrill. “Um, one of my other friends. He’s chill, why, what about him?”

Interesting. Certainly a lie, if Hitoshi has ever heard one.

Since the first afternoon Hitoshi saw this ‘Shindou’ yanking Kaminari around by the vending machine, he’s caught several more glimpses into their dynamic, each occurrence more concerning than the last.

From inside the one-way glass that windows the entire front wall of their ad building, Hitoshi has seen them fighting – just bickering really – in the patch of sunlight Kami can often be found basking in. He’s always cornering the blond against the walkway railing, way too close and repeatedly putting his hands on Kaminari’s waist despite the way he constantly shoves them off.

And that first time Kaminari was ever late, freshly marked up and desperately flirting to keep Hitoshi from asking about it, Shindou had come to collect him about an hour after class. He’d slid into the booth opposite them, openly staring at the way Kaminari was still pressed to Hitoshi’s side half an hour after warming up. The brief words he’d jabbed at them had been possessive but honey coated, though Hitoshi can’t recall exactly what was said. He’d say this was the first time he and Shindou met, if he had any reason to believe the other boy had even registered his existence, other than a pesky object attached to his Kaminari.

The worst offense – that Hitoshi has seen at least, he shudders to think what might be happening when they aren’t in public – was earlier this week, and it’s what has been flaring up in Hitoshi’s head every time every time he accidentally glimpses the ever-present hickies on Kaminari’s skin.

Kaminari had a bruise on his forearm. Not a bad one, but a real one, and Hitoshi sees it when the other boy returns from the bathroom without pulling his sleeves back down. It’s actually a collection of small bruises, lavender fingertips spread in a gripping arch. Lurking outside the room, Shindou had grabbed him immediately upon being dismissed – on his arm, not even his hand – pulling a whine from Kaminari when his fingers found the same spots, and Shindou grinned. Hitoshi has not been able to wipe that expression from his memory.

He’s not even sure where to start, but Hitoshi asks, “Are you… together?”

Kaminari laughs, nervous, surprised, but answers adamantly and immediately, “No! No, no, he’s just some guy.” At the extended, deadpan look he receives, Kaminari admits, “W – well, we’re uh, hooking up I guess. Sometimes.” Obviously. “But we’re not together, no.”

Hitoshi is not exactly relieved, and he sees no other way than to come right out and say, “He seems… dangerous.”

His laugh is weaker this time, and Kaminari insists, “He’s just some guy, honest. Like, don’t even worry about him.”

And that sounds enough to Hitoshi like he’s overstepped, so he cracks open his coffee and stops pressing.

VII

Not that he’d expected it to, but the seventh week does not see the Shindou Situation improving.

Kaminari is late to class again, for the third time now, and flinches terribly when Aizawa catches him at the door.

“Kaminari,” he says sharply, garnering no less than half the class’ attention and shocking the poor boy half to death. Hitoshi can practically see sparks flying off him.

Aizawa seems to notice the reaction, luckily, and after eyeing him up and down, looks away and sighs, “Take your seat.”

Kaminari scampers to Hitoshi, flushed bright red under the eyes of their peers, and drops quickly into his seat. “I’m sorry I’m late,” he mutters. He’s hilariously bundled, hood pulled up over his head with the strings tied under his chin, leaving only an oval of his face exposed. He drops his jacket in a heap on the floor but makes no effort to remove the hood.

“…Cold?” Hitoshi asks, though he already has a good idea of what hides under there.

Kami gives him a long, blank look. “…Yeah.”

For about fifteen minutes, they work independently, and in silence.

“Your hands… are shaking,” Hitoshi murmurs when Kaminari keeps making frustrated noises at his sketchbook.

And Kaminari’s voice is shaking as well when he whispers back, “They hurt.” His sleeve catches on the desk and pulls, revealing chipping yellow polish and a harsh glimpse of bruised skin braceleting his wrist, and Hitoshi cannot bear to see this.

“Come with me, please,” he says, almost sternly. Kaminari immediately scuttles after him, wide eyed and tugging at his sleeves with still shaking fingers. Most of their classmates are polite enough to avert their eyes as Hitoshi marches them out of the room.

Hitoshi nearly steams as they walk, winding deeper into the building’s strange maze, hyper aware of Kaminari trotting along nervously beside him. He’s feeling… all sorts of things. Mad on Kaminari’s behalf, upset that he is so insistently aloof. Mad that his concerns were dismissed, that he was lied to, that this just keeps happening.

Most of all, what he can’t let go of, is still how strange it is to be so… involved. To want so badly to be on the inside, to be trusted. Is this just making a friend? Or is he too attached?

By the time they reach the back (or maybe the right wall?) of the building, Hitoshi has calmed enough to push his own turbulent feelings back down in his chest. Kaminari is still shaking.

Before he can think, Hitoshi reaches out and gently takes Kaminari’s hands in his own, smoothing both thumbs over his knuckles. The smaller boy tries to pull back, tries to shield his damaged wrists, but Hitoshi isn’t going for them, is not interested in forcing Kami into the light. Instead he just holds.

Slowly, the tremors in Kaminari’s hands subside.

For the first time since the rink, Hitoshi whispers, “Denki…” and watches his shoulders tremble. “He’s hurting you.”

Kaminari only lets out a tiny, forced chuckle. “It’s somebody else,” he lies through his teeth. Hitoshi groans, feels his heart splinter. “We’re not like, together. You know I – I get around –“

“Denki, please,” Hitoshi begs. He doubts Kaminari is throwing that back at him on purpose, but it hurts to hear nonetheless. “Please… tell me the truth.”

A door opens and shuts nearby, the chatter wafting toward them causing Kaminari to shudder and shake his head. “Can – can we go – somewhere else,” he hiccups, and Hitoshi is already nodding.

“I can… get your things. Meet me… out front.” With one final squeeze of their hands, they start moving.

Several members of the class openly stare at Hitoshi when he returns to the room alone, only to swiftly collect all of his and Kaminari’s things, shoulder both bags, and approach Aizawa, who watches warily from his desk.

“Yes…?” he drawls when Hitoshi faces him.

“Kaminari is… having an emergency. Would you excuse us… sir?”

This is the first semester Hitoshi is meeting Aizawa, but he gets the feeling they understand one another. The professor considers him, almost bored but with a concerned tilt to his eyebrows, before sighing. “Dismissed… Please email me any campaign progress you have to report before next class.”

“Thank you… Aizawa-sensei.”

