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I want to kiss (your dumb fucking face)

Summary:

Monoma develops a big gay crush on Shinsou from afar and his life descends into absolute chaos

[The Monoma Neito coming-of-age fic absolutely no one asked for]

 

*alternative working title: Monoma Neito and the accidental discovery of everyone's personal business

Notes:

i had no wifi for ONE DAY and i shit out this gay fuckfest. for a RAREPAIR of all things

enjoy ig

Chapter 1: 1.1

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

Neito doesn’t know exactly when it starts.

 

There’s no defining, pivotal moment of him making eye contact with Shinsou Hitoshi in anime slow-motion and the world stopping around them, phantom violins blasting in the distance as Neito abruptly thinks, shit, he’s the one for me. That’s how he imagines people feel like when they develop an interest in another human being anyway, but there’s none of that.

No, there is just one day he doesn’t give a shit about the lanky, sleep deprived kid from 1-C and then another when he just…does and it’s the least dramatic thing that’s ever happened in Neito’s life.

It’s not a crush, per se. Not that he would know because he’s never actually bothered to do something as mundane and human as pine after people in his solid sixteen years of being alive. Aren’t people supposed to crush on people they actually know or does it happen like it happened for him, fast and random? He doesn’t know what to call…this and he’s not even sure if there’s a word for the way his eyes were drawn to Shinsou in the cafeteria one afternoon and had never wanted to look away again. Infatuation? Admiration? Boredom?

Lust? Shit, he doesn’t fucking know.

If he didn’t already know any better, it almost feels like he’s been hit with some sort of an attraction quirk with how rapidly his interest in Shinsou has peaked to new levels and new heights in just a short while. Or maybe the other boy’s mind-washed him into this…situation, either on purpose or accidentally but Neito doesn’t think that’s likely. He still acts and functions like himself outside of feeling like that.

Though it would help to have some sort of an explanation. Anything at all.

 

He’d first become aware of Shinsou’s existence at the sports festival, mildly impressed by his quirk and disappointed that he hadn’t been able to crack that stupid apparently god-sent broccoli motherfucker from 1-A, but that had been the extent of it. He hadn’t lost sleep over the guy or anything, hadn’t even thought about him past his fight with Midoriya; he was just another face in the crowd that Neito had pushed back into the recesses of his memory because he’s becoming a hero and he just doesn’t have the time to think about other people; he especially hadn't when he was wrapped up in his crappy internship that had taught him fuck-all.

He’d only seen Shinsou occasionally after the sports festival—in the hallways passing by or at lunch sitting with his General Studies friends—and not given him a second thought until he started one cursed day and now he can’t stop. Giving several second thoughts. Maybe thirds and fourths too.

A part of his brain wonders if he’d always been…interested but had squashed the feeling down into his unconscious mind where it’s now randomly bust out of to ruin his life

 

Shinsou isn’t some sort of god-send Adonis Nike underwear model which is all the more confusing. Neito doesn’t know him enough—translation: not at all—to argue being drawn to him for his personality so his looks are all he can go off and his looks, well—his dark circles stretch for miles under his tired, sunken eyes that permanently look like they’re judgementally squinting at people. His teeth are just a little high and his rare smile makes him look like he’s doing a bad impression of some serial killer. His hair is unruly and he’s lanky, tall and too thin—

Until he’s not.

And oh. Neito supposes that’s it. Maybe.

Shinsou has significantly bulked up since the sports festival, anyone can see that if they’ve been paying attention like Neito, as if his last-minute loss to Midoriya inspired him to buy weights on Amazon and lift them day and night. He’s still tall, still a little bit of a beanpole but his uniform shirt is now starting to stretch a little tight over his broad chest and strain over his biceps and his shoulders are looking really wide all of a sudden?

And so that’s how Neito comes to justify his daily lunch staring parties to himself so he doesn’t feel too mad at himself. It’s just curiosity as to how Shinsou is doing all that gym shit, how he’s levelling up into a muscle pig in such a short period of time. His semi-rapid change in appearance is what caused Neito to notice him in a new light and you know, heterosexually wonder what the purple-haired boy’s been up to.

Nothing more, nothing less.

Neito knows, deep down, that that’s a load of horseshit in and of itself but if he doesn’t believe that then he’ll have to admit that he’s only started gawking at Shinsou for his improving…assets and he can’t afford to sound like a hormonal teenager with a physical attraction now, can he?

He has his pride after all.

 

-

 

Shinsou’s alone today, leaning back in the cafeteria chair lazily as he nibbles at an apple stupidly slow, brain very obviously somewhere else. He’s got his sleeves rolled up to his elbows and his top two buttons undone, gaze perpetually bored and staring into space like he’d rather be somewhere else entirely.

He reminds Neito very much of a grumpy cat.          

Tetsutetsu is sitting next to him, loudly arguing with Awase who’s yapping back equally obnoxiously from across the table. The discussion is probably about Pokemon, as it had been before Neito had very neatly tuned it out—as he tends to do, sitting on one table with his buffoon classmates—in favour of staring holes into Shinsou’s face. The AC in the cafeteria is busted, sweltering heat making everyone whiny and uncomfortable but there’s a beat of sweat rolling down the side of Shinsou’s temple, his purple hair semi-plastered to his head and not sticking up in every direction today as it usually does and Neito’s mouth feels just the tiniest bit dry.

He has a fleeting urge to stalk right over to Shinsou’s table and slide onto his lap for just a strange, weak second and averts his eyes immediately to stare at his stupidly expensive untouched steak lunch before he can do something stupid like actually do it.

His face is on fire.

“What do you think, Monoma?” Tetsutetsu bellows into his ear—because he has no concept of an indoor voice—right as he’s attempting to swallow a mouthful of beef through his chronic case of dry-mouth and he almost chokes.

“About what?” Neito splutters and coughs, throwing him a mild glare but he knows it doesn’t look very intimidating, what with his girly blush and seizing tonsils. He’s tearing up a little, too.

“The best fire-type Pokemon?” Tetsutetsu has the gall to phrase it as a question, voice considerably lower and eyebrow raised as if Neito is acting weird for not listening and has enthusiastically joined in with these stupid grade-schooler discussions in the past (he hasn’t). “What do you think?”

Before Neito can reply and maybe somehow remove himself from this narrative, Awase chimes in with a “It’s fucking Charmander,”; the debate steam-rolls on without him immediately and he swallows a sigh of relief with his food. He doesn’t know what to do or say when Kendou isn’t around and she’s left him to the dogs today, helping Vlad-sensei with something for the upcoming first year final exams so he’s left to battle his classmates alone.

It’s not that he doesn’t like them. They’re all very different from him in their own right, but they’re not terrible people and they don’t piss him off like class A does; they even make an A-plus effort to include him into their shit, whether he wants them to or not. He just hasn’t been raised on the same things they have, what with the wealth of his parents and the lack of friends and healthy social interaction with people his own age growing up. He’s not sure how they’d take it if he ever told them he’s never watched Pokemon in his life.

Kendou’s the only person that knows about his social ineptitude, because she’s the only one he’s bothered to tell, the only person in this school he can hold a conversation with and when she’s not here to rescue him, well.

“Fuck you, Tetsu-kun,” Awase huffs, pout audible in his voice and Neito suppresses a snort with a mouthful of his steak when Tetsutetsu straight screams in response. Distantly, he wishes he could partake in the conversation because it sounds really fun, make up some bullshit about Pokemon and he looks up to contribute in a moment of false bravado and opens his mouth, if only to tell them they’re annoying—

Shinsou’s looking towards their table.

Neito suddenly can’t remember how words are formed, much less how to clamp his mouth shut again.

He looks bored as usual, chewing coolly on the last of his apple as he stares straight at him, purple eyes intense and judgemental as usual. Neito feels like he’s getting sucker punched in the gut, over and over again and he is so grateful.

Shinsou raises an eyebrow at him when he continues to uncoolly gawk back, probably at the dead-fish expression he’s wearing and he blushes straight up to his hairline, lip quivering like he’s about to cry because God is real and Shinsou Hitoshi is really fucking hot. Has he always been this hot? How did Neito ever think he’s not hot?

There’s steak stuffed in the corner of his mouth but he can’t recall how chewing works, can’t even muster up one of his smug-asshole smirks to look at least a little suave in his first ever episode of Shinsou now knows I exist and we’re eye-fucking.

Tetsutetsu cackles next to him and Shinsou’s gaze flickers to him briefly, still perpetually annoyed, and back to Neito. He tries his best to hold the other boy’s gaze, purple eyes curb stomping him with every slow irritated blink and then Shinsou looks away, like he hasn’t just committed first degree murder.

Neito does his very best to not physically slump from the…the ordeal.

Logically, he knows what that was. Their table was too loud and Shinsou was trying to will their silence into existence with his sexy brain powers probably. Tetsutetsu is now on the floor, dramatically fake-dying and Awase is doubled up with laughter. They’re arguably the loudest ones in the whole cafeteria, so of course he’d look. A lot of other people are looking, too.

But to look at him, at Neito, who wasn’t saying a thing…

He aggressively stabs at his steak as soon as that thought dares to penetrate his rational brain until it’s destroyed, the steak being a metaphor for, you know, false hope and downs his food robotically. His blush doesn’t go away all day, all through lesson and then even as he’s being driven home and he’s so fucking annoyed.

 

-

 

He can’t study.

Neito wants to scream and bang his stupid head down on his stupid study table, textbooks all over the place and his motivation on vacation in America. He’s trying his best, he is, but the words in his English textbook are blurring together and he can’t bring himself to even do a practice exercise he could probably do a week ago, easy-peasy no problem.

All he can think of when he lets his mind wander, which he isn’t, is what it would feel like if his seat was actually Shinsou’s thighs and he was sitting on them and studying while the other boy studied too, his chest pressed against his back and a comfortable silence in the—

No.

Neito shakes his head aggressively to block out the thought, finger curling around his pencil and digging into his book. The written portion of the final exam is in a day and a half and he has done fuck-all all weekend, brain choosing all the wrong things to concentrate on. The only thing he’s firmly ingrained into his head is that yes, he definitely has a crush on Shinsou for no fucking reason whatsoever with no interaction and no dice, but admitting it hasn’t done him any favours. All it’s done is amp up his longing levels and now he wants to be held and…stuff.

Disgusting.

It hasn’t been that long since he’s ruined his life by noticing Shinsou—long enough that he’s now grudgingly sure this isn’t some quirk effect because that would’ve worn off by now, but still—so Neito is left to ponder on the what the fucks and how the fucks of the situation and why he’s letting it affect him this much.

He can feel the weekend waltzing away from him, his notes laughing in his face but he just can’t wrap his head around it.

Why Shinsou? Why is he in so deep already? How is he in so deep already? Does he like guys? Shinsou doesn’t have tits or anything. Wait, has he ever been attracted to a girl? He can’t remember. Probably not? Has he ever been attracted to anyone ever? But even so, he doesn’t even fully remember what Shinsou sounds like, hasn’t had one conversation with him, so why has his brain chosen to fixate on him? Why not someone like Kendou or Awase or, god forbid, Tetsutetsu? Even Pony. Hell, Shiozaki!

Wait so, does he have a muscle kink? Tetsutetsu is pretty built and Neito doesn’t feel anything for him so…probably not? But he wants Shinsou with all his developing muscly glory to put him in a chokehold and/or pin him to a bed and show off whatever strength his arms have until—

Is he lonely? Sexually repressed? Is constantly thinking jerking-off-is-for-middle-class-boys all these years backing him up? Should he jerk off and get it done with? Is that morally appropriate? It doesn’t sound morally appropriate. Shinsou wouldn’t appreciate that.

Would he?

 But wait, is he slowly being killed by the fact that he hides behind being a dick to everyone in his vicinity to cover up his social deficiency? Is he only pining after Shinsou because he subconsciously knows he can never have him so technically he can’t have his feelings hurt?

Is his brain breaking? Is he hormonal? Is this puberty?

Why Shinsou?

Neito bangs his head down onto the table and lets out a drawn-out, long suffering groan.

 

He fails his exams, the written portion spectacularly and the practical just barely—he’s super fucking mad about that—because of course he does.

 

-

 

Moving into the dorms after the fiasco that was training camp with a new layer of trauma fucking with his brain and the occasional night terror or two—because Neito is not allowed to have fun ever—is a whole other layer of bullshit. No one in his class disturbs him for the most part; he’s made too many sarcastic comments at their expense, more of them recently because he’s been that much sourer since almost dying miles away from home and no amount of Kendou backhanding will stop him. He’s content with just floating through life and trying to concentrate on class and not losing his shit mostly but then.

There’s the 1-C dorm building. Or rather, the knowledge that it exists.

Class 1-C’s dorms are in the building right next to his and his brain, along with trying to murder him with the memories and what-ifs of training camp, won’t stop its god-awful chant of Shinsou, Shinsou, Shinsou that’s only gotten louder as the days have gone by. Shinsou, living only a little walk away at all times, is a little overwhelming and Neito is pretty sure he’s never going to be able to concentrate on anything ever again.

He hasn’t even begun with acknowledging the fact that Shinsou was the first person he thought of when he felt like he was going to die, when that villain guy had broken in and almost cremated them, could’ve if he wanted to. Not his mother or his father, who he knows even less than Shinsou to be quite fair, but motherfucking Shinsou Hitoshi.

So, if Neito wakes up some nights drenched in sweat, gasping and reaching out for someone who isn’t there and almost spews that stupid boy’s name in his blind terror then it isn’t anyone’s business but his own.

How did he let his crush get this bad? It doesn’t even feel like a crush anymore.

The only reasonable solution to fixing the hollow longing in his chest and burying his predicament is you know, actually talking to Shinsou like a normal human being would, maybe befriending him to begin with—because Neito has taken a nuclear leap into Be My Boyfriend territory all at once—but the thought makes him want to hurl all over his room’s cheap carpet. Shinsou is quietly intimidating and that dramatic eye-contact encounter from all those days ago haunts Neito in his dreams.

And the dreams. The fucking dreams.

His Shinsou dreams. Those ones. He figures they might actually be more terrible than his night terrors.

They started a little bit after training camp and are a whole other horror story he doesn’t want to get into. They’re not sexual or anything, Neito doesn’t even want to think about that, but they’re cute and fluffy and of being held when he’s back in the extra lessons’ classroom miles away from home and inwardly terrified of death—not that he’d told this to anyone, fuck everyone—so yes that’s…a little worse.

He almost snaps one day when he wakes, sweaty and overwhelmed, to the phantom sensation of lips brushing against his forehead and head aching like he hasn’t slept at all; he almost stalks right up to Shinsou and socks him in the goddamn motherfucking mouth—with his lips—on god, but then they announce the upcoming hero provisional license exams in class that day before he has the chance and Neito’s priorities change because he really doesn’t want to fail again.

He doesn’t pussy out, not at all. He does not.

It’s just…compartmentalising. Or something.

So, he forcibly pushes Shinsou to the back of his mind, temporarily of course—it doesn’t work as well as he’d want to think— and channels his aggression into shitting on Class A instead and prepares for the exam like it’s going to pay his electricity bill for the rest of his life. He is not going to fail again.

 

He passes.

His whole class passes and Neito is unnecessarily proud of all of them, even more so because two of the Class-A idiots fail, which brings him ungodly amounts of joy. He wouldn’t compliment his class to their face though, lest they think he’s like their friend or something. Which he is. But they don’t have to know that.

 

-

 

Being able to think about Shinsou freely again after passing is a relief, almost like a reward after he’s done something good. He’s long given up on thinking about why he feels the way he does about Shinsou; he’s a hormonal teenager. Shinsou is moderately attractive and only improving with the day, not to mention aloof and is one of the only people Neito isn’t sure he can manage to look down his nose on.

Accidents happen.

He’s here and he’s accepted the sweet, imminent release of death by crush.

When Neito gets back from his exam, body aching in a worth it kind of way and collapses on his bed face first with all the grace of a baby penguin, all he can think about is Shinsou. It’s almost like his brain is punishing him for pushing him to the back of his mind over and over in the past few days, for denying himself this, whatever…this is.

His hair is still slightly wet from his shower, pyjamas soft and making him feel sleep heavy even though he hasn’t had dinner. He hasn’t texted his parents yet, to tell them he got his license, even though he knows he won’t get a reply, at least for a week. They’re too busy for him, always have been and the thought should bother him because he’s achieved something today.

But all he can think about is fucking Shinsou.

Neito isn’t too mad, though. Thinking of his…crush feels like a safety blanket, even though the mental admission of the fact makes him go all red like a girl in a romcom, and he wishes he could stalk up to the 1-C dorms and tell Shinsou all about his exam and how it went. He can’t, of course, he knows Shinsou doesn’t actually know him—he doesn’t have anything if not realism—but it makes him feel the tiniest bit sad at the back of his unconscious mind, anyway. It’s his fault for not making a move sooner, before he’d descended into this ten-thousand-watt longing territory but still, no one can pay him a billion yen to take that step.

He can’t make contact with him, not yet.

Soon, but not yet. He doesn’t feel ready and he doesn’t think he has the time or mental capacity to do that to himself at this moment in time but he does wonder. He wonders what Shinsou sounds like when he isn’t yelling at Midoriya, and what he smells like, and if his hands are bigger than Neito’s or not, and what food he likes, and what his parents do, and what it would feel like to touch him, or absorb his quirk, or maybe kiss—

Neito huffs, trying to will down the blood that has just rushed to his face and wonders how girls do this…pining thing so casually, how people make it look so easy in the few movies he’s watched, to have crushes on people they can realistically only admire from afar. He remembers laughing too, at the idea of being so infatuated with someone you know virtually nothing about when Tetsutetsu had wistfully whined about his crush on a western celebrity one day at lunch but now.

