Chapter Text
It was Shinsou’s first Christmas with the Class 2-A family at U.A., and he still couldn’t fully wrap his head around how much things had changed. After years of feeling like an outsider, he’d suddenly found himself surrounded by people who welcomed him without hesitation. It had been disorienting, almost too good to be true.
They didn’t flinch when he spoke, didn’t shy away from his quirk, and never questioned whether he belonged among them. For someone like Shinsou, who had spent so much of his life convincing himself he didn’t deserve more, their acceptance was unsettling in the best and worst ways.
Midoriya, ever the bundle of energy, had been the first to take a deep interest in Shinsou’s quirk. Late-night brainstorming sessions about the effects of brainwashing had turned into research projects about mitigating the headaches and insomnia it caused. For Midoriya, it hadn’t just been idle curiosity. He’d cared, truly cared, and that had been new for Shinsou.
And it wasn’t just Midoriya. Everyone had cared.
Then there was Iida.
Iida had this unshakable ability to make people feel important, like they mattered just by existing. Whether it was the way he gave his full, unwavering attention or the way his words carried weight, Iida made you feel seen. That kind of presence had been intoxicating. Maybe even a little terrifying.
They’d spent hours together, debating hero ethics late at night, poring over textbooks in study sessions, or casually chatting during breaks. Iida was full of little reminders, like telling Shinsou to wear a scarf because “the temperature drops 10 degrees after sundown.” Shinsou had tried his best to ignore it, to bury the feelings stirring inside him. After all, he wasn’t supposed to think about his classmates like that. Especially not Iida.
And yet.
The memory of that Christmas night replayed in his mind like a familiar tune. The crinkled paper from their Secret Santa draw had his heart pounding the moment he saw Iida’s name written on it. He had spent hours fumbling with yarn to knit a scarf. When Iida had unwrapped it in the common room a few weeks after, his smile, wide, genuine, and so effortlessly warm, had stopped Shinsou’s world for a moment.
It had stirred something dangerous, something he’d spent years trying to forget.
A soft nudge from Midoriya startled Shinsou back to the present.
“We’re here,” Midoriya said gently, his voice low as if he could sense the weight of Shinsou’s thoughts.
Blinking, Shinsou rubbed his eyes and glanced out the window. The bar’s neon sign flickered in the chilly winter air, its interior brightly lit and bustling with laughter. Right. Their reunion.
Shinsou sighed. He didn’t even know why he had agreed to come. No, scratch that. He knew exactly why. He hadn’t agreed. Midoriya had ambushed him.
The last time Shinsou had come to one of these gatherings, he’d been a bundle of nerves the entire night. Seeing Iida, suit pressed, polite as ever, but somehow disarmingly casual when he leaned close to laugh at some joke Kaminari had cracked, had been too much. It had only worsened after they’d exchanged a few words, Iida’s tone warm and welcoming, and Shinsou’s heart had started that stupid fluttering thing it always seemed to do around him. He’d sworn off these reunions after that, claiming conflicting schedules and hero work as his excuse.
It wasn’t even entirely a lie. Shinsou spent most of his time on night patrols and missions. They didn’t exactly lend themselves to late-night bar outings, and he liked it that way. It gave him an easy out, a way to keep distance between himself and Iida, the one person he couldn’t seem to stop thinking about, no matter how hard he tried.
But Midoriya was nothing if not persistent.
“I’ve got coffee in the car!” Midoriya had called out the second Shinsou stepped out of his agency building, bleary-eyed and sleep-deprived after two nights spent running on fumes. He had barely registered the green-haired hero leaning against the hood of his car, thermos in hand and that damn determined look on his face.
“You can’t just stalk people, Midoriya,” Shinsou had muttered, glaring as he adjusted his scarf.
“It’s not stalking! It’s intervention!” Midoriya had replied, far too cheerful for someone standing in the freezing cold. “C’mon, Shinsou, you haven’t been to one of these in years. Everyone misses you!”
And that was how Shinsou found himself stuffed into Midoriya’s car, nursing the promised coffee and trying very hard not to think about who else might be waiting for him at the bar.
Now, standing in the parking lot with the cold air biting at his face, he tugged at his thin jacket and braced himself. It wasn’t too late to bail. He could fake a work call, slip away into the night, except he knew Midoriya wouldn’t let him hear the end of it if he tried.