When Hitoshi returns to the lobby, he sees Kaminari through the windows, in his favorite patch of weak winter sunlight. It’s nice to see him there peacefully, for a change. Hitoshi tries not to intrude as he approaches, and sets Kaminari’s bag down a few meters away. It works; his head turns slowly.

“Are you comfortable… with my dorm?” Hitoshi asks. It’s closer, and almost surely empty. Kaminari nods.

It’s a short walk, and Kaminari is quieter than he usually is, though not silent; the trip is sprinkled with, “Did you get my sketchbook?” (“Yes.”) “Was Aizawa mad?” (“No.”) “Do you have coffee at your place?” (“Of course.”) and a dozen little hums and huffs and similar sounds that mean Kaminari is thinking very hard about something.

Hopefully trying to lay out an explanation, Hitoshi prays as he unlocks his door.

The room is blessedly empty, as usual, Midorya’s side eclectic but tidy, as always. Hitoshi clears dirty clothes off his own bed and pulls the puffy duvet up, knocks some empty cups into the trash, kicks all his shoes into one pile.

“…Sorry.” At least his drawers aren’t spilling open today, nor did he leave food out, but Kaminari just makes himself comfortable on the bed, unperturbed. His desk chair is piled with discarded lab safety equipment, so Hitoshi takes his favorite place in the corner, against his pillows. He and Kami are shoulder to shoulder.

They’re silent for some time, until Hitoshi finds himself speaking first. He reaches out tremulously for Kaminari’s hand and murmurs, “Will you… show me?”

And very slowly, he does.

Both of Kami’s wrists are dark, too thin and circled with the evidence of a crushing grip, and he sighs when Hitoshi touches his cool fingers to the overheated skin. Kaminari can’t seem to think of anything to say.

He moves on to the hood when their skin has reached equilibrium, and maybe Hitoshi is too out of touch with these things, but he’s completely unprepared for the bruising beneath.

He’d expected hickies. An acceptable form of bruising, at least by most people’s standards in limited capacity, it was all he’d ever seen until now. Now, the rainbows on Kaminari’s skin paint the perfect shape of a hand, large and secure and dominating in its intensity. The colors span from yellow to purple, and they coat every inch, highlighting every point of pressure on such a small neck. Beneath it, closer to his neckline, are the scattered hickies Hitoshi was expecting.

When Kaminari sees him eyeing them he says softly, “They’re mostly… lower. Or, um, on my legs.” Hitoshi hadn’t expected that either.

Kaminari’s throat bobs under the discoloration. This must be why his voice is so raw, and the thought makes him sick. To cover he croaks, “Can I… get you anything?”

“Coffee,” Kaminari breathes.

Hitoshi scrambles for the cans under his bed.

Seeing Kaminari press his briefly to his forehead and then to each wrist (even though it’s only room temperature), Hitoshi hesitantly reaches out with his own can, carefully touching it to Kaminari’s neck when he tilts his head just a bit to expose it. “Feels good,” he sighs after a few moments. Hitoshi doesn’t dare move. Instead Kami twists about like a cat, moving his own skin against the cold metal as he pleases. Hitoshi finally retreats when Kaminari leans away to crack his drink open, and follows suit.

They drink in silence, until Kaminari’s hands have fallen completely inert, and his eyes look more alert. “Um, Shindou’s a senior,” he starts without preamble. “Last year when I was a freshman, he was my RA.” Hitoshi’s about to be concerned, but Kami plows on. “We didn’t do anything then, y’know, cuz there’s rules against that, we just hung out a lot. He seemed… nice. I thought I… knew him.” Kami’s fingers trace some labeling on his can, slowly, precisely. He whispers, “I thought we were friends.”

With everything he learns about Shindou, Hitoshi hates him even more.

“But, we didn’t start hooking up til this year. Um, last semester.” He shrugs. “It was fun at first. Fine.” So Hitoshi always hears. “But he’s… something’s changed recently. Well, a few months, maybe. This semester. I just brushed it off at first, I thought maybe he was stressed about classes or something, and we weren’t even dating either so it felt silly to get upset. I kinda tried to give him space but he still… wanted me around.”

Hitoshi thinks of what he saw that day outside the ad building, how Shindou paid him absolutely no mind until he tried to leave, and was yanked back in. Thinks of what he’s seen from inside the ad building: fighting, but Shindou still possessively holding onto the smaller boy.

“He’s not interested in me anymore,” Kaminari whimpers. “Not unless… we’re having sex. And it’s scary now. It’s not… fun. Like before.” He gently touches his wrists, then looks at Hitoshi with wide, frightened eyes. “And he keeps saying – saying he does want to date me, and we’ll be good like we used to be, but I don’t – that doesn’t make any sense, and I’m scared, Hitoshi, I don’t know what to do!” He’s breathing faster and faster, clutching at Hitoshi’s hands, and he’s suddenly thinking, Maybe all that caffeine wasn’t the best idea.

“Denki… calm down. Breathe,” Hitoshi implores, and though he doesn’t respond to anything just spoken, he stores it away, received.

Kaminari nods frantically, doing his best, his fingers trembling in Hitoshi’s hands. Then slowly, Kami raises one to Hitoshi’s chest, and it’s warm even through his hoodie. Hitoshi realizes he’s feeling for his breath, so he takes a deep one, then releases it, then repeats, until it seems like Kaminari is doing the same.

“If it’s… gotten bad… I think… you should end it,” Hitoshi offers.

Unfortunately, Kaminari flinches like he’s heard bad news. “I can try… but I don’t know if he’ll listen, to be honest.” Red flag!! Hitoshi’s brain screams. “I mean he knows – he knows where I live, and where all my classes are…” Red Fucking Flag. “And whenever he tries to – to ask me out – or try to like, demand we go out – I keep telling him no but he keeps asking and touching me and I’m scared one day I’ll say yes!”

“Denki… it’s okay,” Hitoshi soothes. It seems very far from okay, but freaking out won’t help them solve it, though sometimes… letting it all out is the best thing you can do. “But if you… just need to cry… I’m here.”

That does it.

Like wrapping paper in the hands of an excited child, Kaminari’s face pinches and crumples, tears cascading as though they’d just been waiting for the word. Hitoshi catches the smaller boy as he pitches forward, and wonders if he expresses anything without permission.

While Kami cries, Hitoshi thinks of frogs in boiling water, how one dropped directly in will hop immediately out, but one starting in cool water will sit in a slowly boiling pot until it cooks. Or, if it’s lucky, notices in time to escape.

