don't get him wrong. it's not because you're quirkless. it's because of the way you treats those with quirks.
his eyes wander over to the infirmary window, reckless papers abandoned on his desk. recovery girl is resting in a stupor while that pretty nurse keeps hovering over compartments and reshuffling gauze, bandages and god knows what.
his mind goes back to the eruption of words he witnessed a few days ago. how you'd screamed at him after he'd rescued you from a villain about how he'd hurt the villain himself. that calling the perpetrator a 'villain' was inhumane and that quirks themselves were ruining humanity's perception of society.
what an ungrateful brat.
in all his years of underground hero work he's never met someone so indifferent to his quirk. sure, it's not very flashy, but it is useful isn't it? after all, you didn't complain when he used it to save you.
the central idea you posed vaguely reminded him of chisaki's agenda. but you were nothing like him. you cared more about people than quirks. you cared about humans, and the discrimination between the vulnerable ones and "heroes". you said who we call villains are just people like us faced with a dead end. what a load of bullshit.
but, he thought with a sigh, your heart was in the right place. poor girl.
he watched you bend over to pick up a fallen needle. staring at the tightening of your skirt, he thought to himself - were you just as naïve in bed as well?
“us.” your voice is small. if real-time captions were a thing, us would read as small text, barely making up your vision.
it’s strange, to ever think the two of you were ever an us.
“real?” aizawa says. you hear him shift beside you. his feet point towards your body. he’s right beside you, but you can’t bring your eyes to watch him, so you imagine him curling up on himself, hands supporting the weight of his chin as he turns to face you. “what do you mean by real?”
you huff. are you not being clear?
“were we ever actually together?”
“of course we were.” there it is. that softer voice of his. the one you heard so often when you needed reassurance. that very specific, short chapter of your life when he cared for you. “was it not clear to you that we were?”
you feel something bubble. your lips waver. you let out a pathetic hiccup. “but we were never actually together. you entered my life, we held hands, we saw each other, but we were never actually together.” you swallow a big, rolling wave of hurt. “and when i asked if you’d be open to a relationship, everything you did for me just disappeared. you didn’t want to be with me, but you wanted my company.”
it is hard to breathe. it is hard to be stable.
“sorry will not cut what i put you through.” aizawa is just a disembodied voice at this point. right now, it is just you, staring hard at the concrete at your feet, hot tears and the burn of crying stinging your throat. that, and the not-quite-the-same comfort of his body nearby. rejection does that to you. rejection alters what is safe into something you need to run far, far away from. “but i’m so sorry.”
you sense it, a hand placed near you. an offering of comfort, but you know better now. when something doesn’t serve him, he’s quick to take that comfort away, too.
“i didn’t love you,” you say between hiccups, “but you taught me heartbreak.”
“i’m sorry.”
“i told you i hadn’t done this before, but you still decided to play pretend with me.”
“i’m sorry.” how dare he sound sad.
“you went on to see other people, but it took me a very long time to try dating again. you were the first person i let in, but you left me so quickly and when i was most alone.”
“i’m sorry.” why is he crying now? he doesn’t get to cry.
“you got what you wanted, aizawa: a rebound after your first love. but guess what? you were my first love, and you did exactly what had happened to you: you disappeared.”
“you’re right.” from the corner of your eye, aizawa palms at his thighs. “i wasn’t emotionally sensitive to what you were feeling. i was selfish. you were clearly a very good person, and i took advantage of your good nature. i may have treated you well, but never well enough.”
for a moment, it is you, aizawa, and the weight of your shared history.
“i don’t think we can be friends.”
you sense movement. aizawa nods slowly. “i will do what makes you most comfortable.”
“do not talk to me again.”
aizawa nods.
“do not find me.”
aizawa nods.
“stay away.”
aizawa nods.
it’s strange. you used to think you could have something close to love, but he never allowed it.
“goodbye.”
before, during what you thought would be your final goodbye, you had said bye for now.
he had said bye.
now, aizawa says nothing. there is nothing left to be said.
Tags/Warnings/Disclaimers: Grumpy x sunshine, opposites attract, Not beta-read, No Usage of Y/N (Name is given, (Yan) but only mentioned once or twice. Physical features are left ambiguous), reader has a cute core aesthetic 🌸, warning to those with emetophobia (I didn’t go too into detail with it but just a heads up just incase)
Words: 3.5k
Part Four (Year Two) || Masterlist || AO3
Happy Reading! 📖 🩷
Year Two:
The moon hung low in the sky, bathing the quiet, empty streets of Musutafu as the snow falls slowly to the ground.
“Yeah, I’m fine. Kitsune’s just having fun in the snow. I can send pictures if you want.”
“You sure?” Oboro’s voice crackled softly through the phone, below your earmuffs, pressed against your ear. “I don’t mind coming to get you with my cloud.”
“No, stay there,” you reassured him with a small laugh, waving toward Kitsune after she launched herself headfirst into a mound of snow. Only the tips of her ears poked out, twitching mischievously before she finally peeked her head free. “I’m almost home anyway.”
A loud yawn echoed through the speaker.
“Alright, fine,” Oboro muttered. “But my ringer’s staying on, so call me if anything happens.”
“I will.”
A quiet exchange of “love you” followed on both ends before the call disconnected, leaving a familiar warmth lingering in your chest even after the screen went dark.
You slipped your phone back into the pocket of your coat before motioning Kitsune to keep moving. After several failed attempts and one promise involving sweets tomorrow, she finally agreed, trotting ahead through the snow while you resumed the walk home.
Your thoughts wandered again to Recovery Girl’s office.
To nursing.
To the guilt in your stomach whenever you imagined leaving the hero course behind entirely.
The snow crunched softly beneath your boots as you absentmindedly kicked a small clump of snow down the dim alleyway, Kitsune continuing padding ahead of you without complaint.
Then suddenly, she stopped.
Her ears shot upright before turning swiftly to the right.
Before you could react, a violent tug pulled sharply at your chest. “Kitsune, come on,” you sighed, teleporting beside her in a scatter of spectral petals. “We can’t just keep stopping every—”
Your voice died instantly. Your breath vanished with it.
There, slumped against the snow beneath the dim overhead light, was a boy.
Dark wavy hair clung damply against pale skin. His school shirt had been discarded somewhere across him, crumpled in the snow as though he had ripped it off without thinking. Frost clung to the ends of his hair and lashes. His breathing was so shallow it barely looked like he was moving.
Your stomach twisted at the sight of him.
Shota…
“Shota!”
Your body moved before your mind caught up. You dropped hard to your knees beside him while Kitsune whined, nudging against him until his body tipped weakly forward.
You caught him before he could collapse face first into the snow, his weight sagged heavily against you.
You gently leaned him onto the wall, pushing his damp hair away from his face with shaking hands, only for your heart to drop even further at the sight of his lips tinged blue.
No.
No no no…
Your hand fumbled into your coat pocket as you yanked out your phone and unlocked it with trembling fingers. Emergency call. Three numbers.
But before you could press it, the phone slipped from your grasp.
Shota slumped against you, his forehead dropping weakly against your shoulder.
“…Don’t go.”
The words were barely audible, strained and broken from the cold.
Warmth immediately surged through your palms…
But you stopped yourself.
Recovery Girl’s voice echoed through your mind.
“You only warm the core first,” she had instructed earlier that evening. “Neck, chest, and abdomen.”
You remembered nodding along while writing the notes down.
“Because the last thing you want,” she warned, “is to send a hypothermic patient into cardiac arrest.”
Your hands immediately moved to his neck, warmth glowing against his frozen skin before trailing down to his chest and abdomen, exactly where Recovery Girl had told you to focus.
Your mind raced back to the forest. The way he pushed you away, saying he was distracted whenever he was around you.
Back then, it felt cold, almost cruel.
Now, kneeling here with his barely conscious body trembling against yours, you finally understood.
He had never been trying to hurt you.
He had been trying to leave before you could see how badly he was falling apart.
You thought about the boy you met in the rain. The one who always hesitated before accepting kindness, as if he expected it to disappear the moment he reached for it.
The boy who quietly convinced himself he was not worth staying for.
Your breath caught when his chest finally rose again, uneven but visible this time.
“Shota?” you whispered.
Carefully, you pulled him back just enough to look at him properly. Relief nearly made you dizzy when the purple tint faded from his lips, though his body still hung limp in your arms, unconscious and exhausted.
You eased him into your lap before hurriedly shrugging off everything you could. Your coat. Scarf. Gloves from your coat pocket. Even the earmuffs tangled in your hair. Kitsune appeared beside you at once, whining softly as she helped nudge the layers over him.
The moment you zipped your coat around his frame, another awful realization settled in your chest.
He was thinner than before, it shouldn’t have been that easy to zip up your coat on him considering the difference in height.
You reached for his discarded shirt and backpack, needing to put everything away until he woke up.
But his parents needed to know.
Guilt twisted in your stomach as you unzipped the bag, forcing yourself to remember this was an emergency. Shota would understand later.
At least, you hoped he would.
But the moment the bag opened, your hands stilled.
No phone. No wallet. No emergency contact card.
Only worn clothes, school supplies, eye drops, and belongings packed hastily.
Then your eyes landed on something familiar.
A bright pattern.
Your umbrella.
And beneath it, folded carefully between his notebooks, was the pink note you had given him months ago.
The edges were softened with wear, like he had handled it countless times.
Your chest tightened painfully as your thumb brushed over your own handwriting.
He kept it. He kept all of it.
And somehow, despite that, he still had nothing.
You swallowed hard, quickly stuffing his shirt back into the bag before zipping it shut. When you turned, Kitsune stood beside you holding your phone gently in her mouth.
The screen merely displayed a dead battery symbol.
Of course.
You stared at it for a moment before exhaling shakily.
That decided it.
You shoved the phone back into your backpack and slung it over one shoulder, pulling Shota’s onto the other. Then, gathering every ounce of strength you had left, you carefully lifted him upright and wrapped one of his arms around your shoulders, remembering the rescue training.
And you’d never thought you needed to use it for something like this.
Still, you tightened your grip.
Hopefully he will understand.
Kitsune guided you out of the alley as you partially carried Shota through the snow. The moment you reached the street, she was already waiting at the end of the block.
A pull tugged at your chest.
You blinked, and suddenly you were beside her again.
Before you could steady yourself, Kitsune bolted toward the next block, forcing you to teleport after her once more. You had never been more grateful for her presence than you were now.
With Kitsune leading the way, home was finally only a block away.
Except now you were the one shivering.
Your gloves and coat wrapped around Shota instead, and the cold had finally started to sink beneath your skin. Kitsune, thankfully, barely seemed affected by it at all.
The moment your house came into view, though, your steps faltered.
The security camera.
Your parents were away on a business trip, leaving you and Oboro alone for the entire winter break. Before leaving, they installed cameras around the property.
You were already late getting home. Your phone was dead. By now, there were probably several missed calls waiting for you.
And somehow, that felt like the least important problem right now.
You glanced down when you felt a weight against your shoulder.
The hood had slipped, exposing familiar dark waves of hair as Shota’s head rested weakly against the side of your neck. Your coat could only hold so much warmth.
Wait…
The side gate.
