Chapter Text
People said time was linear. Shinsou scoffed at the thought.
Time was a comforting blanket, a suffocating cloth, a living and breathing fiber interwoven with the threads of lives, hours, and minutes being layered one on top of another until it made a beautiful, messy tapestry. However, Shinsou didn’t consider himself a thread, or even a stitch, crafted with care.
No, Shinsou was a snag, a small yet persistent imperfection in this tapestry of time, no matter how hard it tugged and pulled to close the gap. His eyes glinted with wisdom beyond his years, the edges of his smile flashed a little too sharp, but that’s what happens when you remember everything in this life and the ones before. At this point, his lives tied together to create one long string of memories and emotions, coarse and unyielding to the touch, but his all the same.
In this life, he was the owner of a quaint bookshop and cafe in the middle of Tokyo, a small bit of quiet in the raging storm of everyday life. However, if he closed his eyes and inhaled the scent of old parchment stained with ink and the earthy soil from the potted plants in the windowsill, he was back in the castle, pouring over volumes written in archaic languages as a disciple of the Royal Mage. Young, ambitious, and cunning, he could feel the hopes and dreams of his first life pass through his mind like specs of dust drifting in a patch of sunlight. He had wanted so much more than the hand he was dealt with, and he was determined to get it by any means necessary.
A chime rang through the shop, and Shinsou opened his eyes, squinting against the rush of hot summer air as it blew in with the customer. He raised his hand, a further greeting unnecessary as he took in the disgruntled man before him. A hunched figure with a permanent scowl on his face, Shinsou smiled to himself as he wandered over to where the man had collapsed on a worn sofa, extending an iced coffee with extra cream as a peace offering. The man grunted in thanks, swiping the drink and downing half of it in two gulps.
Few things remained constant for Shinsou besides change, especially when it came to people. Yes, he often saw shadows of the past, friends and enemies alike, but they were different, always changed: A trusted companion turned cashier clerk, the village spinster turned loving grandmother. All achingly similar, yet far too different to put any real weight in them.
However, there were some, a select few, who always seemed to come back, caught up on the snag he had created and refusing to let go. Shouta Aizawa was one of these people. Mentor through and through, he had taught Shinsou the intricacies of the magical arts, the perils of Pro-Heroes, and now, the ins-and-outs of prose and literature.
Known as the harshest critic on campus, Professor Aizawa had the highest drop-rate out of any other teacher at U.A. University and often reduced his students to tears with his merciless grading. When Shinsou had announced that he wanted to double-major in Literature and Psychology, many had protested. His friends had warned him of all-nighters and crushed dreams, while random upperclassmen had sagely advised him to pick another area of study immediately. Shinsou was unperturbed. In fact, he was excited . The second he saw Aizawa’s gloomy face on the local news for the annual U.A. University charity gala, he knew he had to attend as though his life depended on it.
It was rough at first; it always was. No matter the timeline, Aizawa was a master of tough love, and in this current world where frustrations couldn’t be taken out through hexes or quirk training, he was borderline sadistic. Failing grades, harsh words, and bitter coffee greeted Shinsou for his first class with the infamous Professor, but Shinsou did what he did best and persisted. He persisted because he knew that behind the vitriol lay a mentor with a guarded heart too big for one person who would support Shinsou no matter the circumstance, and because he thought that for fleeting moments, Aizawa knew this too.
He had never spoken about his pasts to his mentor, or anyone else, for that matter. Shinsou knew the fine line between being considered a dreamer and being considered for a mental hospital, and he tread it with practiced ease. Despite this, there were times that Aizawa seemed to know a little too much, even repeating familiar phrases and recalling minute details, almost daring Shinsou to ask, daring him to remember.
Now was one of those times. Aizawa was waxing monologues about the shortcomings of his current class, laying particularly hard into a student named Kaminari who refused to acknowledge anything besides manga as “true literature.” Shinsou snickered to himself. Perhaps more things stayed the same than he had previously thought.
“As much as I’m loathe to admit it, he has guts, and a surprisingly solid plan, for someone whose brain is otherwise as developed as a jellyfish,” Aizawa commented. His expression turned sour at the thought of having just praised one of his most idiotic students. Shinsou let him ruminate in his misery, knowing that he would have more to say.
Aizawa sighed, expression clearing as he delivered the final blow. “There’s nothing crueler than letting someone chase their half-baked dreams.” His tired eyes cut to Shinsou, a ghost of a smile fluttering across his lips. “You of all people would know that.”
