Chapter Text
Hitoshi couldn’t shake away the wary feeling thats entangled itself in his chest. School classes are already over, and so is training hours with teachers/mentors. Instead of the usual school uniform, the boy is wearing a black and smoky red striped sweater. The colors go nicely with his black cargo-like jeans, they have one extra pouch/pocket on either leg down near his ankles.
A melody of shoes tapping against the ground, and metal doors opening and slamming shut fill up the hallway Hitoshi’s walking down. He’s looking for a very specific teachers lounge. This one would be smaller than most, but just as cozy. Usually he and Aizawa would meet there before their training so they can go over and talk about what will happen during their sparring session while they walk to an arena, or field together. Hitoshi probably shouldn't be allowed in, but he is.
Hitoshi had gotten a message from Aizawa approximately ten minutes prior. It was out of nowhere, and much more professional then usual. The teacher requested Hitoshi’s ‘presence’ at their usual lounge, as he had something serious he wanted to discuss, as well as someone he’d like the student to meet. It was ominous, unlike Aizawa, and it made Hitoshi’s head spin.
What could his teacher possibly want to talk about? It sounds like he might be in trouble, except, he knows he's not, because if that were the case, AIzawa would simply find Hitoshi on his own and deal with it in whatever way he deems fit.
Finally having turned the corner at the end of the hall and made his way to the lounge-room, he stood there for a moment, not yet moving to walk in. He runs a hand through his hair, his eyebrows furrowed in confusion. What is there to discuss? Who’s there for him to meet? Are the two related? Most likely. Is he ready to walk in and find out? Nah, probably not, he tells himself, but he’s going to do it anyway. He opens the door without knocking, and in less than a second, there's two pairs of eyes trained on him.
The room had two couches pushed up against the wall parallel to the door, a single table in front of the first one and a counter to the left with a coffee machine, toaster, and single cabinet. To the right was a landline hanging on the wall, a sheet of paper pinned next to it with multiple numbers written down on it, and a couple other personal notes/comments scribbled on it. The walls were a pale orange, and the floors were of wooden panels. When you walk in, you could also see a small TV perched next to the door. Otherwise, that wall is barren.
Hitoshi closes the door behind him, and takes notice to whom he guesses he’s now meeting. It’s another man, looking close in age with AIzawa himself, in a casual T-shirt and jeans. This man had rather dark skin and wide pigmented blue eyes, a weird white band-aid laid across the bridge of his nose and some of the curliest hair he's ever seen, that’s seemingly made of pale blue clouds. Or maybe the hair gives the illusion of clouds. He’s leant against the armrest of the couch, directly next to Aizawa. The pair are practically shoulder-to-shoulder, he observes.
Hitoshi gives the unfamiliar man a slight bow of his head, one of acknowledgement and greeting alike, and goes to sit on the opposite end of the couch— closer to Aizawa— when his mentor signals to it. The man with clouds for hair copies the polite gesture, bowing his head and closing his eyes while doing so, even if only for a second or two.
Aizawa holds back the urge to roll his eyes at the two. “I appreciate you showing up, Shinsou.”
“Mh,” the boy hums. His eyes flicker between the two adults. What is this?
“I’d like to personally introduce you to Oboro Shirakumo, also known as Pro Hero Loud Cloud. And Oboro, this is Hitoshi Shinsou, a student from class 1-C, and my personal protégé, of sorts.” Shouta waves a hand vaguely between the two of them, however his gaze stays on the student. While acting indifferent to the situation, there is in fact a small trace of a smile on his face. Its barely visible unless you’re really looking for it. Aizawa himself has his hair back in a ponytail— which is a rare occurrence itself— and a sweater and sweatpants on.
“It's a pleasure to meet you,” Oboro doesn't waste any time before speaking. The man's voice is in a slightly higher pitch than Aizawa's- more nasally, but also soft. There are patches of skin on his face— around his eyes, nose, and speckled across his cheeks— and hands where his flesh loses pigment entirely. The sheer contrast is eye-catching. He has his hands clasped together in his lap, trying his absolute best not to come off as overly energetic or obnoxious. This is an important moment.
