Work Text:
Hitoshi has spent a majority of his life just figuring out the right things to say. Of course, this doesn't stop him from running his mouth to rile people up.
Since he first developed his quirk, he's known the importance of words. The importance of timing, and how the failure to say the right thing at the right time could make the most carefully laid ideas topple like a house of cards.
He understood the importance of what you said and how you said it. How one incorrect tone could turn a conversation into a dead end, could erupt whispers and gossips like flowers around his feet. How poking at the right places could create an opening, a way to get a reaction when he needed one.
Hitoshi's power was his voice, being able to invoke a reaction in others. And to be shamed for it, told it wasn't a viable hero's quirk…sucked.
So Hitoshi, from age five and a half (a mild late bloomer in gaining his quirk) to middle school was so incredibly conscious of his words. There was a time he tried to be quiet and polite, and soon enough he learned that no matter how he acted, people would still look at him the same way. The same words, now tamed and sanded down, would still fall on deaf ears.
So instead of being soft, Hitoshi learned to be smart. Words are a tool, and Hitoshi's tongue is a whetstone. For a while he kept his mouth shut and simply studied others, understanding how they acted, what fragile foundations their nerves rested on. Not always for malicious reasons, but just…for his sake. When he needed it.
People keep their distance, and he's used to that. They don't ask him to keep talking, they take what little they want from him and go on their way. Hitoshi's used to the disuse of his voice, the rust practically feels like home. And yet…
There was one person who made him want to talk so much his voice would get sore. Who would listen and laugh and make him laugh, and it was nothing like anything he's had before.
Hitoshi was sitting at his desk, and about five minutes ago, he was studying for an exam that was happening in about nine hours. Now, however, he was engaging in an exercise of pure, stupid indulgence.
You made me lose control the first time I met you,
he writes.
I hated it so much.
He turns to a new page as he continues to write, ignores the scribbled math equations in the corners.
The moment you threw me out of bounds, I wanted to be you.
His eyes dart to his clock. He needs to be studying, and it would be the worst kind of irony if he got this far only to fail his exams because he can't stop thinking about—
The next time we fought, I wanted you to witness how much I'd changed. I wanted you to see that I hadn't given up. That I was still trying, even if I failed. And if I succeeded…I wanted you to see me.
He was stuck. These thoughts have been circling his head for the past hour, and the sooner he get them out, the sooner he could focus .
…Nowadays, I feel my control slipping when I'm around you more and more. I'm trying not to be scared, but I trust you…
I'm writing this because I can't help what my heart longs for.
A cramp shoots through his hand and Hitoshi drops his pen. Grimacing, he tries to soothe the throbbing pain by rubbing circles into his hand. He'd gone through about a page and a half, and that one half of non-writing were the practice equations he was attempting before all of this.
Dear Midoriya, it starts, and the rest is an utter word vomit of venting about feelings and fighting and Hitoshi's fucked up self doubt, and most importantly a—a—
Hitoshi squeezes his eyes shut and pinches the bridge of his nose.
He wrote a confession letter. Still with his eyes closed, he closes his notebook and leans back in his chair. He pulls his legs up and against his chest, suddenly tired, but a lot lighter than before.
Midoriya's become an unexpected constant in Hitoshi's life, ever since Hitoshi was approved to transfer to the hero course next year. He kept popping up like a dandelion in concrete no matter how much weed killer was poured on him (re: Hitoshi's extreme reluctance to become friends).
Casual greetings in the hallways become side exchanges during training sessions. Those conversations became study sessions which became text conversations at 3am. It became inside jokes, movie suggestions, and many meme pictures sent without context. It had happened so fast, Hitoshi couldn't believe it.
Midoriya engaged him fully, asking questions and follow ups and so, so many thoughts. He asks about school, sure, but also about movies and music and food and Hitoshi's opinions on video games. Sometimes he writes down Hitoshi's answer if they're quirk related, or says something like "That's fascinating" before launching into some mumbling fervor that Hitoshi can only catch half of. He listens so intently when he can goad Hitoshi to talk.
And he remembers things, like Hitoshi's favorite type of food, or a song he was listening to, or how Hitoshi's legs were still sore from training yesterday, so let's go easy on our morning jog today, okay? He brings it up casually, like it's nothing, but Hitoshi is touched that he listens. That Midoriya comes back again and again to engage. Hitoshi is no longer avoided and feared like he used to be, sure, but there is a difference between being present and being heard .