It takes almost half an hour for Kaminari to cry himself into a shuddering, whimpering ball half in Hitoshi’s lap. He looks exhausted, and it’s so easy for Hitoshi to coax him into stretching out in the bed and heft the duvet over him. “Get some rest… Denki,” he says softly. The blond is already half gone, so Hitoshi reaches out and carefully touches his head, petting his hair after a few awkward pats. “Sweet dreams.”

While Kami sleeps, Hitoshi cleans his room. He has more productive things he could be doing (dreaded physics homework), but it’s like he got a free afternoon here, having left class less than halfway through. All his lab coats and goggles go on the hooks behind the door, leaving his desk chair free. All of his shoes get lined up either on the nice little rack Midoriya bought them or under his bed. He folds what’s left of the clean laundry in his basket so he can refill it with what’s dirty, which then leads to refolding everything in his wardrobe to make it all fit right. When Kami starts letting out little snores, Hitoshi goes for the deep cleaning supplies.

Two hours after he fell asleep, Kaminari awakens in what could be considered a different room. He blinks with bleary, puffy eyes at Hitoshi from among his nest, hair a dandelion halo against lavender purple pillows.

“Good… evening.”

“Hey,” Kami croaks.

Silence, as he replaces the cleaning supplies in their little bathroom.

“So… you’re a sophomore,” Hitoshi asks when he returns, or more like states. Since when do I start so many conversations?

“Yeah. You?”

“I’m… a junior.”

Kaminari huffs into his pillow, “Better than a senior.”

Hitoshi just hums. He did think Kaminari and his friends seemed a little younger than himself, the spark of youth in their eyes one year brighter. You’ve been through some shit by your third year of college, as Kami is finding out. That being so, Hitoshi can only imagine the even greater gap between someone his age and a freshman, fresh from their parent’s home and excited for their new adventure; he can not imagine grabbing that naivety and twisting it to his own will, as Shindou had done to the blond now sitting up and rubbing his eyes.

“What time is it?” he grumbles.

“Four… four thirty,” Hitoshi estimates by the light slipping from the room. “Do you have… somewhere to be?” Normally Kaminari leaves after their free period, but Hitoshi doesn’t know whether he has evening classes or some other engagement. Hitoshi himself is done for the day.

“Well I…” Kaminari looks nervous again, rubbing his neck as an excuse to cover some of it. “Usually Shindou is out of class by now, so I go back to his place… He’s gonna be – he might be looking for me soon.”

Hitoshi frowns. “You seem like you’d… rather not be found.”

Instead of answering, Kaminari’s eyes slide over the clean room, lingering on Midoriya’s excessive collection of superhero merch.

Hitoshi makes a decision. “Will you help me… polish these commercial scripts? I’m worried… it’s not dreary enough.”

Kaminari quirks him a small smile, the realest he’s seen all day. “I’m sure that’s not true, but of course I’ll take a look.”

VIII

Hitoshi 12:26
Here

Kami 12:29
okay sorry one min!! hanta lost all my left shoes!!!!

Hitoshi 12:30
O…k

It isn’t until the eighth week that they meet on a Wednesday.

In the middle of every week, rather than the normal class schedule, there are only two three-hour lab blocks in the day; Hitoshi’s morning chemistry lab goes from nine to noon, and Kaminari’s unknown afternoon block runs one to four. They had actually met up once after dinner on a Wednesday, before the midterm crunch, but that was only to exchange some hard copy materials, and Hitoshi had been half asleep.

When Kaminari dashes out of the front of his building, still yelling over his shoulder at Hanta strolling behind him, he’s dressed in a way Hitoshi has never seen.

Paint covers every inch of his clothing, from neon splatters on his outer oversized jacket, to a galaxy swirled on his hoodie beneath, to the curling dragons circling his jeans, to jagged punk scribbles on his (mismatched) converse. Even his beanie has streaks of paint on it, like it’s been used to clean brushes.

“– social experiments on somebody else!” Kami is shouting when he slams into Hitoshi’s chest. “Oh, we ought to stop meeting like this,” he mutters, dazed. Hitoshi silently agrees as he holds him steady. “Sorry I’m late, Hanta’s a sick fuck – why are you looking at me like that?”

“Mmm… you’re dressed like a mural,” Hitoshi concludes. “It’s… kind of unusual.”

The younger boy looks pleased. “Nah dude. Average studio threads only.”

They begin walking in the direction Kaminari leads them, as Hitoshi has no idea where he’s going.

“You have… studio today?”

“Oh yeah! We never hang out on Wednesdays, huh?” Kaminari laughs. He shifts his bag on his shoulders and announces, “This thing is full of paint, and as many brushes as I could cram in without squashing the bristles. I finally got into a painting studio this year, my first since high school! I really missed the medium, but I decided to wear mostly the same thing every class so I don’t destroy my entire wardrobe, uh, like I did in high school.”

“… I see.” He’s absolutely majoring in the art department then, looks like a seasoned pro this far into the semester. Painting is a side to Kaminari he hasn’t seen before. “I’ve only seen… your sketches.” How could he not, when they follow Kaminari like a trail of loyal pets, when anything that enters Kaminari’s hands leaves a few minutes later sporting some new decoration. Every pair of jeans, worn down notebook, old shoe, or disposable cup is adorned with stars or intricate flowers or silly illustrated phrases – right on Kami’s jacket cuff he spies ~ cooking mama is a god~ above a stippled spatula. He does most of it absentmindedly, and Hitoshi has managed to save a few of his favorites before they could be discarded.

They’ve been winding across campus in silence for a bit when Kaminari loops his arm through Hitoshi’s – his new favorite way to travel – and chirps, “Thanks again for walking me, Shinsou! It’s fine to spend all your time thinking about me, but I prefer having you right here,” he winks with a squeeze.

It’s overdone, but Hitoshi knows the sentiment is genuine. “I hate to see… that asshole bothering you,” he grumbles, rubbing at the soft fuzz of his undercut with his free hand.

As predicted, Shindou was not ready to give up what he saw as his. Three days after breaking down in Hitoshi’s dorm, Kaminari had scampered into class right before the bell, teary and grumpy, but admitted to Hitoshi prior to parting for the weekend that he had ‘successfully’ broken up with Shindou. “By successfully…” he’d grumbled after, “I mean I told him I was ending it. Flat out, no more. Like I said though, I don’t know if he’ll, um, listen.”

And listened he had not.

When they met for lunch on Saturday, Hitoshi had spotted Shindou literally circling the dining hall they were in, though he slipped into the crowd whenever Kaminari’s head turned his way. Sunday had been quiet, then Monday was full of paranoid texts, Kami swearing he’d spotted the creep lurking around every corner, and Hitoshi didn’t doubt it. Yesterday before ad class, Hitoshi had spotted him making for Kaminari’s patch of sun, so he hopped the fence from the next door parking lot to reach Kami first, and usher him into the building before any damage could be done.