“Same to you, sir,” Hitoshi responds politely. He doesn’t stare, but has the urge to. He’s seen people with vitiligo, of course, but only in pictures, never in-person before.
“Oh, theres no need for any of that. Just call me Shirakumo.”
The student nods subtly. Aizawa can sense his confusion. Its practically washing off of him in timely, quick waves. “I’d like to get to the point, if you’re done with the formalities,” Shouta peers to Oboro from the corner of his eye. He gets a small, smug nod in response. “Okay then,” he starts, redirecting his gaze back to Shinsou. “Excuse us if at any point you feel like we’ve crossed a line- especially me, as your mentor. You aren't expected to say or do anything you aren't explicitly comfortable with. Is that understood?”
“Yes,” the word is drawn out, like it's a question within itself.
Shouta leans over slightly and picks up a pale yellow file off the coffee table that Shinsou could've sworn was not there merely five seconds prior. He lays it in his own lap, not yet opening it. “You know I don't read student files on the first day or week of classes like it's recommended for most teachers to do.”
It was more of a statement, but Hitoshi felt the need to give a response anyways. “I know. You think they make biased first impressions, and have misinformed comments in them that are given outside of the correct context.”
“You’re correct. That being said, I had not even so much as had a glimpse of your file up until last week,” The teacher continued.
“Mhm. Did- you see something you wanted to talk about?” Shinsou questioned.
“Something of that sort, yes,” Aizawa confirmed. “Now, I don't want you thinking you're in any sort of trouble. You're a good kid. Compared to what I deal with on a daily basis, at least.”
Oboro shot a slightly puzzled look at the other pro hero, as if he was a part of what Shinsou was getting ‘compared to.’ It went ignored.
“I had to fill out a piece of paperwork. It was my professional opinion to the principal that the best course of action is for you to make the switch to 1-A now. There were many blanks to fill in, so I had to look in your file.” He now opens the yellow folder, peering down at the papers that lie within. “You live in a building just on the closest outskirts of Ibaraki.” Shouta looks back at Shinsou, as if waiting for confirmation.
“Yeah, I do.” Hitoshi failed to see the relevance. He lives in a children's ‘group home;’ a fancy way of calling it an orphanage for children without foster families to put them in, and had since he was ten years old, so fucking what? What's the big deal about it? His mind is swimming with a couple questions.
( And- a ‘good kid’? Sure, Aizawa occasionally sings praises towards Hitoshi, but this was putting it outrightly-so. A good kid. Yeah, sure, tell that to the staff of the children's home. Tell it to any of his classmates. A good kid, how funny. He could only hope to achieve that title one day. A simply good kid, and not a manipulator, a villian, a troublemaker, a glutton for punishment.)
A couple too many to even process that his mentor came across the information while writing to their principal about him switching classes. Aizawa thinks he's ready for it, finally. He'll definitely celebrate the fact later on, when he's less preoccupied.
“That's a long way to-and-from school every day.”
“I manage,” Hitoshi's voice was steady and unwavering.
Oboro's hands were quite fiddly. He messed with the hem of his shirt, quietly cracking his knuckles; anything to help him make it through the conversation. He's dying to speak, but he knows it isn't his turn yet.
Closing the file, he lies it back down on the coffee table and, with the same hand, takes one of Oboro's into his, interlocking their fingers in an almost uncharacteristic display of affection. “Shinsou, me and my husband would like to invite you to stay with us. We'd like to foster you. Indefinitely.”
An expression of realization washes over Hitoshi’s face. It looks like bewilderment, before it settles into subtle confusion and surprise.
“You don't have to answer now. We know it's a lot to think about so suddenly,” Oboro says, nonchalant, genuine , “we're more than willing to wait. However much time you need, you have.”
Shouta nods in agreement. “It's up to you, kid.”
Hitoshi suddenly feels as if he's gotten stage fright. Shirakumo is right- it's a lot . It's an astronomical amount to think of.
“It's a cozy house, very nearby. It'd be closer to school; safer. You'd have your own space.”