So, with a sigh and a deep breath, Shinsou stepped forward, letting Midoriya lead him inside.
Warmth enveloped them as soon as they stepped inside the bar. The buzz of conversation and clinking glasses made the space feel alive, familiar.
“Deku, Shinsou, over here!” Uraraka waved from a booth tucked in the corner, her grin as bright as ever.
Uraraka was dressed in a white, fluffy turtleneck paired with a light pink pleated skirt, her bare legs exposed to the biting cold. Shinsou cringed inwardly. He still didn’t understand how girls managed to survive in weather like this. The scientist in him, well, the part of him Midoriya’s nerdiness had clearly rubbed off on, half-wanted to find some research papers on the subject.
As he approached the booth, Shinsou quickly took stock of the seating. Uraraka was sitting next to Asui, while on the opposite side, Iida was next to Todoroki. Midoriya, without hesitation, slid into the booth beside Uraraka, leaving Shinsou standing for a brief, awkward moment.
It hit him then, a little too late, he was going to end up next to Iida.
Shinsou tried to play it cool, but when he slid into the booth, his breath caught for just a second. The space between him and Iida was small, almost nonexistent, and he was acutely aware of Iida’s steady presence next to him.
He focused on the conversation at the table, Uraraka teasing Todoroki, Midoriya animatedly recounting his latest mission, but it was a losing battle. His thoughts kept wandering to Iida, to the memory of that Christmas smile that had stayed with him all these years.
Iida turned to him, his deep blue eyes steady and piercing in the dim light of the bar. “Shinsou. How have you been?”
“Eh, all is well, I guess,” Shinsou replied, keeping his tone as casual as he could manage. The flutter of nerves in his chest betrayed him, but he refused to let it show. He fixed his gaze straight ahead at Midoriya and Uraraka, unable to bring himself to meet Iida’s attentive stare. Uraraka seemed to catch his gaze and lit up.
“Oh my god, Shinsou! The trafficking ring bust last month was incredible! I caught a glimpse of the CCTV footage on the news when I got back that night,” she continued, practically bouncing in her seat. “You were amazing out there! Were you hurt at all?!”
“Yeah, that was impressive.” Asui nodded.
It had been a massive case, a children trafficking ring that spanned multiple prefectures, with deep layers of criminal activity that had taken weeks of careful planning to untangle. Shinsou had been brought in specifically for his quirk, working alongside a team of high-profile heroes and the police force. His task had been to simultaneously brainwash multiple targets, controlling their movements just long enough for backup to secure them safely. His quirk wasn’t built for precision in chaotic environments, and maintaining it under those conditions had pushed him to his limit. Even with his quirk in play, it hadn’t been enough.
Shinsou had been forced to engage the villains physically, dodging blows, taking hits, and scrambling to disarm them as quickly as possible. His combat training had kicked in, his body moving on instinct, but the sheer number of enemies had been overwhelming. By the end of the mission, even with his colleagues intercepting much of the chaos, Shinsou had been battered and bruised, exhaustion weighing heavier than any of his injuries.
And then there were the children.
They’d been frightened, huddled together in the back of a locked van when he found them, their tear-streaked faces pale with fear. He could still remember crouching to meet their gazes, his voice low and steady despite the knot of emotion tightening in his throat. “You’re safe now.”
They hadn’t moved at first, too scared to trust him. But after a few moments, one of them, a small boy, no older than seven, had hesitantly taken his hand. The others followed, clinging to him like he was their last lifeline.
The scene had hit far too close to home.
Shinsou had been in their shoes once, cornered, terrified, until Aizawa had pulled him out of a hellish place someone had dared to call a “foster home.” The rescue hadn’t been gentle. Aizawa, acting on an emergency foster license, had done what he had to do to get Shinsou out of there. For years, Shinsou hadn’t understood why. Why anyone would care.
That night in the police van, the memory surged forward, sharp and suffocating. The walls seemed to close in, the air thick with old fears. It would have broken him if he hadn’t already been so physically drained. Even then, he’d only managed to push through by focusing on the next steps, getting the children to safety, ensuring they were in the hands of paramedics and social workers who could give them the care they deserved.