Now he understands, he thinks; not that Shinsou is a celebrity but still.

But then, just because he understands doesn’t mean he’s ready to introduce himself. He’s not ready because he doesn’t want to be fuck it up, doesn’t want to be the brand of embarrassing or loud or pretentious or too big for his age he’s modelled himself up to be at UA in front of Shinsou, so until he can learn to tone it down and not act like a rude, wild animal—the kind of behaviour that earns him Kendou-backhands—whether it be out of nervousness or habit, it’ll have to wait.

Excuses, his brain quips and he buries his face into his pillow stubbornly, as if rebelling against himself and feels ridiculously sixteen and vulnerable, just in that moment.

Neito can allow himself a moment.

Notes:

edited notes: nice im continuing this after all

comments + kudos are much appreciated

Chapter 2: 1.2

Notes:

why did this get kudos and comments and why would i die for every single one of u u fucking legends thank u sm. i decided to continue this after all while i still have the motivation and also ppl rly liked this for some reason sdhfdsh

you have seen monoma being a gay disaster now get ready for him being an even bigger gay disaster and shinsou being an awkward boi

no monoma coming of age fic will be complete w/o adding that s3e24 scene enjoy ur fuckin food

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Neito might not be prepared to make a move on Shinsou yet but that doesn’t mean he’s not prepared.

Only pussies and cowards and the Tetsutetsus of this world go into the battlefield unprepared and Neito is none of those things. What he is, is a planner, a Monoma and an intelligent one at that and he will pride himself on it until the day he’s dead. And maybe after that, too.

So, it’s only understandable that he has a list of scenarios, see, that highlight in frightening, gay—of the rainbow variety—detail how his first interaction with Shinsou will go, whenever that happens. The possibilities are neatly separated into “accidental” and “I grow some balls and approach him myself” and ranked categorically under “good”, “bad” and “ugly-no-hope-of-any-dating-ever-time-to-die”, along with some sub-categories here and there. It’s stupid and comprehensive, stupidly comprehensive, carefully colour-coded and laid out at the back of his English notebook, complete with the pros and cons thoroughly bulleted under each scenario.

It may be dumb, Neito may be a teenage girl in a boy’s body, but he’s not half-assed and neither are his affections or his list, thank you very much. He’s at least ninety-nine-point-nine percent sure that Shinsou has never been this aggressively liked in his life and he takes pride in that fact.

He’s thought about it at length, too. He’s brain-stormed this on sleepless nights, with a flashlight in his mouth and his notebook in hand and a pen to trial-and-error this shit. There’s him slipping and dramatically falling into Shinsou’s arms at lunch because he’s Neito Monoma and of course he’d dramatically fall in the name of love—this is under “accidental; good but awkward”—and there’s also him getting blackout drunk, busting down Shinsou’s dorm door and making out with him until he takes responsibility for the shitshow that are Neito’s emotions as of late—this is labelled an incoherent 2.a.m “no no, why why why would you think about this you don’t even drink”. There’s also a lot of him just being the handsome prince that he is and sauntering up to Shinsou at lunch—a lot of these happen at lunch now that he thinks about it—and talking to him like a socially efficient tank but that one’s scary so that’s “bad”.

Point being, Neito has it down to the smallest detail. He knows what to do when he inevitably catches the attention of the object of his affections and he’s ready to go out swinging and steal Shinsou’s heart. This interaction is going to be the best meet-cute of all time.

He knows it.

 

And then it actually happens.

 

-

 

The day after the hero license exams starts out mundane enough. It’s sunny out, earlier than should be legal and the 1-B dorm is collectively mourning the end of the summer holidays, slumped postures and whining all around—the loud, verbal protests are Tetsutetsu because of course they are. Nothing out of the ordinary.

Neito’s running on a good nine hours of sleep, three-and-a-half back to back Shinsou dreams and no dinner from the night before, having passed out like a goddamn loser after thinking about his love life, as he does, a fair amount. But despite the fact that the early September chill is setting in and he has no desire whatsoever to go outside for the second-term opening ceremony, Neito isn’t in a bad mood. Not like his classmates are, anyway.

He can’t be realistically, not when the two main things on his mind are Shinsou and all the sick burns he’s going to inflict on 1-A as soon as he sees them for two of their brats failing the hero exam; arguably top of the list of Neito’s favourite things in the whole entire world.

He’s thinking of toning himself down a little this time, though. He doesn’t really want those 1-A losers thinking he’s going soft on them or something but if he is to have any type of hope of this crush thing working out in his favour, then he logically needs to not act like a wild animal. Not in public anyway, where Shinsou can potentially see him acting like a psychopath.

Neito personally thinks it’s when he’s at his utmost adorable, no matter what Kendou thinks, but he’s willing to go this length for his love who might not agree. He doesn’t have to like it. He doesn’t like a lot of things, like Tetsutetsu or calculus or orange juice but life’s not fair and Neito is a goddamn soldier.

A composed, mature soldier with composed mature drags.

 

But then he hears 1-A’s class president bellowing some bullshit about queueing up to go out to the assembly from around the corner and he loses his motherfucking shit.

He doesn’t mean to really, he’s done fine all morning; downed the energy bars Rin had wordlessly handed him in the kitchen without protest because his stomach had been singing the Ave Maria for everyone to hear and walked to the main campus with Kendou and Awase without saying a single bit of nonsense. Not one backhand. He even kept his cool, patented self-satisfied smirk plastered on his face.

But 1-A is so goddamn dumb, so easy to make fun of. It’s child’s play and Neito is five, Shinsou be damned. Just for a second.

He’s already leapt ahead of his class fuelled entirely by pettiness and is leaning against a pillar—coolly—by the time Kaminari, Sero and Kirishima round the corner with the rest of the idiots in tow, dramatic timing on point and head down with his bangs covering his face. It’s like he doesn’t even have a choice in the matter; he sees 1-A, his body attacks. A primal instinct.

Neito isn’t entirely opposed.

“I heard Class A,” he mutters, mirth already creeping into his voice and body vibrating with the utter joy he’d managed to ignore the entire morning that is now hitting him like a freight truck. “Two people! You had two people fail the provisional licensing exam!”

He doesn’t mean to be as loud as he is, he’d just meant to sound accusatory and smug and suave but his eyes somehow blow themselves wide open and his lips slip into the biggest shit-eating grin he can manage. Somewhere deep inside, rational-Neito bangs against his meat prison and begs for mercy.

Sero and Kaminari look terrified of him as soon as he opens his mouth and Neito knows it’s because they’re probably concerned for his mental health—so is he, to be honest—but just that look of genuine, irritated fear is enough to tide him over for at least two weeks. And then—

“So, were you the only one who failed again? Like the finals?” Kirishima has the absolute gall to ask with a good-natured smile, the asshole, and Neito can’t help the full body laughter that escapes him, though it comes out creepier than he intends it to. He’s got himself fully stuck on adorable-psychopath mode until further notice and he can’t physically snap out of it. Not that he wants to.

Because God, he can’t fucking wait to rub this one in their filthy faces.

Neito can see his classmates walking towards him in his peripheral, finally about to catch up to him and the timing is so perfect he can’t help it. He’s going to make this one dramatic, he has to or he’ll never fucking forgive himself. If there’s one thing his parents have done good for him in their whole lives, it’s the classical theatre classes they put him through in elementary.

He needs to send them a card. He should do that.

Neito swings on his feet with all the grace of a ballerina—thanks middle-school ballet classes—and physically absorbs joy from Kirishima’s indignant questioning shout. He hates them so much, he’s almost about to make trashing them his life-force.

“We…,” he mutters darkly, willing his lips to not smile and not surprised when they do. His classmates are almost there, one step, two steps, three. Four.

They huddle around him, looking questioningly between him and the 1-A boys but no one looks remotely shocked, just resigned; Kendou even looks horrifically disappointed in him. Tetsutetsu yells Kirishima’s name happily.

Wait for it.

Give it to them.

Neito spins around and throws his arms out, smirk the size of a thousand suns.

“…all passed! We’ve pulled ahead of you, Class A!”

“Hi!” Tetsutetsu yells over him, ignoring him completely and waves enthusiastically. “Kiri!”

Neito might strangle him.

 

He’s buzzing with joy though, even as Kendou grabs his collar with a huff and forces him out of the middle of the hallway and back against the pillar he’d been leaning against but the damage is done. 1-A look mortified, Todoroki looks more dead than usual and no amount of Kirishima peace-making is fixing it.

Neito loves ruining their day more than he loves steak. Absolutely nothing can kill his vibe today.

He’s just gotten done tricking Pony into telling Kaminari and Kirishima that she’s going to kick them into the ground—which she is realistically, she’s a mini tank—and is in the process of getting backhanded for it when the universe grabs him by the hair and reminds him just where the fuck he is.

“Hey!” a gravelly voice calls out, deeper than is legal to be coming out of a teen boy and Neito’s entire digestive system exits through his ass immediately. He wonders faintly what deity he pissed off in a past life to deserve this. “We’re trying to get through back here.”

Class-A’s class president starts up on his loud holier-than-thou bullshit in response, probably an apology, but for once Neito has absolutely no reaction, not even an obligatory sneer. Because why the fuck does this always happen to him?

What the fuck is his life?

Can he have fun? Can he please have fun?

Neito clings to the pillar he’s leaning against, trying to become one with it as Shinsou passes him by with a few kids from General Studies, eyes bored and teeth bared. Not at anything particularly, they’re just out and Neito feels like he’s going into cardiac arrest. Kendou is staring at him cautiously, like he’s finally lost his mind—he has—but he truly and honestly cannot care, not when he can’t pull in enough air, much less expel it.

He feels like he’s getting kicked in the ass. Repeatedly.

Because it’s not humanly possible for Shinsou to have gotten bulkier in the short amount of time since he’s last seen him but he has somehow and it’s not humanly possible, it’s not humanly possible, what is he a goddamn workout demon

“Don’t show me how uncool you are,” Shinsou says evenly to 1-A’s president—Jesus, what the hell is his name, that’s a mouthful—effectively cutting him off mid-rant and Neito blinks at that, right through the medical shock he’s just gone into. His eyes are blown wide, he’s pretty sure his pupils have dilated all the way to the depths of hell and his heart is thudding in his chest like a war drum. It takes him a full second to register what has just happened right before his undeserving, gay eyes.

And then he swoons.

He goes red—mixed with magenta because he’s not breathing—like the lead of a heterosexual manga and presses a hand to his mouth, eyes sparkling and big like he’s just seen the meaning of life itself and he kind of has. Shinsou is big, Shinsou is broad, Shinsou can probably bench press his whole family into the dirt and Shinsou just trashed someone in 1-A.

Neito thinks he might actually be in love.

That’s his soulmate.

He needs to add “trashing 1-A under the moonlight and making out” dates to his dating list that he needs to make asap because it’s become necessary and if he doesn’t talk to Shinsou within the next few days, he’s going to lose his goddamn mind because that’s his man, factory-made specifically for him—

“Monoma,” Kendou says warily, cutting through his inner monologue. It’s not quite a question, more like flat confusion stuffed into one word and Neito is suddenly reminded he’s not alone. In slow, creeping horror, he realises that he’s got his palms pressed flat over his cheeks and he’s blushing and smiling and rocking side-to-side but even as his expression falls, he physically can’t stop. “Monoma.”

“Oh my god,” he whispers, horrified.

“Oh my god,” Kendou carefully repeats, eyebrows furrowed in question.

“Oh my god,” Neito agrees, voice trembling.

 

-

 

By lunch, Neito’s second-hand embarrassment somewhat subsides with the distraction of classes and the prospect of potentially interning under a hero looming over their heads. Kendou has stopped looking at him like she’s got a mental institution on speed-dial just for him, ready for them to strap him up and whisk him away at a moment’s notice and he has very successfully avoided running into Shinsou again.

Translation: he saw one, random flash of purple hair in the line next to him at the opening assembly and ran his entire class over to get to the back and away. Fukidashi has bruises.

Now Neito can only hope that Shinsou didn’t actually witness him bringing out his inner Jack the Ripper to tear 1-A to shreds in the hallway earlier because that’s one of the possibilities on his List and it’s firmly under “accidental; ugly-no-hope-of-any-dating-ever-time-to-die”. He’d only spoken up when Pony was in the middle of the hallway though, so he probably missed Neito’s little theatre show.

He’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed. That was a good ballerina spin.

No. No, bad, he shakes his head firmly. He’s definitely relieved.

Neito digs his fork into his steak and shrugs mostly to himself, trying to quell the pit of anxiety in his stomach before it gets any bigger and he’s forced to kill himself with his steak-knife. All’s well that ends well.

Now the only thing left to do is indulge, as he does at lunch, his favourite part of the day. Like a loser and all.

Shinsou is a lot of tables away today, nearer to the entrance while he’s sitting almost at the back of the room with Rin, Kendou, Pony and Tetsutetsu. They’re chattering away around him about the hero exam, saying something about strategies and other things but Neito can’t hear them over the soft harp music playing in his head, cupid eviscerating his heart to the beat of Beethoven Symphony Number Whatever The Fuck.

Shinsou’s got his top buttons undone and sleeves rolled up to his elbows today as usual, tie gone and eyes bored as he picks at his fruit salad with the flimsy plastic poor-people fork that is provided by the cafeteria with their equally flimsy plastic container lunches. Neito’s almost offended his boy’s being put through this peasant treatment but he can’t complain. Not yet. Not until he wiggles his way into Shinsou’s life and can do something about it.

He discards that thought relatively fast, though—for now—and returns his attention to Shinsou, the regularly scheduled program.

He’s sitting across from a girl Neito has seen around him before, she’s from General Studies or something, and is occasionally looking up at her from his food as she chatters away. He doesn’t seem all that interested but he does look like he’s listening at least, because Neito can see him reply in some places, too far away to actually make out anything they’re saying. Shinsou looks so pretty when he talks.

Neito is almost disgusted at how utterly and hopelessly lovesick he feels. He’s two seconds away from dreamily sighing.

“Monoma,” Rin says offhandedly, bumping him in the shoulder and rudely popping his pretty, pink bubble of love before going back to his conversation with the others. Neito nods without looking, shoving a mouthful of steak into his mouth and swallowing it whole with his annoyance before he resumes his staring. Rin is not nothing if there to remind him to fucking eat.

He’s almost as bad as Kendou.

Neito closes a hand around his juice glass, intricate and unnecessarily pretty just like him because plastic cups are for the lower class, and takes a swig before resting his chin in his palm with a smile, fully prepared to go back to gawking at Shinsou and letting his heart beat however hard it wants and—

Neito blinks in surprise.

The scene doesn’t change. So, he blinks again.

And again.

He tilts his head in confusion and wonders if he’s somehow teleported somewhere else in the brief second he used to look away. An alternate universe or something. He tries blinking again a few times and nothing happens.

Is it the effect of someone’s quirk? He’s hallucinating.

The girl from General Studies, Shinsou’s friend who he hangs out with a considerable amount at lunch, is leaning over the table and giggling, one hand resting on Shinsou’s forearm and the other on the top of his head. He’s staring, a little wide-eyed, back and forth between her grip on his arm and her face but he’s not making any moves to tell her to get off.

She says something. Shinsou says something back with a raised eyebrow. She smiles. He gives her a wry, hesitant one back.

Neito’s entire heart sinks and he feels his lunch come up.

“Monoma,” Rin says, nudging him casually but he’s not listening at all, can’t even bring himself to move a muscle, much less force food into his mouth. Dangerously, he feels like he’s going to puke. Or cry. Or pass out.

He knows immediately that he’s being irrational and stupid, there’s no disconnect there, but that knowledge does nothing to soothe him; he honestly just feels a little worse, a little dumb. He tries to establish the fact in his head, scolds himself that Shinsou is allowed to have friends and she’s probably to him what Kendou is to Neito—and they’re not dating, ew—and this is absolutely being taken out of context because he doesn’t know shit about the situation. But here he is, a gazillion tables away, about to have a panic attack because a girl touched Shinsou.

Oh god, he’s about to have a panic attack because a girl touched Shinsou. Is still touching Shinsou.

How fucking embarrassing, he sneers at himself internally like insulting himself is going to will his heart-rate to go down. Fucking pathetic, stop it you raging loser—

Neito feels a little sick when she backs away and sits down but reaches her hand over to touch the back of Shinsou’s. Shinsou, to his credit, stares at it warily with an expression of bewilderment, like it’s an open-ended grenade.

She’s still talking animatedly. He is listening and staring at his—their—hands, looking like a deer caught in the headlights. They’re definitely not dating, that’s not the face of someone who’s getting touched by his girlfriend, of course they’re not, what a stupid thought to have. What a stupid, stupid conclusion to jump to.

Or maybe he’s just shy, his brain supplies, and it’s a new relationship or something. Or maybe…

Stop, stop, rational-Neito yells at him from the deepest pit of his mind when his breath comes out shakier than before, stop that, shut up and eat your fucking food.