The boy doesn't know which one of the two is even talking. The talking is canceling out his thoughts, strategically making it impossible for him to focus on either. After a couple more seconds, silence returns and envelops them, and all Hitoshi can think is ‘ why me ?’ He can't fathom the idea of the two pro heros wanting to foster him.
They want to?
It doesn't sound likely.
( It would make one hell of a front page. “Villain UA student manipulated two pro heroes into sheltering him.” God, that's just what everyone would need to take that final step. To call the police, to yell and rave about how they ‘always knew,’ that this was inevitable, somehow, and to try and lock him up. Because he used his quirk, of course. No one would willingly want Hitoshi. He'd have to use his quirk to gain such reactions.)
However, this is also Aizawa sitting in front of him, saying it directly to his face. Aizawa-sensei and his- husband. Wow. That's an entirely different can of worms he didn't think he'd ever have to think about.
Actually, yeah, let's think about it. Shirakumo knows nothing about him! Why'd he want to invite him into his home? Has Aizawa talked about him that much? “Um,” he could only get out a small mutter before comically clearing his throat afterwards. “Yeah, I don’t think.. I could answer now. I'm going to have to think on that,” Hitoshi says slowly. It isn't sarcastic, or anything of the sort. In fact, with too many emotions to let sink in, his voice has gone to a sort of default-monotone pitch.
“That's all we'd ask!” Oboro chirps. He's not even disappointed by the response. He said he was willing to wait, and it's true. Every child deserves to have a home, and people in it who care for them. Call Oboro biased however much you want, but he wants to be a part of that for Shinsou.
“If you don't have any questions or comments, then you're free to leave. I know you kids like to make the most of your free time,” Shouta followed up quickly. Oboro can be as enthusiastic about this as he wants, but he still needs to remind his student that he has an out in this situation if he really needs it. Hitoshi recognizes it.
Strangely, the boy thinks it’s also Aizawa’s way of telling him ‘say the word, and we’ll forget it was brought up in the first place.’
The student clears his throat again, mouth suddenly bone-dry. “Yeah, I’m going to- go, now,” he spits out. He truly doesn’t know what else to say. He needs to go somewhere more private and secluded. He knows he's acting fast, and its probably a bit rude— not saying anything else before leaving despite the two being gracious enough to extend the invitation to invite the boy into their shared home— but that isn't the first thing on his mind.
Without any other warning, he stands up and makes his way to the door. He opens it, but before completely stepping out, peers over his shoulder at the pair one last time. “I’ll text you, Aizawa-sensei,” he says. Then, quieter: “It was nice meeting you. Thank you.”
Merely like that, he’s off. His feet carry him through the building, no one destination in mind. He thinks of walking to Ibaraki, sitting in his room that he shares with two other little kids and pondering about it. Would he like to move in with Aizawa and his husband? He doesn’t have an answer.
The thought of leaving behind the younger kids at the orphanage is harder than anything else to fathom right now. Hitoshi is the oldest at the group home- the oldest of the kids, anyways. There’s obviously adult caretakers and staff there to monitor them. And while it isn’t the worst, it’s also not the best. The kids would be left to fend for themselves. God, he feels guilty even thinking about it. It'd also mean leaving the youngin's with the pre-teen/newly tween bullies.
Hitoshi ends up at Denki’s dorm approximately twenty minutes later. He doesn’t bother knocking, and lets himself in without a second thought. A quick look around confirms that the other boy isn’t even there. He makes a mental note to tell the blonde to start locking his fucking door more, the next time they cross paths.
Hitoshi stumbles over to the small tote bag that lives in the far right corner of the room, filled with as much clothing that he was able to compress into at all times. He swiftly changes out of his sweater and into a band T-shirt, one made of a lighter material that’s naturally more airy.
«. . .»
