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“I don’t think I understand the point of the exercise,” Izuku says, turning his head to face the sky. He and Hitoshi are sprawled on the lawn, soaking in the last hour of sunlight. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Hitoshi shift, and a moment later feels his fingers pressing between his own.
“I’m psychoanalyzing you,” Hitoshi says drily, and Izuku still isn’t sure if he’s joking about that or not. “That’s all you need to understand.”
“Well, I get that,” Izuku huffs. “But I’m more curious to know what you think my choices say about me.”
Hitoshi is quiet for a moment. Izuku turns his head again, watching him. Grass tickles his cheek, quivering in the breeze. He stares at the soft, resigned smile on Hitoshi’s lips and suddenly regrets the space between them, miniscule as it may be.
“How about this,” Hitoshi says, glancing at Izuku, the corners of his lips quirking upward, “I’ll tell you once you’re done answering all of my questions.”
Izuku smiles back at him, pressing his eyes closed. “That sounds fair,” he says. When he opens his eyes again, he starts tracing the paths of the clouds overhead.
“Would you rather live in a world without quirks, or a world without heroes?”
“Oh,” says Izuku, “that’s tough. I guess… I would choose a world without quirks? I mean, the world before quirks wasn’t too bad. But I think any world without heroes would still gain some eventually, right? Even if they didn’t call themselves heroes, there are always people willing to step up to help one another… So, maybe I’d choose a world with no heroes after all.”
Hitoshi’s fingers curl against the back of Izuku’s hand. “Is that your final answer?”
“You make it sound so serious,” Izuku laughs, “but, yes.”
“Okay, then on to the next. Would you rather eat the same meal for the rest of your life, or never eat the same meal twice for as long as you live?”
Izuku hums, watching the sky. “Well, what counts as a distinct meal? If I make katsudon without parsley one day, and then with parsley the next, is that the same meal?”
“Well, duh.”
“Okay, well, what if I change the broth? Or, what if I substitute the eggs?”
“That’s — fine, I guess if it’s a significant change, it counts as a different meal.”
“So,” says Izuku, bringing his free hand up to tap his chin, “if I made a rice bowl ten different ways, it would be ten different meals… I think I could do a lot with that, honestly. I would have to keep track of what ingredients I’ve already used together, and avoid repeating them, but I could just add a bite worth of something else and call it a different meal.”
“A single bite does not count,” says Hitoshi, glaring.
“Well, what about two bites? Or three? How much does it need before it counts?”
“I am not dignifying that with an answer. Are you saying you would eat different meals for the rest of your life?”
“Well, not necessarily. If you can make big changes to a dish and have it count as a different meal, what about small changes to the same dish? You said the parsley didn’t really make a difference, so I wonder how many ways could I prepare the same dish with slight variation to keep it from getting dull…?”
“This is starting to feel like you’re not really answering the question.”
“I’m defining the question.”
Hitoshi regards him with a dry look. “Final answer, now.”
“I guess… different meals.”
“Great. Hmm. As for the next one…” he trails off, scrunching his nose up at the clouds.
“Trying to think of a good one?”
“They’re all good ones,” he huffs. “Would you rather have a wealthy spouse that’s never around, or have a clingy spouse that takes your money?”
“Well, that one’s ridiculous.”
“Answer the question, Izuku.”
“What? No. Come on. Don’t make me choose between those.”
Hitoshi turns his head, one ear pressed to the ground. “You said you’d answer all of my questions.”
“I thought you said they’d all be,” Izuku bites his lip, “…good?”
Next to him Hitoshi scoffs. “That one is good. It tells me a lot about what you would value in a partner, and what traits you can tolerate.”
“Well, maybe I would want something between those two extremes,” Izuku says, pushing himself up on his elbows. Hitoshi stays on the ground, turning so he’s fully on his side.
“You have to choose,” is all he says.
Izuku pulls his hand away, thinking for a minute. Hitoshi waits, tolerating the silence but clearly growing impatient. Just as he opens his mouth to speak, Izuku comes up with his answer.
Wordlessly, he climbs overtop Hitoshi, rolling him onto his back, and lays flat against his chest. He feels Hitoshi’s heart pick up, watches the tips of his ears go red. His throat bobs once as he swallows.
Slowly, Izuku leans closer, pressing a kiss to Hitoshi’s lips. Hitoshi’s mouth opens slightly, and he tilts his head up; Izuku can’t help but let out a giggle against his chin. Hitoshi’s breath comes out hot and quick against his nose.
“There,” says Izuku, pushing up; his hands are planted on either side of Hitoshi’s head, framing him and his deer in headlights look perfectly. He clears his throat and then blinks several times, a blush spreading across his face.
“Not that I didn’t appreciate that or anything,” Hitoshi says, cheeks flushed a dark red, “but you still have to choose one.”
Izuku presses another kiss to the tip of his nose, and Hitoshi brings his hands up to cover his eyes.
“I just did.”