Today, Kaminari is humming in the watery afternoon sunlight, finally relaxed like he was when they met. Now that Shindou is out of his day to day life, the shadows under his eyes have all but vanished, and there’s a slight bounce in his steps. Bruises still heal under the hood, but he no longer has to tie the strings beneath his chin, (though Hitoshi privately thought it looked pretty funny.)

We’re not out of this yet, Hitoshi remembers as they approach one of the art buildings Hitoshi has rarely paid any mind to. There’s a familiar unfriendly face pouting by the entrance, lurking behind the throngs of students milling about. Hitoshi squeezes the arm in his.

“Oh? Oh,” Kaminari frowns when he realizes. “Umm, okay.” His steps have gone small and stuttering and Hitoshi slows so as not to trip him up, but it buys them no time. Shindou’s head swivels toward them and he pushes off the wall. “Ah, fuck,” Kaminari mutters, “Fuckfuckfuck, okay, I’m sorry for whatever happens.”

“Don’t be sorry,” Hitoshi manages to say surely before Shindou reaches them.

“Kami, baby,” the older boy whines as soon as he’s within range, and Hitoshi tries not to sneer. “Baby, I’ve missed you…”

“Go away please, Yo,” Kaminari smiles through gritted teeth.

He continues like Kaminari hadn’t spoken. “I’m sorry if you were feeling stifled or something, come back baby, let’s do this right. Let me treat you right.” It’s a sick promise, implicating their even sicker past, that he knows it was wrong.

Kami’s eyes close, the smile falling into a troubled frown, and he repeats, “Go away, Yo.”

Hitoshi makes a noise of agreement by mistake, and suddenly all the attention is on him.

“Who is this?” Shindou spits, beady eyes roving over Hitoshi judgmentally, piecing his purple hair and his earrings and his ripped black street clothes into something undesirable. This might be the first time they really meet. Hitoshi wishes he could’ve put it off longer. “You just can’t stand on your own two legs, can you, Kami? Hiring a delinquent bodyguard to chaperone you around? You’re such a kid, still.”

Curling his other hand around Hitoshi’s elbow, Kaminari whimpers, “I’m gonna be late…”

He’s sure there’s still time, but Hitoshi stands up as tall as he can and simply says, “...Excuse us,” before pushing past Shindou, shimmying his arm free from Kaminari’s grip to wrap it more securely around him and pull him along. “You’re all right,” he says under his breath to the smaller shaking boy, “Let’s go… You’re fine.”

They make their way down the main hall until Kami tugs them into a secluded staircase.

“Don’t be sorry,” Hitoshi insists again before Kaminari can speak. He holds his tongue, wide-eyed. “And don’t… listen to him. I want… I want to be here. Remember?” He said the same thing a few weeks ago, on the way to the little snack shop near Kaminari’s dorm, but it feels more… intimate now, tucked away in this corner, still holding Kami near him as he breathes deeply.

He knows he’s managed to read the mood right when Kaminari mumbles, “Hitoshi…” and leans forward to press his paint rag beanie against his chest. It’s the first time Kami’s used his given name since the day he learned it, when he was only using it to tease, and Hitoshi returns the hug without hesitating this time, even if he still feels a little stiffer than intended.

It feels right.

IX

He’ll never admit it, but in the ninth week while Kaminari grows busy with his friends, it leaves Hitoshi feeling… lonely. He hadn’t realized he spent basically every day with Kaminari until the Monday after running into Shindou, when Hitoshi wakes up to a few texts from his partner.

Kami 6:53am
good mornin sleepy !!

Kami 6:55am
it hit negative ass degrees last night, me n the boys (hanta mina) r gonna catch a bus back home n skate on some sweet nostalgia ice, so i’m not gonna b around mosta today :((

Kami 6:56am
try not to miss me too much hitoshi-kun ;)) but.. i’ll miss u 👉🏻👈🏻

Hitoshi grunts, and scrubs both hands over his face, then gets up to shower.

Hitoshi hadn’t realized he’d never been to this coffee shop without Kaminari until the door makes its unique hinge squeaking sound of the morning, and Kami doesn’t let out a deranged imitation in return. He hesitates awkwardly in the doorway before approaching the counter.

“Good morning,” the barista starts with her back half turned, stifling a yawn, “The usual –? Oh.” She turns all the way around. “Your boyfriend isn’t here. Just the black coffee, then?”

Hitoshi feels his face heat up, but nods without saying a word, afraid his voice will do something embarrassing – or worse – that the words won’t come at all, and he’ll stand there gaping like a fish. Instead he quickly tilts his head down and jams his card in the reader.

He fiddles with his receipt at the other end of the counter, dazed by the assumption. Maybe it’s not that weird… to other people, he thinks distantly. It’s easy to assume… when we come here nearly every day.

The other barista bustles over with several drinks, scans them all and calls out, “Shinsou and – Oh?” His eyes scan the assembled drinks again, then sweep over Hitoshi. “Oh, your boyfriend isn’t with you. Well, here you go, then,” he smiles, holding out the lone cup.

Hitoshi takes it, bows his head, and hurries out of the shop.

By the time his coffee is gone and his first class is over, Hitoshi is feeling less embarrassed about the morning ordeal. People assume friends are couples all the time, it even happened once when he was out getting ice cream with Midoriya. And there’s no reason to be embarrassed about what other people think of him anyway.

It’s not like Kaminari is with me… every single place I go, Hitoshi thinks as he makes his way into the library between classes. He checked out a book Hanta was going on about when he last saw him, but Hitoshi only got through a few paragraphs of dense, toiling sentences before dozing off in a boring!! way, and the book sat on his desk until today, its return by date.

“What can I do for you, dear?” the librarian asks kindly when he approaches.

“Just… a return.” He holds out the book, which she takes and scans.

As she taps a few keys she hums, “Your boyfriend isn’t here, sugar?”

Hitoshi sputters.

She waves him off with a laugh. “Aw, I didn’t mean nothing by it, darling. You’re all set!”

He manages a weak, “Thank you,” and flees the lobby.

By the time Hitoshi makes it to the physics building, he’s tired from skipping lunch, and not in the mood to withstand his tablemate’s usual teasing.