And suddenly, Shinsou was lying face down in the dirt. A crisp autumn breeze whipped around the clearing, but it did nothing to cool the perspiration which covered his whole body in a thick sheen nor dry the frustrated tears which threatened to fall from his eyes. It was hopeless, he was hopeless. Writhing on the ground, he was tangled up in a capture weapon that had, so far, only served to capture himself - over, and over, and over.
‘Why had I even wanted to be a hero anyway?’ he thought before a tidal wave of guilt washed over him. Of course he knew why, but what if he actually couldn’t become a hero? What if this was the one timeline where he couldn’t meet -
A hand landed on his shoulder. “Get up, I still have twenty minutes before I have to leave for my shift.”
Shinsou remained motionless on the ground. The thought of getting up again just to fall was too much to bear. If that was the case, he might as well stay down here in the dirt, battered and bruised, where he belonged.
Aizawa, the bane of his existence, didn’t let it happen. Hand fisting in his shirt, he hauled Shinsou up like a sack of potatoes, carrying him over to a nearby tree and dropping him in an ungraceful heap at the base.
“What’s gotten into you? Don’t you want to be a hero?” he groused, prodding Shinsou with his shoe.
“Of course I do,” Shinsou snapped. “I’m tired. Can’t a hero be tired for a day?” Tired was an understatement, he was exhausted, exhausted of this endless training, exhausted of being stuck on this endless plateau that just kept going and going and going.
Aizawa squatted down next to him, and Shinsou let out a breath of relief at the apparent respite. However, his happiness was short-lived as Aizawa reached down to grab at the end of the capture weapon. Yanking it rough enough to spin Shinsou around several times, he again ended up face-first in the dirt as he was released from his bindings.
“Listen here,” Aizawa began, voice so low that Shinsou had to strain to catch his words, “I’m not training you out of obligation or pity. I’m here because when I saw you in the sports festival, what I saw was potential. You’re young and ambitious, wanting to change a world that will resist you every step of the way. Someone with those dreams can’t afford to be ‘tired,’ to give up, unless you’ve changed your mind.”
Shinsou was too stunned to speak, unused to his mentor’s praise, hidden as it was. He looked up at Aizawa who now stood, offering him a hand.
“There’s nothing crueler than letting someone chase their half-baked dreams, so get up and prove me wrong.” Reaching out a shaky hand of his own, Shinsou grasped the offer of help. Standing once again, he reached for the capture weapon, and if his watering eyes were from more than the dirt he was covered in, neither man mentioned it.
The ice rattled in Aizawa’s cup as he set it on a knitted coaster beside the couch, reclining like a king on his own personal throne. He turned his head to face Shinsou, expression losing all mirth until only steady determination remained.
“That’s why I think you should apply for the open position at the University. You see things for how they are, like I do. Your mind and experience are unparalleled when you decide to put them to use, if you finally want to, that is.”
As if the heavens agreed, a loud clap of thunder startled Shinsou out of whatever quip he was going to say, now distracted by the soft patter of water droplets falling onto the awning.
“I’ll think about it,” he dismissed. “Rain?”
Aizawa nodded in response. “Oboro cleaned behind his ears today.”
Oboro , the gigantic, fluffy cat who ruined Aizawa’s otherwise flawless dark aesthetic by leaving white hairs all over his pants. While the cat’s grooming habits would never be broadcasted on the weather channel, this explanation made as much sense to Shinsou as if someone gave him an in-depth meteorology lesson.
Superstitions were hard to forget, especially when there was once a time when they weren’t superstitions at all. Therefore, he could hardly blame himself for noticing the little magics and signs left in an otherwise mundane world. Thankfully for him, Aizawa noticed them too, which made conversations like this commonplace between them.
Unable to stop himself, Shinsou cracked open the window, letting the sound of rain and the smell of petrichor mingle with the warm tones of the shop. Aizawa curled up onto the couch, producing a thick anthology of fairy tales and ending all conversation. Days were often spent like this between them; Aizawa setting up camp in Serendipity Bookshop and Shinsou letting him, helping customers when needed and basking in the silent communion between two old souls.
Minutes passed into hours, and still the rain continued, veiling them to the outside and encasing them in a world all their own. It was nearing evening, and Shinsou was debating whether to close the shop early when a slight tinkle of the door chime alerted him to a new customer. He looked up, and his breath caught in his throat. Finally, it was you.
You, in a glittering gown of splendor, standing next to your father in the throne room, beauty shining brighter than the sunlight which poured through the stained glass windows above your head, making Shinsou squint up at you as he pledged his fealty to the kingdom as an apprentice warlock.
