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It’s no secret that Monoma Neito dislikes a lot of people.
He’s not bad at making friends, not particularly good at it either. He’s not fussed about it, unlike a lot of his classmates in the hero course. Obviously, it’s better to have them rather than not, but first and foremost, everyone wants to succeed in heroism.
The first statement is especially true for one of Neito’s best friends, the rest less so, but recently he’s been starting to wonder if that’s actually not the case at all.
Shinsou being placed in Class 2A was a grave error that unfortunately couldn’t be corrected, but Neito’s pretty sure someone up above is particularly fond of Shinsou, because for some reason, he’s happier than ever when just a few months ago, he was even enthusiastically chiming in whenever Neito would complain about the other class.
“We are not snooping.” Neito hisses at Kendou, who’s chewing on her lip awkwardly as they watch Shinsou by the on-campus convenience store, walking in with that slouchy gait of his, in a grey hoodie and sweatpants, like he so often does, with the hood on. The sun is out and it’s blazing hot, given that Kendou’s in gym shorts and Neito is wearing sandals and at this point, Neito’s actually convinced the purple-haired boy is a vampire.
“We’re hiding behind the corner of a building watching Shinsou while making sure that he doesn’t see us, so that we can find something out about his personal affairs. That’s like the textbook definition of snooping.” Kendou snaps right back. Her sleeves are rolled up to just above her elbow, and Neito doesn’t understand why she doesn’t just wear the short-sleeved shirt so she wouldn’t have to bother, but she always gives him some crap about ‘intimidation tactics’.
Neito rolls his eyes. He didn’t even ask to be friends with her. He understood that to act the way that he did, he would require some sort of driving force from the universe to also keep him in line, which came in the form of Class B’s Class Captain, Kendou Itsuka. Such is the way of the world, but now that that little song and dance of theirs is over, they’ve settled into some sort of pushy, shove-y friendship, where they snip and snipe and detest everything the other does while silently agreeing that they literally can’t survive without the other.
“Hey, wait, he’s coming out, he’s coming out!” Neito gasps, the two of them quickly diving farther behind the wall, but sticking the tips of their faces out just enough so that they can see Shinsou, or, more specifically, what Shinsou’s holding.
Now, Neito might sound batshit insane right now, but there’s a science to this. Every single week, on the days that Shinsou doesn’t have practical training in Heroics, he always comes to visit this specific convenience store, on the very edge of campus, by the musty gym that’s mostly for storage. There’s a creepy myth among the students that it’s haunted, which is probably bullshit, but nevermind that.
Neito is aware of this particular habit of Shinsou’s because he knows, and has been told firsthand, that this is the gym that Aizawa would always train him at, back when he was still trying for the hero course and was in gen ed. Aizawa would be too tired after teaching Class 1A practical stuff, so it would always take place on the days that Class 1A didn’t have practical training. And now, even though Shinsou’s now in Class A, he still trains extra anyway.
But basically, Shinsou trains, probably has a merry old time tiring himself out and congratulating himself on being self-torturous and thorough, decides he needs a sweet treat to make up for the emotional backlash and promptly goes back to his dorm to like, brood and consume his convenience store winnings.
The only thing is, in the past, Shinsou would always enter empty-handed and walk out with a variety of things. Sometimes it would be sweetened canned coffee and chocolate biscuits, sometimes cola-flavoured popsicles and a bag of gummies, other times rice balls and fizzy drinks and once, strawberry milk and a slice of cake, point being, that he never buys the same thing twice.
Right up until the very first time Neito caught him with the atrociously bright yellow lemon-flavoured energy drink. He’s had it before, when he was a child and his mum came back from the supermarket once with a case of them because they were on sale.
It tasted like pisswater and crap with a side of citrus and it did not energise him in the slightest. And if Neito despised it that much, then someone like Shinsou, with a sweet tooth to scare the tooth fairy away from taking his cavity-riddled teeth, has absolutely no business buying something as atrocious as that.
“Are you done with your weird Shinsou-stalking ritual?” Kendou drawls, and Neito turns to see her with her arms folded across her chest, tapping her foot impatiently against the ground. A lesser student might’ve folded immediately, but a mentally sound and strong-willed person like Neito isn’t about to give up so easily.
“But come on! Isn’t this totally proof that he’s hanging out with someone? I mean, why would he ever buy that gross ass drink? You have to admit, I’m actually right about something.” Neito says pointedly, ignoring her hand which has flattened itself out by her side, tensing. She hasn’t beaten him in months, not since it stopped being effective.
“I don’t have to admit anything.” Kendou sighs, the kind of sigh a parent makes when their child begs to go out for fast food when they have perfectly good meals at home. “You’re the one who needs to give it a rest. Don’t you think he’ll be upset when he finds out you’ve been sneaking around like this instead of just asking?”