“Another fortunate arrival, Shinsou,” Tokoyami begins cryptically, posted up against the exterior brick and eyeing Hitoshi as though judging how much psychic damage to inflict. “Oh? And where is your –”

“Kaminari is not my boyfriend,” Hitoshi tells him shortly, marching up the front steps and pushing inside.

Tokoyami follows at a less hurried pace, hands in what could be pockets or could be tears in the spacetime continuum. He observes, “But you know whom I speak of.”

“Of course I do,” Hitoshi grumbles. “I know whom I go everywhere with… but we’re not dating.” When he enters the room with Tokoyami, the tail end of their conversation catches the attention of their other tablemate, a nosy and frighteningly honest girl who only owns frog-themed school supplies.

“Whom aren’t you dating?” she asks as soon as they sit down.

“Did you know Shinsou and his boyfriend are not dating?”

Tsuyu folds her hands on the table and states, “Well it sounds like one of them is on the wrong page.”

Tokoyami agrees, “Now we must wait to see who.”

Class passes in a dull haze, Hitoshi’s empty stomach taking up most of his attention. Like has somehow become common, Kaminari takes up the remaining portion. He wonders how the younger boy would react to being mislabeled all day, if it would bring out the nervous or flirty side, if he would lean in or recoil. Kaminari is bold when he wants to be, when he has something to hide, but returned advances always seem to catch him off guard, like he’s used to his affections hitting a wall.

Hitoshi… wants to indulge. He can admit that to himself. Kami is cute and funny, and he likes spending time together, kind of likes to be flirted with, when it’s Kami. When it’s Denki.

Images of what he’s likely up to right now float through Hitoshi’s mind: Kami and Mina holding hands, spinning each other in dizzying circles on the ice, Hanta winding leisurely around them. He wonders how many old friends they’re meeting up with, if they were all skipping class to hang out. Maybe Kami will treat his favorite to hot chocolate.

He’s too busy daydreaming to notice Tsuyu snickering to herself as she catches glimpses of something outside the classroom, so when class is dismissed he’s unprepared to leave the room and immediately receive an armful of none other than Kaminari, warm and compact and jumpy like a puppy on its birthday.

“Surprise!” he giggles into Hitoshi’s chest before pulling away as fast as he came. Hitoshi is too stunned to respond. “I brought you a snacky,” Kaminari continues, unbothered, and Hitoshi’s eyes are drawn to the crinkling paper being pulled from his crossbody bag. Half a panini presses into his hands. “I bet you went to the library and forgot to eat lunch, didn’t you?” Kami asks knowingly, and Hitoshi suddenly remembers the rest of the world when Tokoyami bursts into laughter behind him, even Tsuyu snickering politely.

“Not your boyfriend??” he crows delightedly.

Hitoshi has no words to defend himself. To make matters worse, Kaminari winks at Tokoyami over Hitoshi’s shoulder and begins, “Well, technically we are partners –”

“I want to… eat this outside,” Hitoshi blurts, the first thing his brain can conjure to excuse himself. “See you guys… later. Let’s go, Kaminari.”

He begins marching toward the front door, relieved when hears Kami chirp a friendly, “Nice to meet you!” and his shoes trotting to catch up. “They seem cool,” he says breezily, almost skipping next to Hitoshi out the door.

“Yeah,” he grumbles back as he rips into the sandwich – it looks good, thin slices of colorful veggies and a thick sauce. “How’d you know… I skipped lunch?”

“Well, I saw that boring ass book Hanta loves on your desk last week, and I happened to look at the return date just cuz I wanted to see if Hanta was on the checkout list at all, and I know you’re the type of guy to hold out til the last day, aka today.” Kaminari looks proud of himself, and rightfully so. “And you always forget to eat.”

Hitoshi bumps their arms, and Kami easily loops them together. “Thanks, I… appreciate it.” He takes a bite to keep himself from saying anything else.

X

Despite the ever growing winter chill, all Hitoshi feels during the tenth week is warmth.

Mina and Jirou’s room is a pretty hilarious clash of style, if Hitoshi has ever seen one. Their beds are bunked against the wall in the middle of the room, the rest of their furniture similarly hugging the walls to leave a large open space in the middle, where everyone currently has their finals materials spread about and largely forgotten.

It’s easy to tell which half belongs to who, split in two by a clean white strip of masking tape circling from the floor to one wall to the ceiling and back down the opposite wall, behind their beds and under the rug.

Closer to the door, Mina’s desk and dresser and walls are covered, every inch, in shades of pink: Idol posters, art pieces, makeup, school supplies, discarded clothes, shoes, winter gear, plates of jewelry, keychains, chapstick, even her tissue box. Her bunk is clearly the top, stuffed with puffy pastel blankets and pillows. Hanging from the bottom is a dark blanket, concealing Jirou’s cave bunk beneath.

Further in, Jirou’s tidy half is all deep purple and black, from her jewelry tree, stacked books, and obscure movie posters, to the handmade pottery, leafy plants, and sleeping cat. (Dark Shadow, it had been introduced, to which it rolled over and languidly stretched.)

The shag rug in the center is a compromised shade of lavender purple, holding the room together quite nicely, as well as holding most of Kaminari’s friends, circled up like grade schoolers watching Kami do a practice run through of his campaign presentation. Hanta watches passively from atop Mina’s bunk, head on his arm on the wooden railing, blankets twisted around him. He’s been napping instead of studying, but awoke to help critique his best friend.

Or so Hitoshi thought.

Hitoshi has also forgone the rug to set up at Jirou’s desk with his own work, too tall to hunch uncomfortably on the floor, and besides, he knows this presentation just as well as his own. He’s deeply involved in a lab report when a folded piece of paper drops onto his keyboard. It takes a moment of staring at it blankly before he picks it up.

Denki looks happy, it reads.

Hitoshi stares. Slowly, he lifts his head to the bed above him, sees Hanta’s eyes peering at him from between the slats. When they make eye contact he jabs his finger harshly at the note, as though Hitoshi hasn’t already gotten the message.

“...Yes?” he slowly responds.

Hanta’s finger jabbing switches to the blond in question. Though he’s pretty sure he knows what he’ll see, Hitoshi rotates to look.

Denki stands in front of his laptop, fiercely pointing at the screen as he walks his friends through the process of one of his discarded ideas, something about creating an animal print section to cater to ‘potential furry customers.’ Hitoshi hopes someone will convince him to remove this one from the process book before his final presentation, but right now he’s cackling in delight at the varying levels of horror and exasperation from his friends. And he does look happier. His face and body show clear signs of better sleep and less stress: clear, bright skin, sharp movements, boisterous laughter, a gleam in his yellow eyes… He looks good these days.