You looked up just in time to see Kitsune trotting toward the side of the house, careful to stay beyond the camera’s range before slipping through the gate.
The side connected directly beneath your bedroom window.
You blinked again, trying to follow her pull, but the distance was farther than you were used to.
The moment you teleported, your knees buckled.
You crashed into the snow with Shota collapsing against you, the impact knocking the breath from your lungs.
No…Not now…
You only needed one more jump.
“Kitsune…” Your voice came out strained as you forced yourself upright. “I need you to get to my room.”
She was still recovering too, her form flickering weakly in the snow.
“Kitsune, please,” you whispered, pointing shakily upward. “Use the fire escape. Get through the window.”
Kitsune stared at you before glancing toward Shota in your arms. Then, gathering what little strength she had left, she leapt upward onto the metal fire escape above you and vanished through your bedroom window.
The pull returned, and warmth slammed into you as you stumbled into your bedroom, barely managing to steady yourself before lowering Shota carefully onto the floor along with your backpacks. Kitsune dissolved back into your body the second you arrived, exhausted from the strain.
But there was no time to rest.
You moved through your room frantically, running on pure adrenaline as you yanked blankets from your closet and piled them onto the bed. Then you hurried back to him.
Shota remained limp and barely conscious as you knelt beside him, quickly removing your coat, scarf, gloves, and earmuffs from where you had bundled him up outside.
Then you stopped.
His pants were still soaked through.
Your stomach twisted at the thought of how long he must have endured the cold like this. If the wet fabric stayed on him any longer, it would continue draining whatever heat his body had left.
Which meant you had no choice.
You squeezed your eyes shut, apologizing under your breath in frantic whispers while your trembling hands worked quickly. You fumbled with the button of his slacks before pulling the soaked fabric down his legs, only to curse softly when you realized you had forgotten about his shoes and socks.
The loafers were ruined beyond saving, waterlogged so badly they practically dripped onto the floor.
Even through the panic, part of you noticed how light he felt when you finally managed to lift him properly onto the bed.
Still, you pushed the thought away and wrapped him tightly beneath layers of blankets instead, tucking them securely around him before dragging your desk chair over beside the bed.
The chair was backward when you dropped into it, your arms folded over the top rail as exhaustion finally began catching up to you.
And only then, sitting there in silence did the reality finally click in.
Shota would’ve died out there.
——————————————————————
Shota hated your smile.
He hated your eyes.
He hated your voice.
To be specific, he hated the way your smiles never reached your eyes the way they used to.
He hated the shine gathering in your eyes whenever you tried too hard not to cry.
He hated the faint crease between your brows that made his fingers itch to smooth it away again.
And he especially hated the broken “okay” you whispered before leaving him alone in the forest.
Because the moment you walked away, he wanted to take every word back.
Every lie.
If anything, seeing you had become the only part of his mornings he looked forward to anymore. The only thing that made the endless repetition of each exhausting day feel bearable.
But he couldn’t voice any of that.
And fortunately, Oboro never questioned the sudden distance between the two of you. If anything, he and Hizashi seemed relieved for him to fill the space Nemuri had left after she began spending more time with you instead.
Still, it did not take long for them to notice something else.
The lack of sleep.
The skipped meals.
The way Shota pushed himself during training until his hands bled through the wraps.
There were times Oboro and Hizashi physically attempted to drag him over to where you stood just so you could heal him before the injuries worsened, only for Shota to pull away before they could move him a proper inch closer to you. Other times, he hid it entirely, covering bruises and cuts himself rather than risk you noticing.
Hizashi tried speaking to him alone once.
The seriousness in his voice unsettled Shota more than the yelling ever could. He was used to Hizashi being loud, energetic, impossible to take seriously.
Shota brushed him off anyway.
Oboro tried too.
Shota still remembered the hesitant look on his face when he finally asked if it had something to do with what he said on your shared birthday.
“You asked me if I liked her,” Shota answered quietly.
Even now, he remembered how clammy his hands felt.
How he stared downward because he couldn’t bring himself to look Oboro in the eyes. Instead, his gaze fixed somewhere between his brows, the same trick he had used with you in the forest just to force the lie out without breaking.
“You made me realize I didn’t,” he continued, ignoring the bitterness filling his mouth, “I didn’t want to get her hopes up.”
Oboro had gone quiet for a moment before humming in acknowledgment, thanking him for being honest.
Honest.
The word almost made Shota sick.
Lying was nothing new to him. He’d done it for years, twisting half truths into whatever he needed to survive another day.
But this was different.
This lie had nothing to do with survival.
If anything, it was destroying him slowly.
Shota would still catch himself glancing your way during training. Tiny glances. Small enough to avoid attention.
But every time he looked, Nemuri would already be glaring daggers at him from across the field, forcing him to look away before he could get caught staring too long. Most of the time, he didn't even realize he was watching you until she reacted.
Habit, he supposed.
Still, he wouldn’t have blamed you if you had told her everything.
If you called him a liar, a loser, an asshole.
A nobody.
Someone that’ll be easy to forget.
And maybe that was for the best.
So the distance remained.
Though, he did remember Oboro mentioning one afternoon that Kitsune had stopped wanting sweets lately, sounding genuinely worried because apparently that never happened before.
And he remembered watching you continue healing classmates even when they were rude to you, smiling politely while exhaustion showed beneath your eyes. It was concerning that even Oboro eventually told you that you were overdoing it.
Shota wished he could’ve said the same.
Wished he could have told you to stop running yourself into the ground for people who barely noticed.
Wished he could have asked whether you were sleeping enough, whether you were eating properly, whether the smile you kept forcing had started hurting yet.
Wished he could have stayed beside you long enough to make sure you were okay.
But he had given up that right the moment he pushed you away.
If only he had been born into different circumstances. If only he had someone he could run to for answers about all of this.
About you.
About whatever this feeling was that tightened painfully in his chest every time he looked at you.
Then came warmth. Familiar warmth.
He thought at first he was hallucinating again.
A figure surrounded by petals held him, eyes and hair glowing so brightly as if the snow itself manifested into an otherworldly being, barely looking human at all.
Something far too pure to belong in a world like his.
He remembered her beginning to pull away.
And with the last scraps of strength he had left, he begged her not to go.
The scent of flowers clung to her so strongly now.
Why?
Had the snow finally taken pity on him?
Had it decided to end his miserable life peacefully instead?
Slowly, painfully, Shota forced his eyes open.
Warm stars greeted him overhead.
Not the blinding star from before.
These were dimmer, scattered across the ceiling.
His gaze drifted sluggishly around the room.
Pink filled his vision immediately.
Pink curtains draped around the bed like a canopy. Posters lined the walls beside shelves crowded with figurines and plushies, all matching the same soft aesthetic. Bookshelves overflowed with novels, stacked so tightly together that some leaned sideways to fit.
Shota never cared much for religion or gods, but he was fairly certain no afterlife anyone described looked remotely like this.
It felt less like heaven and more like he had somehow woken up inside another universe entirely.
Only then did he glance down, only to find blankets buried him nearly to his chin.
Too many blankets.
He pulled at them carefully, peeling them away one at a time until he paused at one that clearly did not belong with the others.
A grey blanket covered in black cartoon cats with blue collars around their necks.
He recognized the character vaguely from store displays he passed often, usually noticing how quickly the merchandise sold out except those cats in particular.
Before he could dwell on it further, he pushed the blanket aside.
Then froze.
He was only in his boxers. His eyes widened immediately.
A glow flickered suddenly in the corner of his vision.
Shota whipped his head sideways so fast he nearly collided with a glowing snout inches from his face.
A fox.
Kitsune.
The spirit blinked at him.
He immediately jerked toward the opposite side of the bed, only to freeze again at the familiar sight slumped beside him.
Familiar colored hair.
School uniform.
You.
Your head rested awkwardly against the back of a chair shoved beside the bed, your breathing slow and even as exhaustion kept you asleep.
His thoughts stalled as he sat up fully this time, taking in the room around him again.
The pink curtains. The books. The fairy lights overhead.
This was not a hospital. Not a shelter. And certainly not some stranger’s apartment.
This was your room.
And he had to leave. Now.
Careful not to wake you, Shota slowly lifted Kitsune’s paw from where it rested against his chest. The spirit let out a small huff of protest but allowed him to move her, glowing eyes watching him carefully.
But the second his feet touched the floor, dizziness slammed into him hard enough to make the room tilt.
He barely made it two steps before stumbling.
The impact jarred something deep in his stomach.
A sharp wave of nausea rose violently into his throat.
Shota sucked in a shaky breath, clapping a hand over his mouth as he fought it back.
Kitsune was already waiting beside a partially open door.
He rushed toward it immediately, barely registering the fox slipping through the door before he shoved the door open himself. Her glow lit the bathroom just enough for him to find the toilet, fumbling with the seat before dropping to his knees.
His stomach emptied painfully.
At that point, he could not bring himself to care whether you heard him or not.
If you hated him after this, he would understand.
If you yelled at him, kicked him out, looked at him with disgust…
He would deserve it.
So he didn’t understand the sudden warmth brushing against the back of his neck.
Gentle fingers gathered his hair away from his face, holding it back carefully while he tried to steady his breathing.
Once the nausea finally eased, he flushed quickly and reached for toilet paper to wipe at his mouth.
Then paused.
His eyes lifted slowly.
The bathroom was dark except for Kitsune’s glow curled beside the doorway, yet somehow a napkin had appeared beside him.
He took it before he squinted.
And there you kneeled, right beside him.
Your expression looked painfully worried, hands clasped tightly together like you didn’t know what to do with them.
Your voice was awfully quiet despite the silence, he had to strain himself to hear you.
Like it was meeting you in the rain for the first time all over again.
“Everything you need is in this drawer,” you murmured, pointing at the cabinets beneath the sink.
Then toward the shelves above the toilet.
“There’s soap and towels there.”
You hesitated before pointing toward yourself.
“I’ll get clothes… and something to eat and drink.”
Finally, you pointed back to him.
“You don’t have to say anything, but please…” Your lips pressed together tightly as you looked away, voice wavering near the end. “Don’t leave yet…”
Something in his chest twisted painfully at the falter in your voice.
For once, Shota had nothing to say.
You disappeared quietly with Kitsune trailing behind you, leaving him alone in your bathroom.
And despite the shame clawing at him, despite the humiliation of you seeing his life laid bare like this…
You looked worried.
Not disgusted, nor judgmental.
Shota lowered his head slowly, staring at the floor tiles beneath him.
Just for tonight.
He would stay just for tonight.
And then he would disappear for good.
————————————————————————
Please don’t forget to like before heading towards the next parts! 🥲
Part Four (Year Two) || Behind the Writing (Part 3,4,& 5) || Masterlist || AO3
Tags/Warnings/Disclaimers: Grumpy x sunshine, opposites attract, Not beta-read, No Usage of Y/N (Name is given, (Yan) but only mentioned once or twice. Physical features are left ambiguous), reader has a cute core aesthetic 🌸
Words: 5k
Part Three (Year Two) || Part Five (Year Two) || Masterlist || AO3
Happy reading! 📖 🩷
Year Two:
You laid in bed with your arms wrapped around one of your pillows, staring at the ceiling with the fairy lights as the only light source, your thoughts kept circling back to earlier.