You , hovering above his head and grinning with triumph as you apprehended villain after villain, looking like an angel of vengeance as you danced a deadly tango with your best friend, knowing that no one could stand a chance against the both of you.
You, slightly damp from the rain, eyes wide as you took in the cluttered shop with interest and growing even wider as they landed on the lavender-haired man before you.
Shinsou knew without a doubt that he must look like a complete fool as he stared back at you, but he couldn’t help it, he never could. The sight of you after so long felt like the release of a long slow breath after an eternity of tension.
He had been patient, meticulously biding his time until he could once again meet you, because he knew it would happen. You were the other constant, the other thread wound so tightly around Shinsou’s life that he couldn’t escape if he tried, not that he would ever want to. He didn’t know what kept you coming back. You never showed signs of remembrance, unlike Aizawa, although your personality and resemblance remained unchanged. He had gone on a brief stint of mad research after meeting you a second time, desperately trying to understand how you were here and how he could make you stay. Unsurprisingly, there were no books or articles which could advise him on the technicalities of befriending a past lover from your previous life.
At this point, Shinsou merely assumed it was a byproduct of a time when magic was real. Between heavy breaths and stolen kisses in the cool of the night, some ancient oath must have been uttered up to the heavens, leaving the magic to work its blessing, or curse.
Right now, Shinsou considered it a blessing, both that you were once again standing before him and that you didn’t remember the times before. While there might have been solace in knowing he wasn’t bearing the burden of time alone, there were things which he was glad you would never have to remember.
“Welcome to Serendipity Bookshop,” Shinsou said, leaning casually against the counter. “Is there something I can help you with?”
You squirmed under his gaze, obviously caught by surprise.
“I was just trying to get out of the rain.” Wincing, you gave him an apologetic grin as you realized the harshness of your words. “I would love to look around, though! This is a charming shop. I can’t believe I’ve never noticed it on my way home.”
Shinsou smiled, inwardly preening at the knowledge that you enjoyed this cozy little nook he had carved out for himself. Moving over to a set of tall cabinets above the small sink, he reached up, pulling down a black ceramic mug with two cat ears poking above the rim.
“What would you like to drink?” he asked, motioning to the menu.
You took a minute to contemplate the choices before walking in front of the counter yourself, leaning in to give your response like you were telling him a well-kept secret. “I’m awful at picking new things, and everything on this menu looks delicious. Make your favorite, and I’m sure I won’t be disappointed.”
A challenge, to be sure, but one that Shinsou accepted with glee. Thankfully for him, he had years of experience aiding him in creating your perfect drink. In fact, the recipe for this particular concoction was one the two of you had created on a different rainy afternoon a lifetime ago: one medium roast latte with lavender syrup and two extra pumps of vanilla, because he knew you had a sweet tooth.
Gently sliding the steaming mug over the counter, Shinsou watched as you took the first sip. Despite your best efforts, a small sigh of contentment escaped your lips, your eyelashes fluttering as you basked in the sweet-smelling steam wafting into your face and up to the rafters.
“I love it,” you managed to say after taking two more sips. “Which one is it, and how much do I owe you?”
You made to reach into your bag, but Shinsou stopped you with a quick shake of his head. “That one is the Violet Petrichor, and it’s on the house.”
“Are you sure?” you asked, still clutching your bag uncertainty.
“Positive,” Shinsou replied, “although if you insist on giving me something, your name would work quite well.”
You laughed at his attempts at flirting, giving your name with a sparkle in your eye, and Shinsou felt as though he were floating. He had forgotten how much he had missed that laugh.
“Mine’s Shinsou Hitoshi,” he responded, answering your unspoken question.
A moment of silence passed, then two, and then Shinsou began to get anxious. He always faltered here, knowing so much yet nothing at all. Should he speak first, or would you? You had told him in the past that you liked it when he took charge, but is that the case, especially right now? At last, the silence was broken by neither you, nor him, but Aizawa, who slowly stood from the couch, cracking his back before turning to the couple in front of him.
A mystery to the general public, Aizawa was mostly considered a closed book, unable to be read. However, Shinsou had known the man long enough to understand every microexpression he tried to keep hidden, and he knew that the small, upward twitch of his eyebrow meant nothing but pure, unadulterated trouble.
“Well,” Aizawa began, bringing his cup over to Shinsou, “it was good to see you Shinsou. Consider my offer.”