She moves her fingers then and does something with them that Neito can’t make out because they’re way too far away and suddenly, without his consent, his feet haul his body up and off the chair. There is vomit steadily rising up his body and into his throat and his ears are ringing. Very faintly, he can feel the tell-tale signs of an onslaught of tears. He hasn’t cried since he was like, ten. He can’t tell if he’s sad or furious.

He also doesn’t know why he’s standing up.

Neito knows he’s being stupid rationally, this is the dumbest thing he’s ever felt in his whole life and there’s a constant stream of self-scolding playing in his brain like a tape on repeat, then why can’t he snap out of it, what the hell—

“Monoma?” Kendou asks curiously, looking up at him questioningly but her face swims in and out of focus as Neito tries to pay attention. Oh god, they’re all looking at him. Why did he do that, why did he draw attention to himself—

He sways a little on the spot.

“Monoma? What’re you doing?” Rin asks slowly from his left, voice muffled with the food stuffed in his mouth. “Why’re you so pale?”

He’s fucking pale.

Neito has never felt so violently sick, so grossly weak in his life.

“Bathroom,” he manages to whisper somehow after a too long, expectant silence, voice small and trembling and they all just kind of…continue to look at him. Like he’s lost his mind. He has. “Bad steak. Stomach ache,” he adds, as if to compensate and tries not to focus on the fact that his voice breaks and flies off to vacation in the Bahamas mid-sentence.

“Monoma,” Kendou starts but he’s already scraped his chair back with his foot and started speed walking away from the table, from his friends who probably think he’s finally had a mental break. Neito aggressively blinks the tears away.

He’s not upset because of Shinsou and the girl—yes he is—he’s not, he’s not, he’s not, he knows there’s nothing going on there—but you don’t, his brain very helpfully comments— they’re just friends—but are they?—shut up, shut up, he’d just…he’d just very conveniently forgotten that heterosexuality is a thing, a thing that Shinsou might be into. That’s all.

He needs to lie down on it. That’s all. He needs to lie down and then he won’t feel so sad and angry anymore. He won’t feel like he’s wasted nearly three months of his life falling hopelessly deep and failed his exams because of it, for a boy who’s been taken this whole time, yeah, he just needs to…he needs to find a horizontal surface and shove his head between his knees.

How could he have been so stupidly meticulous about every single shitty detail about this dumb situation he’s willingly landed himself into and forgotten to consider his own goddamn gender and the fact that Shinsou might not even like boys, might not like him and his eccentric aggressively petty self with the creepy rants he subjects everyone to and might like that girl from General Studies instead, because they do hang out together more often than not and she’s always just there like an annoying pest. Maybe Shinsou likes her instead, oh god, what if he likes her a lot, what if they hold hands and do homework together and what if they kiss and—

And.

And then Neito isn’t quite sure what happens, thoughts going too haywire and brain positively screaming to really focus on what he’s doing, where he’s going.

One second, he’s almost jogging through the cafeteria, tears in his eyes and extremely eager to get away from this mess he’s made until he can calm down and maybe backhand himself into rationality and the next…

The next he’s flying through the air, almost in slow-motion.

He’s not sure if he trips—there’s really nothing to trip over except tile and his shoes and his big fucking assumption making head—or if his knees just simply give up and out and send him sliding across the room. Maybe he’s been pushed, though he didn’t feel anyone touch him, but there he is, dropping down regardless, the same way he had when he’d headfirst jumped into having disgusting, gross feelings for a human being.

Neito sends a wild hand out blindly to grip something, anything and not break his head open in front of the entire school. His fingers bump into someone’s flesh, there’s a high squeak that he barely registers, then the cool edge of a lunch table and then there’s what feels like a plastic container brushing past his fingertips. In one last ditch effort, he thrusts his hand at it, into it accidentally—it’s got stuff in it, ew, ew, ew—and tries to close his grip around it so he can halt to a stop somehow but just ends up taking it with him as he skids forward gracelessly.

It’s disgusting.

He’s going to neck himself for this later.

Something gross and wet falls down the side of his shirt and onto the floor beside him, presumably whatever the hell was in whatever the fuck he’d tried to grab. His knees hit the floor—how long had he been falling for?—and his body jerks forward.

Neito squeezes his eyes shut and waits for the fall. This is going to be so fucking humiliating, class A is never going to live this one down ever and class B will have to hide their faces forever and he’s going to have to go to Recovery Girl and miss the next lesson for this bullshit and oh god, Shinsou’s probably going to see him fall flat on his face and he’s going to have to move away and change his name and live in a cave and never—

A hand grabs his, big and cold and stops him mid-air as his own slams against the floor to break his fall, his nose inches from the ground.

Neito’s eyes fly open from the shock, the dramatics of it all.

He doesn’t know how long he just freezes in time, panting and staring at the tile in front of his face, but it’s probably only about a few seconds. The cafeteria has gone almost pin-drop silent by the time he feels himself coming back to his senses, just now registering how badly his chest hurts and the tears that have escaped his eyes and are currently running down his cheeks. At first, he thinks he can’t hear anything because his ears are ringing like a car alarm but it really is that quiet and oh god, everyone’s staring at him.

He can never be a hero after this, fuck, the bad press from this is going to bite him in the ass when he’s rich and famous and—

“Monoma-kun!” he hears someone call out in concern but he can’t bring himself to respond, can’t move or react, not even as his saviour lifts him up—his arm twists badly but he doesn’t feel himself wince, jaw permanently gone slack—and pulls him back with their one hand and sits him down on his ass, right in the mess he’s made of whatever he’d dropped on himself and the floor.

Oh god, oh god, he’s sitting in someone’s disgusting, slimy cafeteria lunch. He is, isn’t he. He is, oh god fuck, his pants. His pants, his clothes, shit, his dignity. He’ll have to pay for this, for all of this with his self-respect and probably actual money, why, why.

Why.

To their credit though, the person whose lunch he’s just murdered are still holding his hand and Neito realises it’s the sheer grip of that that’s keeping him upright. Neito feels his life ending and his soul leaving his body. He can never come to lunch again, no fuck that, he has to drop out. Forever.

“Uh,” he mutters, intelligently. His head is spinning and his body is quivering.

There’s a pause.

“Um,” he offers again because he’s eloquent and suddenly very interested in the white tile, too scared to look up at the owner of the hand, the cafeteria, the rest of his life. The only way this situation can get any worse is if the person holding him up is from 1-A, then he’ll really fucking kill himself—

“Holy shit dude,” hand-owner breathes above him, voice deep, gravelly and shell-shocked and just like that, Neito freezes where he is as sounds pick back up in the cafeteria. There’re chairs scraping in the distance and hurried footsteps gradually getting closer. That’s probably his classmates but Neito physically cannot breathe all of a sudden. “Are you okay?”

No fucking way, no please God, why, I was good, I’ve been good.

He’s going to google inhabitable caves near Japan right after he escapes because this situation could get worse and it did. Unspeakably, so.

“Um,” he repeats with a pathetic squeak, slowly lifting his head up and praying to God for the first time in maybe his life, hoping he’s wrong even though he’s not. He knows he’s not, he’s been replaying Shinsou’s man voice in his head the whole morning and metaphorically obtaining joy from it. He knows he’s not wrong and for the first time in his life, he wishes he was.

Why, why, why, why.

Shinsou’s eyes are blown wide, eyebrows almost at his hairline as he stares right into Neito’s eyes like he’s been handed an injured child that’s about to die and told to revive it with just a pair of surgical scissors. His mouth is open and his hand, his goddamn hand is in his, the same hand that had been under the girl’s. Their fingers are laced together tightly and Neito is being held up by his muscles, his fucking hand muscles; he’s just been man-handled by Shinsou Hitoshi and is now sitting in his upended box of fruit salad.

No one could pay Neito to make this shit up.

A hysterical laugh bubbles up and dies in his throat.

“Monoma!” Kendou cries, sinking to her knees beside him and he wants to look at her, he really does, but all he can register is the blood rushing to his face as he gapes up at Shinsou like an imbecile incapable of language. Shinsou whose hand he’s holding, a hand so freezingly cold and big it literally envelops his own, a hand that’s stubbornly holding on to his tiny undeserving one and refusing to let go for some weird reason.

They’re holding hands.

Neito squeaks as the weight of that realisation hits him a little too late, blinking and then blinking again in surprise when more tears escape his god-forsaken, traitor eyes. Shinsou looks alarmed and torn, like he wants to drop his hand but also doesn’t, lest he roll over and die. And Neito doesn’t doubt that he might.

“Are you alright?,” he breathes, looking a little traumatised and voice a little higher than before. There’s an extended silence. “Man, what the hell?”

He has the absolute audacity to grip his hand tighter.

Neito breathes out in shock, in and then out, out and then in, over and over as Kendou shakes his shoulder and tries to get him up to his feet, activating her quirk when he remains dead weight on the ground. Rin’s saying something and so is Tetsutetsu, loudly, mixed with another female voice that probably belongs to the General Studies girl—that stupid woman, Neito’s going to hunt her down and kill her with her own quirk once he’s remembered who the hell he is again—but it all just blurs together, as does the rest of the world. All he can see is Shinsou, all he can hear is Shinsou, all he can feel is the phantom sensation of his hand surrounding his when he finally, finally, disconnects their hands.

Neito gapes, trapped in his own mortified body because this wasn’t on the list, this wasn’t on the list, this wasn’t on the list, this wasn’t on the fucking list, this wasn’t supposed to happen like this, this—

“No, he just fell,” Shinsou is saying evenly to someone behind him as he comes back to himself, feet finding the ground clumsily and more pissed off than anything else now. What the hell is he replying to? Who the hell is he replying to? What is his life? “No, I don’t know, he looks a bit out of it.”

Kendou says something but it sounds muffled like she’s underwater.

“Nah,” Shinsou drawls, leaning back and gaze flitting to Neito warily like he’s a ticking time-bomb and he is going to double over and heave his guts out any second now, if he could move. The boy’s back to looking bored as always, no trace of the earlier emotion present on his face though he does look a bit taken aback. “It’s fine.”

None of this is fine. None of this is even remotely okay. This is the worst thing that’s ever happened to Neito in his whole goddamn life and Shinsou has the gall to say it’s fine. He almost snaps his arm out of Kendou’s grasp who’s started leading him away and is now firing frantic questions at him that he genuinely cannot hear, nearly frees himself and punches Shinsou in his stupid face but he doesn’t because he can’t and also because his hand is so big and cold and was in his and he would like a repeat performance of that under less embarrassing circumstances.

Neito makes himself sick with this shit.

Notes:

this fic is just an excuse for me to write monoma having a+ gay monologues lol
(+ for context, he developed his crush sometime in early june and its now september according to the bnha timeline)

kudos and comments make me feel warm inside, pls

Chapter 3: 1.3

Notes:

hello i had midterms and i died but im back

editing monomas age cos hes 16 and i thought he was 15 but hes a big bitch
this ch is: a lot bc i wanted to expand on his ptsd from training camp a bit + his nightmares and anxiety + dissociation problems + family problems and also lay a premise for all these Issues i mentioned in ch1 that im gonna unpack as this fic goes along . this isnt properly betaed so pls excuse any typos thank u LOVE U HOMIES !!!!

content warnings for mild dissociation, nightmares, panic attacks, class 1-b being long suffering parents and shinsou being an absolute disaster

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Neito doesn’t come back to himself for hours afterward. Not fully anyway, not even when he feels silly and tries his hardest to snap out of it.

The adrenaline and the shock from the fall wear off only a few seconds after his classmates lead him out of the cafeteria, semi-circling around him like they’re daring someone to say something to him. He would find it a little sweet but once the rush of holy fucking shit, what the hell did I just go through passes, Neito’s left vacant inside; hollow, like someone’s replaced his internal organs with nothing, so he doesn’t really register anything his friends are doing. His head feels stuffed with cotton, ears feeling partially blocked off because of it when the small group manages to manhandle him away from the cafeteria and all the way to Recovery Girl’s office, asking questions all the while.

Neito feels absolutely nothing, not even the concern that he should realistically feel at that realisation. It’s no big shock to him, really, because he’s always had the stupid tendency of fully shutting down to protect himself under extreme distress but to this extent…

This perpetual detachment he’s only felt twice in his life. Once right after training camp when they’d been given the all clear but the hot, burning terror had refused to leave him immediately and once when he was seven or eight and his mother had…his mother—

He doesn’t quite understand why, of course. He never has.

He’s not sure why he can’t get out of his head, why he can’t bring himself to react to his classmates, to answer them like a normal human being. His mouth just won’t move the way he wants it to but he can, somehow; he’s walking on his own feet and can see just fine, even if his vision is a little blurry at the edges. He even manages to grunt and nod in the right places when Recovery Girl asks him concerned questions and diagnoses him with absolutely nothing because really, there is nothing physically wrong with him. He should be acting alright by now realistically, should be back to his insufferable asshole self that he’s so carefully constructed over the past few years. He should be wishing gruesome death on the higher power that allowed him to let people see him slip like that, he should probably even follow it up with a ballerina spin but…

But he doesn’t feel like himself, no matter how much he half-heartedly internally scolds himself. It’s like it’s someone else’s body and he’s just strapped in for the ride, watching a shitty POV movie or something. Neito wonders if he actually might be going into medical shock.

Or maybe he’s just being melodramatic about a trivial little accident that everyone will forget about within the next few days. It’s not like he’s that important; 1-B is the second-rate class to those godsend children after all.

And he is, he knows he is to an extent; being dramatic that is. Those 1-A idiots have done far worse in public, embarrassed themselves in much bigger ways but they’re alive and kicking, they didn’t just go vertically comatose after drawing attention to themselves. No one does. They just laugh it off, sheepishly rub their necks or something, make it a story to tell later at gatherings, but Neito can’t so much as make his eye twitch. He’s not even sure if he’ll be able to speak of this ever again.

He can’t think about anything, not even Shinsou past the heavy waves of constant embarrassment that are rising up his spine and heating his body in ways that have nothing to do with biology. The sensation is almost identical to the fear from training camp but reprising as gut churning humiliation this time.

And it isn’t going away.

It’s not that big of a deal, he knows that as he sits uncharacteristically quietly through the second half of the classes—that he should’ve skipped when Kendou offered instead of ignoring her and walking into the classroom like a zombie—and takes notes robotically even though he can’t hear anything super well. But a combination of the pressing embarrassment-ache in his chest and head, the phantom sensation still engulfing his left hand from where Shinsou had held it and Kendou’s worried gaze burning into the side of his face makes him want to throw up and maybe cry.

But he can’t because of course, he can’t.

He doesn’t want to be here, he doesn’t want to be in public, he doesn’t want to be where there is potential for another situation to assist him in making an absolute fool out of himself and have everyone stare at him like he’s a circus animal. He wants to be in his bed, with his head shoved between his aching knees—it had been a hard fall—and a hot pack pressed against his hand so he can stop feeling Shinsou’s goddamn hand on his. Maybe he can burn the sensation off and then bleach out the sight of him and his…his girlfriend from his eyelids, a constant, haunting visual that he hasn’t even begun to acknowledge from behind his haze of wanting to neck himself. That’s a whole other pile of shit to unpack.

Tears well up in his eyes without his consent and he doesn’t try to stop them. Not feeling anything sucks after all.

Neito is so exhausted.

 

-

 

None of his class brings up the dried tear tracks on his cheeks when they fucking finally get done with the day and start their walk back to the dorms. They just tail him cautiously, watching him from behind and through the corners of their eyes like he’s going to keel over and pass away. Neito knows they’re looking and on another day, he would snap at them and be mad at being scrutinised but to no one’s surprise, he can’t find it in himself to care.

He doesn’t care when Kendou leads him up to his room and encourages him to change into his indoor clothes, like she doesn’t believe he can make decisions for himself at the moment. And she’s right, Neito can’t.

He doesn’t care when Rin brings up food for him, none of them talking about the fact that he didn’t eat almost a half of his lunch because he had to go and make an ass out of himself. Neito doesn’t talk at all, really. He doesn’t care when Rin feeds him carefully, like he’s putting his hand in a lion’s den. He doesn’t care, he can’t care, not when the humiliation burns into him gut deep and painful.

He doesn’t care when Tetsutetsu comes in with Awase to try and cheer him up, loud mouthed and smiley. He doesn’t feel annoyed or irritated at the varying volumes with which the two assault his eardrums, bouncing around him but with worry in their eyes like he’s scaring them. And he’s been staring at the same spot on the wall for about five minutes on and off, so he guesses he does look a bit freaky.

He knows but he just lets them do whatever the hell they’re doing until they get tired of it, of him, and shows them out like nothing happened. He even locks the door even though he normally doesn’t.

Then he curls up into a ball on top of the covers and closes his sleep-heavy eyes. It’s only around 6 and he hasn’t even showered and there’s probably homework due for tomorrow but he’s so mentally exhausted that he can’t spare a thought.

Neito will hate himself for this tomorrow, for all of this.

And that’s the thing. He’s self-aware on the inside. He knows he’s being absolutely ridiculous, eccentric and dramatic over something as small and human as tripping and falling. He’s cussing himself out in as classy of a rant that he can manage inside his head, looking for the switch that will flip him back to normal and not this jittery ball of anxiety who’s dreading the rest of his life at UA. And he will be, he will be back to himself after he’s slept on it and maybe slapped himself a bit, he knows. He’d been alright and acting like himself after sleeping a bit after the camp—well, as okay as he could be which was not very much at all—so this is probably the same thing. He also knows that he’ll have to explain himself to everyone tomorrow, maybe even apologise for scaring the balls off of them, but right now…right now, Neito wonders how shitty he truly feels if he can’t even center a thought on Shinsou through the anxious, empty void inside his body, getting bigger with every breath.