“Of course not.” Neito answers immediately, but he shuts up anyway. He peeks around the corner one more time, but Shinsou is gone.
He begrudgingly follows Kendou out from behind the building and back towards Class 2B’s dorm, listening but not actually paying attention to Kendou berating him for going behind Shinsou’s back and trying to inform him of the error of his ways.
Neito throws one final look at the convenience store, but it’s out of sight now.
Kendou and Shinsou are his very best friends in all of Yueei. Shinsou’s never gotten mad at him before, or at least, not in a friendship-ending sort of way. He’s been teasing mad, like when Neito steals a handful of his chips or beats him in a video game, but never genuinely upset, and it makes Neito wonder what it’d take to truly tip him over that edge.
And for all his sneaking and snooping around, Neito’s not actually sure if he even wants to know if Shinsou’s actually involved with someone else, because if he hasn’t heard about it yet then either it’s not what he thinks it is, or it is and it’s real and therefore it’s scaring Shinsou.
. . .
“Honestly, I think it’s stupid when someone gets mad at their partner for not knowing why they’re mad.”
Neito huffs in amusement, lifting his head from his homework, half-wondering if he should even listen properly or not. He looks down at his exercise book, and sighs, deciding on the former.
“Go on Mr I-Love-Relationships, bless me with your wisdom.”
Sometimes Shinsou does need a little prompting. He’s prone to thinking out loud, but then reaching a conclusion so quickly that his brain moves faster than his mouth and he just stops in the middle of whatever he’s saying, nevermind if he has an audience or not.
Shinsou shakes his head, staring at the ceiling fan,watching it go round and round.
“I’m actually serious. I mean, their partner is asking them why they’re mad so they can fix it. It’s them trying to tell their partner that they’ve got a good thing going on, and maybe it broke, but it’s worth fixing. It’s worth putting in the effort. You know, it’s basically them saying they’re sorry and that they still love them.”
Neito wasn’t expecting that, but he hides his surprise by feigning disinterest, sketching out a few vague answers that Present Mic will probably have a lot of trouble discerning when he’s marking Neito’s English grammar homework.
“That’s awfully well thought-out.” Neito comments.
“Well, it is. And it’s stupid. Couples are dumb. Romance is dead. Nobody communicates anymore.”
“We’re communicating.”
“We’re not in love. And you’re only talking to me because you hate English.”
“I also agreed to study in your room, not discuss ‘how to have healthy romantic relationships’.” Neito rolls his eyes, dropping his pen down onto his book. It makes a sad little ‘flop!’ sound as it lands on the paper.
“Maybe that’s why you’re still single and I-” Shinsou cuts himself off abruptly, putting his head down and suddenly going quiet.
Hm? Neito weighs his options, whether to engage or not, but he eyes Shinsou’s tense shoulders, the prickliness in his downwards gaze, and using his highly efficient deductive skills, decides to leave him alone.
Because he’s a good friend, and he’s most certainly above forcing people to come to realisations they haven’t even laid out the foundations for yet.
. . .
Neito didn’t realise that making tea could be so intimate and idyllic. He’s not much of a tea drinker, whether he says yes or no to a cup mostly depends on his mood, not the beverage itself, so maybe that’s where he’s gone wrong, since he doesn’t appreciate it, but he’s also quite sure that it’s a simple process.
Boil some water, chuck a teabag into a cup, and pour the boiled water into the cup, then wait. Add sugar and milk if you want, and Neito always does, because plant fumes and hot water feels boring and illegal.
Lifting his own mug up to his lips and taking a long drag from it, keeping it positioned right below his nose as though the steam will somehow obscure his piercing gaze, Neito eyes the two buffoons in the kitchen, their backs facing him, clearly in the middle of an argument. His current position in the Class 2A common room, which is leaning his hip against the back of one of the couches, gives him the ideal line of sight to be watching their tomfoolery go down, live and in HD.
Thanks to the hubbub and constant noise generated from the second year hero course’s fortnightly bonding session, Neito can’t actually make out what’s being said, but a real detective doesn’t just rely on what a criminal says to work a case out, they pay attention to how they say it.
And the how in which Shinsou and Bakugou are ‘arguing’ with each other says a lot about what they’re probably like around each other when they’re not.
Shinsou’s shoulder bumps into Bakugou’s, a delicate little touch that typically would send Bakugou reeling with insults and profanity all directed at whoever’s done the deed, but it goes apparently unnoticed as Shinsou dumps two identical teabags into matching mugs. One has a dark purple cat, the other has a light purple one. One is grumpy, one is asleep.