Denki doesn’t return to his room that night. Hitoshi keeps himself occupied— distracted — with the mini-tv, and his electronics until about midnight. He makes an educated guess, and thinks Denki is most likely having a sleepover with Ojiro, or Sero. Possibly both. Hitoshi doesn’t manage to fall asleep that night until well past 4 in the morning. He simply laid there, in Denki’s bed ( the blonde in question always says it isn’t his, that it’s theirs. Their room, their space; their bed. “You're allowed to take up space and claim this as your own, yanno,” Denki once told him. The two were cuddling in bed after a tiring day. And he guesses his boyfriend said it because even with Denki, Hitoshi can't yet learn how to fully unmask and allow himself such pleasures. He can't yet learn how to accept it: the privilege of simply existing without being resented in some way, shape, or fashion; the idea that he can take and keep without it having some sort of risk. Hitoshi didn't respond, he couldn't possibly have. Since he was a small ten years old, he had been trained to think, and accept, the exact opposite. It was a miracle Denki even put up with him.) with his eyes closed and desperately trying to find a comfortable enough position that’ll allow him to finally pass out.
«. . .»
When Hitoshi awoke the next morning, it was barely 10am. It was now the weekend- Saturday to be specific. His only true free day. On Sundays he might not have any classes, but he has training with Aizawa. On Saturday? Nothing. Absolutely nothing. He has no obligations. He could continue sleeping for the rest of the day if he really wanted to. Half of him did, but the other— more rational— half of Hitoshi knew his body wouldn’t let him.
He rolled from his side, over onto his back. He stared at the ceiling, blinking slowly. He has to do laundry today, it randomly dawns on him. He’s running out of clean shorts and cargo-jeans to wear around campus.
He needs to check in on Renzou at the orphanage, too, to make sure the others have been nice to him recently. And see if Shura, who is one of the caretakers who has 12-hour shifts regularly, is working there today. Hitoshi knows that she worries about him- for whatever reason. The rest of the staff are fairly cautious, at best, towards him.
The topic brings up his conversation with Aizawa-sensei and Shirakumo.
Fuck.
He has to give those two an answer eventually.
So much would change. Aizawa would be more than his mentor. He’d be legally recognized as Hitoshi’s guardian. Same with Shirakumo. Loud Cloud was his hero name, he thinks? He can’t quite remember.
A part of Hitoshi feels the need to prove he can take care of himself, but then again, he's been an orphan since he was ten, no living relatives left. If he doesn't find a foster family now— somewhere to live with four walls and a roof, with a warm three meals a day. Not just some walls and a cot on the ground they call his ‘bed.’ But a real home; not just a hollow, cold house that’s been decorated only on the outside— it's likely he never will. ( Would it be selfish of him to say yes, based on that sole fact? It's a lot, the decision to foster someone. Hitoshi shouldn't be taking the offer for granted. What would Shura think? She says she only wants the best for Hitoshi. And at this point in his life, he can't tell her he disagrees. She'd scold him, and worse. ) He'll eventually age out of the system. He's fourteen and almost there anyways.
Hitoshi purses his lips and sighs. It's a difficult topic to think about.
( For a split second, he comes across a fleeting emotion. It tried digging itself into his chest, but wasn't able to get very far before it scattered. Aizawa, and Shirakumo, they want to foster him, they said. It's as if they care for him. Not in the simple way Aizawa cares for all his other ‘brats’ and ‘problem children.’
No, this is slightly different.
They care about his future, perhaps. They're trying to make things easier for him? But why? Aizawa's obligations as a mentor end the moment their sparring is over. The moment Hitoshi waves his flag; or the moment Aizawa does it for him, and decides that he's done enough for the day and should ‘rest at his house until Monday.’
Surely there are some hidden motives. It's instinctive that his mind makes that conclusion. Aizawa, however, is someone who lays his cards out immediately when it comes to his students. Hitoshi is no different, he's found. But why would his mentor want to foster him? Again- he can take care of himself. He doesn't need to be babied, to be coddled or protected; to be offered the advantages the hypothetical situation would provide. He'd like very much so to not take residents in the building, but the children's home gives him 2 meals a day. If he's been ‘good,’ that is. And he doesn't have trouble getting to school. He never loses any of his textbooks, he never brings them there to begin with. So why ? )
The boy feels a headache coming on as his mind goes in circles, chasing after itself in confusion. It's the definition of Insanity: asking the same questions, or following through with the same actions, yet expecting a different outcome or answer each time.