Hitoshi could feel the threads weaving together, a foundation of something falling to place underneath his head, like a pillow he could rest on. It's weird, this stability. The expectation to see someone, again and again, and to look forward to it. To want more .
Hitoshi bites the tip of his thumb, staring at the paper. More what? More time together? Yes, he could expect that if he gets placed in the same class as Midoriya, but there's something that sits in Hitoshi's stomach, and even higher in his chest, that says more more more.
All these feelings have been buzzing around Hitoshi's head and maybe it's a coping mechanism, a escape tactic for finals or nerves that his transfer is finally happening in a couple of weeks, but he cannot focus like this when half the time his thoughts are drifting to thinking about Midoriya's stupid face and hands and mouth—
He slams his head on the desk because he's tired and sleep-deprived from studying and no other reason, thank you. He lifts his head and a couple pages lift with it. How pathetic.
When he peels it off, he spends the next minute just carefully tearing the forsaken pages he wrote out of his notebook. Lamenting the math notes that were sacrificed in the name of his pining, Hitoshi stares at his work.
Not a love letter. Not a confession. Just an exercise in venting his feelings, in expelling them out of his systems so he can focus. If he was smart he would have written this in the journal he keeps under his pillow, but approaching his bed was too tempting at this hour.
He folds the papers in half—and then again, repeatedly, like he could make it disappear by folding it enough times—until he has a very thick wad of paper, only as big as half of his palm.
He pinches it between two fingers and holds it up. Like this, it looked so insignificant. Like those class notes they used to pass around in middle school. Yet it held everything buzzing around his head, and though there was a storm raging in his chest, it felt a little tamer for now.
He rubs his face, opening the top drawer of his desk to hide it away when a sudden knock startles him.
He leaves the note on his desk as he stands up, looking around. As the knocking persists, Hitoshi carefully approaches towards the source, his balcony.
Was it a branch? No, there were no trees near his balcony. He tries to stay calm. His hackles are a little raised as he pulls the curtain aside.
The moon illuminates just enough for Hitoshi to see the face of all his problems standing on his balcony. A cool night breeze passes into the room when he slides the door open. "Midoriya?"
Midoriya holds a finger to his lips and steps inside his room. Fuck being calm, Hitoshi is about to have a heart attack. "Sorry for the intrusion," he whispers. "Did you get my texts?"
Hitoshi closes the sliding door and walks back to his desk, where his phone was charging. The screen glows to show a multitude of texts from Midoriya. Keywords like "studying" and "death" and "need my notes back" and "which balcony? shinsou respond" pop up. "Oh, shit, sorry. I wasn't checking it. I've just been cramming."
"Yeah, my bad. Uraraka just told me we might be having a pop quiz in English tomorrow and I am incredibly unprepared. And I didn't wanna bother anyone who I knew was sleeping."
"So you decided to bother me," Hitoshi says.
"Well, I knew you'd be awake."
"So inconsiderate," he says instinctively, and his heart does not do a little flip when Midoriya sticks his tongue out. "Wait, does that mean I have a pop quiz too?"
A math exam followed by an English pop quiz? UA was the
worst
.
Midoriya shrugs. He's swathed in an oversized hoodie decked in garish yellow and blue and red. Wonder who it was inspired by. "I mean, probably, but you're better at memorization than me, so you'll be fine." Midoriya looks over at his desk, moving towards it. "Is that it there? I'll just grab it and be out of your hair."
Hitoshi is about to answer, but then he remembers what he was doing right before Midoriya came in.
He spins around on his feet. "Yeah! Your notebook, it's right—" He reaches for it and knocks over a stack of notebooks, scattering papers to the floor. "Crap! Uh—"
He kneels down, quickly closing the drawer before sifting through the fallen books. Finally, he finds Midoriya's notebook, recognizing the thickness. Midoriya was always adding in post-its and extra papers there.
He stands up, tucking some loose pages back in as he turns around. He almost bumps into Midoriya—when did he get so close? There's about a second of awkward eye contact at this proximity before Midoriya takes a step back.
Midoriya smiles, probably bewildered at how messy Hitoshi's desk and room and life was. "Ah, thanks Shinsou!"