It’s exactly the kind of gaggy yet also thoughtful kind of gift Shinsou is so skilled at giving, knowing just what buttons to push and what lines to cross, what’s offensive and what’s funny. Figuring out exactly how to toe the line enough to make things exhilarating, and yet still remaining respectful, still heroic, even when he’s putting pressure on nerves you didn’t even know were capable of being sensitive.
Bakugou reaches over and pinches Shinsou’s waist, not gently, but Neito tracks the way that his fingers hover for a second in a certain spot, moves upwards of it and then tightens on the skin over the dark fabric of Shinsou’s shirt, ghosting right above the still-healing scar on Shinsou’s torso that was gotten through a fight in the war.
Neito fights long and hard to keep his eyebrows still, but it’s an arduous task that’s ultimately not worth it, and he harrumphs at their backs, continuing to observe, arching a brow.
Shinsou kicks him in the ankle. Bakugou pretends to be about to splash him with boiling water, Shinsou jumps back in pretend fear. Bakugou puts the kettle down and pats Shinsou’s hand in apology. Bakugou’s shirt rides up a little as he shifts his arms to tip the kettle and pour water into their mugs and Shinsou’s eyes flicker, once, twice, then down to the thin sliver of pale skin exposed, then snap back up to Bakugou’s face. The kettle is placed down safely, and heads turn to the side, each catching the other looking. Cheeks flush and both heads return to what they were previously doing.
Every now and then, another one of these little proceedings takes place, in good spirit and then in mild irritance, all of it threaded through with an undercurrent of tension, like there’s a fragile, messy wall of string between them and neither wants to become entangled in the mess, but it’s tempting to be able to see the other side through the gaps.
Neito has no idea when the two of them had become friends, and certainly can’t pinpoint when exactly they became so comfortable with each other when he himself is still hard-pressed to get a high-five, but, well…
They’re like the last two pieces of the puzzle you look for in every single corner of your house and you’re about to give up, until the very last shred of your patience, where you look inside the box again and realise they’ve been there, right under your nose, exactly where they were supposed to be this whole entire time.
It does look right.
It sounds right. It feels right. Yet the answer can’t be so simple, when Neito factors in the shyness, the tentativeness, the feeling that they’re not quite there yet, that the blueprints of something have been laid out but no plans have been made for actual construction.
Neito feels eyes on him, and he glances over to see Kendou with her eyebrow raised at him, but instead of scolding him once again, she’s got a tiny, amused smile on her face.
Okay, fine. So maybe he’s getting a little too entertained by this, boo him.
A laugh sounds from the kitchen, so typical to this environment that most of Neito’s classmates barely even notice, but he does. Maybe not the laugh itself, but the way that it differs from past ones, yet all from the same voice.
This one isn’t raucous and snickering, conceited and judging, nervous and high-strung, this particular laugh is more a chuckle than a laugh, and it’s hearty, it’s soulful, and it’s a sound Neito has never, ever heard before, and he’s half-worried he might never hear it again.
He narrows his eyes at Bakugou, who’s dumping sugar in Shinsou’s tea.
A quick glance at the clock, and a current runs through Neitou’s bones.
It reads 11:11.
Please don’t hurt him. That might be difficult, for you, and your emotionally stunted brain. I don’t know what it is that you’re doing right, but for the love of god, please, Bakugou Katsuki, keep doing it.
. . .
Maybe the magic of 11:11 was taking a smoke break, because tell Neito why a week later, he’s hanging diagonally upside-down from the side of a building, wrapped up in a trap concocted by Sero from Class 2A’s tape, which, admittedly, he walked right into.
But that’s not the point. The point of the unit of reasoning here is that love is apparently dead and not even wishing upon a star can guarantee it, if Bakugou’s morose-looking shoulders are anything to go by.
Seriously. Neito knows he and Bakugou are actually in some kind of pseudo-friendship slash rivalry now after a year and a half of development as human beings and yet, he’s never known him to ever hesitate when given a chance to singe Neito’s hair and blast him into next week. (He’s probably just jealous that Neito's hair actually listens to him).
“I’d love to help, but I’m pretty sure that relationship counsellors have to be conscious and upright to do their jobs.” Neito snipes, still able to muster a fairly argumentative tone despite his precarious positioning.
His heart gives an empathetic pang when Bakugou turns his head a few degrees, and Neito catches sight of the dour expression reducing Bakugou’s otherwise objectively attractive features into some manner of sullen, self-imposed repentance. It’s a curious sight to see, since Bakugou looks grumpier than a grizzly bear, but so pathetic and dejected Neito doesn’t even have the heart to voice it, unlike how he would typically never waste a second pointing out Bakugou’s flaws.