He doesn’t remember falling asleep but he thinks he starts crying a bit sometime before it, humiliated and indignant and angry and wishes he didn’t feel everything so physically all the time.

 

-

 

Neito is sitting at his lunch table glumly, picking at his mashed potatoes with a plastic fork with all the enthusiasm of a chicken about to go up for slaughter. His friends talk cheerily around him at the table, telling jokes about something or the other and laughing obnoxiously but the pit inside his stomach won’t let him contribute. The scattered chatter of the cafeteria drones on around them. Lunch-rush is handing out orders. Someone laughs, far away.

But he can’t concentrate on any of that. His ears are cotton wool, every sound muffled and faraway like Neito’s not sitting in the middle of it but just to the side, just slightly outside looking in. A window into someone else’s life. He blinks at his food.

And suddenly he’s in water.

The waves are dark and thick around him, suffocating, but he can breathe just fine, like it’s happening to someone else and he’s just watching it happen. He’s not even surprised because it feels normal. But these are eyes? Is he drowning? Is this normal?

He blinks questioningly and kicks his leg out and suddenly he’s back in the cafeteria. His eyelids don’t quite open and close as fast as usual. Neito shrugs it off. He picks at his potatoes. He stirs his fork in them. There’s a weight in his chest, like he’s going to vomit but he’s not quite there. Why is there a weight in his chest?

Neito blinks, rubbing at his chest, his neck, his mouth to make it go away. Softly then fast, like he’s trying to scrub out an itch. Why won’t it go away?

His eyes droop.

His fork suddenly snaps in the potatoes right in half, even though he isn’t touching it and he looks at it in confusion. He should be more surprised. Why isn’t he surprised? Instead he feels weirdly empty. A sharp pain goes up his side as he tries to figure out the new realisation that he doesn’t eat with plastic utensils, he doesn’t even like potatoes, but it’s subdued like it’s not quite hurt him but has happened to someone else, like it’s happening to someone else, like—

He blinks.

Suddenly he’s standing up on shaky feet and the world is swaying around him. He’s not at his table anymore though, no, he’s in the middle of the cafeteria with trembling hands and his body is shaking like a leaf, limbs twitching like he’s got no control over them.

His body’s not his, his body’s not his, whose body is this, where is—

Everyone’s looking at him as he pants and tries to move, trying to walk away so no one will look at him but he can’t, he can’t move, he can’t make a sound and there are screams trapped in his throat but he can’t do anything and oh god, everyone is faceless, no one has a face, just smooth skin where their features should be, why does no one have a face, no, they don’t have a face but they’re laughing, Neito knows they’re laughing, he can feel it, he can hear it, laughing at him, laughing at him, please no, where’s Shinsou

His surroundings fade, mixing into dizzying shades of purple and blue and pink and white and black and so much and dissolve away in front of him. He stumbles backward, off his feet and onto the ground and he can’t see anything, blinded by the lights and the sudden loud noise that’s picked up, the laughter at his expense. He can’t see anything but he can feel Shinsou, he can feel him and that girl right behind him, he can sense them and they’re kissing and they’re kissing and Neito can’t fucking breathe.

He chokes and he chokes, tears finally escaping his eyes and onto his cheeks. He heaves until he manages to suck in a greedy breath as his mouth finally falls open but there’s no relief to the heaviness in his chest, the ache in his throat because he can’t pull enough oxygen in. He tries again and again, but nothing’s going through, there’s something in his throat, there’s something in his throat, get it out, out, out.

Neito claws at his collar, his chin, his neck, his throat desperately, nails raking at the skin but it doesn’t hurt at all, it doesn’t do anything, he’s choking, he’s choking, he’s choking

“Mama,” he rasps, coughing so hard he feels his organs come up to his throat to add to all the rest that is clogging it up, right up to his nose and there are tears in his eyes and blood in his mouth but he can’t feel anything. “Mama. Mama, mama, mama, mama!”

And his mother is there, right there, she’s barely a foot away talking on the phone in her business suit as he clings to her skirt and hugs her leg and cries. He’s not in the cafeteria anymore—why is he not in the cafeteria anymore?—he’s at home and he’s standing on his feet but he barely goes up to her thighs, tiny hands bunching in the fabric of her skirt and tugging. He’s choking, please, please—

“Neito, stop that,” his mother scolds him distractedly, swatting his hands away until he loosens his grip with a cry. “You’re wrinkling it.”

“Mama,” he whines in pain and suddenly he’s five again, small and vulnerable and ignored and she’s not listening and he’s going to die, he’s going to die, he’s going to die. “H-Help, mama.”

“Neito,” she snaps warningly, like she’s at the edge of her patience. “Stop that.”

He heaves and there’s a pain in his side, bright and intense, bad enough that it forces him to let go of his mother as she wrenches herself out of his grasp and away, phone still pressed to her ear and a fake smile on her face. It’s as if she’d been tethering him to the earth because suddenly, he’s falling, down a black hole, dark and only lit up by shades of blue. Electric, light blue, it’s so hot, it’s so hot, oh god that’s fire, he’s at training camp, he’s going to die, he’s going to die, he’s going to die, he’s going to die, Mama, Mama, Mama, Shinsou, Shinsou, Kendou, Kendou, Kendou, Shinsou

 

Neito falls to the ground with a thump, the sound of loud, crying and quiet whimpers slowly filling the air around him as his hearing comes back to him in a rush all at once but his ears hurt, they burn so bad he almost screams until he’s hoarse.

But nothing seems to make it past his chest, air and sound getting stuck near his heart as he tries to pull in enough oxygen to get himself together, to get away from the threat he knows is there but he can’t. His nose isn’t full of blood and his throat is clear, as is the haze in his head to some extent but nothing’s coming out, nothing but the ugly sobs and choked out whines that he belatedly realises are coming from him.

Even more belatedly, he comes to the distant conclusion that he’d been having a nightmare, night-terror whatever. And now he’s probably having a panic attack. Or an anxiety attack. Or both at the same time. Which is just really swell. None of this is new exactly but that doesn’t make it any less annoying or any less hard to deal with.

“Stupid,” Neito cries out at nothing in particular, a lot more quietly than he anticipates and keeps his eyes squeezed shut as they have been, curling up on the floor and pulling his knees to his chest. The humiliation threatens to scorch him and he never wants to leave his room ever again, his accident replaying on a loop in his head as if he’s not distressed enough. “Dumb, stupid idiot.”

He tries to breathe as his mouth continues to insult him without much of his consent, all valid true stuff in itself. Rationally he should be following the breathing exercises he’d googled right after training camp, back when his night terrors had been regular and so much worse but he can’t remember any of them. Hell, he hasn’t even had one of these in almost two weeks and he’d thought he was over them but clearly fucking not, god fucking dammit

“Shinsou,” Neito sobs out like the absolute dumbass that he feels like he is, curling a hand around his thigh and missing the feeling of Shinsou’s hand that has gone missing all of a sudden. All he can see suddenly is him and the girl, that stupid god-forsaken girl who has singlehandedly managed to trigger his nightmares again. He’s going to kill her when he’s better, he’s going to rip her apart when he can breathe, he’s going to, he’s—

“Shinsou, please, help me.”

A car honks somewhere outside and he pants to try and catch his breath, eyes spilling over like a dam, but there’s no response to his broken pleas. Of course, there isn’t, there never is and if there was, he’d be kind of scared. Plus, he’d much rather die than let anyone see him like this, so vulnerable and crying on the floor much less hold his hand and help him breathe. He may be in pain and on the verge of teetering over a mountain built of his own anxious nerves but he’s no pussy. He’s not a coward. But…

“Shinsou,” he gasps out, trying to make his body as small as possible as if that’s going to help him disappear entirely; that would be very helpful.

…but just for once, Neito wishes he could let himself be a stupid coward and not have a slope of his own pride to climb over.

 

-

 

Neito is expecting it when he walks out into the common room the next morning—uniform immaculate as always and eyes only a little swollen—and all chatter ceases immediately, like someone’s put his classmates on mute. Everyone turns to look at him at once with almost comical timing and he can see the questions and worry in their gazes, even Bondo and Fukidashi—who has a big, wavy question mark on his speech bubble—and the fuckers don’t even have faces.

He’d seen it coming but that doesn’t make it any less annoying.

He waits. They wait.

He waits a few more seconds.

They look at him expectantly.

Neito huffs in irritation. He really has to do everything himself in this damn house.

He looks away.

“Rin-san,” he says without looking at Rin, pretending to be preoccupied by his top-button and grateful that the nonchalance has seeped into his voice casually. This is their usual routine, Neito busting in and demanding breakfast from his pseudo-dad who always has it. This is normal. This is good. He’s back to himself again, mostly.

He’d have been pissed if he hadn’t been considering how long he’s spent coaching himself in the mirror this morning, reminding himself who the fuck he is. A Monoma, that’s who, and his folks may be shitty and he may have mommy issues—gross—and a crush with a girlfriend and he may have spent a good part of the night on the floor crying his eyes out and his eyes may be swollen and his head may be hurting but. But! He’s nothing if not resilient and he didn’t earn his degree in pretending-nothing’s-wrong-with-him-ever-at-all for nothing.

There’s a reason not a soul alive has any idea that he even has human problems like trauma or anxiety or nightmares and he intends to keep it that way, thank you so very much.

“Rin-san!” he snaps again, a pout making its way onto his face when there’s no answer, just silent gawking. He looks up from his uniform, ready to whine but the confused looks on his classmates’ faces stop him because now he’s confused. He shouldn’t be but he is.

“What?” he asks them with a frown, fiddling with his cuffs.

“You’re okay,” Kendou says with a slow blink, head tilted to the side like she’s trying to figure out if Neito is an atomic bomb inside a pink box with a bow or not. “Your eyes don’t look like that anymore.”

“Yeah, they don’t,” Awase agrees with a nod and wide eyes, tie half-hanging off his neck like Neito had caught him by surprise. Who now, is really confused.

“What? Don’t look like what?”

“You know,” Tetsutetsu chimes in, three octaves above everyone else as Rin throws Neito a chocolate bar from across the room, forever his hero, though he also looks a bit stunned into awkward silence. “Dead, spark completely gone, staring like you’re not seeing and about to dive bomb off a cliff or like...like,” he pauses in deliberation. “Or! Like, you’re going to shoot yourself-,”

“Christ, Tetsu,” Honenuki groans and the room spurs into motion and noise again as his classmates grab their bags, the weird spell broken. Only Kendou’s looking in his direction with concern and questions in her eyes but Neito ignores her, too caught up in the knowledge that he has creepy I’m having an internal mental breakdown eyes. “You don’t have to say it.”

“But he asked!”

They fall into bickering immediately, attention completely off Neito who can only gape at them, chocolate bar in his hand forgotten. The situation is weirdly normal though, as normal as it gets for 1-B anyway and he’s very distantly grateful that they didn’t put him on the spot longer than they had to.

He’s not stupid, he knows he worried them. He’d been borderline soulless for hours, he’d be more concerned for their health if that didn’t ring alarm bells in their heads, and he figures he should apologise. Or even just explain himself or bring up the incident from yesterday or something.

But they don’t ask him to as they shuffle past him and out the front door, determined to make it to class on time and not give Vlad-sensei another aneurysm. He still gets the distinct feeling of being cared for though, one that spreads across his chest and snuffs out the remnants of yesterday’s embarrassment. He likes this feeling a lot better, he decides.

Neito’s almost starting to feel fond of his class as he shoulders his bag with a suppressed smile but then Awase puts him in a chokehold out of nowhere and ruffles his hair with one hand and Tetsutetsu is bellowing a “I’m so glad you’re back, man! Don’t do that to me, man’s got a weak heart you hear? None of that horror movie shit again, thanks and thanks!” right over his indignant shouts at having his hair ruined. And so, he changes his mind immediately; he hates them. He hates them all.

 

They let him be though. They don’t ask and Neito gratefully doesn’t answer.

He wouldn’t be Monoma Neito if he went around reassuring these donkeys like a softie anyway.

 

-

Neito makes it through the first half of the lessons okay, concentration tons better than the day before and even manages to make his notes not look like illegible chicken scratch. He can sense his classmates trying to be subtle and staring at him every once in a while throughout class time—as if they expect him to go ghost on them again—but he pointedly ignores them, though their attention isn’t entirely unwelcome. He doesn’t like being treated like he’s made out of glass but he’s grateful that they give a damn at least.

Not that he would admit it.

The lack of sleep and the previous day’s anxiety and embarrassment only starts to catch up with him a few minutes before the lunch bell goes off. Not because he’s dreading going back to the cafeteria or anything, but it’s absolutely because he’s dreading going back to the cafeteria.

Goddammit.

As he scribbles down the last of the math notes off the board, Neito wonders idly if he can ask one of his friends to bring his lunch to him in the classroom or something. He’s not entirely sure if he’s allowed to eat in here and he’s even less sure that they know what to ask Lunch Rush for, what with his fancy special lunches, but it could be worth a shot. He could ask Awase or Rin or Kendou, they would do it without hesitation, and then he could take it out to the grounds and eat alone or something even if they fuck up his order. He can swallow his pride a little bit for the sake of not having the soul sucked out of him again.

His night terror flashes in the back of his mind briefly, people and laughing and at him and he suppresses a full-body shudder as subtly as he can manage. Which isn’t very subtle, considering Kamakiri turns to look at him immediately.

God dammit.

By the time the bell rings, Neito has made up his mind, though his decision is shamelessly fuelled by sheer poutiness and his ego which is bruised and bigger than a mountain at this point in time. He wants to skip lunch so bad, he doesn’t want to go to the cafeteria or face anyone he fell in front of ever again but he’s also determined not to worry his classmates more than he already has. He’s a big boy, a full sixteen and at least a quarter and he refuses to be the class emotional-basket-case that has Kamakiri of all people getting maternal. Not when he’s spent so much time locking himself firmly out of his head and gaining a reputation.

You can handle a little heat, he murmurs in his head as everyone looks at him simultaneously, the same wariness in their eyes along with the cautious terror likes he’s going to snap and fuck off into his own head again.

Neito would much rather jump off a cliff.

“Let’s go to lunch together,” he says as casually as he can without looking at them, shoving his books into his bag and curb stomping the anxiety that threatens to well up inside him. There’s already heaviness in his throat, a soft haziness just at the edge of his mind and he glares at his table to swallow it all down.

“Are you sure?” Tsuburaba asks like Neito’s just told them that he’s going to go stab five people for a really bad reason. His careful tone is so irritating, Neito fears that he’s going to stab him in the moment and he almost does. But then his body sort of caves because of how less he’s slept and it’s all he can do to shoulder his bag and get onto his feet. “We can like eat somewhere else or go to the dorms, if you want.”

That idea—his originally fuck off, Tsuburaba—is so appealing, Neito’s heart sings and he very nearly says yes. But he also hates being told what to do because he’s a Monoma and he doesn’t cooperate with anyone much less these fuckers so he flicks his bangs out of his eyes and straight sneers at everyone.

There’s not much of his consent involved but he’s tired.

“I said,” he repeats, condescending smile settling on his face comfortably. Care is good but they’re taking it overboard and he can’t let them encourage him to pussy out like this. “Let’s go to lunch together.”

He doesn’t know if it’s because he looks scary or if they don’t want to upset him at all or what, but they snap into action immediately, chatter picking up like they hadn’t just tried to treat him like a hurt baby. And that’s that.

He gets the distinct feeling that they’ve talked about what to do with him at length, either yesterday or this morning and come up with this…hover-ey maternal game-plan. Kendou’s idea probably.

It’s not so bad but Neito hates all of it. Somewhat, anyway.

 

-

 

To no one’s surprise, not one person stares at Neito as he enters the cafeteria on legs that are rapidly losing feeling. There’s a few two second looks here and there that seem to say oh look, it’s slip-kid and a few amused expressions but no one laughs. They don’t even seem all that interested.

He’d rationally sort of expected that, of course; he’s mentally weak and imaginative, which leads his brain to make up all sorts of worst-case scenarios to ruin his life. But they very rarely actually happen so the lack of attention isn’t all that shocking. Still, Neito can’t help the big pit of relief that opens up in his chest as he walks further in, flanked by the entirety of 1-B, and the ball of dread in his throat feels a little looser.

“Let’s go get your lunch!” Awase says brightly as they get out of the main entryway and that’s the most surprising thing for some reason, because he says it like it’s completely normal for Neito to get his lunch with them and he blinks at him in surprise. They don’t even go to the same part of the lunch line, what with the peasant-section and the Monoma-section and the gap between them.

They usually get their lunches separately and find each other afterwards so why—

“Why would I get lunch with you guys today?” he asks curiously, realising the reason a second after the question has already left him. Though he means it genuinely and doesn’t mean anything negative by it, everyone’s expression turns a little sour. Kaibara’s perpetual stank-face deepens in its frown, like that’s even possible.

Okay, bad move. Bad answer. It’s because they’re keeping an eye on him, of course it is. Damn idiot.

Neito goes to explain himself, cheeks rapidly tinging pink because of his fuckup—it’s not that he would entirely hate the prospect, after all—but then Tetsutetsu cuts him off because of course, he does.