“Yeah,” Hitoshi repeats, and only realizes he’s smiling when he hears Hanta snicker.

“So?” he whispers down. “What happened?”

Hmm. He hesitates, completely unsure of what to say, how much to divulge. What does Hanta want him to say? How much does he know? Does he want to hear that Shindou is gone? That he and Denki are going out? Something else entirely?

Hoping his body is blocking the screen from Kaminari, Hitoshi scrolls down a few lines in his report, increases the type size and writes, Do you know Shindou?

He looks up in time to see the gleeful slice of Hanta’s face turn sour before it disappears from view, and takes that as a yes. Hitoshi types a few more lines of his report before another note lands in front of his hands.

was our ra last year. led Denki on like a worm on a string then i’d see him laughin bout it with his friends later. real fucked up stuff. Denki was still hung up on him last I checked, dunno whats happening w/ them lately.

A slow, slow breath leaves Hitoshi’s lungs as he reads. Somehow, Kami has kept even his roommate out of the loop, kept him nearly blind to the manipulation and the bruises and his insanely possessive shadow. He hadn’t been able to hide his own exhaustion, at least, and Hitoshi is relieved he wasn’t the only one to notice something wrong.

For Hanta, still patiently awaiting a response, he types, It’s not entirely my place... He goes on as Hanta’s soft, ‘I understand,’ floats down, But let’s just say… He was still being mistreated. But he took care of it finally. Probably the biggest lie-via-understatement Hitoshi has ever told in his life. Flashes of Shindou still lingering on the edges of Kaminari’s life cross his mind. He adds, Well, mostly.

Hitoshi looks back up as he finishes typing, and Hanta says down to him, “That’s good man, I’m thrilled to see this arc resolve.”

“What arc?” Kaminari cuts in. Hitoshi slams the delete key. “What are you girls gossiping about over there? Naruto?”

“Yeah you know it,” Hanta laughs.

“Which one?”

“OG. The Rock Lee/Gaara fight.”

“What?” Kaminari squawks, more affronted than Hitoshi thinks the situation warrants, “That’s not an arc, it’s just one fight!”

“Dude, it feels like an arc, there’s like three episodes of backstory in the middle of Rock Lee getting fuckin’ bullied.”

Kaminari successfully distracted, Hitoshi clears the last lines of gossip and resumes his report, tuning out the ensuing conversation and, frankly, most of the rest of the evening.

When he resurfaces at last the sun has already set, and Hanta is asleep up in Mina’s bed again. Eijirou and Katsuki are gone, and Kaminari seems to be finishing something up with Mina.

“You just have to decide,” he’s saying as he hands her back a (pink) sketchbook. “But I love your pallets and I think they make you unique!”

“Thanks, Denki.”

“Oh, Hitoshi!” Kami smiles, and Hitoshi startles a bit at the sudden casual use of his given name; Kaminari hardly ever uses it.

“…Yes.”

“I’m gonna get going, wanna walk with me?”

It’s almost a silly thing to ask, since they came here together and Hitoshi certainly isn’t going to stay by himself, but it doesn’t bother him. He nods, closes his laptop slowly, holds out one hand to the approaching cat, and murmurs, “It was nice to meet you.” A soft nose bumps against his palm.

They gather their things and say goodnight to the girls, then head off for Denki’s dorm, only a few floors below. Hitoshi will have to catch a bus to his own dorm, so he only has a few flights of stairs to say what he wants.

“Denki…” he begins, and sees the way he immediately has the younger boy’s attention. “Earlier… I spoke with Sero. He didn’t seem to… know about Shindou.”

Kami slows on the next landing. “Oh…”

“I mean… I pieced it together… in like a month.” He rakes a hand through the hair at the back of his neck – it’s growing out. “You said… this has been going on all year? You live with Hanta. He didn’t… know a thing.”

Kaminari shuffles his feet, hesitating before darting halfway down the next flight and abruptly stopping in the middle. Hitoshi follows. At the next landing Kaminari starts, “I see you a lot more frequently than my friends, you know. Nearly every day. Hanta always spends half his time in Mina’s room, and I – well I used to spend a lot of time at Shindou’s. Me an’ Hanta mostly saw each other in passing.” Kami rubs at his own neck, contemplating. “I guess… I got pretty good at dodging.” Then like a switch flicked, he winks with his whole face at Hitoshi and grins, “You must have been watching me pretty close all this time, huh? Like what you see?”

Hitoshi blinks. Thinks, It’s time to address some things. When they make it to the privacy of Kaminari’s room, he finally admits, “It was only so clear to me… because I watched it happen. What I could see was him… harassing you constantly outside of class. I could see the bruises you’d have… and I mean… Where else…” he shrugs, helpless. “We’re partners.”

Kaminari looks at a loss for words, flushed and stammering. “Shindou lives over there,” is the first full thought he spits out. “In that neighborhood by the art buildings. That’s why he’s always around. You’re the only other person looking for me every day, you know. My two biggest fans.”

Hitoshi wants to say it’s just for ad class, but that’s not true anymore, hasn’t been for a long time. Not on his end, and it doesn’t feel like on Kami’s end either. They’re friends for certain, close friends at that, but Hitoshi doesn’t want their time spent together equated to what he withstood while alone with Shindou.

“Partners… respect each other,” is all Hitoshi finally says. He may be unfamiliar, even afraid, but Hitoshi knows this much for certain, and he takes both of Kami’s hands in his own before he leaves, squeezing them tight and hoping he knows it too.

XI

If the tenth week was warm, the eleventh week is positively cozy.

“Hitooshiii,” Kami whines into his takeout container, “I’m full. If I study any more I’m gonna burst!” He’s been saying it a lot lately – Hitoshi’s given name – and it still chimes on his voice like a bell, warm and fond.

“Those aren’t… connected.”

“They are connected!” A few grains of rice shake free from the container when he slams it on his desk; he doesn’t seem to notice. “I can’t pop while Hanta’s not around, man! Wouldn’t be right!”

“You… what?”

“Well, Hanta’s my best friend,” Kami starts, like this should be obvious (it is) and explain everything (it doesn’t). “But more importantly, if your roommate dies, you get free tuition!”

“Then wouldn’t it… be a good thing?”

Kami gasps, “Hitoshi!” and he can’t help but smile.

“Come on… you were getting the hang of it.” Hitoshi shuffles some of their boxes aside, unburying Kaminari’s textbook and half labeled diagrams, as their owner reluctantly leans in so they’re pressed shoulder to shoulder; they have Kami’s whole (single room) dorm to spread out in, yet their desk chairs are crammed together in the corner. Hitoshi feels tucked away.