When Nemuri arrived not long after Shota did, and the moment she handed over your gift, the both of you were practically squealing before she even had the chance to explain it.
A simple makeup kit.
Nothing extravagant, but it still felt special that it made your eyes light up.
Nemuri, of course, looked far too pleased with herself and happily insisted on helping the birthday girl put it to proper use.
So there you sat, in front of the mirror while she worked surprisingly gently as her fingers moved through your hair, fixing each strand carefully while you watched your reflection slowly change.
She worked on your eyes first, brushing soft color over your lids, dusting powder lightly across your face, and adding the smallest touch of glitter to the corners of your eyes that caught whenever you blinked.
Then came the finishing touch.
Lipstick.
She twisted the tube before carefully applying it, stepping back only when she seemed satisfied with her own work.
“I think Shota might like this on you…”
You blinked at your reflection before turning toward her.
“Wait, what?”
Nemuri shrugged, capping the lipstick with a sly smirk, “What? You never know.”
“No, I mean…” You let out a sigh , covering part of your face as heat started creeping up your neck. “What makes you say that? Did he tell you something?”
The question slipped out faster than you meant it to, curiosity getting the better of you before you could stop it.
And honestly, you weren’t even sure how you were supposed to feel about the possibility.
You loved romance novels. Your bookshelf was practically dedicated to them, full of stories about love at first sight, fated lovers, confessions under the rain.
But strangely enough, you had never really projected those feelings onto anyone yourself. Not seriously. Not in the way the books described.
You had experienced the opposite, though. Enough awkward confessions and nervous admirers for Oboro to notice before you even did. He always stepped in long before anything could become too uncomfortable, not that it mattered much. You had never returned those feelings anyway.
And now that you thought about it…
Oboro had never done that with Shota.
Which meant one of two things. Either your brother had not noticed anything at all… or there was nothing for him to notice in the first place.
Maybe Shota simply didn’t think of you that way.
“I don’t need him to tell me,” Nemuri said, leaning forward before lightly tapping the top of your head. “Some things are obvious if you’re actually paying attention.”
For once, you had no idea how to respond to that.
“You’re the only person I don’t get tired around, so I don’t know why you’d think you could ever bother me.”
And soon after, your breath caught when Shota’s thumb brushed your lips.
It was the smallest touch, barely there, but enough to send warmth rushing straight to your face. You saw it happen in him too, the way he froze after, like he finally realized what he’d done and was already preparing to pull away.
Before he could, you leaned into his hand instead.
You hoped he understood it for what it was.
Because now your own eyes had fallen to his lips.
You had never kissed anyone before. Never gotten close enough for it to matter. And suddenly, embarrassingly, you found yourself wondering if he had. If he knew what to do in ways you didn’t. If this was as nerve-wracking for him as it was for you.
But before your thoughts could talk you out of it, you were already rising onto the tip of your toes, braver than you ever thought you’d be.
And somehow, with how close the two of you already were, the fear started to fade. You couldn’t tell if you had gotten taller or if he had leaned down with the same intention, meeting you halfway without either of you needing to say it aloud.
The space between you inching closer into a shared breath…
And then—
A tumble.
The unmistakable sound of someone losing their footing near the stairs, followed by a familiar groan.
Your brother.
You were at his side immediately, kneeling beside him to heal before your mind had even caught up to what had happened.
Your heart was pounding so hard against your ribs that it drowned everything else out. Whatever Oboro was saying, you could barely piece it together, and somehow that only made a nervous laugh slip out of you.
By the time the two of you stood again, he leaned closer, lowering his voice just enough for only you to hear.
That was it. You had been caught red handed.
“Nemuri’s looking through those books of yours…”
Your eyes widened.
The books.
Yes, they were romance novels, which on its own was harmless enough. But hidden among the normal ones were the questionable ones, the ones that no one would’ve thought the quiet girl would enjoy, the ones you wouldn’t let even your closest friends see without wanting to disappear from embarrassment.
And Nemuri of all people finding them? Absolutely not.
You were gone before Oboro could even finish laughing.
You reached your room, nearly out of breath,
Out of every single book crammed onto your overcrowded shelf…
Nemuri had somehow picked the worst possible one.
The most unhinged, embarrassingly inappropriate novel in your entire collection.
You couldn’t blame her though, it was the most innocent looking book out of all. It had a soft pastel cover with petals and an elegant penmanship title that gave absolutely no indication of the filth hidden inside.
Fortunately, you made it just in time to snatch it right out of Nemuri’s hands before she could turn another page.
She let out an offended gasp, “What? I got bored!” she defended, completely unapologetic.
“But you were just on your phone,” you shot back, quickly shoving the book back onto the shelf, carefully hiding it behind the safer titles, “Who were you even texting anyway?”
It was a poor attempt to change the subject, but you were desperate. Hopefully desperate enough that she wouldn’t question how long you had been downstairs. Because it had clearly been long enough for her to get bored and start snooping.
And honestly, you were starting to wonder the same thing yourself. How long had you actually been down there?
“Wait,” she said slowly, her eyes narrowing, “who were you kissing?”
You shook your head so fast it nearly made you dizzy.
Nemuri immediately slapped a hand over her mouth, her shoulders shaking with laughter.
You frowned. “What made you say that? You’re scaring me…”
She pointed to your lips, leaving you to turn toward the mirror.
There, on your lower lip, was the faintest smudge. Barely noticeable, but enough. Right where Shota’s thumb had brushed against it.
Nemuri’s laughter faded into the background the moment your own fingers lifted to touch the spot.
And with that, sleep came easier than it had in a very long time.
——————————————————————
And now, it felt like the birthday wish you wished for was nowhere close to coming true.
Gray clouds stretched across the sky, hiding any hint of sunlight and leaving everything beneath it dim.
You hurried toward the railroad crossing anyway, following the same route you had taken since the first day of school.
The same spot.
The same unspoken routine the two of you had agreed without ever needing to talk about it. That crossing had become yours and Shota’s place, the point where your mornings always began.
Except today, his side was empty. The sight made you slow your steps.
And immediately, your mind brought you back to last year, when he had distanced himself without explanation because of guilt.
The kitchen replayed in your mind. When the two of you had leaned closer, close enough that if Oboro had not interrupted…
Did Shota regret it?
Had your words annoyed him? Made him realize something he didn’t want to deal with? Worse, had you imagined all of it? Every shared look, every comfortable silence spent together, every small thing in between that felt too meaningful to be accidental.
Maybe his intentions had never matched yours at all.
The crossing lights stopped flashing, and the gates slowly lifted, opening the path again. You turned once more, looking over your shoulder, hoping to catch the familiar sight of dark hair and tired eyes making his way toward you.
But there was no one.
You forced yourself to keep walking, trying to think of something reasonable. Maybe he had overslept, or something had delayed him, or he was only running later than usual.
And if that was true, then hopefully nothing bad had happened on the way.
That thought stayed with you all the way to school.
But the moment you stepped into the classroom, your stomach dropped again.
Shota’s usual seat was occupied.
Someone else was already there, chatting like normal, like nothing about it was strange.
Your eyes moved across the room to where that student had originally sat.
And there he was.
Further away now.
Far enough that it felt intentional.
Why? What for?
When Oboro came flying in through the classroom window on his cloud like he always did to annoy half the class, you barely reacted at all.
Training began later that day, and normally, you would have understood if someone needed space. You were not the type to force your way into people’s silence.
But this was different.
The sudden distance Shota had put between you was too much already, and your mind had been spiraling since the moment you walked into class and saw his seat moved farther away from yours.
Every thought kept circling back to him.
To your birthday. In the kitchen.
The way everything was so close to changing.
And now this.
When your teacher finally announced the day’s training objectives, the stress in the class only worsened. Work study evaluations for the following year were approaching fast, and your teacher warned everyone that expectations will rise, and every mistake noted will be more crucial than it should.
Usually when training began, you and Shota would head toward the forest section together without needing to say anything.
So when you turned to do exactly that, your chest tightened.
He was already walking away.
Alone.
Straight into the forest.
You reacted before you could think, teleporting to his side in a swirl of spectral petals.
Even then, he didn’t stop. His back stayed turned to you, shoulders stiff, walking forward as though he didn’t notice your arrival at all, even though you knew he had. No one could miss the petals.
“What do you want?” he finally spoke.
His voice was dry. Flat.
For a second, your mind went completely blank. The pulse in your chest had climbed so high it felt like you could hear it yourself, and you weren’t even sure if you heard him correctly as you hurried to match his pace.
“I just wanted to ask if you’re—”
“Yeah. I’m okay.” His answer came too quickly. Like it was practiced.
“Are you sure—”
“Yes.” This time it was firmer. Final.
You swallowed, trying not to let it shake you, “Okay… well, I thought maybe today we could—”
He stopped so abruptly that you nearly walked into him.
But he still didn’t turn around.
“I don’t want to train with you.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
You blinked, “Like… for today, or…?”
“No. I mean in general,” His voice stayed cold, despite catching his shoulders tensing up,“You’re a distraction. Half the time we’re not even training, and I don’t need that right now.”
You stared at him, trying to make his words make sense. Trying to force it to fit with the person you had been with on your birthday.
“Can you at least look at me when you say that?”
For a moment, nothing happened.
Then he turned.
His hair had fallen enough to shadow his eyes, and when he finally looked up at you, the familiar tired stoicism you had grown used to somehow felt colder now. Shut out completely.
“I don’t want this,” he said. “I don’t want whatever you think this is. So stop trying.”
And suddenly, you regretted asking him to turn around at all.
“Okay,” you whispered.
The word barely made it out. Your throat felt tight, clogged with everything you were trying not to let spill over.
You blinked quickly, refusing to cry in front of him. Refusing to let him see that much.
So you turned and walked away before your body could betray you.
You just needed a breather.
And the bathrooms were the perfect place for that, a perfect place to let the ache in your chest break out of you without interruption.
Once you stepped out of the forest section, it no longer became suffocating, but you can feel the tears already making its way to the surface.
But the second you pushed the door open, you were met with familiar sunglasses and a barely concealed chest hidden under an open green trench coat.
Nemuri.
“Hey! We should—oh. Yan…”
Before you could even force out a response, Nemuri’s expression changed. Whatever playful comment she was about to make disappeared the second she took one look at you.
She crossed the space between you and pulled you into a tight hug, guiding you farther into the bathroom, shutting it closed before anyone outside could notice. Your breath hitched against her shoulder as you tried to steady yourself, the last thing you wanted was to have the class seeing you fall apart.
Nemuri pulled back just enough to look at you, her brows drawn tight with concern.
“What happened?”
“Nothing.” You shook your head quickly, avoiding her eyes as you lifted a hand, the familiar glow already gathering in your palm. If you healed the puffiness now, maybe no one would notice, and you could pretend this never happened at all.
But before the light could reach your face, Nemuri caught your wrist.
“What happened?” she repeated, slower this time. “I just saw you go into the forest with Shota. Did he do something?”
You opened your mouth, ready to deny it again, but the moment she said his name, your composure shattered.