"Anytime," he replies, running a hand through his hair. He tries to ignore how his stomach is doing gymnastics right now because he's too tired from studying and feelings and Midoriya. "Yep. Next time just hop two stories onto my balcony whenever you need something."
"You don't really sound like you mean it."
"Cause I don't. Try it again and see what happens."
Midoriya giggles, sounding a little tired with how raspy his voice is. "Right, well, I guess I should use the front door then?"
When Hitoshi returns from escorting Midoriya out of the general studies dorm (being extra careful to be quiet—he knows he's not the only one up late), he takes one look at the books on his floor and promptly walks over them and falls into bed. He stares up at the ceiling.
Midoriya was just here. He thinks about the letter in his drawer, and the words that are burning in his throat. He throws his arm over his face.
Right. Back to studying, then.
Hitoshi collapses onto the locker room bench and sighs. After a whole day of exams and the dread pop quiz from Present Mic, letting his steam out with training felt like a dream.
Originally, Aizawa had banned him from joining the hero courses training this week, citing that Hitoshi no longer had more to prove (false) and that his current studies took up more precedence than the torture—sorry, trainings that he would officially be a part of next year (unfortunately true).
However, Hitoshi has never let anything like authority stop him, and there was nothing more he wanted today than just to move, chase, and shut his brain off. So when he showed up to their training already dressed, mask and capture cloth ready, Aizawa had only sighed while some of the hero students had cheered.
Midoriya, though, was not part of that group. Hitoshi was concerned at the wide-eyed expression Midoriya had when he showed up, but then Midoriya ducked his head and avoided his gaze and Aizawa began explaining the training again, and Hitoshi pushed it to the back of his mind for now.
He's unwinding his capture cloth when Midoriya walks in, still mumbling quite intensely about today's exercises. When their eyes meet, that intense concentration breaks. Instantly, Midoriya looks away, hurrying to another corner of the room. He almost runs into Shoji, spouting off apologies next. Hitoshi takes off his mask, frowning.
Midoriya's been acting weird all day. Hitoshi only saw him a couple times after last night.
Once was during lunch, when they had locked eyes across the cafeteria as Midoriya was taking his tray up. Hitoshi had waved, per usual.
Midoriya had stared at him, then ran into a trashcan and apologized to it before running away. Hitoshi's classmates asked if that kid was alright. He didn't have an answer for them, but there was a sneaking suspicion that Hitoshi had done something. What he did, absolutely no clue.
The other time was in the hallway outside of the support labs, right before the training. He had hurried to pick up his mask since he sent it in for some 'upgrades' (aka, letting Hatsume do whatever she wanted with it) and was stepping out the door when he ran into Midoriya.
"Shinsou!" Midoriya had exclaimed, his voice sounding squeaky. "Oh—uh—I wasn't expe—"
Unfortunately, through the closing door behind him, he could hear Hatsume say, "Uh oh. Detonation in three two—"
And so acting on instinct, he grabbed Midoriya and shoved them both of the way. They ended up stumbling to the side as the door literally blew off its hinges, hitting the wall across the way.
"Are you okay?" he said, his arm wrapped around Midoriya's waist. The shorter boy had stumbled when Hitoshi grabbed him, and Hitoshi was looking over him for injuries.
Midoriya was uninjured, if frazzled by the explosion. He stood up and Hitoshi realizes he probably knocked Midoriya a bit off balance.
"I'M FINE!" he yelled too loud, his hand resting on Hitoshi's arm, then jerked away like it was a hot iron. "I'm fine! Why wouldn't I be? Er—thanks for saving me! Wow, that was a loud explosion!"
"Uh, yeah. No clue what she's working on now." Hitoshi unwrapped his arm from around Midoriya's waist as Midoriya practically jumped away from him, which made his stomach twist a bit.
"Right! Well, um—sorry."
"How was the rest of your night? Not too much reading?"
"Oh! You're asking about—Um, it—was fine. Uh—a lot to think about!" Midoriya flapped his hands around, avoiding eye contact. "I'm still thinking about it, you know? I'm not—it was interesting!" There was a long pause.
Hitoshi tilted his head. "Yeah, I guess Present Mic did throw in some tricky questions on that pop quiz today."