He sits up and runs his fingers through his hair, working through the tangles quickly. He yawns as he stands up, and opens Denki's nightstand, rummaging through the various trinkets and eventually finding a small bottle of ibuprofen. Opening the bottle, he shakes out three small red pills, popping them into his mouth like candy. He swallows them dry, tossing the bottle back down haphazardly; Hitoshi doesn't even bother closing the drawer again.
Before he can do anything else to hopefully help alleviate the dull ache that resides in the very depths of his skull, the door swings open and a familiar voice rings out.
“Babe!” Denki happily says as he closes the door behind him. There's a grin on his face. He's still in his fuzzy orange pajama clothes, his hair sticking out in all sorts of different directions.
Hitoshi turns his head to look at him. Somehow, he manages to smile. It's small, but real. His eyes are half-lidded with exhaustion. “Hey Denks,” he responds easily. He opens his arms up for the hug he knows he'll be receiving. Not even a second later, Denki is pushing himself into Hitoshi's chest.
They wrap each other up into a warm embrace. Hitoshi closes his eyes and tries simply enjoying his boyfriend's presence.
( Some animals die from loneliness. A rabbit, after bonding with its owner, cannot go even four days without them before the animal starts misbehaving. If it persists, and it feels so woeful it cannot fathom living on, for there isn't a point anymore, then the rabbit will die. It feels abandoned, and the reaper visits it without hesitation. )
“Did you sleep here last night? I thought you told me you'd be away,” his voice was anything but accusatory, more curious than anything.
“Plans changed.”
“Damn. If I had known then I wouldn't have spent the night with Ojiro and Sero! Or- I would have brought you along with me.” The blonde doesn't even pop his head up, his arms still firmly wrapped around Hitoshi. His eyes are closed, body relaxed.
“Don't fret about it.”
“If you say so~!”
Denki leant up and planted a feather-light kiss on his cheek. Hitoshi smiles, and returns the gesture, peppering kisses over Denki's forehead, which gets a giggle out of him. One last time, Hitoshi squeezes his arms around his boyfriend's back before letting go and yawning, covering his mouth with the back of his hand.
“How'd you manage last night without me?” It was a playful question, but with a genuine implication.
“I was fine,” he responds lazily.
Denki hums. “Mhm.” The boy notices the top drawer to their nightstand is left open, and some of Hitoshi's clothing is scattered across the floor. Their TV is left on, but with the volume all the way down. “How long ago did you wake up?”
“I don’t know..” his sentence trails off naturally as he thinks. “Ten minutes ago?”
“Sounds ‘bout right.” Denki walks over to his small closet, opens it, and rummages through the pile of clothing stacked on the ground and against the back wall. He picks through it carefully. After finding a black and red band-tee, he swiftly takes off his pajama shirt and slips on the T-shirt.
Hitoshi takes it upon himself to sit back down on the bed, blinking slowly. His mind slips back onto Shirakumo. He’s a pro hero, so he’s been told. ‘Loud Cloud.’ Hitoshi wonders what the man is like. He seems… not perfectly, but a near-pure-opposite of Aizawa. He knows that the two are married, so he must have tons of patience and compassion. He wouldn’t have married Aizawa if he couldn’t deal with him on his worst of days, and Aizawa wouldn’t have married Shirakumo unless they shared the same morals/ideology. And underneath all the sighing, and yelling, and short-ended sentences, and dozing off during important classes and meetings, Shouta is a very compassionate person.
“What’s on your mind, babe?” Denki takes a seat next to Shinsou, with a new pair of red basketball shorts on as well. He leans his body against his lover’s shoulder, a dopey, sort of love-struck smile on his face as he gazes up.
“Um,” Hitoshi mumbles, “nothin’,” he automatically says. But Denki knows better than to take that for an answer.
“What’s going on up there?” Denki takes a hand and pokes Hitoshi’s forehead lightly.
“I’ve got a dilemma, Denks.”
“What’s the sort of this one?”