The tears came before the explanation did, spilling over so suddenly it startled even you. Your throat tightened painfully, and every attempt to speak turned into broken words tangled with involuntary hiccups. The tears tasted salty when they slipped past your lips, and the more you tried to stop, the worse it got.
Nemuri narrowed her lips.
“Alright,” she said, already shrugging off her trench coat, throwing it in the air before you weakly caught it, “I got this.”
She turned toward the door, and your panic gave you enough strength to grab her and pull her back.
“No, please don’t!” you managed between shaky breaths, “You’ll make everything worse.”
She stopped, but the concern in her face had formed into anger now.
“Then tell me what he did.”
You shook your head again before you wiped away the mess off your face with your wrist. You didn’t want to say it out loud. This should’ve been something small. No one owed you anything. No one was responsible for your feelings, and the world certainly did not revolve around you.
“Can you at least tell me if he hurt you or something?”
As laughable as it sounds, your heart.
But the thought of Shota ever actually hurting you with ill intent made a weak laugh escape instead.
“He would never, Nemuri.”
Her expression relaxed, only a bit.
“Promise me you’ll tell me eventually, then.” She rested a hand on your shoulder, her voice quieter now.
You nodded before she pulled you into another hug, and this time, you couldn’t care less about her minimal covering than you would usually be shy about.
She offered advice after that, removing her coat from your arms, putting it on before grabbing paper towels. The words meant to comfort you, but most of it passed through one ear and out the other. Your thoughts were still too tangled to hold onto anything as you wiped the mess off your face and wrist.
“We can train together instead, anyway.” She suggested, hands on her hips.
You blinked, “But you three always train together.”
You remembered how Nemuri, Oboro, and Hizashi were practically attached at the hip during training since the beginning of the school year.
“You can’t train with more than three people,” you added, waving your hands in panic, clutching the tissue tightly, “I don’t want to get in the way.”
Nemuri waved the concern off.
“Those two can survive without me. They’ll train together, so it’ll just be you and me.”
You hesitated.
“But Shota’s by himself…”
You caught the exact moment her eye twitched.
Before you could react, both of her hands were firmly gripping your shoulders.
“Girl,” she said, voice dangerously calm, “if you bring him up one more time, I am going to flick your forehead.”
She lifted one hand just enough to show off her sharp red nails for proof.
You straightened immediately. “Okay, okay!” This time, a genuine laugh escaped.
“Alright then,” she said, guiding your hands back toward your face. “Now heal yourself up so we can go kick some ass!”
——————————————————————
With the school year nearing its end, you thought the ache would’ve faded by now. Months had passed, after all. Surely that should have been enough time to move on.
But you were nowhere close.
Training only became harsher as the year went on.
It became more demanding, especially once weapons were allowed to be included more often. Students were paired against other classes now, sometimes even third years already carrying experience from their work studies. Rescue simulations became longer. Combat evaluations harsher. Teachers observed every hesitation and mistakes, and criticized harshly just as promised from the beginning of the year.
And now here you sat in the classroom with your brother and your friends, going through the final evaluations of this year, each report reviewed not only by your homeroom teacher but by several teachers from other departments as well.
The moment Nemuri received hers, it was the first time you had ever seen her look genuinely conflicted.
Most of the report focused on her hero costume and weapon choice, specifically her whip. The instructors believed both needed to be reconsidered before work studies began, claiming that it could be viewed as inappropriate and potentially harmful to her image as a future pro hero.
Everything else, however, praised her improvement. Her combat and Quirk usage had improved since last year, and her grades remained average outside of art history, which she continued to excel in.
“They just don’t get it!” Nemuri complained afterward, visibly upset while waving the evaluation paper around. “I’ll prove them wrong anyway. Society needs to change, not me!”
Your brother’s evaluation had been… less academically impressive.
His grades barely scraped past passing marks, something that made you wonder how your parents were going to react once they saw the report. Still, the teachers praised his leadership and being able to think optimistically even under pressure. Most of the comments ended with reassurance that he would still succeed as long as he continued at his own pace.
“Aww, thank you!” Oboro said loudly after hearing the feedback, only for the teacher to completely ignore him.
Fortunately, your own evaluation had been much shorter.
“She’s a pleasure to teach, consistently shows strong understanding of course material, and excels in rescue training. However, she has greater potential than she currently allows herself to use. Increased confidence would significantly improve overall performance.”
Hizashi talked about his own report afterward, something about the teachers calling him a potential jack of all trades because of how he’s able to adapt across different subjects and training styles, but you barely processed any of it.
Your attention had already drifted elsewhere.
Toward Shota.
He sat near the window alone, staring outside while his evaluation remained crumpled loosely in his hand.
Even after giving him the distance he wanted, part of you had still been relieved seeing him training with Oboro and Hizashi. Nothing between the three of them seemed different, and at least that eased some of your worries.
But despite all of that, despite months passing and the school year ending, you still didn’t understand where things between the two of you had gone wrong.
And if the distance was what he truly wanted…
Then, the bell rang.
The sound echoed through the classroom, signaling the official end of second year and the start of winter break.
Soon after would come third year, then work studies.
And eventually, graduation.
“Are you going to Recovery Girl again?” your brother asked.
You nodded.
The suggestion had originally come from her after the mid-year evaluations, when she realized your class was somehow the only one that had barely stepped foot inside her office despite the brutal training schedule. Considering this year was known for pushing students harder than ever in preparation for internships and work studies, it immediately struck her as suspicious.
According to her, she had gone through the class files afterward, checking each student one by one and wondering if Class 2-A had somehow ended up with an entire roster of endurance based Quirks.
Until she reached your file.
Quirk Classification: Healer.
Why were you in the hero course?
The first time she brought you into her office, the sterile scent caught you off guard immediately. You weren’t used to places like this. The room itself felt strangely cold compared to the warmth of home. It was filled with neatly organized cabinets, stacks of medical forms, and the faint sound of the fluorescent lights overhead.
At first, she thought there had been a mistake in your placement.
U.A. offered hero studies, business courses, and support courses, and the support department was always desperate for students with healing Quirks due to how rare they were globally. Most classes ended up filled with people whose Quirks merely assisted heroes rather than placing them directly on the front lines.
But once you explained the real reason for the placement, something you planned to take to the grave until now, she understood.
And after that conversation, she never questioned it again.
Instead, she encouraged you to stay after school whenever possible so she could mentor you personally, teaching you how to work on your healing and learn proper medical skills.
It helped pass the time, too.
When really, it only helped fill the emptiness that still remained into your afternoons.
You no longer stayed behind to train with Shota.
So you spent those hours beside Recovery Girl instead.
After parting ways with the others, you watched your brother disappear down the hallway alongside Nemuri and Hizashi, their voices fading into the distance while you headed in the opposite direction alone.
Once you arrived at Recovery Girl’s Office, the routine started naturally.
You organized supplies while Recovery Girl reviewed patient notes, occasionally quizzing you between paperwork. Some afternoons were spent practicing proper bandaging techniques on old training mannequins. Other times, she would slide redacted medical charts toward you and ask what symptoms you noticed first, forcing you to think beyond Quirks and focus on the body itself. When there were no students coming in, she had you sanitize equipment, restock drawers, and memorize the contents of emergency kits until you could find everything without looking.
It was a lot to remember for sure, but you had begun to enjoy it far more than you expected.
And today’s lesson, perhaps influenced by the weather outside, centered around hypothermia.
By the time the discussion ended, the sky darkened into the night, leaving you to close your notebook and stand before beginning to tidy the office while Recovery Girl continued typing away at her computer.
“I have a question…” you said after a moment.
She nodded, her fingers continuing to type away over the keyboard.
“Go on, dear.”
You hesitated before asking, “Nursing… what kind of job is it, exactly?”
The room quieted once the typing stopped before she leaned back in her chair.
“Pediatric nursing,” she answered first.
You hummed softly in acknowledgment, considering the words carefully.
Maybe…
Maybe that was why this place felt more comforting than the training grounds.
“But let me tell you something,” she continued, turning her chair toward you fully this time. “This line of work isn’t meant for everyone.”
You tilted your head. “What do you mean?”
Recovery Girl folded her arms loosely, her expression softening in a way you rarely saw during lessons.
“You’ll know this job is for you when you can care for people at their worst.” She explained softly, “Not just when they’re nice or easy to help. I mean exhausted people. Frightened people. Injured people. They will cry, vomit, scream, bleed all over the place, or say things they don’t mean because they’re scared.”
You nodded, listening to each word carefully as she spoke.
“And sometimes,” she added with a sigh, “you’ll have to care for people you don’t think deserve kindness at all. That’s part of the oath. You treat the patient in front of you, not your opinion of them.”
That part made your chest tighten slightly.
People who hurt others. People who chose cruelty.
Villains.
Could you really care for someone like that?
Recovery Girl gave a small shrug, “Children are usually easier, though,” she added, “You’d be surprised how much more patient they are compared to adults.”
A small laugh escaped you at that.
Still, her words stayed in your mind.
If you chose this path… then what had all of this been for?
The years spent fighting for a seat in the hero course. The endless training. The studying.
Would it all become meaningless? Your parents wouldn’t approve of such a thing. Not when you’re already a year away from graduating.
“You should head home now,” Recovery Girl glanced toward the darkened windows, “That snowstorm from earlier is going to make walking difficult, even if the roads are mostly clean.”
You nodded quickly and moved to help her finish closing the office for the evening, shutting cabinets while she powered down the computer.
“I’ll see you next year, dear,” she said.
You smiled softly, “I’ll see you next year too.”
——————————————————————
The snowstorm had arrived far earlier than anyone expected.
For once, Shota had been fully awake throughout class, sitting by the classroom windows while thick snow battered the glass hard enough to blur the city beyond it. He kept waiting for an official dismissal from either the mayor or the school administration, surprised neither ever came. Maybe they assumed the street crews would clear everything by the time classes ended.
They did, yes.
But they didn’t touch an inch where he stayed.
By the time the sun began to set behind the buildings, Shota stood at the edge of his neighborhood, staring at the streets ahead. From a distance, the massive mounds of snow looked strange until he noticed the shapes beneath them.
Cars.
Entire rows of them buried nearly to the windows.
Including his.
He forced himself forward anyway, trudging through snow that swallowed his legs nearly to the knees. His school slacks were soaked through within seconds, icy water seeping into loafers he could never afford to replace. The wind cut straight through the thin fabric of his sweater, stealing the air from his lungs hard enough that he had to stop every few steps just to breathe properly again.
Still, he kept moving.
After too many falls to count, Shota finally stopped beneath the familiar broken streetlight near the alley.
There it was.
The abandoned car he crawled into every night.
The place that held his exhaustion, his anger, and the few belongings he still owned. The place he used to push everyone else away.
Home.
Only now, it felt like the world itself was trying to push him back out.
Snow had piled higher around his car than the others nearby, packed tightly enough to bury most of the doors completely from view.
Shota stared at it for a long moment before dropping his backpack into the snow beside him. At that point, he barely cared if his schoolwork got ruined. He crouched immediately and started clawing at the snow with what little strength remained in his hands, hissing sharply the moment his fingers dug into it.
It had already hardened.
Of course it had.
But he kept trying.