“Anatomy,” Kami grumbles reproachfully. Then, unexpectedly, “I'm sure you’re already quite an expert, Hitoshi-kun.” He turns and throws in an easy wink, face just a few centimeters away, then leans away to reach for a pen while Hitoshi sits for a moment, stunned.

Don’t read into it. He clears the tension from his throat before Kami notices, replies innocuously, “I’m in… pre-med. You left off here.” He points unnecessarily to where the cramped labeling stops halfway down the torso. “These are easy.”

“Oh, the abs! Sure, there’s Abigail, Abner, Abdul –”

“The Latin names. That’s from… Animal Crossing,” Hitoshi deadpans.

“If you were in Animal Crossing what personality would you have?” Kami babbles excitedly, “I think ‘cranky.’ And you’d be a cat!” He laughs, mimes little pointy ears and meows.

Keeping Kaminari on track when it doesn’t involve art has been unexpectedly impossible. All afternoon and evening Hitoshi has circled the conversation back around more times than he can count; it seems like Kaminari would rather do literally anything else but science.

Not that Hitoshi doesn’t find a good deal of fun in chasing Kami’s wild train of thought, but if he wants to stay in the art program, his core classes are in dire need of attention.

“They’d make up… a new kind. I’d be… a nerd,” he decides. He taps the diagram as Kami giggles harder. “You’d better study. Nerds don’t like… lazy villagers.”

He snorts once more, “Okay, okay,” and scribbles abdominals. Then thinking better of it, he scratches it out and rewrites, rectus abdominis.

Hitoshi hums in satisfaction. For all his avoidance, Kaminari does have a handle on most of what they cover, it’s the little details that trip him up, as well as the Latin names. He knows plenty of general muscles, but often puts them in a nearby wrong spot, and hardly ever gets the scientific name right. Maybe it’s the western language.

“Are you dyslexic?” Hitoshi blurts.

“ADHD,” Kami hums. He doesn’t look up from squinting at his paper; the question doesn’t seem to surprise him. When he does look up, there’s a devious glint in his eye. He purrs, “I learn best with my hands, Hitoshi-kun. Maybe you could help me?”

He doesn’t look away this time, and there’s nowhere to hide as Hitoshi feels his face pull into something fearful. 

Before he can speak, Kaminari loses the look and chatters, “Gods, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to push.” He scoots his chair away and bows his head. “I appreciate you helping me study, it –”

“Denki… You’re fine.” Deep breath. “Relax. You… surprised me, is all.” Hitoshi shifts nervously, but Kami raises his head, which urges him to admit, “I’m not… very physical… usually.” He starts to look stricken again so Hitoshi professes, “I mean, I like it with you. Holding your hand… and stuff. It’s fine. You’re nice. I… I like it.”

They stare at each other in nervous silence. Hitoshi isn’t so good with words, so he reaches out to prove his point, carefully sliding his fingers between Kaminari’s. Finally, and with no small amount of terror he admits, “I like… you.”

It’s worth it.

Kami beams at him with a never before seen megawatt smile cut ear to ear, sparks practically flying from his hair. Hitoshi has endured every level of flirting, and can confidently say he hears nothing but the truth when Kaminari chirps, “I like you too!” He squeezes Hitoshi’s hand. “But I shouldn’t have pushed. I knew all that stuff, I guess, so I thought it might make you uncomfortable but I did it anyway. I won’t do it again.” He looks up at Hitoshi with determination, solid and sure, and he feels his breath nearly leave him.

So wonderful… he thinks, but can’t find any words.

As usual, it doesn’t bother Kaminari. He lets his hand go with a final squeeze, and turns back to his work. It’s clear however that he hasn’t refocused when he starts, “Y’know… you’re really… different.”

“Hmm?”

Kami starts to fidget. “I used to… Well, I used to always tell Yo if he was on some shit, and like, making me uncomfortable. He’d just… do it again later and laugh about it. Didn’t get me anywhere, so I stopped.”

Red flag, red flag, red flag. He remembers Hanta saying basically the same thing. He swallows. “Partners –”

“Respect each other, I know,” Kami finishes. He flashes Hitoshi another bright grin. “And that’s why I’m stopping.”

In a very small voice, Hitoshi replies, “Cool.”

He has no idea where to go from here, for a moment it’s so quiet Hitoshi can hear all the little rings and charms in his ears clinking, until Kami jabs at some more torso muscles and drawls, “So what’re these? Some obliques?”

“Mm… yes…” Hitoshi mutters around a sudden yawn. Kaminari scribbles, Oblique, Circ de Solique, Upper Oblique. He’s too tired to say anything, suddenly, and realizing he is also full of chinese food, and combined with all the bared emotions it’s making Hitoshi very sleepy.

“Sh – Hitoshi?”

“Mm…?”

Kami pouts, “You’re losin’ your edge, man, I just wrote down a circus and you didn’t say nothin!”

“Mm… sorry,” he mumbles, rubbing what used to be his buzzcut. When Kami stares at him expectantly, he stares back and sighs, “That’s wrong,” and yawns again.

“Wow, man,” Kaminari giggles, and Hitoshi wonders if he’s being so casual on purpose, “You’re pretty sleepy huh. I mean, I get that you’re always sleepy, it’s like your whole thing, but it’s pretty late, y’know.”

Is it? Hitoshi hasn’t thought of the time for… well…

“– Stay over if you want,” Kaminari finishes, catching him off guard despite their earlier promise, and all of Hitoshi’s exhaustion is about to warp into adrenaline until he hastens to add, “I’ll sleep in Hanta’s bed! Don’t worry, no funny business.” Kami smiles again, wide and genuine, and Hitoshi eases. “Dude’s staying at Mina’s again probably. It is late, his usual window of return has come and gone.”

A glance at Kami’s unlocked phone screen tells him it’s after midnight, long after the buses stop running. Walking home is out of the question for time, temperature, and safety reasons, so Hitoshi nods. Kami’s already slept in his bed, if only for a few hours; this will balance them.

The two pack up their materials and throw away (most) of the empty containers, tossing the fuller ones in the mini fridge in Hanta’s closet. They brush their teeth side by side in the big mirror; there’s a cup full of spare toothbrushes from Hanta’s religious seasonal trips to the dentist. Kami makes silly faces at Hitoshi’s blank one until he does one back, pulling every feature so wide it makes Kaminari inhale and choke and spit toothpaste all over the counter while he tries to laugh and keep breathing at the same time.