That was fine, good even, and Shinsou thought he was almost off of the hook. Almost . Giving a small nod to you, the Professor pushed the door open, the sound of rain competing with his final words, but they were still easily distinguishable in the quiet bookshop. “I’ll leave you two love birds in peace now.”
A rosy blush bloomed on your cheeks, and Shinsou wondered if he had enough muscle memory left to strangle his mentor on the spot, capture weapon be damned. The door closed with a deafening click , and then it was only the two of you.
Shinsou rubbed the back of his neck, trying to fight off the blush he felt rising to his own cheeks. “Sorry. I would say he was having a bad day today, but I’m pretty sure that’s just every day of his life.”
You waved off his comment, and the tension dissolved. “No worries. That was Professor Aizawa, right?”
Shinsou nodded. The surprise must have shown on his face because you continued, brows furrowed as though you were solving an extremely difficult puzzle. “I thought I recognized him. I took one of his classes as a Freshman, but it’s been a while now.”
That was news. “You went to U.A. University?”
“Yeah, I graduated about three years ago. And you?” you responded, nodding to his right hand where the school signet glinted in the lamplight.
Shinsou held up his hand, counting back the years on his fingers, “Coming up on six years now.”
“We must have just missed each other. What are the odds that we’re meeting now?” Considering you had met him in every life previously, the odds were very good. Shinsou felt lucky at having such a stacked deck in his favor, at least when it came to you, although he was a little bitter about having missed you during his school years. He was a selfish man, and any moment without you in his life when you could have been there was time wasted.
“Guess it was Serendipity,” Shinsou said. He tried to keep the teasing lilt in his voice, it was a rather good pun afterall, but the words came out a bit too earnestly as he stared at you across the counter.
“Lucky me then,” you replied, unaware of his inner struggle. You glanced out the window, frowning at the rain which was still pouring down.
Shinsou followed your gaze. “I don’t think it’s going to stop anytime soon.”
You hummed in agreement, and a brilliant idea struck Shinsou like a lightning bolt. “You said you were headed home, right? I was about to close up shop, so I could walk you there if you’d like me to. I have an umbrella here in case of emergencies, and it’s big enough for two.”
Shinsou sincerely hoped you would like him to walk you home, and he was rewarded with a beaming smile at the idea.
“That’s so nice of you!” You faltered for a second, looking up at him bashfully. “I don’t want to cause you too much trouble though. My apartment is about two blocks East from here. Is that on your way?”
Shinsou, in fact, lived three blocks West from the bookshop, but he would rather die than admit it right now. “Yeah, that’s no problem at all. Give me a couple of minutes to close up, and then we can head out.”
You nodded, asking if he needed any help. Shinsou declined, more than thrilled to simply have you in his presence as he did the chores which had now become second nature to him. Although the idea of being a professor himself did interest him, he was hesitant to leave the shop, especially now that it was the backdrop for your first encounter. He watched you idly skim your fingers across the spines of the books, pausing to greet your favorites like you were catching up with old friends. No, he wouldn’t be giving up Serenity Bookshop any time soon.
Grabbing his keys from a drawer behind the counter, he hovered by the door, preparing himself for the onslaught of rain. “You ready?”
Your head popped out from the romance bookshelves, a sheepish grin on your face. “Yep!”
Walking over to him, you forwent the umbrella handle he had extended to you, instead wrapping your hands around the crook of his arm. “This way we can both stay dry.”
Shinsou supposed your reasoning made logical sense, but that didn’t stop his heart from picking up tempo at your sudden proximity. “Of course.”
Locking the door and turning toward the direction you were pointing, Shinsou took up a leisurely pace, wanting to milk the moment for all it was worth.
“You know,” you said, breaking the silence, “there’s a really good izakaya near my place that has the best yakisoba I’ve ever had. Maybe we could stop by there on our way home? My treat of course, as gratitude for the help and the drink.”
There was a slight stutter in your words, but Shinsou quickly put any worries you had to rest, a wide smile stretching across his face. “I’d love that. It sounds perfect for a day like today.”
And it did, truly. Shinsou couldn’t think of a more perfect way to end his day: You on his arm, laughing and speaking in a way that old friends would instead of newly acquainted strangers, headed to a restaurant where more stories and teasing looks could be exchanged like currency. Of course, this was closer to the truth than you would ever realize, but Shinsou knew, and he relished in it. In this moment, there were no knights and heroes, no villains and kings, just two people walking down a rainy sidewalk with the hovering prospect of something more and all the time in the world.