He lost track of how much time passed. Long enough for the sky to darken completely into night, his soaked fingers eventually turned red and wrinkly, and his right arm stopped responding altogether, numb to the point he could barely move it anymore.
And all he had managed was a shallow dent.
Shota swallowed hard and grabbed his backpack with his left hand instead, forcing himself upright. At least his legs still worked. Barely.
Though the freezing water had already soaked through his socks completely, sinking into his skin with every step. He kept moving anyway, hastily walking faster just to stop himself from thinking about how cold he truly was.
Behind him, a crooked trail stretched through the snow, uneven and scattered from how many times he had stumbled or collapsed trying to get here.
His mind had already narrowed down to one urgent thought.
Find somewhere warm. Four walls. Anything that felt less like dying.
Eventually, he could no longer tell if he was actually walking.
He was lost beneath the violent shaking in his body and the numbness settling into his limbs. His legs continued moving on their own, uneven and unsteady, while his thoughts dragged several steps behind. Every breath burned cold in his chest. His teeth clattered so hard he was surprised he could still hear anything over it.
Shota stumbled again, but this time his body failed to correct itself. He veered sharply to the right without meaning to, loafers slipping against packed snow before he crashed hard into the empty alleyway, the snow barely covering the fall.
The impact echoed painfully through him.
He stayed there sprawled against the frozen ground, struggling to understand why he had fallen at all. Eventually, he managed to force himself upright enough to sit against the wall.
A shaky sigh escaped him. That was all he could do for now.
His eyes drifted upward.
Above him, a bright star hovered in the darkness.
At least, that was what it looked like.
In reality, it was nothing more than the alley’s overhead wall lamp flickering weakly through the snowfall, but his mind could no longer process it properly. The light glowing warmer and brighter the longer he stared at it.
Pathetic as it was, it still looked warm.
It would only be for tonight anyway.
Tomorrow the snow would melt. Tomorrow he could crawl back into the familiar shell of the abandoned car he had called home for nearly three years now.
Tomorrow he could finally sleep properly.
And honestly…
Maybe sleeping now wouldn’t be so bad either.
The star overhead seemed brighter suddenly, so bright that smaller lights began to fall around him like sparks.
Somewhere along the way, his sweater ended up beside him in the snow.
His school shirt followed not long after.
He didn’t even remember taking them off as he surrendered to the winter night.
——————————————————————
Please don’t forget to like before heading towards the next parts! 🥲
Part Three (Year Two) || Part Five (Year Two) || Masterlist || AO3
Tags/Warnings/Disclaimers: Grumpy x sunshine, opposites attract, Not beta-read, No Usage of Y/N (Name is given, (Yan) but only mentioned once or twice. Physical features are left ambiguous), reader has a cute core aesthetic 🌸
Words: 8k
Part Two (Year One) || Part Four (Year Two) || Masterlist || AO3
Happy reading! 📖🩷
Year Two
For the first time in his life, Shota found himself looking forward to the start of the school year.
Winter break had never been kind to him. If anything, it was the stretch of time he dreaded most. Days flew by inside the abandoned car, the cold settling in no matter how hard he tried to keep it out. He would wake to frost clinging to the windows, his breath visible in the air, his body stiff from staying in the same position for too long.
Every few hours, he’d force himself outside, shoveling snow away with his bare hands when he had nothing else to use. The numbness would come quickly, creeping up his fingers until they stopped feeling like his own, lingering long after he crawled back inside. He’d try to patch the cracks by pressing newspapers against the thinner parts of the glass, anything to keep the wind from slipping through.
But it never worked for long. And there wasn’t much he could do but sit there.
The only thing that broke the boredom were the old comic books he’d stolen awhile back, before the acceptance letter of U.A.
But the pages were worn from being reread too many times to count. Even those had long since lost their ability to distract him.
So his mind wandered.
And, shamefully enough, it always wandered back to you.
To the moments throughout the school year. The ones after class, when the campus emptied out and it was just the two of you staying behind. Training until the sun began to set and until the air cooled.
He remembered at first how your movement improved with each throw, how the kunai began to land faster and more accurately under Kitsune’s guidance.
And he remembered you never laughed when he fell or tangled onto his scarf.
You’d only step closer, patiently untwisting the fabric from where it had caught around him, your fingers brushing his as if it were nothing, always asking if he was okay before resuming.
There were days you’d disappear into petals, only to reappear just out of reach, forcing him to react faster. There were times where he actually managed to catch you, the scarf wrapping around you before immediately loosening it.
And you’d smile and clap for him.
And shamefully, the days where two of you did anything but that, the moments that had nothing to do with training.
The way you’d reached up once, brushing a stray strand of hair from his face without thinking.
The comparison of hand sizes that turned into something neither of you commented on after.
The times he caught you mid teleport, pulling you in before either of you realized how close you were standing.
None of that was training.
At first, he thought replaying them over and over was concerning, like there had to be something wrong with him to cling to such small things just to pass the time.
It was ridiculous. He knew it was.
But it was the only thing that made the time move.
The only thing that kept him distracted from the cold seeping into his bones.
And he wouldn't say he regretted what happened last year. The moment when he reached out without thinking, his hand closing around yours before you could step away from the walls he had built carefully over the years.
If anything, that was the problem.
He hadn’t been thinking at all.
He hadn’t been paying attention to where he was. To who might’ve seen. To how close you were standing, how something like that could’ve been easily misunderstood.
And the only person that came to mind afterward was Oboro.
Your brother.
His best friend.
But Oboro never said anything.
Never hinted at it. Never looked at him any differently.
Which meant he must’ve missed it.
He had to have.
——————————————————————
It was April again, finally. The first day of a new school year.
Now as second year students.
And somehow, everything he had pushed through during the winter felt worth it the moment he reached the railroad crossing.
Because you were already there.
Same place. Same time. Like nothing had changed, as if it had become something more than a tradition.
Your head lifted the second you spotted him, your face lighting up instantly. You waved with that same bright smile, too wide for something as simple as seeing him again, like you hadn’t seen him in far longer than just a break.
And without meaning to, something in his chest softened.
That was how the rest of April passed.
Training didn’t start until the second week of May, but somehow everything followed so naturally that Shota stopped questioning it.
Every morning began the same way, crossing paths with you before school at the railroad crossing. Then came the rooftop lunches with Oboro and Hizashi, listening to the two go from one ridiculous topic to another while he occasionally found himself dragged into the conversation despite never understanding how it happened in the first place.
And every afternoon ended the same way too, with you waving goodbye before hurrying off toward your brother.
It was repetitive. Predictable, even.
But Shota didn’t mind it at all.
If the remaining school years continued like this, he wouldn’t ask the world for anything more.
Now he walked beside Oboro toward the classroom after lunch, the two trailing slightly behind while Hizashi had strangely stayed back with you and Nemuri.
At first, for reasons he could not explain, the sight bothered him.
Did you like Hizashi?
The question rose so suddenly that it caught him off guard.
Shota immediately frowned at himself. It made no sense. Hizashi had never mentioned you, and you had never spoken much about Hizashi either. Come to think of it, he was not even sure the two of you had properly introduced yourselves yet aside from the first day of school.
Then Nemuri suddenly shoved Hizashi away with a laugh, her shoulders shaking while Hizashi clutched his chest in a fake offense.
You, meanwhile, stood beside them with a strained smile and one brow slightly raised, clearly lost somewhere in the middle of whatever nonsense they were talking about.
That was when Shota noticed Hizashi wasn’t even looking at you. His attention remained entirely fixed on Nemuri.
Relief washed over Shota so quickly it almost embarrassed him.
And concern followed immediately after.
Why was he relieved at all?
“You’re coming this time, right?” Oboro asked abruptly, glancing toward him.
The words dragged Shota back a year.
The rooftop. Just you and him.
The way you reassured him after he shyly admitted why he couldn’t attend last year. The slice of cake you had saved for him anyway.
The sunlight catching against your smile while the wind threaded through your hair.
“Yeah,” Shota answered quietly, almost too fast.
Before he could think more on it, Oboro suddenly grabbed his hand.
“What are you—”
Shota barely got the words out before Oboro flipped his palm upward and began scribbling across it with a marker.
Shota stared down at the rushed writing.
Then frowned harder.
His own handwriting was already terrible, but Oboro’s looked genuinely indecipherable.
Before he could ask what any of it said, Oboro had already jogged ahead toward the others calling out for him before slipping between Hizashi and Nemuri.
At the sound of your brother calling over Shota, you immediately turned around.
Your eyes met his across the walkway.
Then, without hesitation, you held your hand out toward him, silently inviting him over.
And Shota immediately quickened his pace.
——————————————————————
By the end of the day, the two of you crossed paths again by the lockers.
You had just shut yours closed and were already preparing to leave, your brother waiting near the school gates with his cloud drifting by the exit like usual.
Shota nearly let you go after you waved goodbye to him.
Nearly.
Because he remembered telling Oboro he would come this year, and he remembered once more of what you’d told him the year before even more clearly.
That it didn’t matter whether he brought a gift or not.
That simply showing up was enough for you.
Before he could second guess himself, he lifted a hand, giving your shoulder a small, hesitant poke just before you stepped away.
You turned immediately.
“Don’t tell your brother this, but…” he muttered, stating it bluntly, before turning his palm toward you.
Written across his skin was Oboro’s handwriting, barely resembling actual words.
“I can’t read any of this,” he admitted, scratching the back of his head. “What does this even say?”
You let out a quiet laugh as you reached into your bag, retrieving a small pink notepad in your hand, along with a matching pen topped with a fluffy pompom that bounced slightly as you clicked it open.
He watched as you wrote quickly, yet carefully before you tore the page out with a clean motion and handed it to him.
Written in soft pink gel ink with a faint shimmer under the light, was a clear street address and house number, every letter and every line easy to read.
By the time he glanced back up to thank you, you were already stepping away.
You lifted your hand in another small wave as you rushed towards the exit, where Oboro waited, his cloud shifting beneath him as he called out to you now with a hint of impatience.
Shota raised his hand, returning the small wave as always while you climbed onto the cloud and disappeared into the sky beside your brother.
——————————————————————
Shota couldn’t explain why his heartbeat refused to slow, thudding harder with every step he took.
Or why his legs felt unsteady enough for him to care as another small tremor crept in no matter how much he tried to ignore it.
Or why his palms had gone damp, forcing him to keep switching the note between his hands so he wouldn’t smudge the bright pink ink you carefully written.
It was just an address. It was just your house.
So why did he feel like this?
The closer he got, the more out of place he felt.
The streets were cleaner, easier to walk around with the smooth sidewalks. Pro heroes and police weren’t a rare sight but a constant presence, stationed nearby like nothing could go wrong. Even the people passing by looked… put together.
Nothing like him.
The noise of the main streets faded behind him as he turned the corner, following the path ahead, passing a slightly crooked street, a lone vending machine humming softly.
But he stopped.
Perched on a cherry blossom tree above him was a bird with dark feathers blending into the shadows underneath the tree branches, its head tilting as it watched him with a curious gaze.
A crow.
And all Shota could do was stare back.
“Shota?”
He flinched at the soft call of his name, shoulders tensing before quickly easing at the familiarity of the voice.