Hitoshi expects to feel nervous crawling into Kaminari’s bed, but he just feels cozy. The pillows smell like lemon and the sheets have little pokéballs on them, and a few meters away Kami is fluffing Hanta’s big stuffed Totoro and humming to himself.

Just as he closes his eyes, Kami softly pipes up, “You sure you’re comfy?” Hitoshi peeps one eye open to find Kami properly spooning the Totoro, hiding most of his face behind it. He’s about to say something silly and embarrassing about how super cozy his bed is, but Kaminari continues with, “I pinky promise I’m not gonna be weird –”

“Denki.” He opens both eyes. “I trust you.” When the plain words don’t seem to mollify him, Hitoshi releases a breath from his nose and lets his eyes drift closed. “I can handle… a little sleepover.”

That prompts a giggle out of Kaminari, and Hitoshi doesn’t stay awake any longer to hear what he has to say after that.

XII

Just when Hitoshi thinks they’re finally in the clear, the twelfth and final week hits them harder than any before.

Hitoshi has certainly never been a saint, but he’s pretty sure nothing in his twenty years of polite disinterest was enough to warrant the soon-to-be black eye he’s currently clutching, doubled over and swearing in the middle of the hall. Denki is shouting his name, he thinks, though it’s hard to hear through cottony ears. Deaf and blind, Hitoshi reaches for the smell of lemon to his right, only to feel his hand smacked down.

An angry voice slams his ears, “ – Done enough, don’t you think!?” and Hitoshi blinks open his good eye to see a snarl under untamed stygian curls, a thick hand clamped around his partner’s upper arm.

Shindou, his reeling senses supply, then, This is quite an ordeal.

Students from every room in the hallway have paused in their dismissal to gawk at the scene, and rightfully so. If decking one unsuspecting kid in the face wasn’t enough to garner attention, starting to drag off another who immediately began shouting and trying to squirm free did the trick. The girls at the edges of the crowd hold hands and whisper nervously, the boys look like they’re trying to decide which side to join.

“What’s wrong with you?!” is the second solid thing Hitoshi hears, spilling from Denki’s lips as he pummels his free fist ineffectively against Shindou’s hand holding his arm. “Let me go, Shindou!” He looks near tears when he stammers, “You’re really gonna – You would – In front of all these people!?” It hurts Hitoshi to think that’s what Denki is really most afraid of: not the abuse, but witnesses to it.

He tries to stand up straight, to look Denki (best he can) in the eye. “Be strong –”

“BE QUIET!” Shindou bellows, winding up for another punch. He storms forward, dragging Kaminari along behind him as the younger boy squeals and wails and digs his heels into the tiled floor.

Moments before Hitoshi is gifted another shiner, someone steps between them.

He’s taller than Hitoshi expected, but he knows the back of this head better than the front, has seen that thick, rumpled midnight hair covering his desk or sleeping face twice a week for the past twelve weeks.

“Aizawa… sensei…?”

The professor spares him a bored glance over one shoulder, but Hitoshi catches his features hardening frightfully as he turns back to Shindou, who has frozen in his advancement.

Aizawa, out of his seat and walking for the first time Hitoshi has seen all semester, begins to circle languidly around Shindou’s petrified form. “Shindou… Yo,” Aizawa announces in a bored voice. Hitoshi doesn’t stop to wonder how he knows. As Aizawa passes behind the oldest boy, Hitoshi sees his eyes have taken on a deep anger, the shadows contrasting the whites til they glow. “This is the visual communication school’s… top student.” Aizawa deftly smacks the beefy hand off Denki’s arm, then takes Denki’s other hand in his own. “I’ve seen evidence of you… impacting his work.” With the hand he’s holding, Aizawa pulls Denki toward Hitoshi, releasing him as he orbits in front of them both. “If you cause any further harm to our top creative… it will be the last thing you ever do at this school.” He comes to a stop behind Shindou, leaning forward to ask softly in his ear, “Do I make myself clear?”

Hitoshi bundles Denki close to his chest and stumbles a few steps back; Aizawa’s aura is enough to repel the edges of the crowd. Shindou himself looks like he just met god, white as a sheet and still hardly moving. He shakes his head in a quick ‘yes’ but doesn’t move until Aizawa, satisfied with his intimidation, is drifting back toward his classroom. Then he turns and hurries away toward the front of the building without another word or even a glance in their direction; the crowd parts for him like ripping a seam.

Hitoshi doesn’t care to watch him leave. In his arms, Denki is clinging to fistfulls of his jacket, face pressed to his chest, shaking and sniffling in a way that promises tears; Hitoshi has to get him out of here. Luckily, the crowd seems to sense that the good drama has disappeared with Shindou, and the other students quickly lose interest in the two of them, continuing their dismissal and picking up their conversations. There’s an emptied classroom within two meters, Hitoshi pulls them inside and locks the door.

No sooner is it shut behind them than Denki bursts into hiccuping sobs. His fingers pry themselves from the fabric so one hand lands in Hitoshi’s, and he reaches up with the other to touch the swelling around Hitoshi’s eye. If he could speak, he’d be apologizing.

Since Hitoshi is only in pain, not tears, he speaks first. “Listen, Denki… None of this is your fault. I never want to… hear you apologize. Okay?”

Kami looks lost, confused… so trusting. He nods.

“You didn’t cause this. Shindou is responsible… for his own actions. He would've done it… to anyone. Hear me?”

“But he – But you’re – Your eye –“

“Will heal,” Hitoshi assures him. It hurts, yes, and truthfully Hitoshi has no idea how long it will take for the swelling to go down, only that it will likely leave a lot of ugly colors in its wake, but he couldn’t care less about that right now. All that matters is Denki, safe against his chest, safe away from that asshole. “Are you hurt?”

“I – No, Hitoshi –“

“I mean it.”

Denki looks away, and Hitoshi isn’t surprised to hear him quietly admit, “My – My arm.” Then, like he’s just processing, “Aizawa-sensei held my hand!”

Hitoshi chuckles. “Yes.”

“I’m – You’re holding my hand!”

He’s truly amused now. “Is this news?” He and Denki have been sporadically holding hands for weeks now. They’ve basically already confessed, hands clasped over textbooks and takeaway food in Denki’s dorm.

Still, Denki gazes at their joined hands like they’re something to behold, a glow in his eyes despite the ordeal just minutes ago. He lifts those shining eyes to Hitoshi and trills, in a voice like spring rain, “I’m really lucky… to be your partner!”

Warmth spills through his chest.

Hitoshi decides it’s a good feeling.