By the time the last child had been accompanied to the hospital, Shinsou was running on fumes, his limbs heavy and unresponsive. He barely made it to the debriefing before collapsing into a chair, too spent to do more than nod as his colleagues patted his shoulder and praised the team’s work.
The next morning, he woke to seven missed calls and eleven concerned text messages from Iida. Somehow, Iida had already managed to hear firsthand about the operation. Shinsou had looked at the notifications for a long while, before moving on to check the other messages.
Aizawa had sent a text, reminding him to come home for their weekly family dinner and adding that Eri was very worried about him. Shinsou had pointedly ignored the message at first but still managed to show up on time, carrying a stuffed rabbit for Eri as an apology gift.
Realizing he had been silent for a bit too long, Shinsou willed himself to think of an answer.
“Yeah, well, a few scrapes here and there.” He shrugged. “Nothing you guys haven’t experienced.”
Midoriya frowned, clearly wanting to protest, but before he could say anything, Iida interrupted.
“I came to the scene. You looked exhausted,” He said, his voice steady but filled with concern. “I was going to check on you, but I got called away, there was a situation half a city away that needed immediate support.”
Shinsou tensed at the words, the memory of that night flashing briefly in his mind, the chaos, the adrenaline, and the way his body had screamed at him to stop long before the mission was over. He opened his mouth to brush it off, to make some half-hearted joke, but Iida wasn’t finished.
“It was serious,” Iida continued, leaning slightly forward, his piercing gaze locking onto Shinsou’s. “Don’t say it like it doesn’t matter, okay?”
Shinsou hesitated, the weight of Iida’s concern settling over him like a protective shield. There was no reprimand in Iida’s voice, no frustration, just genuine care. Somehow, that made it even harder to dismiss.
“I mean it, Shinsou,” Iida pressed, his tone softening but never losing its intensity. “You push yourself too hard, and you are never the one to admit when you need help. But you have to take better care of yourself. We need you to.”
We need you to. The words echoed in Shinsou’s mind, sinking deeper than he wanted to admit. He glanced away, his gaze landing briefly on the others around the table.
Midoriya’s wide, curious eyes flicked between the two of them, barely concealing a grin that threatened to creep onto his face. Beside him, Uraraka was much less subtle, resting her chin on her hand as she watched with barely-contained amusement, a playful glint in her eyes. Even Asui, calm as ever, raised an eyebrow in quiet interest. Todoroki, of course, remained stoic, but his slight glance between Shinsou and Iida betrayed that he was at least paying attention.
Shinsou’s lips twitched into a faint, nervous smile as he sighed, leaning back in his seat. “I’ll be fine,” he said, his voice deliberately casual, though the tightness in his throat betrayed him. “It’s not like I’m the only one who pushes too hard. What about you? You work longer hours than anyone else.”
Iida’s lips quirked into a small, rueful smile, his posture remaining upright. “This isn’t about me,” he said firmly, though there was an undeniable warmth in his tone. “We’re talking about you right now. Don’t deflect.”
Shinsou exhaled sharply, running a hand through his hair. He could feel the others’ eyes on him, their amused expressions adding to his discomfort. Uraraka made a dramatic motion with her hands, pretending to wipe away a tear, and mouthed something that looked suspiciously like, So sweet! Shinsou shot her a look, his brow furrowing, but his attempt to glare was ruined by the warmth spreading across his cheeks.
“Fine. I’ll... try,” he said grudgingly, focusing back on Iida. “No promises, though.”
Iida’s expression softened, the corners of his mouth curving into a small, satisfied smile. “That’s all I ask,” he replied, his tone gentler now.
For a moment, the table fell into a companionable silence, though Shinsou could feel the others watching. Midoriya looked on with the fascination of someone witnessing the start of a hero analysis essay in real time, while Uraraka and Asui exchanged sly, knowing glances. Even Todoroki, in his usual quiet way, seemed faintly amused.
Shinsou sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, muttering, “You’re all so nosy.”
“We’re invested,” Uraraka replied with a laugh. “This is the best part of the night so far!”
Shinsou grumbled under his breath but couldn’t quite shake the warmth spreading in his chest, not just from Iida’s words, but from the quiet camaraderie of the people around him.
