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Months into his second year at Yuuei and first year in the Heroics department, Hitoshi has what his mother lovingly calls a “gay panic”. He throws a fork at her for it because she is a cruel mother and laughs hysterically as it pings off her barrier. It does not change the fact that he’s only just realised he is stupidly, hopelessly in love with Midoriya Izuku, and he’s only fucking realised this because the guy accidentally smothered Hitoshi in his tits that afternoon.

He would like to return these hormones thank you, he’d much rather keep on existing in a cat-filled sexless void.

Midoriya Izuku isn’t everything Hitoshi wished he was or everything he isn’t or something cliched like that. He’s a stuttering hero otaku that likes to do laps around the dorms in nothing but trackies and a tank top, ignoring the looks his muscles definitely get. There are more scars on him than some heroes and his sense of self-preservation seems lower than a goddamn puppy’s, and there are moments where he seems so tired and burdened that Hitoshi looks at him and wonders if he’s really only sixteen.

When they first meet during the Sports Festival he was definitely rounder than now, and his face softer. Hitoshi’s by comparison is still flat and lanky, a thank fuck sent to heaven considering his mother’s size, but his face and body are no more hardened despite training. Present Mic likes to call him a string bean when he catches him and Aizawa-sensei training together. He always responds by hitting the man dead center between his brows.

Midoriya is not a string bean, but he’s not a scary beefcake like Kirishima. He’s quiet, but he’s no meek doorstop. He knows his stuff and has proven himself time and time again, but doesn’t ever seem to drill it into his head not to be a fucking idiot. Hitoshi is and isn’t a lot of this too, what he can admit, and this is not surprising or what draws him close. Teenagers at the same school in the same department had similar interests, who fucking knew.

Midoriya, the day Hitoshi goes through his trial to join Heroics, acknowledges that the other boy is an asshole, dismisses it, and tries to rope him into friendship within five minutes of seeing him. The rest of the class do this too, but they don’t look at Hitoshi with a knowing gleam in their eyes, or offer their phone number afterwards.

“I think I like someone and I don’t know how to stop it,” He tells Aizawa-sensei after their first exam of the year, a tactics runaround that ended in Kaminari crying. Aizawa blinks at him slowly and reminds him of Tuna. He wishes he could bring pets to class.

“Kid, what the fuck,” Aizawa says, which is fair. “Who- no, I don’t need to know. Why do you want to stop feelings .”

Hitoshi wrinkles his nose. There are many reasons to get rid of feelings, including but not limited to he doesn’t need this shit right now. Aizawa does not accept this very sensible reason. He is a traitor alongside Hitoshi’s mother. Something about depression and making friends and connections which, sure, but Hitoshi’s more concerned with having an asthma attack every gym day.

He never does get an answer on what to do.

Hitoshi is sitting in a cat cafe and wondering how he got here, sort of. He’s mostly focused on petting the absolute shit out of Mashed Potato, because the bobtail is actually letting him touch his belly for once and it is bliss. 

Midoriya is sitting across from him with Mochi in his lap purring a storm and looking at Hitoshi with a weird expression that makes his stomach wobble. He’d invited Hitoshi out after school, and considering it’s this or visiting home so his mother can harp on about his hair and skin and eyebags well, he chooses the better option.

“He likes you,” Midoriya comments. Hitoshi nods and tries and succeeds in pressing his cheek to the tom’s floof. Distantly, he wonders where the others are. Midoriya had mentioned others coming, right? He needs to sit up and act cold and aloof before they do. “Maa, you’re so cute Shinsou-kun.”



Mashed Potato does not like Hitoshi suddenly imitating a tea kettle. He, however, does not move because he is a blessed animal, and endures the teen hiding his face in his stomach while Midoriya smiles at him. Cute. Cute, sure, okay yeah sure yeah bro-

He’s imagining shit and Midoriya has no boundaries, that’s gotta be it.

It is summer, and Hitoshi looks out his window to see Midoriya’s switched to gym shorts for his runs.

He absently stares for a few moments, realises where his eyes are, and promptly spends three hours cleaning his room.

“Izuku,” Midoriya says one day during lunch, and it is very confusing. Hitoshi looks at him blankly while Todoroki snorts and mutters something that makes Iida lose his shit. Midoriya just smiles at Hitoshi and ignores the play-by-play. “You can call me Izuku, Shinsou-kun.”

