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“Why didn’t you tell me that you knew it all along?” Izuku asks afterward, in the aftermath of a fight and an awakening broadcasted for the entire world to see.
They’re in a hallway where he hopes nobody is listening in on their conversation; he has had enough of his life being looked in on by others for one day. The way the soul marks had bloomed across their arms the moment skin touched skin, the way the intricate patterns carved their way into their skin and glowed so blindingly it stopped the entire battle for a short moment. Soulmate meetings are special. Even with the growing wealth of evidence suggesting that soulmates don’t always last, it was as if the universe had insisted on maintaining the flair and drama of an old-era romance.
“Tell you?” Shinsou spits. “For what? So you could turn against me, cast me off to the side as a distraction in your quest to become the Number One Hero and follow in All Might’s footsteps?”
“What made you think I wouldn’t have the time or care for you?” Izuku shoots back, indignant and hurt and confused all at once.
“You?” The single word is scathing, even more so than Shinsou’s insults during their battle. “You, with your perfect hero’s quirk, you who’ve likely had everything handed to you from the moment you manifested, you who’s never even looked twice at a boy with a villain’s quirk like mine?” Shinsou glares at him, angry violet eyes meeting viridian ones where understanding is dawning.
Izuku reaches out, then retracts the hand before he can make contact, then places it palm up in the middle of them because he doesn’t know what to do with it.
“I know more than you think,” he responds. He’s not mad- how could he be, at this bitter soul to whom his own is bound, at the pain inflicted by a world whose cruelty Izuku is all too familiar with? “I was…” he can’t say the real reason, not until he talks with All Migjt, but he gives the best explanation he can in the moment. “I was a late bloomer. Really late,” he tells Shinsou.
Shinsou’s eyes widen slightly.
“So late they thought I was nothing but a Quirkless loser.”
And, oh, he can see the moment where realization strikes the other boy. As much as Shinsou might have been bullied for having a villainous quirk, at least he was among the ranks of those who had a quirk at all. Surely he has seen the way the quirkless are treated in this society; how could one not, when the quirk discrimination runs rampant but the anti-quirkless discrimination is even worse? There’s no true classification for who has what is considered a villainous quirk, but one is either quirkless or not, unequivocally lesser, inferiority evident in the red sneakers the quirkless brand themselves with.
“I wish I had known earlier,” izuku says. “I want to get to know the person the universe connected to me.”
“So you believe in all that sappy soulmate bullshit, then,” Shinsou mutters. “You know that all isn’t real either.”
“I know,” Izuku says. “I know it’s not determined that you end up with that person or be happy with them, but still, you’re someone who is special to me, and I want to give it a try. Platonic soulmates and soul bonds exist too; if nothing else we can use our connection to alert the other as a last line of defense if we’re ever in danger, which is bound to happen in our profession, right?” It’s almost desperate, the way the last few words come spilling out of his mouth. He may be at UA now, he may be used to having friends but still there’s a part of him that’s still that lost and scorned child craving the affection or attention that his peers could give.
“Please?” He tries again, hope and praying that Shinsou will at least be willing to just give this a shot.
Shinsou sighs, then reaches out his own hand and accepts Izuku’s, grasping it tightly. His grip is firm and warm, and through their connection they can each feel the other’s heartbeats.
“Let’s start over,” he says. “Let’s try.”