The night wore on, the group easing into laughter and stories, their old rhythm falling into place like no time had passed. Even Todoroki cracked a few dry jokes, earning genuine laughter from the table. It felt like U.A. again, if only for a little while.
As the night wound down, Midoriya yawned and stretched, pulling out his phone. “We should head out. I have class early tomorrow.” Ah yes, ever the responsible teacher.
Uraraka nodded, gathering her things. “This was so nice. We have to do this more often! And next time, without anyone getting injured!” She pointedly looked at Shinsou as she said the last part, earning an unimpressed glare from him.
Midoriya turned to Shinsou. “Need a ride back?”
Shinsou hesitated, glancing at Iida. Before he could respond, Asui piped up. “Todoroki and I are heading in the same direction as you guys. Let’s just cram in the car. Shinsou and Iida can walk back on their own.”
She grinned as she looked at Shinsou, her tone teasing. “Right?”
Shinsou narrowed his eyes at Asui, already suspecting where this was going. Her grin didn’t waver, and neither did the faint glimmer of mischief in her eyes.
“Convenient,” Uraraka chimed in, smirking as she slung her bag over her shoulder. “A nice walk in the fresh air sounds good, don’t you think?”
“Sure,” Midoriya added quickly, clearly catching on to the playful setup and eager to encourage it. “It’s not that far anyway.”
Todoroki, ever neutral, raised an eyebrow but said nothing, simply standing and grabbing his coat.
Shinsou groaned quietly, his face heating as the others began to shuffle out. “You’re all ridiculous,” he muttered, but there wasn’t much bite in his voice. He made the mistake of glancing at Iida, whose polite confusion at the exchange only made Shinsou’s situation worse.
“I don’t mind walking back with you,” Iida said earnestly, as if the whole thing weren’t painfully obvious. He adjusted his glasses and gave Shinsou one of those sincere, concerned looks that had a way of undoing him. “It’ll be good for digestion after such a hearty meal.”
Shinsou sighed, resigned. “Great. A walk, then.”
“Have fun, you two!” she replied cheerfully, already heading toward the door with Todoroki in tow. Midoriya and Uraraka followed, exchanging knowing glances and barely suppressing smiles.
As they stepped outside, the sharp bite of the cold hit immediately. Shinsou exhaled, his breath forming a cloud in the air. He watched as the others piled into Midoriya’s car, Uraraka waving enthusiastically from the passenger seat before they drove off into the night.
Shinsou turned, ready to make a comment about the cold, when he noticed Iida wrapping a familiar red scarf around his neck. His breath caught for a moment, memories flooding back before he could stop them, the late nights spent fumbling with yarn, the way his fingers had ached from the clumsy stitches. He hadn’t expected Iida to keep it, let alone still wear it.
“That... uh, looks a little worn out?” Shinsou asked, gesturing awkwardly toward the scarf.
Iida glanced down, his hands adjusting the scarf like it was second nature. “No, it’s still in very good condition,” he said simply, as though the answer were obvious. “I’m not sure if you noticed, but I got this from Secret Santa in our second year at U.A. I never managed to figure out who gave it to me, but it’s something I’ve treasured ever since.”
Shinsou didn’t know what to say to that. He settled for an awkward shrug, his face warming despite the biting cold air.
They started walking, the silence between them comfortable at first. But as the wind picked up, Shinsou regretted his decision to let the others leave without taking the car. His jacket, thin and inadequate, did nothing to block the chill, and soon he was shivering, his breath coming out in quick, frosty puffs.
Iida noticed almost immediately. “Shinsou, you’re not dressed for this weather,” he said, his tone filled with the same practical concern that had echoed in his words earlier. Without waiting for a response, Iida shrugged off his coat and draped it over Shinsou’s shoulders.
Shinsou blinked, startled. Before he could protest, Iida raised a hand, cutting him off. “No arguments. You’re going to catch a cold like this. Besides, I tend to run hot because of my quirk.”
“I’m fine, ” Shinsou started, but the warmth of the coat, combined with the faint scent of Iida’s soap and cologne, silenced him. He pulled it tighter around himself, muttering, “Thanks.”
Iida nodded, adjusting his scarf to shield himself more from the wind. “You’re welcome.”