“Well, we just assumed you don’t want to be alone after what happened yesterday?” he says slowly at a normal volume, like he’s confused and Neito’s the one acting drastically out of character. “You did kind of lose your shit yesterday dude, what if it happens when you’re back here you know? Trigger ‘n all.”

“For the love of God Tetsu, you don’t have to say it,” Honenuki moans, hands over his face and Neito blinks a few times between them, even more blood rushing to his face. A mixture of indignant anger, embarrassment and warm fondness settles in his gut. It’s disgusting. So, they have discussed this.

What are they, his mothers?

“He asked!” Tetsutetsu whines, swatting at the other boy and before Honenuki can retaliate, Neito cuts them off hurriedly. He’s blushing so hard that his face feels hot and he’d rather get out of their face right now immediately before he does something stupid like thank them. He’s filled up his quota of acting ridiculously out of character enough for a decade and it’s only the second day of term.

Jesus Christ.

“It’s fine,” he’s mumbles, a petulant expression settling on his face as he tries not to straight up stab himself out of embarrassment and everyone turns to look at him immediately. They’ve been doing this a lot today, he realises. “I was just surprised yesterday. I’m fine now. Please go find a seat while I get my food.”

They gape back at him for a second. Fukidashi has a huge question mark on his face.

“You were surprised so you went full zombie and-?”

“Alright, he said he’s fine,” Kendou quickly steamrolls over Kuroiro, cutting him off mid confused sentence as she waves them along like they’re children. Neito would marry her in another life, probably. She’s his favourite and he’s so very grateful. “Let’s go, move. We’re holding up the cafeteria come on.”

They’re not holding up anything, standing a little to the side but no one questions her and obediently moves along with a few backward glances at him. Neito finally lets out a breath he didn’t realise he was holding as he watches them go. This has been enough embarrassment, enough disgusting coddling to last him a lifetime.

 

-

 

It really does seem that a higher power has it fully fucking out for Neito because right as he lets his guard down and tentatively extends a toe towards normalcy, he gets murdered and left to die. He wonders if all the bad karma from bad mouthing 1-A is finally coming back to bite him in the ass.

Thanks, God.

He’s not even doing anything wrong this time, nothing at all. He goes up to Lunch Rush’s booth and asks for his steak and juice like he always does. Lunch Rush sneakily puts some veggies in there as usual like he’s Neito’s dad or something—how many parents has he accumulated at UA?—and Neito prepares to ignore them as always and walks carefully on his feet to go get his utensils.

The utensils booth carries both plastic cutlery and steel cutlery, stacked neatly to one side and then there’s a little container just to the side that carries his stuff exclusively because he wishes not to bend down to the lower class. Neito might be a mental mess but he’s a rich mental mess and he is determined to milk his parents’ money for all its worth.

So, he walks over there, successfully he might add, no mishaps in sight and balances his tray on one arm precariously—he can’t wait to have muscles so he can balance this kind of weight on his pinkie like Tetsutetsu—to grab his steak knife and fork. And he manages to do just fine, puts them carefully on the side of his tray and thanks the higher powers that are just about to stab him in the back for his clean accident-free lunch collection.

If he knew, he would’ve cussed them out instead.

Neito smiles in relief, nods to himself and turns around to go find his classmates but instantly stops where he is, body going deathly still. At first, he doesn’t really comprehend what he’s witnessing, smile freezing on his face in confusion which then proceeds to drop dramatically as he realises that Shinsou’s two feet away from him next to the fruit booth. The goddamn fruit booth that Neito’s never noticed is practically wedged in next to the utensils.

Shinsou’s looking at him curiously as if he’d just been standing there staring at the back of his head this entire time. He’s alone, that stinky girl nowhere in sight, though he looks a little taken aback like he hadn’t planned to be caught staring and…

And. And—

What the fuck.

Neito pauses only for a split second before he’s yelping in surprise—even though Shinsou doesn’t leap out at him or anything—and stumbling backwards, lunch sliding very dangerously across his tray. Some of his juice—his precious, precious juice—spills over the glass but overall his food remains in his arms and in one piece. No damage there.

His sanity though. He’s on the last fucking thread.

He’s had it. This is not what he needs, this is the last motherfucking thing—

“You fall a lot?” Shinsou says in way of greeting, eyebrow raised at him and an amused grin twitching at his mouth, though his eyes are still uncomfortable. Neito is utterly horrified. Neito is never leaving his room again. Neito wants to die.

Why is he talking to me, why is he talking to me, why is he talking to me, why…

“What?” he manages to choke out, the embarrassment from yesterday coming back and burning in his stomach full force as Shinsou picks up a fruit salad box and walks towards him. Him and his goddamn fruits.

Neito feels his hand vividly falling into one of those the day before and it’s all he can do to not dive straight into system shutdown mode out of self-care. He doesn’t though, he doesn’t because he feels ridiculously gay—Shinsou is not good for his health but he’s still really hot—and this is humiliating but this is the most conversation opportunity he’s gotten that hasn’t involved him being dropped on his ass. He can’t waste it, he’s a Monoma, a planner

“You were about to fall again,” Shinsou points out dryly, now dangerously close to Neito though not so close that he’s leaning into his personal space. Like I’m-talking-to-you close, which seems like a threat in and of itself. Tall people are threatening.

Neito swallows slowly, face burning in embarrassment. He’s blushing. He is, isn’t he?

“Don’t talk a lot either,” Shinsou says, though it’s quiet like he’s noting it for himself and why, why would he do that? They’ve never talked before in their lives and yesterday does not count so what the fuck. What the fuck?

What the fuck!

“Anyway,” he continues casually when Neito proceeds to gape at him like a fish, too shook to even correct him on the fact that he’s not quiet in the slightest. This isn’t even his final form. It’s not like he doesn’t want to respond, this has been his end-goal since June, but his mouth won’t move. Goddammit. “Are you alright?”

Neito blinks, thrown off completely all of a sudden. Any response he’d been formulating in his head dies. Shinsou raises both his eyebrows.

“What?” he whispers weakly, clutching his tray to himself to still his heart that’s decided to go for a 100-mile sprint. He’s honestly suffering. And then, as if he hasn’t made enough of a fool of himself, his mouth runs without his consent. “I’m Monoma.”

Rational-Neito sighs in despair. Shinsou tilts his head in confusion.

Neito decides that he is going to shoot himself after he can escape this, all bravado and flamboyance he displays in front of 1-A sucked out of his body in one fell-swoop. He can never come into this god-forsaken cafeteria again. This was a mistake.

And then, Shinsou’s mouth twitches upward into a half smile, expression bordering on baffled. The world is sunshine and rainbows.

“If that’s replaceable with ‘alright’ then I’m glad,” the purple-haired boy says slowly, shoulder lifting in a half shrug, a movement that Neito follows with thirsty eyes because well. Shoulder. Big. “That was a pretty hard fall if it knocked you out of your senses like that.”

Motherfucker.

“Oh,” Neito says, the pieces falling together as he belatedly figures out what this random conversation is about. Consequently, he wants to choke himself. Of course, it’s about that. Why the hell else would Shinsou walk up to him willingly and talk to him? What the hell was he even thinking? “Yes. I’m okay. I was just shocked.”

“Yeah, so was I,” Shinsou says and Neito notices that he’s quick with his responses, no hesitation whatsoever with a gaze the heat of a thousand suns. That’s hot. He’s hot. Really hot.

No focus.

“Yeah sorry,” he fires back too, determined not to look like an airhead in the face of the object of his affections even though he has absolutely nothing to say. Who knows when he’ll get another chance, get Shinsou alone without his friends like this, and if it’s at the expense of him being an idiot then it’s fine. It’s fine.

Sacrifices.

“Yeah, no it’s cool. Take care of yourself,” Shinsou says, trailing off awkwardly and turning away partially and Neito realises with a sinking heart that the conversation is rapidly dying. Of course it is, they’re not even friends and this isn’t fiction, what the hell else would they talk about?

“I will,” he grits out, slapping himself internally as much as he can manage. Shinsou nods, all cool-like because he’s a cool boy, and makes to walk away and Neito is hit with how much he doesn’t want him to. It’s ridiculous, he’s gross.

Sappy and gross. He has to physically bite his tongue to keep from telling Shinsou to stay and talk to him more about things that aren’t him trying to face-boop the floor in public. His heart hurts staring at his about-to-retreat back.

Disgusting.

Wait, I got this, his sleep-deprived brain quips. Rational-Neito wails in agony.

And then he loses control of his mouth.

“I’m sorry about your lunch!” is what comes out, loudly and Shinsou—and a few other people—turns to look at him like a deer caught in the headlights. His eyes say that he’s done talking, loud and clear and that he’s not equipped to deal with this but his body stays angled towards Neito.

Neito who’s sweating bullets under his uniform, tray digging into his stomach. He has no idea where to go from here but he’s here and he can’t pussy out now. So, he keeps his gaze level and eyes hard.

Wait, his brain exclaims gleefully.

No, rational-Neito screams.

Shinsou opens his mouth to reply, a “no, that’s cool,” half out of his mouth before Neito’s vocal chords do the hula and betray him completely and leave him withering at the doorstep of death.

“Let me make it up to you,” what the fuck, why, why, why, why, why. “I feel very guilty that I rendered your lunch useless. I know I would hate it if someone wasted my lunch. I would kill them actually.”

“Oh,” Shinsou says, bewildered and his face starts to show the first indications of the fact that he is way out of his depth and getting increasingly weirded out by the turns this conversation is taking. He looks so cute though, so awkward that Neito almost just shoves himself into his arms right then, like a koala and calls it a day.

But he’s not entirely stupid so he stays where he is. He’s only a little stupid.

“You don’t have to…do that,” Shinsou continues slowly, like words are foreign and his body twitches like he’s looking for an escape route. Neito faintly realises that he might not be the only socially inept disaster in this equation and his heart warms. “Really, it’s fine.”

“My family taught me that if I have done something wrong, to make up for it,” Neito replies firmly, false confidence slowly returning and smile back on his face even though he’s dry-heaving internally. His family hasn’t taught him shit, fucking Rin said that last month. He’s a liar and a fraud. “So, I will definitely pay you back for your fruits.”

“No, really. It was an accident! That’s not necessary at all,” Shinsou starts, eyebrows at his hairline as he starts to look increasingly uncomfortable and tone panicked like Neito’s offering him a bomb, or maybe cocaine but Neito is having none of it so he winks—or rather, his eye closes without his permission and opens back up—and turns away.

Why has he done this?

“It’s-,”

“Don’t know why you’re protesting someone getting you free food,” he says mock-sullenly, eyes narrowed and lips jutted out into a pout as he feels himself give off heavy vibes of I’m cool and I have my shit together all of a sudden and mostly without his consent; miles away from the shy, socially awkward boy he’d been at the start of this shitshow conversation. It’s just easier to be confident when the other party might actually be more chaotically shit at everything than he is.

Liar and a fraud.

“That’s-,”

“But anyway," he says quickly, fearing that if this conversation continues, he might actually mess this whole thing up beyond repair. "Thank you for asking about me. It was nice talking to you but my friends are waiting for me so if you’ll excuse me, Shinsou-san." And then he's bowing and scampering away, lunch hugged to his chest and heart in his throat. If this conversation continues any longer, they’d probably end up at opposite sides of the cafeteria holding their heads and he doesn’t particularly want that. Better kill it at a good note.

Or whatever note that was; he doesn’t know what the hell he’s just done, feeling like a stranger in this body that’s probably just done him a favour. It doesn’t feel like one, but in the long run maybe.

It’s also laughable of him to pretend like he’s in any hurry to get back to his now pseudo parents and away from his crush who he has just exchanged actual, verbal words with, embarrassing as they might have been.

“Uh,” he hears Shinsou say intelligently behind him but nothing else.

Neito speed-walks away and doesn’t look back, face flaming and stomach fist fighting his intestines. He feels the ridiculous awkwardness coming on again now that he’s out of the situation and doesn't have to fake being smooth or anything. His lungs stutter and start to go out of commission, breath getting punched out of his nose. At the back of his mind, he wonders if he'd come across as pushy and whether Shinsou was actually uncomfortable with his...stunt and none of the alternatives make him feel particularly good. But instead of a full body shutdown, like he's expecting considering how weird he suddenly feels, he senses something else coming on. A weird sort of warmth, like the world is pink and twinkly and full of good things like cupcakes and pretty clouds.

He’s just indirectly, impulsively offered to throw money—technically fruits—at the boy he likes on impulse, as he’s always done at every single one of his problems all his life, so that’s…something. And he feels it, the anxiety in his chest and the thoughts swirling around his head as he goes over what he's just done and what he could've done better. When he gets to the table, Tetsutetsu, Rin and Awase are on their feet in full fight mode as if they’re about to go rip Shinsou’s balls off lest he said some bullshit to him. They probably—no definitely—watched him make an ass of himself from a distance and that knowledge makes him flush even more.

But despite all that, past the faint pit of anxiety in his chest, he’s oddly giddy.

Neito blinks, mostly in surprise at that realisation.

He’s happy.

Notes:

jesus christ

kirishima/kiribaku finally makes its gay debut in the next chapter so im v excited abt double the chaotic gay
this fic has a few Arcs (bc im horikoshi) and ch1-3 were one arc and that's over so now im tiding my sons over into actual interaction so they can fall in love and get married. it hasnt really focused on monoshin yet bc this is a monoma centric fic before its anything else but theyre coming and theyre Gay and so is kiribaku

i also have this headcanon that monoma has these issues but he doesnt label them much of anything bc he feels like hes above feeling like that so he mostly just ignores it, idk if that came across but thats what was going on

ur comments and kudos are so nice and i would die for all of u thank u so much !!!! keep em coming uwu kiss kiss hug hug

Chapter 4: 2.1

Notes:

hi i am late THIS HAS ALMOST A 100 KUDOS TYSM

so funny thing lol i wrote an entire chapter and discarded all 14k words bc it was garbage and then i started overthinking the last part of the last chapter and how much i HATED it and went back n edited it and HATED THAT TOO so i just left it how it was and now im gonna pretend ch3 doesnt exist and thus: we are late but we are here

i like this ch i think i was gonna add kiri and baku to this but then they wouldnt fit w/e being FORCED in so i decided to expand on shinsou and monoma and give u aizawa instead enjoy kids

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Neito’s good mood persists throughout the second half of the lessons, giddy smile permanently plastered onto his face as he distractedly copies notes from the board in the dreamiest, loopiest handwriting he can manage. There’s a constant ball of warmth in his stomach, large enough that it overshadows the anxiety festering beyond it and for once, Neito lets it. He lets it sit on the back burner of his emotions rather than wilfully dwelling on it as he often tends to do. A tiny part of him wants to, of course but surprisingly he finds that he can’t for once in his life. Even though the sleep deprivation from the night before is aggressively catching up with him as the day goes towards its end, the night terror has been pushed to the back of his mind and he just feels so…happy.

Because Shinsou had initiated conversation with him and that’s enough to never make him complain ever again in his life.

Him—Neito!—someone he doesn’t know the first thing about, and he had asked him if he was alright even though he was under no obligation to and offered him smiles he didn’t have to give. Tiny, awkward, hesitant smiles that were at his expense almost all of the time but smiles nonetheless. It makes his heart flutter behind his ribcage aggressively, and dangerously, he comes to the conclusion that he’s willing to act like an idiot for the rest of his life if it means Shinsou will be even the slightest bit amused.

All this and Neito hasn’t even begun to unpack the fact that the other boy had been staring at him silently, way before he’d turned around and noticed.

And proceeded to make an ass out of himself but that’s not the point.

He’d caught Shinsou staring.  Not the other way around like he was scared it would one day end up being, because Neito is good at stealth but there’s only so far that his secret gawking skills would extend.

No, he’d caught Shinsou staring at the back of his head like an idiot.

And he’s not even being dramatically lovesick when he deduces that, logically—obviously— that means Shinsou had recognised him from the day before, which means that he had given him some sort of thought after the incident. Even if it was just baffled confusion, it still counts.

Because Neito had crossed his mind in some capacity, at least—best case scenario, he’d worried about him, worst case he’d laughed at his clumsiness with his friends behind his back. But Shinsou had thought about him for at least for a second, with actual brain power and a bit of his precious free time Neito can only dream of spending with him. And then he’d asked him if he was okay. With his own mouth without being prompted.

Neito feels like Fukidashi a little in the moment, no face and voice just solid !!!!!!!!! all over him. Like this, in the moment, it’s so easy to pretend that Shinsou doesn’t have a potential girlfriend. In the moment, he’s over the fucking moon.

It seems like such a bare minimum thing to feel this happy about, considering the rest of the conversation had gone up in flames once he’d ran his stupid mouth. Neito still isn’t sure what he’d been going for or what he’d been thinking—he hadn’t been—but he can’t go back and take it back. But it wasn’t the worst he’s ever acted, and he’s acted his fair share of terrible—exhibit 1: Class A, so it wasn’t all that bad. His only regret, really, is the fact that Shinsou had looked a little uncomfortable at a point and now probably thinks he’s at least a little touched in the head, as any normal person would at a flip of the personality like that.

God, why had he winked

Realistically, Neito should be losing his shit and going into system shutdown mode until he can show his face in public again and devise a plan as to how he’s going to salvage his non-existent relationship with Shinsou. But the more he tries to scold himself, the more he tries to feel embarrassed, the less he can manage.