He turned.
Not far behind, you lifted your hand in a small wave. By the time he blinked, you were already closer, the faint shimmer of glowing petals drifting through the air.
You stood in front of him now, tilting your head to meet his gaze.
But Shota didn’t respond right away.
Because of your dress.
Soft ruffles layered gently, lace tracing along the edges with delicate patterns woven through the fabric as it moved lightly with the breeze.
You looked nothing like the girl he trained with.
Nothing like the girl at the railroad crossing.
And without meaning to, the thought crossed his mind:
You looked like a princess.
And him?
He gazed down, suddenly aware of everything he wore.
He had tried.
He used the school showers before coming, scrubbing twice along with his spare casual clothes just to be sure. Made himself as presentable as he could with what he had.
But there were things he couldn’t fix.
The way his sweatpants rode too high on his calves, clearly too small. The worn fabric of his sweater, pilled and thinning, the hood strings long gone. Shoes that didn’t quite fit anymore.
And his hair tamed only by his fingers, never quite sitting the way he wanted.
He wasn’t even close to being a commoner.
Just a mere peasant.
Your arms slipped around him without hesitation, pulling him into a gentle embrace.
He stiffened for a moment before taking in the warmth of you against him… and the faint curve of your smile pressed somewhere near his chest.
And the familiar scent of florals.
“You came,” you said softly.
Shota let out a quiet sigh, one hand lifting awkwardly before settling against your shoulder in return, unsure but trying anyway.
And somehow, that simple hug made him feel like a King.
No…
He saw how you lifted to your head, your chin now resting atop of his chest as you looked up with those familiar warm eyes he would never forget about.
…Like a King with his Queen.
He really needed to stop reading comic books.
Besides, like most Kings, his reign did not last long.
The moment the two of you pulled apart, Shota cleared his throat under his breath and muttered a quiet happy birthday before slipping the pink note into his pocket like he needed to hide it away.
You thanked him softly, folding your hands neatly in front of yourself afterward.
Before he could start worrying over what he was supposed to say next, his attention moved toward the plastic bag hanging from your wrist.
“Forgot about the forks,” you explained like it wasn’t worth mentioning.
But something in his chest had already sunk.
Was he too late?
Oboro never gave him an exact time to arrive. Or maybe he did and Shota simply had not been paying attention. Maybe he walked too slowly getting here. Maybe he misread the clock at the electronics store he passed earlier. Maybe—
You must’ve caught the panic beginning to show across his face because you answered before he could even ask.
“Oh, you’re not late,” you reassured quickly. “If anything, Oboro and Hizashi are the ones getting impatient waiting for you.”
And Shota still didn’t understand why his arrival mattered that much to them.
But the thought slipped away when your hand reached towards his wrist and you moved ahead to guide him along.
And for once, pulling away never even crossed his mind.
Funnily enough, it was not far at all. Just a block away.
Still, when the two of you arrived, Shota found himself slowing for a moment as your hand slipped from his wrist, leaving behind an odd sense of emptiness before you stepped forward to open the gate.
It wasn’t an intimidating one either. Honestly, it looked easy enough to climb over if someone really wanted to.
Shota continued to follow behind you along the short path leading toward your home.
He saw the neatly kept lawn, a simple porch sitting beneath the glow of the exterior lights, while a black car parked in the driveway.
Nothing about the place screamed wealth. It wasn’t like some extravagant mansion designed to impress people at first glance.
Yet the difference between your worlds still felt painfully obvious.
He stood at one end of the spectrum. You lived at the other.
Comfortable. Stable. Well off that it never needed to be flaunted.
Shota couldn’t stop himself from wondering how someone like him had ended up here in the first place.
How either of the twins had decided he was worth keeping around at all.
The front door opened, and it didn't take much to realize who they were.
Your parents.
He saw it immediately, the resemblance he’d seen in Oboro reflected back at him now.
And for a split second, their smiles dropped.
It was so quick it could’ve been missed if he hadn’t been looking right at them.
And just as quickly, those smiles returned, lifted back into place as you spoke, unaware of what just unfolded as your voice filled the space before a silence sprouted.
He couldn’t blame them, though.
But there was only so much he could do with the circumstances that were out of his hands.
He barely had a second to register the warmth of your home the moment the two of you stepped inside before he was suddenly pulled forward.
An arm hooked around him. Then another.
A tight embrace that knocked the air from his lungs, his body shaken side to side without warning.
“Shota!”
Blond and bright blue filled his vision.
His best friends.
——————————————————————
Shota should’ve probably expected it the moment he stepped into Oboro’s room, but it still caught him by surprise.
The room was dim, lit mostly by the glow of LED strips lining the walls, colors fading into one another every few seconds while the real light came from the three monitors set up across his desk.
It wasn’t long before Oboro and Hizashi were already absorbed in a game, the clicking of buttons and sudden jerks of the joysticks filled the room. Shota found himself wondering, not for the first time, how neither of them ever complained about their hands going numb.
And they had tried to pull him into it, of course.
He gave it a try, taking the controller with reluctance, but it didn’t take long for him to fall behind. The layout made little sense to him, too overwhelming as his friends told him to press one thing over another. He’d tried similar demos before at electronics stores which was usually just something to pass time, to stay warm or to catch glimpses of the news. But even then, it had never really clicked.
He preferred something slower. Something he could follow at his own pace.
Such as comic books.
So when Oboro who was typing his fingers away along with Hizashi gave him the approval to check out the shelf, Shota didn’t hesitate.
Now he was sprawled across one of the bean bag chairs that reminded him of Oboro’s cloud. The noise of the game continued in the background along with the occasional pings of their phones, but it faded into the distance as he focused on the pages in his hands.
It was the latest issue of his favorite series, the one he’d been waiting on.
And as he turned another page, he wasn’t sure how he felt about it.
The hero continued on with his story just as planned. Of course though, it didn’t go perfectly, there was always something that got it in the way that ended up resolved in ways he least expected to. That’s what made Shota continue.
But somewhere along the chapter, something changed.
A character from a few issues back appeared again, and the moment Shota saw her, he rolled his eyes.
At first, he thought the author had written her off as unnecessary. She felt like an addition stories made when the creator ran out of conflict, a distraction dressed up as something important. When at least in Shota’s view, was someone who was created only to interrupt the hero’s focus and let the plot drag onto the ground.
But as he turned the next page, the hero hesitated.
Because of her.
It was subtle enough that most people would probably miss it. A line of dialogue that meant more under the surface.
And the more Shota read, the harder it became to dismiss her as just a love interest meant to weaken him.
He understood now.
There was something at stake beyond winning or losing. There was someone to protect.
Someone whose absence would change everything.
His grip tightened around the edge of the page before he even noticed it.
The hero stood beside her now, standing close enough to reach for one another without thinking.
And before Shota could stop himself, the image changed.
It wasn’t the hero he pictured anymore.
It was him.
And the person standing across from him—
“What are you doing?”
The page nearly crumpled in his hands as his head snapped up, his pulse spiking so hard it felt like it might leap straight out of his chest.
For one awful second, he thought he’d been caught.
But Oboro wasn’t even looking at him.
He was staring somewhere behind Shota from across the room, one brow raised in concern, while Hizashi, completely oblivious, kept button mashing the controller beside him.
A soft nudge pressed against Shota’s elbow.
Before he even looked down, he caught the familiar glow in the corner of his vision.
Kitsune.
She narrowed her eyes at him, her head tilting slightly.
Across the room, he heard Oboro mumble under his breath, low enough that it almost blended into the noise of the game.
“She never does that…”
Ever since that day when Shota first met you in the rain, he noticed Kitsune would make only less than a handful of appearances, remembering how Oboro mentioned that aside from himself, she kept her distance from most people, choosing instead to stay inside you or observe everyone else from afar.
“Can you check on my sister for me? She needs something.”
Before Shota could question it, Oboro had already turned back to the screen, Hizashi shouting something beside him as the two resumed their game like the conversation didn’t even happen.
Shota gave a small hum of acknowledgment and looked back down at the comic in his hands, deciding he might as well finish the last panel before getting up.
Except there wasn’t one.
At the bottom of the page, in bold print, were the words:
To be continued…
He stared at it for a moment before letting out a quiet sigh.
Of course.
Closing the comic, he returned it carefully to the shelf and stood, stretching the stiffness from his shoulders. When he glanced down, Kitsune was sitting by his feet now, her tail swaying back and forth as she stared at him with patience that unsettled him.
But the moment he moved, she padded behind him and nudged her nose against his ankle.
“Alright, alright,” he muttered, quiet enough that only she could hear.
Kitsune trotted toward the door, slipping straight through, leaving Shota to open it the normal way for himself.
The moment the door shut behind him, the noise from Oboro’s room disappeared, now filled by the silence of the hallway.
A few feet ahead sat another door.
He knew, somehow, without needing to ask, that it was yours.
Maybe it was the charm hanging from the handle, or the faint scent of floral in the air.
He didn’t let himself think about it too long before a small squeak pulled his attention away.
He turned toward the staircase and found Kitsune waiting there, sitting perfectly still at the top step, her tail flicking with impatience.
Shota sighed under his breath and walked over, only for her to turn her back to him, springing to her feet, darting down the stairs before he could even reach her.
He followed carefully, taking each step slower than necessary. The last thing he wanted was another uncomfortable encounter with your parents tonight.
But fortunately, half way there, he heard the sound of chattering through the TV. It was loud enough to reach the staircase, loud enough that they wouldn’t be able to hear him.
Even better, wherever your parents were sitting, the walls seemed to block their view from the staircase and kitchen entirely.
By the time he reached the final few steps, Kitsune made a sharp turn to the left.
The kitchen.
By the time he reached the final step, Shota slowed, peeking carefully around the corner just as Kitsune slipped back into your body.
And there you were.
Balanced on the tips of your toes, one hand braced against the counter while the other stretched toward the highest shelf of one of the many kitchen cabinets. Your fingers barely brushed the edge of what you were reaching for, a quiet grunt of frustration leaving you as you tried again.
Eventually, with a soft defeated huff, you finally dropped back onto your heels, turning away with a small pout already forming on your lips.
Then you froze.
Shota stopped too.
For a moment, he forgot why he had come downstairs at all.
Your hair looked different from earlier. More carefully styled, framing your face in a way that made it difficult for him to look anywhere else. There was makeup too, subtle enough that most people probably wouldn’t have noticed it at all.
But he did.
His gaze trailed lower, caught first on the faint shine coating your lips, the color only slightly darker than your natural one, so light he likely would’ve missed it if he hadn’t been staring at them for too long, long enough for him to wonder what it would look like if the shade had been darker before his attention shifted upward instead.
To your eyes looking brighter beneath the kitchen lights, the faint dust of color across your cheeks only drawing more attention to them, and once he noticed the details, he couldn’t stop noticing them.
And one thought surfaced almost immediately.
Wasn’t makeup supposed to make girls prettier?
You didn’t need any of it.
You already were.
The thought came so naturally that he didn’t even realize what he’d just admitted to himself.
Still, he liked seeing this side of you, but at the same time, part of him still preferred the face he had grown used to seeing every day. The one untouched by colors, gloss, and glitter.