Oh. He looks down at his grilled fish and jabs a piece with his chopsticks.

“...Call- you can call me Hitoshi then. Izuku.”

Kaminari starts yelling about something down the table and makes Bakugou almost start a fistfight. Again. At least no one goes to the infirmary this time.

It’s not really awkward to be in the waiting room at the same time as- Izuku, since they both already know, sort of, why they’d both need to be here. Izuku only blinks when Hitoshi enters the room, and Hitoshi gives him a tiny wave.

“Shot?” He asks, because he is very afraid of needles and willing to admit it, but Izuku shakes his head.

“Post-op,” He says. Hitoshi squints at him for a moment.

“How bad did you fuck up the sutures?”

Recovery Girl walks in very unimpressed at their cackling and sputters but Hitoshi is right , and that flush over Izuku’s freckles is just the prettiest damn thing he’s seen in ages.

He trips face-first into Izuku’s chest again and it was very plush and underlayered with muscle and he can’t look the other boy in the face for a few days. Izuku says he didn’t mind when Hitoshi apologizes because he is too forgiving.

Aizawa-sensei has a pained look during their training. He begs Hitoshi to just fucking kiss him please, you’re worse than Inui was , which is very insulting because he’s seen Inui-sensei get flustered over just holding hands . He is nowhere near that bad.

He doesn’t do what Aizawa asks. Because, well. Forcing your feelings on someone else isn’t exactly nice.

The bookstore is a nice hole in the wall, and Izuku shows off his favourite authors and drags him into a discussion about science fiction for an hour. 

The flowers outside his room are pretty, and safe for cats which is good since Tuna eats half of one that night. They’re blue blossoms with five petals, bunched together on thin stalks. They remind him of a cloudless sky.

The Eraserhead poster Izuku gives him looks painstakingly made, draft and sketching painted over with thick lines and contrast. It’s pinned above his bed, jumping out at him whenever he walks in.

It feels a lot like him making big things out of nothing, but Aizawa-sensei and his mom keep giving him longsuffering looks and he thinks there’s a betting ring in 1A. Kaminari and Ashido are watching him like hawks. 

Oh god. He has to finally jump, doesn’t he?

Their midterm exams aren’t easy by any sense of the word. Pitted against each other and 1B on a giant map, forced to account for hostages and structural damage while they raced against a clock. No penalties but no bonuses for teamwork, points off for the slightest things. The teachers are being brutal with the pressure of the Yakuza beginning to reemerge.

Hitoshi makes by the skin of his teeth, well-aware he only has advantage through surprise and sneaking and underhandedness. He isn’t berated for it but rewarded, which is a new one. He guesses people stopped bothering with the dream of “playing nice” with murderers. 

Izuku manages well, stubbornly reaching for the top but outstripped by Eijirou and Yaoyorozu thanks to his recklessness and hesitations, but it’s not bad. There’s not competition here as there will be out on the Heroes’ Board, and they’re all exhausted but satisfied with their passes.

Hitoshi’s sitting on an empty box, as one did after pumping adrenaline and thinking they may die for the past hour and a half. He’s letting Ochako ramble in his ear and ignores her getting quiet and snorting, because he’s tired. He doesn’t pay attention to the shadow over them, because he’s tired. He looks up at the tap on his shoulder because he isn’t that tired and it may be a teacher.

It’s not. It’s Izuku, equally tired and kind of a mix of amused and hesitant. His hand is still on Hitoshi’s shoulder. 

“The others keep saying I should just go ahead and do this since hints aren’t working,” Izuku says, which makes no sense if Hitoshi keeps up his background music of denial, “And I’m tired enough to let Shouto bully me into this.”

“Aa,” Hitoshi replies. He can see Aizawa-sensei on the edge of the group with the other teachers, glancing over and then freezing. He slaps a hand over Mic’s mouth because by fucking god the man may be thirty-seven but he is a bro.

“Hitoshi-kun,” He says, and the indigo-haired teen doesn’t let him get any farther, since it’s a lot easier to just grab him by the collar and drag him down to kiss. Kaminari and Sero’s posse break into whooping, Bakugou yells something that vaguely sounds like PAY UP! , and Izuku’s lips are very warm and his hands very gentle as they cup Hitoshi’s cheeks.

Fuck. His mom had been right. He was really fucking gay.