He’s sure it’ll all come back to bite him in the ass later, the way he’s burying his anxiety—had he been too pushy and eager and weird about the whole compensation thing?—as it rises up once every ten minutes or so to make him feel bad or self-aware or think about what he’s done. His body’s not that nice that it will let him off the hook permanently, he knows that realistically, but just in the moment. Just in the moment, all he can feel is happy, ecstatic even, because it could’ve gone worse but it didn’t and now he has an actual, valid excuse to talk to Shinsou the next time they see each other. And he’s determined not to look like a fumbling idiot.

God bless UA fruit salads, disgusting as they are.

 

-

 

By the time last period rolls around, Neito’s Shinsou-induced brain stupor has morphed into something like an all-consuming body blanket, settled deep into his bones like a pleasantly welcome bear hug. The novelty of the lunch encounter is starting to wear off ever so slightly but the anxiety remains where it is, brimming deep under the surface and not bothering him too much. Not even Eraser-sensei’s lazy, drawling voice and the math equations slowly filling the board seem to be able to get him down from his high.

This should alarm him realistically—he hates calculus and Eraser-sensei’s no-nonsense teaching policy that sucks the joy out of everything and kills small children, but Neito can’t feel an ounce of disdain or irritation. Even if he’s willing the time to pass quicker at the back of his mind, it’s not because of his hatred of this class; it’s because he wants to get back to his room to squeal and giggle and let his feelings out into his pillow like a teenage girl until his brain reminds him to be ashamed of his entire life.

Neito lets out dreamy-sigh number 67—and counting—at the prospect and minds his own lovesick business.

 

There’s still ten minutes left of class time, however, when Eraser-sensei eases a large khaki envelope out from under the teacher’s desk and Neito is forced to remember that he has a life and an education to tend to.

“I’m sure you all remember that you will be starting your hero studies work in your first year rather than your second because of the villain threats to our prefecture at the moment,” he drawls with a deadpan expression as he slips out a considerably thick stack of white papers from the envelope. He motions to Kendou who rises in her seat. “This is not obligatory for your grade this year like the work experience you did after the Sports Festival, but as heroes with provisional licenses, I would recommend you apply to at least three different agencies.”

Neito blinks towards the front of the classroom, dazed by the sudden, drastic shift in topic and he finds himself struggling to pay attention. He almost doesn’t want to care; staying inside his pink bubble of temporary giddiness sounds incredible. But he knows—hopes—he’s not stupid enough to forsake listening to something vital and academic just because a boy has rendered him useless so he forces himself to. He’s already failed his exams once because of this.

“Please give them three each,” Eraser-sensei says quietly to Kendou and raises his voice to the rest of the class as she starts sorting and distributing. “This will be a lot different than your work experiences because a lot of you did not see any real action and acted as shadows to the heroes.”

Neito forces back a wave of annoyance at that, the memories of his botched internship making a brief appearance from beyond of his hormone-addled mind. It had been useless and he’d been treated like a child; the pro-hero hadn’t even let him copy his quirk that much for whatever stupid reason and it had been a gigantic waste of his time.

“This time, you will be working as actual side-kicks to the pro-heroes you choose to intern with,” Eraser-sensei drawls, scratching at the scar under his eye and blinking his drooping eyes. Neito wishes to be this unbothered in life. “There will be potential danger and a chance for you to hone your skills further than you have in the first term, which is why this practice is compulsory and graded from next year onwards.”

“What kind of danger are we talking about here?” Awase asks loudly, raising his hand up in the air. There’s a strange expression on his face, like he’s unsettled but also unbelievably excited. Neito blinks slowly at him and then up at Kendou, who silently places a thin pile of forms on his desk and moves on to the desk behind him.

The comforting haze in his head lifts just the slightest bit.

“Nothing life threatening, let’s hope,” Eraser-sensei says dryly, not a hint of sugar-coating in his voice. Neito feels a little uncomfortable at that, training camp flashing in front of his eyes briefly, though the—rapidly disappearing—safety-blanket in his bones stomps the memory out before it can pull his anxiety to the surface.

Their teacher eyes Awase for only a second longer before he directs his sleepy gaze towards the rest of the class.

“Also, it is important to note that some of you might not be able to get places,” he says bluntly, hands on the desk and meeting everyone’s suddenly incredulous gaze, Neito’s included. “The second years are applying as their first this year and a majority of the third years are comfortable in their agencies from the previous year. A lot of first years might not be taken in because of the higher-grade students.”

“But if we have a chance of not getting in then what’s the point of applying just to get rejected?” Tetsutetsu says from his seat without raising his hand. voice loud and bummed out. Neito can’t see his face but he feels like the boy might actually be pouting at the prospect of not being able to put himself in unnecessary danger. He, on his own end, doesn’t feel too bad. Or anything really. He’s never liked putting himself in situations like that, anyway.

Eraser-sensei, however, looks like he’s three seconds away from hanging himself.

He sighs and rubs at his eye.

“The point, Tetsutetsu,” he says, spitting it like it’s a curse. “Is that you should at least try and whatever happens, happens.”

“Aw man. Alright.” Tetsutetsu says glumly, rubbing at his scalp and slumping, as if this is the single worst piece of information he’s been subjected to. Their teacher regards him for a tiny bit, as if to make sure he isn’t going to lash out or something stupider, before he sighs again. He does it a lot, Neito has noticed, and often wonders whether he’s stuck in this job against his will. It would surprise absolutely no one.

“Anyway,” he mutters, scratching his head. “Please review the forms right now for the last minutes of lesson and if you have any questions, come to me. These need to be filled and approved by Thursday so we can send them off, so I suggest not slacking off and sorting out any issues now, or at the very least, by tomorrow.”

There’s a quiet murmur of agreement and papers are rifled through collectively with varying levels of enthusiasm and aggression. Neito delicately rubs his thumb along the bottom of the form at the top of his pile, taking in some questions with a gaze that still feels a little haze-heavy, though he’s been forced out of his warm bubble for the most part. He shouldn’t feel mad because it’s for the sake of his education which is—should be—his priority but he is a little mad and he can’t bring himself to feel bad for it.

The anxiety churns in his stomach, a faint feeling.

The questions seem straight-forward enough on all three forms which Neito realises are completely identical embarrassingly belatedly. There are slots for mundane things like his name, student ID number, date of birth, semester at UA, and quirk. And then there’s unnecessarily big boxes that ask him for his motivations and his combat skills rated out of 10 and why he is the number that he’s given himself—and can it be improved!—and what he thinks of the league of villains’ ideology in too many words and write a cover letter as to why you want to join the agency you are applying to and give them compliments or you’re pretty much screwed, also make it 500 words if you want to live.

It’s not too bad. Neito has dealt with worse.

The only question that goes right over his head is one almost right at the end, right before the student signature line that ends the form. What is your average quirk usage and quirk control, it simply says with five blank lines given under it with no explanation or prompt, like he’s supposed to know what the hell that means.

Fend for yourself and figure it out pussy, it might as well say.

He furrows his eyebrows as he reads it over and over, mulling it over in his head and coming up with jack-shit as to what they could be asking. He thinks he might have a vague idea, but he doesn’t want to be over-confident and ruin his application that already has a low chance of getting approved in the first place. But he also doesn’t particularly want to ask Eraser-sensei—he’d rather die than be condescended by 1-A’s grudgingly adopted father figure—but the more he thinks about it, the less it makes sense. And a discrete look around at the class tells him that it would be useless asking them because even Kendou looks confused at something.

Neito isn’t sure he has the amount of mental will power to admit he needs help to these idiots, anyway.

“I will be in class for twenty minutes after the bell to answer questions, both about the form and about the second term syllabus if need be,” Eraser-sensei drawls when there’s about thirty seconds left and everyone has more or less given up. “But we all have places to be and naps to take so make it quick, preferably don’t come back with stuff you forgot to ask before leaving and don’t waste my time.”

“Shouldn’t Vlad-sensei be answering our form questions for us, though?” Tsuburaba asks curiously, eyes wide and questioning because he clearly doesn’t fear death. “He’s our home-room teacher ‘n all, so why’re you in charge of this?”

Eraser-sensei’s eye physically twitches at the question and Neito is infinitely grateful that his quirk is not of the destructive variety or no one in this idiot class would’ve survived math past day one. Tsuburaba must sense it too, his mortal life about to end, because he just shakes his hands in the air without waiting for a reply and mutters a quiet “never-mind!”

The bell goes off, as if on cue, and saves him from an early demise.

“Twenty minutes,” Eraser-sensei warns, seating himself on the teacher’s chair with all the air of someone who wants to be not be there and looks longingly towards his sleeping bag. “Hurry it up.”

Neito’s plan is to quickly pack up his bag and get to the desk first so he can get his question sorted and rush back to his room. The soft feeling may have subsided for the most part because he’s been forced to think about things—disgusting—but his desire to roll around in his bed and let out his hormonal teenage emotions is still burning low in his gut.

But he must miscalculate, or maybe he’s too slow, or maybe sitting at the back automatically puts him at the end of the line because before he can blink, there’s a hoard of his classmates already surrounding Eraser-sensei and asking rapid-fire questions.

“One at a time!” their teacher snaps from the middle of it all, annoyed and the chatter ceases.

Neito hovers unsurely at the back, hugging his forms to his chest.

 

By the time the crowd around the desk thins, all of the people Neito walks back with have either left or are shouldering their bags and preparing to. He catches Awase’s eye who has unsurely paused in the doorway with Rin and Kendou and Tetsutetsu, looking questioningly at him. Their worry from yesterday and this morning hasn’t dissipated, it seems, like he’d assumed it should have after lunch even though Neito’s back to acting like himself for the most part. He’s not going to go into system shutdown mode again, he doesn’t even feel like it, and for the first time since they started their parenting routine, he feels genuinely irked at the concern.

“You guys go on ahead,” Neito waves a dismissive hand at them, being entirely honest as Kuroiro shoulders past them and leaves. “I won’t be long. I’ll catch up with you.”

“You sure you don’t want us to wait?” Rin asks slowly, face conflicted. “We could, if you want us to.” Awase and Tetsutetsu nod in enthusiastic agreement.

Neito is hit by a strange urge to strangle them and/or tell them to fuck off, feeling a little suffocated by the worried gazes as he vehemently shakes his head. He’s not sure what he has to do to convince them that he’s not going to freak out again so they’ll stop acting like leaving him alone is a sin on their part. He got lunch by himself and nothing happened and nothing is going to.

Nothing is going to happen.

Something must show on his face as he approaches Eraser-sensei with anxiety lurching in his stomach, an indication of how smothered he feels or how bad he is with being smothered, because Kendou sighs and grabs the boys by their arms and collars and herds them out of the classroom.

“Come on, he said no,” she says quietly but it’s loud enough to reach him and he’s suddenly hit with the same rush of gratefulness that he’d felt in the cafeteria when she’d let him get lunch on his own.

“But-!” Awase splutters indignantly and then they’re out of sight and earshot as the door swings shut behind them, though not all the way. Neito watches them disappear as Shoda finishes up on an obvious sounding question—and gets chewed out for it, understandably—and thinks he catches a quick flash of purple passing by beyond the threshold, visible briefly through the sliver of the semi-open door but it’s gone before he can tell what it is.

Neito feels his heart speed up in his chest, memories of Shinsou speaking to him sparking up in his mind, and he feels a little silly at how warm he feels. He wonders if he’ll ever be able to look at the colour the same again.

 

The question takes a whopping ten seconds to explain, obvious as it apparently was—they want to know how well he can control his quirk and how often he uses it in everyday circumstances and in combat. Neito is almost embarrassed at the blank, tired stare he receives from Eraser-sensei when he asks for clarification in the first place.

Yanagi, Kodai, Tokage, Honenuki and Fukidashi are still in the Make Eraser-sensei’s life hell in 5 easy steps queue with way more questions than him when he finally neatly packs his forms into his backpack and makes to walk back to the dorms. He’s already decided that he’s going to lose his shit and murder his friends in cold blood if he sees even one of them waiting behind for him like he’s crippled baby, no mercy or hesitation. But he’s pleased to see that the hallway is deserted when he pushes the too-big door open and peeks out to his right.

Satisfied and a little relieved, Neito steps out of the classroom and slings his bag over his shoulders, pushing the door closed with more required force than necessary. As the latch clicks behind him, he stretches his arms out with a smile because finally, he can go back to his room and be alone with his feelings and maybe start on his forms. And if he’s lucky, he can even take a nap! Everything is great!

Swinging back on the balls of his tired feet to begin walking, he glances casually to his left to make sure his friends aren’t hiding on the other side of the hallway somewhere.

And almost goes into medical shock. For a brief second, he freezes and wonders if he’s hallucinating, if he’s finally lost it, if this crush has finally broken his brain. He wouldn’t be surprised.

Because why would Shinsou be sitting on the floor of the hallway right outside his classroom, as if he’d been lying in wait for him? It just doesn’t any logistic sense. Or realistic sense. Or any kind, really. He has to be seeing things, surely the higher powers don’t hate him this much to subject him to—

Shinsou’s back is against the wall and a pen is clenched between his teeth with a paper-pad of some sort propped up against his knees. His posture is casual, cool in his usual unapproachable way, like he belongs there. He’s still in uniform—honestly, why wouldn’t he be—with his tie missing and his sleeves rolled up but his hair is coming out of its usual obnoxious styling and most of it has fallen onto his forehead.

He’s, dare Neito use this word so lightly, beautiful. And starting to look less and less like a hallucination.

Shinsou must notice him gaping down at him like a lovestruck, confused idiot because he questioningly looks up and immediately startles a little. His mouth falls open the slightest bit, as if he’s confused as to what he’s seeing—as if he’s confused as to what he’s seeing, the asshole—and the pen drops down to his lap.

Neito feels extremely over-stimulated.

“Oh,” Shinsou simply says after they spent a few seconds just awkwardly staring at each other, as if he hadn’t noticed Neito’s existence before this; which might be true because there had been a large door between them after all.

His heart gives way in his chest, turning to nothing but disgusting, flustered mush; there’s panic welling up in his stomach but the warmth is also increasing tenfold and he feels a little dizzy with it.

He can’t tell if this is a blessing by the Gods or a really weird, pleasurable punishment.

“Oh,” Neito parrots after a too long pause, though he sounds smoother than he feels—like there isn’t a lump of surprise in his throat. “It’s…it’s you.”

Shut up, shut up, shut up.

Shinsou raises an eyebrow at that—Neito is starting to realise that that is his default reaction to everything—and snaps the notebook-pad thing on his lap closed in a fluid motion. It’s a sketchbook, he dumbly realises as the other boy gently sets it down onto the floor beside him.

That knowledge, that the other boy potentially draws, will come back to make him scream later once it processes, Neito is sure, but he can’t care in the moment; not when his chest is rapidly getting clogged up with helpless attraction the way it is. His brain feels soft with how underprepared he is to have two conversations with his crush in a day. One day. One. How did he go from no interactions since June to this godforsaken, awful, incredible day?

For a brief moment, he considers straight booking it in the opposite direction.

But then Shinsou gives him a wry half-smile, amused but confused like he can’t quite believe he’s a real person and Neito is too weak to resist and stays where he is. You know, like a lovesick puppy.

“It is me,” he confirms dryly, voice raspy in the way that makes Neito feel like he’s being shot at with rifles. He wants so badly to swoon, to scream into a pillow, to escape, to slide into Shinsou’s lap and never get up ever again. “Didn’t expect to see you again so soon. We meet again, huh?”

Neito’s heart thuds in his chest, unsure of how to take that sentence. Everything feels off, soft and pink, because Shinsou had expected to see him again and he might just keel over and die on the spot.

“We’ve been doing that a lot since yesterday,” he mumbles in agreement instead without overthinking it, determined not to let too long pauses make him look strange or quiet or like he’s been knocked out of his senses. Letting Shinsou see that even once is enough to last him a lifetime, not again thank you.

He keeps his gaze steady and clutches his backpack straps. Shinsou regards him warily but there’s amusement twinkling in his eyes. His pretty, pretty eyes.

“So, this is your classroom,” Shinsou comments offhandedly, turning his head to stare at the big 1-B emblazoned door and Neito follows his gaze unsurely. It’s not a question or anything; it’s like he’s noting it for himself, as if this is information that is noteworthy to him, to be used in the future.

This is not good for Neito’s health. None of this.

“Yeah, it is,” he confirms, congratulating himself when his voice doesn’t crack. His outer-shell of (somewhat) cool, composed Monoma Neito is firmly in place and he’s not about to let it shake. “What, uh…what are you doing here?”

Neito doesn’t think it’s an invalid question, so he doesn’t immediately internally howl in anguish. He’s never seen Shinsou around their class before—god, he wishes he would be here every day—because their departments are different, as are their teachers and their hallway. It’s not odd to think that him just lounging outside 1-B is a weird thing to do. He could be a spy, sent by 1-A to scope out their progress, or he could just be loitering.

Or he could’ve been out here, waiting for you, his brain very helpfully supplies and it takes Neito all he has not to short-circuit. He knows there’s no way that’s true, judging by how their conversation at lunch had ended, but…but—

“I’m waiting for Aizawa-sensei,” Shinsou says lightly, scratching at his temple and pulls Neito out of his hormone filled, eagerly false-hoping mind as if someone’s doused him in cold water.

“Oh, okay,” he replies, a little stumped as his brain tries to process that sentence and fails to. Why, he wants to ask, whatever do you mean, with a bit of how the hell do you know Eraser-sensei if you’re in General Studies. But he keeps his mouth dutifully shut, because he may not have social tact but he knows when it’s his place to ask things and when it isn’t.