“I don’t know, I just..” Hitoshi truly doesn’t know how to say it. He doesn’t know how he’d ever begin explaining the predicament he’s tangled in. “I don't know if I'm ready to talk about it or not.” It's as honest as he can be, and he trusts his boyfriend enough to be honest.
( Trust. Such a strange thing to encounter after the years of mistreatment hes undergone. But, of course, he'll never admit its mistreatment. No matter how bad it gets, there will always be a little part of Hitoshi deep down that tells him he's being dramatic, he should be more grateful, and it could always be worse. Some days, the voice gets louder. So loud that it requires some less than healthy coping for Hitoshi to get on with his day.)
“That's okay!” Denki immediately chirps.
“It's not because it's so troublesome it hurts to think about-” Hitoshi stops mid-sentence, before resuming a couple seconds later, a crease in his brow, “-okay, well, it is, but I don't even know how I feel about this.” He leans his body against Denki's, and they— for a lack of a better term— melt into each other, relaxed and secure-feeling. “There's nothing to talk about yet.”
“Do I need to bring out the feelings chart?” Denki jokes, a grin on his face.
“ No! ” Hitoshi sits up quickly, pointing a finger at the blonde. “You don't ever need to bring it out again. Keep that piece of shit in your closet.”
“Okay, okay!” He put his hands up in surrender.
“It does nothing to help.”
“Noted.”
“The last time I even tried looking at it, I got a migraine and it didn't go away for hours, ” Hitoshi continued.
“Mhm, yeah, you told me about it. A lot. Didn't stop mentioning it, actually, for a whole month.”
“As I should've.” Now, his arms are crossed, but the duo knows that the irritated look on his face is faux, and that this banter means nothing. Hitoshi leans back and falls into the bed, sighing as he does so. “I feel like I need to sleep for.. a couple uninterrupted days.”
Denki let out an amused huff at the cocomment. “Baby, I think that's just called a coma.”
“I could go for a coma right about now,” Hitoshi says, his voice serious.
“Yeahhh, not gonna happen.”
Silence once again envelopes around them; it's natural, and comfortable, the perfect combination. In the meantime, Denki gets on his phone and scrolls through his notifications and recent emails. Hitoshi stares at the ceiling, the same as he did earlier when he first woke up, and took the time to ask himself, what does he personally feel about this situation? Not what the logistics of it are, the benefits and disadvantages, the what ifs and maybes, but the way it makes him feel.
Hitoshi feels surprised. That's an underwhelming way to name it. And uncertain. He reruns the exact conversation in his head, before almost gasping. “Denki?” he asks for the blonde's attention as he sits up, taking his hand and putting it over the screen of his boyfriend's phone.
“ Yes , my love?” It was a bit sarcastic, but mostly genuine, as he had no choice but to tilt the device down and give his full attention to Hitoshi.
Hitoshi doesn't know whether to smile or not. With Denki’s gaze on him the way that it is, he slightly smiles. “Aizawa-sensei sent a letter of recommendation to the principal saying he thinks I'm ready to be put in 1-A.”
Denki was shocked, dropping his phone onto the bed before practically lunging and putting his arms around Hitoshi. “That's amazing!” He squeezes his arms once before pulling his body back only slightly. “We should totally celebrate tonight!” It was clear that he was happy for his boyfriend. Proud of him, even. “Why didn't you mention it sooner?”
“Don't worry about it.”
«. . .»
The rest of their evening and afternoon went smoothly. The two were practically inseparable.
( It's new. A very new development. When Hitoshi is with Denki, he forgets. He forgets that he's the villain boy who got abandoned by his parents. He forgets the way his classmates treat him, and the way he hates himself. He forgets all of it. He forgets who he's supposed to be; who most has already deemed Hitoshi to be. He forgets about all the times people have tried beating it into him— quite literally— that he's lesser, that he is undeserving of going to UA. Hitoshi forgets of the instances where he was sent to bed after a scolding and without dinner at the childrens home, of the hours and hours he's had to spend alone, in the dark. He even forgets of the days his mom or dad would make him wear a goddamn muzzle, one so tight it left permanent scarring, albeit minimal.)