Your real face.
Was this Nemuri’s doing?
He remembered how she had arrived not long after he did, and not even a minute later, he’d heard the squealing that reached Oboro’s room.
Your gaze dropped immediately to the floor.
Your voice came out quieter than usual, and something about that made his chest tighten.
“Don’t laugh…”
“I wasn’t going to,” he answered, just as softly.
He stepped closer, trying very hard to focus on literally anything else, until his eyes landed on the top shelf you had been reaching for.
Muffins.
Without a word, he reached up, grabbing the plastic container with ease before setting it down on the counter beside you.
When he looked back, your eyes had widened, pupils dilated like he’d just handed you treasure.
You muttered a quick, almost panicked “thank you,” before snatching the container toward yourself and turning away so fast he nearly took a step back.
And the way you opened it with such urgency made him blink.
Then you took the first bite.
Shota watched as your shoulders relaxed, a soft hum of satisfaction escaping you as a faint glow outlined your figure while you continued eating, facing away from him like you were trying to preserve your dignity.
He had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling.
And it didn't take long before you seemed to remember he was still standing there.
Slowly, you turned your head, lifting one arm behind you in silent offering, a single muffin held delicately between your fingers.
He raised a hand, shaking his head.
“Desserts aren’t really my thing.”
You stared at him for a second before turning back and continuing to eat the rest yourself without hesitation.
Silence settled again comfortably.
That was until his mouth betrayed him.
“Can’t you get cavities for doing that?”
The second the words left him, he regretted them.
Why would he say that? Why was that the thing he chose to say?
He opened his mouth to apologize, but you chuckled softly, tossing the now empty container into the trash bin nearby.
“Kitsune kinda handles all of that,” you explained, finally turning to face him properly, your pupils returning to normal. “She controls things like blood sugar, metabolism… stuff like that. So I can get away with a lot.”
He nodded slowly, glancing toward the center of your chest, where the fox spirit had disappeared.
That explained more than he expected, and somehow raised even more questions about your Quirk than it answered.
“You’re doing okay?”
Shota blinked at the question, then nodded far too quickly.
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
The answer came out automatically, the same response he’d given to anyone who asked too many questions, or simply started an unnecessary conversation.
But with you standing there, watching him so carefully, it felt wrong to leave it at that.
“Why’d you ask?” he asked again, softer this time.
You leaned lightly against the counter, your fingers brushing against the edge of it.
“Well… I just wanted to check up on you since we don’t really talk that much.”
Shota raised a brow at that.
“But we do when we train.”
His mind went back to last year, of the late afternoons spent training together after class, fixing mistakes, helping each other improve. But there were also moments that had nothing to do with training at all, yet somehow stayed with him longer than the actual lessons did.
That was when the two of you talked most, wasn’t it?
You did talk to each other.
Still, judging by the way your lips pressed into a thinner line, he realized that was not what you meant.
“I meant outside of that,” you clarified, glancing away.
“You wanted to talk to me?” The question left him before he could think of a better choice of words.
You blinked at him, “Well, I mean…”
Oh. Of course. He had misunderstood.
“I just didn’t want to get in the way or anything,” you admitted quickly.
“What makes you think that?”
“I mean… you seem happy with Oboro and Hizashi.” You lifted your hands halfway to your face as if trying to hide behind them. “Not that I’m jealous or anything,” you added hurriedly before your voice softened again. “I just didn’t want to bother you…”
Shota barely heard the rest after that.
Your words continued in a nervous ramble, one thought tripping over the next the more flustered you became, but his mind had already caught on something else entirely.
Bother him?
That idea felt absurd.
If only you saw the way his attention drifted toward you during class whenever your back was turned.
Or how even Oboro and Hizashi, people he genuinely cared about, became too loud for his thoughts to keep up with, leaving him craving the kind of quiet only you were able to give him.
If only you knew how he had started looking forward to that railroad crossing every morning more than anything else in his day.
A sound escaped his lips before he could stop it.
A short scoff.
Your expression changed immediately.
“Yeah, I’m sorry, that was…” you started softly, already stepping back as concern pinched your brows together.
Shota moved before he fully thought it through.
The kitchen light fused your shadows together across the floor as he reached up, brushing his thumb gently against the crease forming between your brows.
Your rambling stopped.
“Hey…”
You looked up at him.
He did not know where the sudden courage came from when his hand laid beneath your chin, fingers tilting your face upward just enough that your eyes met his properly.
Now there was nowhere else for either of you to look.
He only wanted to see your expression clearly. To know whether he had been imagining all of this or not.
“You’re the only person I don’t get tired around,” he admitted quietly. “So I don’t know why you’d think you could ever bother me.”
Your lips parted slightly, eyes widened as surprise softened every feature of your face until you looked completely speechless beneath his touch.
His gaze dropped again before he could stop it.
To your lips.
And then he noticed it.
The smallest crumb near the corner of your mouth.
His thumb lifted, brushing it away gently.
But in doing so, it barely grazed your lips.
You gave the slightest startled breath, your body stilling beneath his touch.
His own heart slammed against his ribs from the sound.
But maybe that wasn’t your intention, maybe he had crossed a line, or maybe he had indeed misread everything.
Before doubt could further seep in, you turned your face just slightly, leaning into the warmth of his palm, your cheek resting there comfortably.
And suddenly, his thumb was there again, barely brushing the edge of your mouth.
He wondered, absurdly, what you would taste like.
Something sweet, probably. Maybe the sugar from the muffins still lingering on your lips, or the faint floral trace of your lipstick.
And before he even realized it, he found himself leaning closer. Or maybe you had. He couldn’t tell anymore. It didn’t matter.
All he could focus on was how close you were, how your breaths nearly mingled in the small space between you. So close that if either of you moved even a little…
A sudden thud echoed through the floorboards, followed by the sound of someone groaning in pain, forcing the two of you to pull away.
By the time Shota blinked, you had already vanished in a scatter of glowing spectral petals. His vision cleared just in time to see you crouched beside your brother at the bottom of the stairs, sprawled on the floor.
But from that position, it was clear it wasn’t anything severe.
Relief washed over Shota immediately. But not just from his friend’s wellbeing…
You were already trying not to laugh, one hand covering your mouth while the other glowed softly against Oboro’s knee, healing whatever damage his pride had suffered. Oboro groaned louder, now clear in his voice that he was over exaggerating, leaving you to shake your head.
But once the two of you stood, he leaned down and whispered something into your ear.
Shota watched the way your smile fell, replaced by wide eyes before you quickly turned and rushed back upstairs without another word.
Then Oboro looked up.
A wide grin spread across his face the moment his eyes met Shota’s.
And yet… something about it felt off.
“What were you two taking so long in here for?” Oboro asked with a laugh, brushing himself off.
Shota froze.
It shouldn’t have felt like a trick question, but somehow it did. His throat felt dry as he forced himself to answer.
“Your sister wanted the muffins,” he said, pointing toward the cabinet behind him that was left ajar.
Oboro let out a long, understanding, “Oohhh,” while scratching the back of his neck, “Right. I forgot I shoved them back up there earlier.”
Shota nodded, though his attention had already moved elsewhere, his mind replaying just mere minutes ago.
The closeness… your lips only inches away from his…
“It just looked like she was starving from how fast she ate them.”
Oboro bursted out laughing, “Oh, that’s just Kitsune,” he explained, “Whenever my sister sees sweets, Kitsune loses her mind over them. Seriously, you should see her if she goes too long without eating sugar.” He laughed harder, clearly remembering something specific. “It’s terrifying.”
Shota hummed, mentally storing the information away.
But no matter how casual Oboro sounded, Shota still couldn’t bring himself to look him in the eyes.
The two of them eventually headed back upstairs to Oboro’s room, where Hizashi was texting away, invested on the phone like nothing had happened.
Shota dropped back onto the bean bag chair, staring up at the ceiling as the LED lights continued to change softly overhead from blue to purple to red.
A long sigh escaped him the moment Oboro put on his headphones.
Maybe your brother indeed hadn’t noticed and you two had just gotten lucky. That should’ve been enough to calm himself down.
But it wasn’t.
Because he couldn’t stop thinking about the look on your face after Oboro whispered to you.
And no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t stop wondering what your brother had said.
——————————————————————
A few hours later, the sun had begun to set, and the moment everyone had been waiting for had finally arrived.
The cake.
Shota had never been much for sweets, usually finding desserts too overwhelming for the mouth or too expensive anyway. But he had to admit, the slice you had practically spoon fed him last year had been far better than he expected.
He debated if it was the cake itself, or maybe because it had been from you.
But you, on the other hand, were the complete opposite.
He recalled the muffins from earlier, the way you had nearly attacked the container the second he handed it over, like it had been a life or death situation. And yet now, sitting at the dining table with everyone gathered around, you looked perfectly calm.
And Oboro’s earlier words hit him then.
The muffins had basically been damage control so Kitsune would stay calm long enough for the actual birthday cake.
The dining room lights dimmed, leaving the only source of light left of the candles flickering on top of the cake placed at the center of the table. Across from it stood you and Oboro.
Shota noticed in the corner of his eyes the way your father adjusted the camera with one hand while the other rested against your mother’s shoulder as she leaned into his touch. It was simple, ordinary to the lucky. But to Shota, it felt like he was watching something foreign.
Would he ever get the chance to experience something like that himself?
Then everyone began to sing.
He didn’t know all the words well enough to confidently join in, so he settled for quietly humming along under his breath, hoping no one noticed.
When the song ended, the room fell into a moment of silence.
The twins closed their eyes to make a wish.
Shota had seen this plenty of times before, but only on television. In those family movies playing through store windows, the ones where birthdays came with balloons and gifts wrapped in ribbons. He had never really considered that it was something people actually did, not just another unrealistic expectation from typical Hollywood.
Oboro reached out and gently took your hand beneath the table, his expression softening in a way Shota rarely saw beneath the beaming smiles. Your brother leaned closer, whispering something so quietly it should have been impossible to catch.
But Shota read it anyway.
“Three… two…”
Your eyes opened, and for one brief moment, your eyes met his. The familiar warmth that never failed to make his chest tighten as the candlelight flickered softly.
“…one,” you whispered back.
Then both of you turned toward the cake and blew out the candles together in one smooth breath.
Darkness filled the room for half a second before cheers and applause filled it instead.
But it didn’t last long.
“Hey!” you shouted suddenly, followed by Oboro’s loud laughter.
The lights flicked back on, forcing Shota to blink against the brightness. Your parents were already protesting, their scolding mostly ignored.
And there, standing beside your brother, was the reason why.
A small dot of frosting sat on the tip of your nose.
Oboro looked far too pleased with himself, but before he could celebrate his victory, you dragged your finger across a bit of frosting and smeared it right across his cheek.
An offended gasp left him before Hizashi and Nemuri were encouraging violence to their respective friends.
And Shota could only sit there, shaking his head to himself, wondering how exactly he had managed to put up with these people.
——————————————————————
The day had finally come to an end.
But it didn’t end the way Shota expected.
After enduring nearly a full minute of relentless pleading from Oboro and Hizashi, he had finally, and very irritably, agreed to let Oboro drop him off on his cloud. Normally, Shota wouldn’t have cared. After all, he used Oboro’s cloud with them all the time to get to the rooftop during lunch.