Neito pats himself on the back for that one.

“He should be out soon,” he even throws in politely. “He’s uh, helping my class with hero internship forms and homework and stuff. I’m waiting for my friends to come out…actually…,” he impulsively lies, determined not to look like he’s standing here just for the sole purpose of talking to Shinsou but awkwardly trails off as when he sees the other boy’s expression darken. It’s the slightest bit and only for a split second before he’s back to looking nonchalant.

Neito wonders if he’s said something wrong but doesn’t dare ask.

“That’s cool, he said he’d be a bit late today, anyway,” Shinsou replies coolly, averting his eyes to fiddle with his pen. Freed from the scrutiny of his always-judgemental gaze, Neito lets out a breath he didn’t know was stuck in his throat.

“You see him a lot?” he asks before he can stop himself, mentally cursing his broken brain to mouth filter. Shinsou doesn’t look like he minds though, just glances up at him briefly and grunts.

“Not every day,” he says cryptically, turning the pen between his fingers.

Neito doesn’t know what to say to that. But he also doesn’t want the conversation to end, so he racks his brain for something, anything that will make him not look like an idiot but that also won’t make the other boy look uncomfortable like he had at lunch. And oh, he supposes, that is a thing to talk about, isn’t it?

Against a lack of his better judgement, he takes that and decides to run with it but doesn’t get very far.

He’s barely opened his mouth when the classroom door opens behind him and Yanagi and Tokage stumble out, talking at varying volumes of too loud and too low. For a second, Neito is scared that they’re going to notice him and call him out for still being there when he has no one to wait for but they don’t spare him or Shinsou a second glance as they walk away.

He’s so grateful, so relieved for their zero perception skills. For once.

“Your friends?” Shinsou asks casually, pointing in the girls’ direction when Neito turns to look at him like a lost puppy, incapable of understanding. “Your friends that you were waiting for?” he clarifies.

“Oh no,” he says, flushing in embarrassment even though he has no reason to.

He knows this conversation is about to end very soon, there’s only three more people left in there and then Eraser-sensei will be out. And Shinsou will be gone. So, he can’t really blame himself for wanting to milk it. “They’re still in there. Silly boys, taking so much time.”

Shut the fuck up, shut up, shut up, shut up.

“Ah,” Shinsou nods, going back to playing with his pen and his sudden drop of interest in the conversation is astounding. Neito had noticed this at lunch too, because he’s too perceptive and knows creepy things about people—it’s a curse—how when Shinsou is done talking, it’s visible in his entire body and his face. It’s attractive.

He’s attractive.

But it’s also very intimidating and Neito almost falters as a result, but he remembers his situation and the topic he’d been about to broach before the girls had interrupted him so he rubs the back of his neck and dives face-first into hell.

“Um,” he murmurs, waiting until Shinsou looks up at him to continue. He looks bored, amused, curious and helplessly awkward all at once. Why, he seems to be saying without words. “I’m…uh sorry for what happened at lunch today.”

“You’re confusing it,” the other boy says without missing a beat and Neito looks at him with wide, questioning eyes. “The whole flyin’ leap and destroying my lunch and falling onto my hand thing happened you’re apologising for happened yesterday, not today.”

Motherfucker.

“I don’t-,” he stammers, finally letting his façade falter as blood rushes to his face at record speed. Shinsou’s lips twitch in genuine mirth and Neito almost loses his train of thought in favour of just staring but he doesn’t. He has to defend his honour after all. “That wasn’t…I don’t mean that.”

“Then whatever do you mean?” Shinsou asks, giving up and letting his lips curl up into his incredibly strange full-toothed smile. Neito has never seen anything cuter in his life, how does the world expect him to survive?

Shinsou props his chin on top of his knees and stares him down, smile not wavering. It’s almost teasing but good natured at the same time. It’s hot and cute and Neito is suffering.

The knowledge that the other boy just might actually be messing with him, has been messing with him this whole time hits him a little too late. He’s sure the correct reaction isn’t to blush down to his toes but that’s what he does, like a useless loser.

“I mean,” he mutters, focusing on breathing through his nose as the door to the classroom opens and shuts behind him but he doesn’t even bother looking back at who it is. His friends lie is cracking as he senses more of his classmates leave without looking at him—literally, why had he lied about something as stupid as that—and judging by Shinsou’s look of surprise that morphs into a confused, knowing grin, he can see it too.

The embarrassment of that paired with the general hellishness of his entire being swoops in and ruins his life, though only a little bit.

The anxiety that he had been pushy with Shinsou, that he had made him uncomfortable and acted strange, the worries that had been kept at bay by the soft feelings of puppy love in his chest suddenly erupt with epic timing, overwhelming him. He tries to reign his mouth in as it quivers, he really does, but then he’s suddenly word-vomiting without a shit given.

“I mean,” he repeats, more assertively. “I meant. That I kind of…freaked out on you when we talked today and you looked uh, uncomfortable and I didn’t mean to be…pushy with paying you back. It…,” he doesn’t know where the bravery is coming from, but he figures there’s not a lot of it if his voice has dwindled into a near-whisper by the end of his tirade. And it’s not even over yet. “I didn’t feel very good from yesterday, and I didn’t…I don’t like doing bad things. To people. So that’s why I apologised. I definitely want to compensate you though!” he adds in a rush, not knowing what the fuck he’s saying at this point and stares at his shoes. “You just looked uncomfortable so…uh, yeah.”

The door to the classroom opens and shuts behind them. Neito pays it no attention, heart thudding against his ribs like it’s trying to burst out.

He’s gone and done it now, ruined whatever image he’d built in Shinsou’s eyes in one fell-swoop with this oversharey, stupid apologetic rant. And it hadn’t even been positive to begin with, so to make it worse is some sort of achievement even greater than him getting his hero license or getting into UA in the first place with the—

“Jeez, kid. You really are something else, huh?” Shinsou says and Neito’s head snaps up in surprise as just the…nickname? Endearment? Just the whatever that was, shocks him back into reality and when it does, his breath gets punched out of his chest.

Shinsou’s staring at him with something akin to fascination, like he’s some sort of enigma. Neito resists the urge to hold his aching chest and keeps his mouth from falling open successfully.

Kid.

He has a lot to say, options upon options of replies swimming in his head as he tries to shy away from the weirdly fond gaze he’s being subjected to, even though he knows it’s not like that and Shinsou just thinks he’s weird and impulsive and can’t quite believe his existence. There’s so much he wants to say, to express, but what actually comes out of his mouth is—

“I’m not a kid. I’m probably older than you, you know.”

Shinsou startles but then he smiles again, softer and a lot more exasperated.

Neito wants to know all his smiles.

“You probably are,” he agrees easily. “But I’m taller, so.”

“That’s rude and discriminatory,” he says, trying to make it sound like his usual haughty self but just comes across breathless and awed instead. It’s weird, him and Shinsou talking like they’re friends and can joke around with each other, and he’s not sure what’s happening but he’s definitely not about to start complaining.

“I never said I’m nice,” Shinsou fires back, gathering up his sketchbook from the floor—Neito wants to ask about it, he really does but he doesn’t want to push his luck—and shouldering his bag as he rises up. Suddenly, he’s looming and Neito has to look up to look at him, and somehow, it’s annoying as hell. But also really hot.

“You’re pretty intelligent you know kid,” Shinsou says flatly, like it’s some sort of a fact—it is—or a conclusion he’s reached and the other boy blinks up at him, slightly intimidated but also a little confused. Something must show on his face because he continues, rubbing the back of his neck and looking a little awkward. “Perceptive, I meant.”

“What do you mean?” Neito asks and he feels bad for not getting it even though he shouldn’t.

Shinsou shrugs, taking a step back and hugging his sketchbook.

“I wasn’t uncomfortable,” he admits quietly, averting his eyes as his cheeks tint the slightest hint of pink. Neito gawks. “But I just don’t like accepting things from people I don’t know that I…shouldn’t be technically receiving.”

He trails off at the end of the sentence, mouth drawing into a grimace as if he’s horrified at what he’s just said and Neito wonders if his brain to mouth filter broke like his does in the moment. The thought is oddly comforting.

“Oh,” he says, wishing he had something better to say but he can’t come up with anything. He’s never heard anyone say anything like this before; his entire class is and was shameless in their acquisition of free food, even when they’d just met back in April. “That…makes sense.”

It’s not a full lie. It does, to some extent at least.

Shinsou shrugs again, looking infinitely more awkward than he had at lunch but this time, Neito knows it’s not his fault.

“Yeah, don’t worry about the…whole lunch thing. I’m not sayin’ it to be nice,” he adds quickly and looks like he instantly regrets it. Neito wonders if he might actually be falling in love. “Just save this whole…compensation business for a time you actually do somethin’ wrong to me or someone else. Not for…accidental things like that. I would feel too bad accepting your shit, ‘cus that doesn’t even make sense. You’re the one that falls and you’re the one that spends money doesn’t sound like a fair principle. Pick one struggle, you know.”

His face sours as soon as he reaches the end of his sentence, as if he can’t quite believe that he’s spoken this many words in a row. Neito can’t either, along with the fact that Shinsou has indirectly implied that they will continue to interact after this, enough that he will have the opportunity to do more things with him, to compensate him for dumb mistakes. Judging by the way his heart stutters in his chest and rises to his mouth, none of this is good for his health.

(Shinsou has also indirectly implied that he thinks Neito is poor and that spending money is a struggle, but he’s so starstruck, so awed by this conversation that he’s willing to overlook that entirely.)

He needs to get a fucking hold of himself. This is disgusting.

So, he does. Sort of.

“Uh,” he starts, intelligently—and Shinsou thinks he’s intelligent too. He keeps it simple. “I won’t buy you fruits if you really don’t want me to.” It’s not a lie, though it pains him to say it. Buying him the fruit salad had been one of his safety bases, one of his stepping stones for another interaction, but he can’t just go on and be pushy after all of this. He’d rather die.

Shinsou, on his end, looks unnecessarily relieved and Neito decides fuck the fruit salad. Fuck it all. This conversation is enough to tide him over until his senior year. Who fucking needs some fruit salad to make moves?

“Good,” the other boy mutters in reply, rubbing the back of his neck. “Be smart about stuff like that.”

“Yes,” Neito says back, because he’s dumb.

A beat of awkward silence passes between them at that as they stare at each other, unsure of what to say next; it’s only broken after a full five agonising seconds by the door opening and closing behind them and Shinsou’s gaze flickers over the top of his head to something before coming back to him. When it does, he looks just the slightest bit confused but then his eyes light up and he looks like he’s about to crack up, biting down on his lips. Neito’s lungs exit through his ass, especially when the other boy’s next course of action is to lean down into his personal space conspiratorially.

He feels like he’s going to fucking die. And that is before Shinsou opens his mouth.

“Your friends,” is all he says, smile slowly forming on his face and voice low like he’s telling a secret. Neito barely resists the urge to lean in closer, too mesmerised by lip and teeth and hot boy to really notice what has been said.

And then he processes it.

“What?” he breathes back, confused as the moment shatters.

“Your friends that you were waiting for,” Shinsou clarifies, leaning back and side-stepping him with a flex of his shoulders, causing shockwaves to spread through Neito’s body and almost kill him. “I think they all left without you. Isn’t that sad?”

“What?” he repeats dumbly, eyebrows furrowing in confusion as the other boy walks past him without a backwards glance. He blinks as he tries to understand, hands toying with the straps of his backpack and it hits him a second too late, his fragile lie crumbling into pieces and getting trampled under Shinsou’s receding footsteps.

He doesn’t know quite why he feels so embarrassed, but he does. He feels his life end in that one moment.

“Uh!” he calls out in panic, turning on his heel with more grace than a normal person can manage—thanks, ballet lessons—and staring at Shinsou’s retreating back with all the horror he’s feeling summed up on his face. He can see Eraser-sensei walking alongside him, shoulders slumped and sleeping bag hugged to his side and very irrationally, for a second, he thinks they might be related.

But that thought isn’t any stronger than the litany of curse-words running in his head so it gets drowned out because Shinsou now probably knows that Neito had stood there like an idiot, just to make conversation with him even though they’re not even friends. He really, really hopes—even though he knows he’s wrong—that Shinsou isn’t perceptive enough to figure out why because if he is—he totally is—then Neito is fucked and can never show his face in public again.

He’s not even sure the other boy knows his name. Or rather, had bothered to remember it after he’d so embarrassingly dropped it at the conversation earlier at lunch where he really hadn’t needed to—

Why. Why, why, why, why, why, why.

Neito suddenly becomes aware of the fact that he’s not going to survive this term if it’s the second day and he already wants to disappear this badly. He’s never been this embarrassed, this awkward with someone in his whole, godforsaken life.

 

He gives it a little bit of time to make sure that Shinsou and Eraser-sensei have at least a half a minute head start on him before he wills his legs to start moving in the direction of the dorms. His nice, safety-blanket feeling has thinned to pretty much nothing now but at the same time has multiplied tenfold and Neito isn’t entirely sure if he’s beating himself up for being embarrassing or if he’s elated that the higher powers have blessed him yet again.

He’s still in the process of dragging his feet glumly while also resisting the urge to skip the whole way with sheer happiness when he realises that his friends are probably worried sick about where he is and why he hasn’t shown up yet. Not that Neito is going to tell them anything—he can’t anyway, not when it’d be such a bitch to explain—but the fact that he’s about to be smothered in concerned questions as soon as he’s through the door sends his negative emotion count through the roof a little bit.

At least this conversation had gone a little bit better than the one at lunch at least. Neito has decided that he never wants to think about it again, think about Shinsou again in general, until he’s reminded himself who the fuck he is and put his behaviour in check. Then he can figure out where to go from here.

Shinsou’s shitlord self can come bother him in three to five business days, thanks.

Notes:

everyone: shinsou is a socially awkward angsty teen
me after the discord server: shinsou is a shitlord who takes the piss more than he does anything

also: ao3 really fucked up my chapter index for a sec there so if u guys have any problems, i solved them so they should be alright now uwu

and! u guessed it, he has issues (implied here) and so does monoma and i cant wait 2 expand on them
kudos and comments make me happy dont be shy

Chapter 5: 2.15

Notes:

hello this is. late.
ive been sick and tired and i had headaches and couldnt look at screens and its all been a big mess plus i didnt know what to do w this chapter bc i didnt plot this far and i missed the monologue style from ch1 and wanted to expand on shit that was only touched on in there and thought: why not
so like yeah. im p happy w this

theres no one but monoma in this chapter lmao rip
content warning: monoma loses his shit over his sexual awakening and pops a boner. thats it

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Technically, Neito is fully aware that he’s probably dreaming.

 

For as long as he can remember, he’s always had the—occasionally annoying—tendency to dream nearly every night. Sometimes they’re short, a series of blurry, clipped off images running through his head that make a lot of sense in his sleep but seem stupid after he’s awake and stops to think about them. Other times, with the dreams that are long and tend to extend over his entire sleep time, there are visions of his actual life experiences, colourful and abrupt that flit from memory to memory before he has any real idea what’s going on. Sometimes, if he’s especially tired, he’ll even dream of things from years and years ago, all the good and the bad and the completely inconsequential of his pre-UA years. These are the dreams that are especially vivid, too real to actually seem like dreams and Neito usually has no idea he’s dreaming until he wakes. Those, combined with less than welcome memories, are what make up his nightmares, though he didn’t tend to have much before training camp.

And then, of course, there’s the Shinsou dreams. Those are a whole different category of their own.

Even though Neito doesn’t get half as much of those as he would like—though they do leave him gross and longing after he’s awake—he does get his fair share, particularly when he’s tired from a long day of doing things. Like a weird, mental safety net of sorts that his brain concocts in an attempt to comfort him when his joints are aching, like that’s what he wants to see. It’s strange. He’s strange.

But not as strange as the situation he’s currently in. He doesn’t think anything has been or ever will be as…weird as whatever the hell is going—

See, Neito’s gotten used to those dreams, has forced himself to get used to them for the sake of survival in the face of explosive crush. As aforementioned, they usually center around training camp and the villain’s fire and showcase Shinsou helping him out through that entire harrowing memory because he’s gay and so is his subconscious mind, clearly. They’re never that vivid or that long but he can never tell that they’re dreams until he wakes up more exhausted than he went to sleep. But it’s fine.

He’s fine, because they may be inconvenient and ugly but they’re also soft and romantic, and that’s all there really is to them. Neito has learned to adapt and accepted his occasional harmless fate, gross death at the hand of cuddles and some forehead kisses—because his brain isn’t kind enough to give him actual kisses, though that can be attributed to the fact that he’s never been kissed before so he wouldn’t know how that—

Point is, that’s all they are. Nothing more, nothing less. One more category of dreams to add to his frankly impressive list.

 

So, it’s only natural that he’s confused right now, even if there’s no way none of this is real.

Because like—

“What’s wrong, kid?” Shinsou is breathing in his ear, half a chuckle escaping his throat and making Neito, jolted out of his mental gymnastics, jump half a foot off the bed he’s lying on. Because that’s where he is. He’s on a bed—his dorm bed—on his back and his head is cushioned by a really soft, comfortable pillow that feels very much like his own. And Shinsou is on top of him. You know, because that’s a thing that’s currently happening. For some reason.  