They went out for an early brunch with Ochako and Ojirou; Ochako insisted on calling it a double date. No one objected to the title.
The group sat at their table outside a small diner and gossiped for the majority of their meal. It was a nice time.
The weather was slightly gloomy— a couple select clouds looking quite angry in color— but nothing to worry about. Hitoshi wasn't very close with the other couple, but he could see himself getting used to them.
Ochako was very bubbly and loud- unapologetically herself. Ojirou was a bit more quiet, but only a bit, as he also had his own unique and bold idiosyncrasies to him that were admirable, Hitoshi had to admit.
Denki was a lot closer to the other duo, and that made their conversations stronger. It made it easier for them to all fit together, as if they were just a couple puzzle pieces, rotating themselves and trying to see where they align in perfection with the others.
Ochako and Ojirou seemed welcoming of Hitoshi's presence. They didn't steer away from him, nor did they crowd him at all. It was a surprisingly comfortable in-between.
They were naturally curious about the boy their classmate was dating, after all.
And, while Hitoshi is obviously biased about it, the most important part is that they make Denki happy. So, as in most cases, a friend of Denki is a friend of his own. Even if it may be reluctantly, at times.
«. . .»
After brunch, the 4 went their own ways. Ochako excused herself to go fulfill plans that were made with Tsuyu beforehand, and Ojiro had promised to accompany Togaru out of the city in approximately an hour, and had to go prepare for it. They bid their farewells, and Hitoshi and Denki found themselves aimlessly walking around the UA campus grounds.
Their walk lasted just barely an hour before returning to the blonde's dorm. While faux bantering, the topic of conversation seemed to have gone full-circle.
Hitoshi meanders slowly across the room where Denki is looking at himself in the mirror of the vanity Mina gave him, as she got one she preferred better but didn't want to carelessly toss the old one out. Hitoshi wrapped his arms gently around Denki's sides, pressing his chest to his lover’s back.
“I've had a good time with you today.” While not always being outwardly affectionate, Hitoshi tries his best to make sure Denki gets the attention he deserves, and the attention he does want to give to him, even if he's not always able to. He places a chaste kiss on Denki’s cheek.
The other boy simply grins, leaning back into Hitoshi's grip and accepting the embrace immediately. His heart swelled as he stared at their reflections in the mirror, trying to etch this moment into his brain for him to store away in the deepest crevices of his mind; probably in a fragile little cardboard-box with stickers overlapping each other on it, and the bold words ‘KEEPSAKES, PROTECT AT ALL COSTS ’ scribbled on the top. He memorizes all the little details; the way the ends of Hitoshi’s lips are lifting up and forming the start of a smile ( It’s beyond Denki how anyone could ever call the expression creepy, or unsettling, like he’s learned many have before ), the way their bodies fit and slot together perfectly in place— akin to magnets when met together on a fridge or foot-locker— the way that even when his grip is so tight, and firm, Hitoshi is so very gentle with his boyfriend.
It's a perfect moment.
This is as close to heaven as he can get while still alive, for this would be his perfect eternity. Held by the one he cherishes most, a phantom tingling-sensation left where his face was kissed mere seconds ago.
“Good. You deserve it,” Denki eventually manages to say. His voice is slightly breathy, though he'd never admit to it, nor the way he's most certainly blushing. They're making eye-contact through the mirror. “I said we should celebrate. This is just the beginning of it.” Denki now sounds slightly smug, and it makes Hitoshi snort quietly.
“And what is that supposed to mean?”
“It means that we'll have to sneak back in after curfew tonight.” A toothy smirk washes over his face in an instant. “There's this really cool restaurant that serves Korean cuisine that I've been meaning to mention. And a spot I found while looking for a new smoke-sesh place. It's a meadow, sort of? Lots of flowers and open space. It'd be perfect for star-gazing. Might even be some insects you can do your odd little observation things with.”
“Well, you just think of everything, don't you? How could I say no to a face like that?” Hitoshi brings up a hand to gently cradle Denki’s jaw.
“You don't.”
“Touché.”