Tonight, though, was different.
Tonight, going home meant explaining where exactly “home” was. And that was something he had no intention of doing.
Now he laid flat against the soft surface of Oboro’s cloud, arms folded behind his head as they drifted through the quiet night sky. The city lights glowed far below, the stars scattered brightly overhead. Hizashi had already been dropped off, leaving only the two of them in a comfortable silence.
Shota continued to stare upward, trying to come up with an excuse convincing enough to avoid the truth. Anything that would keep Oboro from asking too many questions.
He would rather take that secret to the grave than admit the reality of his living situation. Pride is such a fragile thing, but it was all he had left that he could manage.
“You and my sister have gotten pretty close recently.”
Every excuse he had been considering vanished instantly.
Shota sat up so quickly the cloud shifted beneath him. His chest tightened, the air suddenly feeling thinner.
“We just train together,” he said, too quickly.
Technically, it was true.
Still, it sounded like an excuse the moment it left his mouth.
“I know,” Oboro reassured.
Shota turned to look at him. Oboro was still sat forward, hands in his pockets, letting the cloud carry them through the night.
“I wasn’t saying it like it was a bad thing,” he clarified, glancing back with a small, amused smile. “I just notice things.”
Shota let out a quiet hum, hoping that would be enough to end it. He turned his gaze downward instead, pretending to have sudden interest in the passing rooftops below.
“Do you like her?”
The question hit harder than any punch.
Because the truth was, he didn’t know how to answer that.
His mind drifted back to the kitchen. The way his hand had settled beneath your chin, admitted things he had never even managed to put into words before. That being around you felt more comforting than being around anyone else.
Was that liking someone?
Or did it have to be something more specific than that?
He had never allowed himself the luxury of thinking about romance, never looked at someone and considered what it would mean to pursue them, to want them in that way. Survival had always come first. Food. Shelter. Getting through the next day. Feelings like that belonged to people with time to spare.
And yet…
His mind kept returning to you. To your smile. To the way your fingers lingered when they touched him. How the softness of your voice could immediately relax him. Or how even the sight of you made his pulse quicken in ways he didn’t fully understand.
But even if he could name it, there was Oboro still sitting right in front of him.
His best friend.
Your brother.
“Shota…”
The way Oboro said his name made his stomach drop. His tone had softened, losing the normal tease.
“I need someone who can be there for her all the time,” Oboro said, his voice quieter now, but firm. “When things get rough. When she wants someone to celebrate with or someone to cry on, she needs someone who can keep her safe. Someone who isn’t embarrassed or afraid to love her.”
To love her.
The word sat heavy in his chest.
Because Shota could barely take care of himself.
He had no home to bring you to. No money to offer. Most days, he wasn’t living, only surviving, moving from one problem to the next and hoping he could outlast all of them. How was someone like him supposed to be there for you when he was barely holding himself together?
And the embarrassment part almost made him laugh.
If anything, it should’ve been you who felt embarrassed or afraid. Not him.
You, with a bright future and a life that leads towards success.
Him, with clothes too small, a car he called home, and enough damage in his life to make anyone step back if they looked too closely.
“I want someone who will stay with her,” Oboro finished.
A quiet scoff slipped from Shota before he could stop it.
Why had he even let himself think about it?
The world had made its answer clear long before tonight. He was already fighting just to keep a roof over his head. The thought of dragging you down into that mess left something bitter in his mouth.
It was like cold water being thrown over everything he had let himself feel.
The warmth, hope, and the pathetic string of possibility.
All of it washed away by the same truth he kept trying to outrun.
He had no home. No future worth offering. No right to even to stand beside someone like you.
At the end of it all, when he stripped away every excuse and every moment of selfish hope, the answer was painfully simple.
He was nothing.
Shota quickly told Oboro to drop him off at the nearest apartment complex, the first one they passed that looked believable enough. It was still farther from where he actually stayed, but that was the last thing on his mind. He needed the conversation to end before his thoughts swallowed him whole.
Fortunately, Oboro didn’t question it, only giving a nod before lowering the cloud.
Shota muttered a quick excuse, something about not wanting to keep him out too late, and stepped off before Oboro could say anything else. Shota saw the concern the way his brows furrowed, but he didn’t want to chance to misinterpret it.
And by some miracle, the apartment lobby had been left slightly ajar. He slipped inside and stood there for several minutes, pretending he was just another resident coming home late.
When enough time had passed, he pushed the door open and stepped back into the night.
The streets gradually changed as he walked, the cleaner sidewalks and the blinding storefronts fading behind him, replaced by cracked pavement, flickering streetlights, and the familiar silence of the neighborhood no one cared enough to watch. The kind of place where people minded their business because they had no choice.
At least the universe was merciful enough not to throw anything else at him tonight. No trouble. No strangers. No reason to keep pretending he was fine. His head was already pounding from how hard his thoughts refused to slow.
By the time he reached the abandoned car, exhaustion had settled deep into his bones.
He pulled the door open and slid inside, the old seat creaking beneath him. Usually, the stiffness of it annoyed him, the cracked leather digging into his back, the cold settling into every surface no matter how much he tried to fight it. Tonight, he barely noticed.
The moment he laid down, it felt like his body had given up pretending too.
He lifted an arm over his eyes, trying to block out the faint streetlight bleeding through the thin windshield, trying to shut everything out. Oboro’s words. Your face. The sick feeling still twisted in his chest.
Someone who stays. Someone who isn’t afraid to love her.
Someone better.
His throat tightened painfully.
He pressed his forearm harder against his eyes, as if that alone could force everything back down where it belonged, digging into his pocket to brush over that pink note.
But instead, all he felt was wetness slipping past his cheek and into his hairline.
————————————————————————
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Part Two (Year One) || Part Four (Year Two) || Masterlist || AO3
Not a literal one, because that would be disastrous. It was a war of rumors and knowledge, all created by the hoard of journalists swarming the grand entrance like a shiver of sharks. Their noses picked up on the traces of blood—the hints of information—that trailed from staff members wading their way through the crowd, and you watched helplessly as your poor coworkers got mercilessly ripped apart with pointed questions akin to sharp teeth and ravenous appetites.
The analogy was actually insulting to sharks, you came to realize. Dolphins, if anything, had a better capacity for cruelty. You could even liken the swarm of journalists to a circling pack of wolves, but nothing animalistic could compare to the psychological violence of humans. They were their own kind of predator.
And you were the prey, stepping into snare.
It wasn’t like you had a choice. With the new dorms constructed last week, you had to take time out of your summer break to bring (and buy) everything you needed for your room. The only things left were a few personal items being carried in your bag. But with so many unanswered questions about All Might’s retirement, it seemed unlikely you would reach your destination in one piece.
The journalists hounded in on you for any scraps they could get.
“Is All Might still teaching at UA?”
“How is All Might’s recovery going?”
“Has All Might given any additional details on his retirement?”
They were suffocating. Unrelenting. Trapping you within a wall of bodies.
Even though you couldn’t press forward, the last question was enough to make you pause. You’d seen the footage, just like everyone else. You knew the extent of the damage. Your grandmother had been tending to All Might personally since the fight, and while she didn’t need your help, she confided in you of the tolls it took on his body.
He was worse than most people realized.
And you would never give them anything.
Pushing forward, you prepared to tell them off for preventing you from entering the school, but someone accidentally knocked into you and you stumbled.
You didn’t fall—someone caught you.
With a strong arm, Aizawa pulled you in by the waist; guarding you at his side from the journalists. You were relieved, then afraid at his expression. He eyed them all like they had each personally stabbed him in the back.
“Don’t you have better things to do than harassing UA staff?” He spoke roughly, harshly, leaving no kindness or sympathy. He wasn’t threatening, but his disheveled appearance and blood-shot eyes certainly scared them enough to make them back off. It provided a breath of fresh air. You’d be head-over-heels if you weren’t already.
Tightening his hand at your side, Aizawa started for the entrance. The frightened journalists parted like water as he led you through their ocean. You never took your eyes off him. The arm around you kept you shielded from any threats, and a proper glare took care of the rest. Like a knight in not-so-shining armor, he rescued you.
The deadening hoard grew quieter in the background, but still, he held onto you. You began to think he might never let go, given how tight his grip was. It had to happen at some point. You had lives to get to. In the meantime, though, you were happy to be whisked away (escorted) onto school grounds.
Once you were away from prying eyes, you allowed yourself a moment of indulgence; turning to slip your free hand into the layers of Aizawa’s scarf. His touch slid to your back. He no longer looked aggrieved—only mildly agitated. His hair was long and disheveled. Stubble unshaved. Tired eyes only softening for you.
Handsome as ever.
“Thank you,” you told him. While mentally tracing the lines of his face and all the affection hidden there, you spoke slowly to make sure every ounce of fondness seeped through. “You’re like my own personal hero.” Then, with your gratitude known, you leaned in to kiss him on the cheek.
Holding you closer, he grumbled to himself, “Never should’ve said that line.”
You tugged on his scarf. “No no, that’s not how the next line goes. You’re supposed to say, ‘You’re not the only person I’ve saved,’ and then I say, ‘No, but I am—“
He interrupted you with a kiss.
You forgot what you were talking about.
His voice rumbled softly into your ear as his arms tightened further. “I was finally given the chance to save you. I’d consider that a successful career.”
Suddenly dizzy, you let him help you walk across the grounds as he continued escorting you to your dorm building. It was a quiet, peaceful stroll. At the door to your room, you shared another moment of privacy, in which he showed an uncharacteristic amount of tenderness.
“You doing okay?” he asked, casually leaning against the doorframe and cupping your jaw. You melted into the comfort.
Squeezing his other hand, you nodded with closed eyes. “Yeah. Thank you for the help.”
“I’ll make sure to talk to Nezu about ushering them off school property.” His thumb rubbed your cheek repeatedly, making you shudder. “Enjoy the rest of your break.”
He no doubt said that because it truly was the only time you could take a breather from your job. During the semesters, it was always an onslaught of injury and illness, so you never had decent time to rest.
“You too,“ you said, but he was already down the hallway. Last second, he paused at the elevator and waved his hand; signaling he heard you.
You couldn’t help but smile. You were both hypocrites sometimes, but at least you were there for each other. Without that, who knows where the two of you would be right now. You would overwork yourself. He would have no help with his health. Life would get worse and worse, with no end in sight. The potential change was so bizarre to you that it felt entirely out of place. It would never be. Not in this reality.
As Aizawa stepped into the elevator, you called out to him again. “Shota?”
“Yeah?” He laxly held the door open with a button.
“Promise me you’ll get some rest.”
His eyes rolled—not from annoyance, but from realizing he had to acquiesce to your request. Distantly, you caught a quick, faint smile. “I promise.”
The door closed with a ding.
You closed yours with a click.
The world around you was being upheaved from the rise and fall of villains and heroes, but one thing would never change. You would be there for each other, no matter what. You would love each other until the day you died. You would heal his wounds, and he would protect you from whatever harm came your way. Because that’s what love was. He was your hero, you were his nurse, and your souls would never part.