They continued walking in silence for a while, the crunch of snow beneath their boots the only sound. Shinsou kept stealing glances at Iida out of the corner of his eye. The coat was too big on him, and the red scarf stood out vividly against Iida’s otherwise dark winter clothes.
Noticing his glance, Iida spoke first. “Are you still staying at the same place? With Mr. Aizawa?”
“Ah, no,” Shinsou replied, shaking his head. “Moved out on my own when I started going pro. Didn’t want to make Eri worry by stumbling back home all bloody, uhhh, not that that’s happened,” he added quickly, backpedaling as Iida’s expression shifted to one of immediate concern.
Iida responded carefully, “I’m certain Mr. Aizawa, and especially Eri, would rather you come back injured than not at all.”
Shinsou grimaced, his breath visible in the cold air. “Yeah, well, she’s got enough nightmares without me adding to them.”
The corners of Iida’s mouth turned down slightly, his expression thoughtful. “Eri is resilient, but I understand your concern. Still, isolating yourself isn’t the answer. Even the strongest heroes need people to lean on.”
Shinsou let out a soft scoff, more at himself than at Iida’s words. “You sound like Mr. Aizawa,” he muttered, stuffing his hands into the pockets of Iida’s coat, the warmth seeping into his fingers as they turned the corner toward his apartment building.
Iida broke the silence again, his voice gentle but firm. “Shinsou, I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but... you really should start replying to messages.”
Shinsou glanced at him, confused. “I do reply. Eventually.”
“Eventually isn’t enough,” Iida said, his brows knitting together in that familiar way that made him look like he was on the verge of delivering one of his earnest lectures. “When you don’t respond, it worries people. It worries me.” He paused, adjusting his scarf as his tone softened. “We know you’re busy, but keeping us updated, just a quick message, helps us know you’re okay. That you’re not pushing yourself too hard.”
Shinsou hesitated, looking down at the ground as their boots crunched against the snow. “I don’t know... It’s not like I’m ignoring you on purpose,” he muttered, his voice quieter than usual. “Sometimes I’m just... tired. Or I don’t know what to say.”
“And that’s okay,” Iida replied quickly. “But even a simple message, a thumbs-up emoji, a quick ‘I’m fine, don’t worry’ , would be enough. It doesn’t have to be a conversation every time.”
Shinsou let out a soft sigh, his breath puffing out in a white cloud. “I guess I didn’t think it mattered that much.”
“It does.” Iida stopped walking, turning to face him. His blue eyes were steady, holding Shinsou’s gaze with an intensity that left no room for doubt. “You matter to us. To me. And not knowing how you’re doing... It’s frustrating. Because we can’t help if we don’t know.”
For a moment, Shinsou said nothing, caught off guard by the sincerity in Iida’s words. He hadn’t realized how much his silence affected the people around him.
“Okay,” Shinsou said finally, his voice low but resolute. “I’ll try. No promises, but... I’ll try.”
Iida’s expression softened, a small smile tugging at his lips. “That’s all I ask.”
As they started walking again, Shinsou glanced at Iida out of the corner of his eye. “You’re really stubborn, you know that?”
“I’ve been told,” Iida replied with a faint laugh. “But only when it’s important.”
They reached Shinsou’s building, the faint hum of the city quieter now as snowflakes drifted lazily through the air. Shinsou hesitated before turning to unlock the door, his hand resting on the cold metal handle.
“Thanks for walking me back,” he said, glancing at Iida. “And for the coat. I’ll wash it and return it to you sometime.”
“Don’t worry about it tonight,” Iida replied, waving a hand dismissively. He stood there for a moment, as if debating whether to say something else. Finally, he added, “Take care of yourself, Shinsou. And... I meant what I said.”
“I know,” Shinsou said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “Goodnight, Iida.”
“Goodnight.”
As Iida turned and walked away, Shinsou lingered for a moment, watching him disappear into the softly falling snow. Then he stepped inside, the warmth of the building wrapping around him like a blanket.
Pulling out his phone, he scrolled through the unanswered messages from the night before, texts from Iida, Midoriya, and even a few from Uraraka. He tapped on Iida’s name first, typing out a quick message:
thanks for the coat. got home safe. dont worry too much. night, rep.
It wasn’t much, but it was a start.