Part of Neito kind of wants to shut up and force him to figure it all out on his own. And another, kinder part of Neito wants to throw the training battle out the window and put his all into helping Bakugou put everything back together. Of course, there’s the prick part of Neito that wants to give him a false positive and send him off on a wild goose chase, but Neito’s pretty sure he’s matured, and that part of him will forever remain an intrusive thought, never to be acted upon.
In the face of the resulting silence, Neito tries again.
“Uh, hello? Damsel in distress here.”
Unfortunately, Bakugou’s desire to win doesn’t catch the memo and stubbornly persists, obviously because of the fact that he doesn’t make a single move to even marginally help Neito out from the tape. Frustrating, but it’s not Neito’s first time in such a sticky situation, so he just twists his neck as best as he can to keep his head upright and stop his face turning red from the bloodflow.
“Haven’t you ever had to apologise to him before? What did you do?” Bakugou grouches, taking a few steps closer which give Neito a few sparks of hope, but irritatedly he realises that was all false, because all Bakugou does is flop himself down, slotting each of his legs through a gap between the balcony railing, and sighs.
“No.” Neito says, completely honestly, surprising himself. “We’ve never fought. At least, not to the point where I’ve had to formally apologise.”
The response is gruff, and short. “Don’t bullshit me.”
“I’m being totally serious.” Neito grimaces. “We only became friends after the combined class battles, and after that we didn’t have a lot of chances to even talk because of the war. And like everyone knows, we all kind of mellowed out. Not a lot of opportunity for arguing. What did you do that was so bad that pissed Shinsou off, anyhow? I know you mind me asking and I don’t give a shit, tell me.”
Bakugou chews on his lip. He kicks his feet in the air, chews some more, this time on the inside of his mouth and with like ten percent more angry contemplating, then opens his mouth.
“I don’t really know why.”
Neito has never really heard him sound so vulnerable before, and maybe that’s why he doesn’t press him for more answers.
“We just argued. It wasn’t even over anything serious. But I think we both know we’ve got issues, and instead of talking about them, we just clam up and get angry. I figured… You’re his best friend, and you’re… Good at talking to people.”
Is it just Neito, or does he feel like he has a whole lemon stuck in his throat right now? Or kind of like having barbed wire wrapped around his neck.
“You know what? You get a few brownie points for not swearing at me today.” Neito decides, all benevolent and gracious like a good neutral party.
The stew in a decidedly more comfortable silence for a few more moments, but Neito grows sick of it and keeps talking. He and Bakugou are not having a moment right now, not even when neither of them have said Shinsou’s name out loud and they both magically know exactly who they’re both talking about.
“Well, it might interest you to know that he once told me,” Neitou clears his throat. “Ahem. Couples are dumb, romance is dead, and nobody communicates anymore.”
“I fuckin’ communicate, it’s not hard, I-” Bakugou shuts up.
“Mmh. Maybe just, I don’t know, talk to him? Instead of me? Seriously, he acts all tough, but on the inside, he’s the soft little purple marshmallow who melts when you show him even the slightest warmth. I don’t even know what else to say.” Neito surprises himself by laughing, but then his neck tires out and he flops his head down, screwing his eyes shut at the sudden rush of blood to his upside-down head.
He persists anyway, even though he’s probably about to pass out. “I know absolutely nothing concrete about the two of you, but I’d bet the lives of everyone in your class that he likes you a lot, or he wouldn’t even be giving you a chance.”
“You hate my class.”
“Yeah, but I still supported my claim with actual evidence, so hurry up and untie me.”
. . .
The answer to the earlier question is that Shinsou will decidedly not find out about Neito’s snooping. He doesn’t need to, not when it’s not even necessary anymore, since Neito’s not the only one doing it.
The entirety of the student body stops and stares each time they see clasped hands and chins resting on shoulders, food split between two bodies and two straws stuck in one lemon-flavoured drink.
Neito huffs in amusement, hiding a smile behind a comically large bowl of shaved ice, courtesy of poor Todoroki, constantly reminding everyone of his childhood trauma and the fact that he’s never tasted most sweets before, triggering a silly little mixed-class bingsu bonding day.
It’s no surprise to see the couple in their own private corner of the Class 2A common room, given a wide berth by their classmates that they don’t even notice, too sucked into the magnetic field of their own attraction for each other.
Bakugou snipes at Shinsou with some insult that Neito doesn’t quite catch. Shinsou doesn’t even bother pretending that he’s offended, because all there is on his face is a big, dumb, stupid grin, his happiness manifesting easier than a cloud drifting on spring day.
And Neito watches, trying hard not to give in to the urge to jump and shout ‘I told you so’ in Kendou’s face, who’s sitting right next to him and rolling her eyes every time the couple does something of note and he nudges her to look.