MIdoriya's eyebrows knitted in confusion. "I was talking about—"
"Sorry about the explosion! Hey Midoriya, hurry up! I have your upgrades ready." Hatsume's pink head popped out of the smoking doorway as quickly as it had popped in.
Right. Remembering that training was about to start and he still needed to get changed, Hitoshi said, "I should hurry—"
"Wait!" Midoriya's hand darts out and grabs Hitoshi's wrist. "Sorry—Can we talk later?"
There's an urgency in Midoriya's voice that has Hitoshi pause. He stares at where they're touching. "Yeah, of course we can." When he looks at Midoriya's face, Midoriya looks away. The green-haired boy only nodded, letting go of his wrist. Then Hatsume swept him away and Hitoshi hurried back to class.
Hitoshi hadn't thought too much of it then, chalking up the lunch incident in addition to Midoriya's frazzled exam week nerves.
But now—was it something wrong with him ?
Hitoshi finishes changing and heads out. Stepping out of the locker room, he turns the corner and almost runs into someone.
"Sorry," he says instinctively, stepping to the side.
"It's fine!" Midoriya says a little too loudly. Beside him, Uraraka winces, but she smiles brightly at Hitoshi. There's a beat of silence before Uraraka turns to Midoriya and pats his arm.
"Think about what I said! Seriously!"
"Wait—"
She doesn't even wait for Midoriya to finish speaking before she scurries away. "See you guys later!" Hitoshi has the feeling that she's abandoning Midoriya. To what?
Hitoshi looks at Midoriya. There's a nervousness in his eyes, in how he keeps fiddling with his hands and his bag strap. Hitoshi is about to say something when Midoriya suddenly straightens up, plastering a huge grin on his face, like when he's being mock-interviewed bu Midnight and failing under pressure. Then he puts his hands on his hips.
"Shinsou!" His voice booms with confidence, the All Might kind.
Hitoshi can't help but snort. Some of the tension leaves his shoulders. "That's my name, yes."
The confidence waves, though Midoriya still tries to balance it with a smaller smile. His hands drop to his sides. "Is it later yet?"
It takes Hitoshi a second to respond. He searches Midoriya's face, but it doesn't give anything away that he hasn't already picked up. "Yeah. You wanna talk?" Midoriya nods, and Hitoshi tries not to worry. "Okay."
Midoriya leads him behind the school. It's not a place he's familiar with, besides the rumors he hears from his classmates about how it's a go-to place for confessions, which—
He pushes those thoughts out of his head, focusing on the boy walking next to him. He just needs to get through this so he can go hide in his room with the peace of mind that whatever's going on between him and Midoriya is cleared up.
When Midoriya finally stops walking, they're under the branches of a cherry tree some ways away from the school building. The breeze is nice, considering how Hitoshi feels like he's sweating bullets. Midoriya takes a couple steps forward and then turns to face him.
"You're free to leave whenever you feel like it," Midoriya blurts out, looking flabbergasted even as he says it. He has his hands shoved in his pockets.
Hitoshi lets the words hang in the air. "...You brought me all the way out here just to tell me I can leave?"
Midoriya waves his hands around. "Well, I know this is inconvenient, me asking you to come all the way here, but it just felt—appropriate. I didn't want to bring this up around others."
Hitoshi watches as Midoriya rambles, wondering what he's going on about. "Yeah?"
Midoriya nods furiously, and Hitoshi's confusion must have a positive correlation with the speed of Midoriya's words. "Yeah! I mean, you expect a response, right? Unless I wasn't supposed to talk about it at all which doesn't make sense but I don't know I've never done this before so—"
"Midoriya, breathe," Hitoshi cuts in. He puts a hand on Midoriya's shoulder, giving it a squeeze. Stupidly firm. "Whatever you gotta tell me, I'll listen, but just get to the point, okay? I'm kind of lost here."
Midoriya takes a deep breath and does the longest exhale Hitoshi's think he's ever witnessed. Then he offers that wobbly smile, that one that just screams relief and trust. It makes Hitoshi's knees weak. Hitoshi removes his hand, shoving it in his pocket.
"I can't believe how calm you are," Midoriya mutters sheepishly, slipping off one backpack strap. He ducks his head down as he unzips it.
Hitoshi blinks a couple of times. "Why wouldn't I be?" he says, just as Midoriya pulls out some papers. It looks like it's been unfolded a couple of times, and the back of it looks familiar, like a page of trigonometry notes—
Wait.
A thousand pounds of pure, unadulterated terror drops from Hitoshi's stomach down to his shoes.
oh no oh no NO NO NO NO NO NO WAY —
"Uh," Midoriya says, looking up finally to meet Hitoshi's eyes. "So. Uh. Slipping this in my notes was really—uh. It was a surprise."
Hitoshi's brain rewinds the previous night and is horrified when he realizes that no, he doesn't actually remember dropping the note in his drawer like he thought. He had been interrupted by Midoriya on his balcony. Fuuuuuuuuck . "Oh."
His stupid confession letter, unsent, in Midoriya's hands. "Yeah, so, after I read your letter I went back to studying. I read it a couple of times, but after that, yeah. Studying."
He read it. Shinsou's venting about Midoriya and his stupid eyes and his smile! "How did the quiz go?" he asks, feeling lightheaded. "Probably fine. I guess." He rubs his face, his hand traveling to the back of his neck. "Okay," he says, as the control he felt over his day quickly jumps out of his hands and into the dumpster fire of the situation right now. He stares up at the sky, where the early petals of spring float. His hand migrates to cover his mouth, a habit from childhood. "You weren't—"
He cuts himself off. His instincts tell him to run, to say nothing, to try and not mess this up anymore than he has.
"Are you okay?" He hears Midoriya ask after a long, long pause. Then, quietly, "This…isn't a prank, is it?"
For the second time today, Hitoshi's world slides off its axis. He blames the tentativeness in Midoriya's voice, the veiled caution and preemptive hurt that makes his heart shatter. It doesn't sound like Midoriya's mocking him, or trying to give him a way out.
"What?" he says. He can't help the indignant tone, how it clashes against Midoriya's careful, self-preserving words. He drops his hand from his mouth. "It's not—I would never—" He stops himself again, trying to reach for the right thing to say.
He wishes the world could stop. He wishes he had time to collect himself. His throat feels dry and his hands are clenched, but his mouth won't move. He tries to study Midoriya, tries to read from his body language what he wants to hear, but his blood is racing in his ears and he can't handle how Midoriya's looking at him—
"Take your time," Midoriya says, his words like a hand gently rubbing his back, and that pulls Hitoshi back to Earth.
Midoriya is waiting for him. He'd probably wait all day to hear what Hitoshi has to say. Even if what Hitoshi says isn't perfect or practiced or anything worthwhile, Midoriya would hear him out. Midoriya is his friend, and he trusts him.
Right now, Midoriya's holding his letter like it's something precious, like what Hitoshi wrote down matters, and something dangerous blooms in Hitoshi's chest.
Hitoshi takes a deep breath. "I meant what I wrote." It takes all his willpower for his voice not to waver. He squeezes his fists at his side. "You weren't supposed to see it yet, but I meant everything I wrote down. I just couldn't focus and I was so stressed and thinking about you and—Hah," he rubs his face. "I'm talking a lot. Sorry."
"Oh." Midoriya sounds breathless, and Hitoshi's skin crawls because he can't tell if Midoriya is disappointed or—
Hitoshi is
tackled
to the ground. He stares up at the sky before he realizes that Midoriya is on top of him.
"What?" Hitoshi is wide-eyed as Midoriya squeezes his arms around him, burying his face in his chest. Instinctively Hitoshi's arms go over and around Midoriya's back, and he looks down at his friend with worry. "Are you—?"
Midoriya pops his face up, eyes a little teary. "Yes."
Hitoshi feels the dread begin to lift away, and something like hope takes it place. "Y-yes?" He stares at Midoriya, not believing his luck.
"Yes." Midoriya is grinning like the sun bursting out of the cloud. He's beginning to cry, and Hitoshi can only begin to wipe away what he knows are happy tears. The hope in Hitoshi's chest feels like helium, and his heart pounds so hard but Midoriya's words come through clear as day. "I—didn't know if you felt the same way—I've been wanting to tell you—I was hoping. Shinsou. Shinsou. Yes."
Hitoshi hears everything Midoriya means. And having said enough, he brings Midoriya's face up to his and kisses him.