Shinsou—definitely not real Shinsou—pauses only slightly in whatever in the fresh hell he’s doing and then bends down, all casual like, to lick up the column of Neito’s neck, all the way up to his ear. It’s not wet and overwhelming like he’s always imagined it would be, because of course, he’s thought about this a little. It’s actually kind of dry, the drag slow and hot—like, in temperature—but he doesn’t feel much of it, like the sensation is muted somehow.

But it still happens.

It still happens and it…he…

What the f-

He wracks his brains for an explanation, something, literally anything, as Shinsou lazily switches to sucking at his earlobe. He then proceeds to grin wide like an asshole at the very embarrassing sound that claws its way up Neito’s throat, though he more feels it on his skin—his skin—than actually sees it.

Because this is a thing. Why is this a thing?

Neito remembers getting back to the dorms after thoroughly embarrassing himself in front of Shinsou, the actual Shinsou, not this version who’s horny-lapping at him. He also remembers skilfully dodging his friends’ concerned gazes and questions, waving them off with a half-assed neither here nor there answer and probably concerning them more in the process.

He then recalls forcing himself to fill forms until dinner rather than giving in to his hormonal urges of screaming into a pillow and thinking about his love-life; definitely, vividly remembers himself in his room getting them all done in one fell swoop. He can even reach out and poke at the tangible pride and relief he’d felt that only comes to him with the realisation that he has no further responsibilities to take care of for the day.

There had been dinner—chicken soup, he remembers, he’s not going insane—and he remembers making some conversation with his friends to get them off his back and not worry about him. He recalls eating and generally minding his business until bedtime. And bedtime…

He remembers bedtime.

Or rather, he remembers locking himself in his room straight after to avoid talking to anyone and finally giving in and screaming and squealing and giggling into his pillow—both out of happiness and embarrassment—until he’d gotten sleepy.

That’s the last thing he remembers before he’d randomly signed back into reality…here and oh, he stupidly realises. This is a dream, isn’t it? A strangely realistic, self-aware dream of all the things he doesn’t allow himself to think about in the name of crush, but a dream regardless.

Right?

“Hm, not gonna answer? Cat got your tongue?” Shinsou asks curiously after a few long silent seconds as Neito flounders like an idiot and tries to figure out a battle plan. The other boy’s tone is infuriatingly teasing, amused, much like it had been in the hallway. Even in this dreamt up scenario, he’s an insufferable bastard. “Had a lot to say before, didn’t you baby?”

This is a dream. This has to be a dream. Please, let this be a dream.

Neito can feel himself short-circuiting from the inside out.

“Uh,” he manages, only now registering the fact that he’s drenched in sweat and clad only in his uniform shirt and ultra-short underwear that he doesn’t remember owning. That, combined with the fact that it’s considerably light outside the windows of his dorm room, solidifies his initial assumption. This is definitely a dream.

Not counting the whole why would Shinsou be on top of me and calling me baby thing, of course.

Though, he can’t ever recall an instance in which one of his night time adventures had ever been this vivid. He’s never been this self-aware of a situation in a dream in his entire life, never this in control of his own thoughts, never this sensitive

“Ah-,” he grinds out, a whimper he manages to kill in his throat before it can surface as Shinsou goes back to sucking at his earlobe like it’s his lifeblood. His hands twitch where they lie on top of his head, wrists crossed obediently of their volition and when the hell did that happen?

Definitely a dream. What the hell does his brain think up in its spare time?

But that realisation doesn’t make any of it less real, much to Neito’s…dismay? Elation? Disappointment? Excitement? A mixture of the four? A mixture. Definitely. He can feel his emotions jumbling inside of him in a sensation he only feels in his dreams, can feel Shinsou’s breath on his neck, his weight on his chest, on his thighs and there’s hair tickling the side of his jaw, soft and purple and the lips, there’s lips on his skin and it all feels so real. Stupidly so.

A haze settles over his brain as blood rushes to his face and his eyes squeeze shut, oxygen getting punted out of his lungs at record speed and all of it just makes it really hard to think. He manages, though, he does because he’s a Monoma and this is…this is nothing. Logically—he needs to rationalise in the name of his threat—if this is a dream, which it is, then the most rational course of action would be to let it pass, wouldn’t it? There’s no way to wake himself up from it, he doesn’t think and even if there was, he doesn’t think he has the mental capacity to strain himself like that—

“Aren’t you adorable?” Shinsou mutters, cutting off his train of thought as he lifts his head and props himself up, away from Neito’s skin, who belatedly realises that there are noises escaping his throat without his consent. He’s never heard himself sound like that before, needy and high-pitched, like he’s dying.

He should be embarrassed, should be mortified and never be able to show his face in public again but somehow, he isn’t because dream logic. He can’t pay attention to much of anything at all that isn’t Shinsou, who, as he’s starting to rapidly realise, is extremely close to his crotch.

He squirms and whines louder than before, forcing his body to relax into the mattress under the other boy’s weight. This isn’t real, there’s no way, so he might as well enjoy it right? Let loose or whatever the expression is. There’s no point fighting it.

Right?

Where the hell is he right now?

“Quiet,” Shinsou says, voice five times deeper than normal, like it was in the hallway—he’s starting to sense a pattern here—when Neito lets out another experimental whine and his head spins dangerously, a swooping sensation shooting straight to his pants. If this is the cost that comes up with exchanging actual words with his crush, then he never wants to talk to him ever again, fucking hell. Not if his brain will turn against him like this, he really can’t trust anyone in—

“Do you want people to hear you? I don’t think you do.”

Shit,” Neito offers intelligently in reply and clenches his hands into fists, sinking them into the pillow as he tries to come up with ways as to how not to keel over and die, anything to help him deal with this. He doesn’t want to open his eyes and actually look at the asshole, though; he wouldn’t be able to survive that, he’s sure.

His heart thuds in his chest at record speed, like it’s trying to beat straight out of his chest.

“See,” Shinsou grunts, leaning down and placing a hand—a big, cold fucking hand—over Neito’s crossed fists and pins. A traitorous whimper flies out of his mouth like a bullet out of a gun because this, this he has thought about before in his spare time. Occasionally for educational purposes. And this is not what he wanted his brain to do with that information. “Adorable.”

Though, he didn’t think about anything like this last night before going to sleep. This was the last thing on his mind. His shit had been like…softer. Happier. He should be dreaming of Shinsou shitting puppies and rainbows, technically.

He can’t remember doing anything all that differently before bed at all, actually, and the more he wracks his brain for an explanation, the antsier he gets. Is this happening because of the events of the day before? The squealing? The rolling around in bed? Thinking about Shinsou last thing right before he’d apparently fallen asleep where he was? He’s done that before though, too many times to count, but nothing like this has ever happened. Not even close. Then why—

“Stop moving,” Shinsou commands, a heavy edge to his voice and Neito stills immediately like he’s been shocked into submission. He wonders if this is what the other boy’s quirk feels like when he uses it on people, if it would feel like this if he used it on Neito and holy fucking shit, he’s never thought about that before. No, like he has but not like this. Has he? Is this really the junk he has buried in subconscious mind? This gross and ridiculous, hormonal nonsense? He ought to shoot himself in the—

“Good,” Shinsou coos and his thought process freezes immediately, though he can’t really remember the last thing that was said. He supposes it doesn’t really matter; there’s no consequences in dreams. “I knew I could count on you to be good, baby.”

Neito physically feels his bodily functions shut down with a decided oh fuck this.

Because fuck this. Fuck all of it.

 

He doesn’t know how long it goes on for, this dream—nightmare—sent straight to torture him from the depths of hell. All he knows is that he sweats a lot, makes a lot more embarrassing noises and lets Shinsou talk nonsense into his ear and call him pet-names. Somewhere along the way, the other boy kisses him, actually kisses him on the mouth and not on the forehead as is his dream usual. It’s open mouthed and dirty and a little too sexual and Neito is pretty sure there’s a tongue or two involved but all he can physically do is lie there and wait for the scenario to pass as it all blurs together, like his dreams tend to do. He’s overthinking too much to really enjoy it, too overwhelmed and aware and teary and grossly needy but he doesn’t make any active efforts to wake himself up, either. Some part of him knows he probably wouldn’t be able to even if he tried, but the other part—the bigger, greedy part—wants to keep Shinsou where he is a little longer even if he feels like he’s dying from the inside out. Even if it’s not real.

This, he thinks, whimpering through the stimulation in his mouth, is honestly starting to get a little out of control, but he’s not even all that mad. Not when his heart threatens to stop every time Shinsou’s tongue—seriously, what the fuck—brushes his own and his toes curl in his socks when a large hand rubs over his chest. Repeatedly.

He’s going to hate himself for this in the morning. But it’s not the morning and so, he like…doesn’t.

If there wasn’t pressure on his mouth Neito would whine from all the attention, which seems to be his newly discovered trademark noise in situations like…this; situations that he hopes to never encounter in real life ever. Fuck all of this.

But he would. Whimper, that is.

The kiss itself isn’t all that sexy or mind-blowing, either. The slide of their mouths is gross and wet and sloppy, which makes sense because Neito’s never actually been kissed before and this is exactly what he has stored in his brain under the whole what does smacking face with someone feel like thing. But it’s a little too realistic and he’s a little too awake through it all and that’s what does him in. That’s what leaves his head a spinning mess.

And then, just when he’s starting to get used to it, getting a little into it because hormones, Shinsou—dream-Shinsou—aligns their hips and Neito sees god all over again.

 

-

 

In the end, Neito isn’t sure what ends up waking him up.

He’s not even certain when he wakes up. There’s no clear indication that points to the dream—the torture —finally ending, no usual dissolving of his surroundings, no feeling like he’s falling ten stories and right back on his bed, no actually falling out of his bed. There’s none of that. One second Neito is getting his crotch thoroughly ground on to the point where oxygen is a foreign concept and the next he’s panting in bed alone, surrounded by darkness with his eyes half open and hair sticking to his forehead with a sweaty vengeance.

It takes him at least half a minute—not that he can actually count, as out of breath as he is—to register the pillow hugged tightly to his chest, hard enough that his arms are straining, and its fluffy corner clenched between his teeth. It takes him even longer to process the fact that he’s drooled all over it.

Gross, gross, gross, gross—

Neito gingerly opens his mouth and spits it out, body shaking with the aftershocks of whatever the hell has just happened. Self-awareness comes back to him at a snail’s pace as he tries to regulate his breathing and get his shit together, as if he’s used up all his consciousness up in the dream and been left behind a hollow shell of nothing but extreme oxygen deprivation.

And sweat. He’s pretty sure he’s sweat through the sheets. He almost never sweats.

“Jesus,” he hears himself say breathlessly through the white noise in his ears, holding onto the pillow tighter to ground himself and takes special care to angle his jaw away from the spit-soaked corner as he tries to breathe like a normal human being.

 

Neito half-expects himself to lie in the same spot all day, staring at the ceiling like a brainless idiot with his clothes stuck to his skin and his body screaming for a long, comfort shower, but his brain power does eventually return, shockingly enough. He’s not sure how long it takes before he finds enough mental capacity to blink and tilt his head to the side to look at the time but when he does, everything hits all at once. Like his mind has switched on abruptly after a night of dreamless sleep.

And when it hits, it hits.

The first thing Neito registers when feeling abruptly returns to him is how exhausted he is. He’s not sure why he didn’t feel it soon as he woke—adrenaline, maybe—but now that he is, he can’t stop feeling it. Tiredness weighs his bones down heavy, like it’s physically running through his veins, and he only now feels his body melted into the mattress like it’s integrated itself with it. It’s like he hasn’t slept at all, even though he knows he has. The slow acknowledgement of the headache pulsing behind his temples is next, and Neito is a hundred percent sure, in that moment alone, that today’s going to absolute garbage.

And that’s only before he realises that there’s a strain in his pyjama pants that wasn’t there before he went to sleep, tight and uncomfortable around the general area that is his—

Neito’s breath stutters as blood rushes to his face.

And then embarrassment descends upon him all at once. Shame follows.

 

To his credit, he doesn’t cry or panic.

This isn’t the first time he’s woken up with this problem, being the healthy sixteen-year-old boy that he is. There have been numerous occasions when he’s woken up in the mornings to his…parts…having a mind of their own and it’s inconvenient but it’s not the end of the world. Of course, he’s never had to get rid of one after having such an explosively violent dream; he’s never had dreams of that nature at all, actually, so that part is a little new. Obviously. But the issue is not foreign and Neito knows how to deal. He’s been dealing for like half his life, and just because the cause is different doesn’t make it a big deal. Because it’s not.

This is fine. He’s fine. All he has to do is drag himself to the showers, turn it to cold and stick his body under it for a few minutes. Problem solved. Then it’d be like the whole thing never happened and he would go back to having a normal, functional life, not plagued with weird boy things like this.

It’s okay.

 

By the time Neito finds the willpower to let go of the pillow and gingerly sit up in his—now frankly disgusting—bed, the first of the sun’s rays are starting to peek through his flimsy poor-people curtains and his room has lightened up a considerable bit compared to before. 4:59AM reads his nightstand clock, red letters bright and aggressive in the dark and very oddly, Neito feels a little reprimanded.

Somewhere outside, a lone bird chirps.

The entire thing would be almost peaceful another time—the beginning of a quiet but stupid-early sunrise as the world begins to wake one inhabitant at a time—if Neito’s emotions weren’t sloshing around in his chest like butterflies, threatening to blow a shameful hole in his stomach.

Dragging himself out of bed and willing himself not to fall over, as weak as his knees feel in the moment, he tries to dig around and find the feeling from yesterday, the warmth of the happiness he’d felt after talking to Shinsou both times. A safety-blanket of sorts and whatnot because sure, he’d been embarrassed and out of his depth but he’d been happy, hadn’t he? Even in the seconds before he’d slept, he had been, giggling and squealing like a teenage girl out of giddy excitement at the strides he’d made regarding their dynamic. The positivity of it seems (obviously) long evaporated by now though, judging by the fact that all Neito can extract from the depths of his being is yesterday’s soul-crushing embarrassment, mixed in the new fresh feelings of shame rising in him like vomit. Up until bedtime, thinking about Shinsou had been nice in a young love kind of way, his voice and his humour warming Neito’s insides like a space heater. But now…

Now, with the problem in his pants and the images from his dream playing on an unwelcome loop in the depths of his brain, he’s not even sure if he’ll ever be able to look at Shinsou in the face again, much less think about him. And in all technicality, that should be something of a good thing. Because hadn’t he, himself, vowed to not think about the other boy until he could come up with a way to approach him that wouldn’t end in him humiliating himself in ten different ways? Sure, he’d broken it immediately—he never actually means his exaggerated claims, of course—and this is just his decision…setting into place belatedly, something he had decided but he didn’t want it to happen like this.

Never like this. This…this is a garbage nightmare.

Neito moves slowly, trying not to put any pressure on the strain in his pants as he sleepily shuffles towards his closet to get a change of clothes. The sweat on his body begins to dry against the early September chill and when he raises a tired hand to the cupboard handle, it’s shaking.

 

 

He isn’t quite sure how he manages to make it to the shower stalls without falling over at least once but he does and lets himself feel at least a little proud of himself. The shower room is deserted, as had been the hallways, which, while not surprising considering the hour, is an entirely welcome bonus. Neito isn’t sure he can face anyone this soon, not in the direct aftermath of what honestly feels like the complete annihilation of his innocence. Because as stupid as it sounds, that’s what it is, isn’t it? An after, because Neito feels miles different from who he was before having this weird, sexual awakening and he’s not sure if he can go back.

It sounds a little dramatic, even in his own head, but if he has even the slightest bit of mental capacity to give a shit, he doesn’t exert it; being theatrical about everything is his brand after all.

He just sheds his clothes a little too slowly, arms numb and movements sluggish, and steps under the spray of ice-cold water as soon as it erupts from the showerhead with a slight groan of protest. It doesn’t seem like the brightest idea, taking a cold shower in the beginnings of winter when he feels twenty seconds away from passing out, but Neito doesn’t know what else to do with the issue between his legs.

It’s not that he’s against masturbation, of course; he’s not a prude and he’s definitely not a nun, nor is he religious enough to think that it’s a sin like his parents do. It’s just not something people of his social standing do and if they do, they don’t talk about it. It’s not normalised in the circle of society he comes from so he’s just never…bothered to learn or pay attention to the whole topic in general. Which he’s starting to regret heavily.

After last night, though…

No.

No, Neito vehemently shakes his head to clear it as he runs a hand through his wet fringe under the water. Just because his unconscious mind is stupid enough to harbour weird feelings for Shinsou—which kind of makes sense considering his initial attraction was mainly physical, but he wouldn’t admit it ever, gross—doesn’t mean he’s consciously stupid, too. The other boy probably has a girlfriend for gods sake, a detail he’s been consistently glossing over since Monday, and while he can’t stop himself from having dreams of this nature, he sure can stop himself from acting on them. And even if he didn’t have a girlfriend, which is ideal, Neito still wouldn’t ever think of violating Shinsou like that. He would never stoop so low, could never do something so middle-class even if it might be normal for boys his age.

There’s no point even overthinking it, he thinks while definitely overthinking it.

This whole thing was probably just brought on by the novelty of talking to Shinsou for the first time after all and taking a glimpse into his actual admittedly insufferable, attractive personality. The novelty has worn off, or will wear off soon if it hasn’t, and Neito won’t have to worry about things like this again. He will go back to having his regular dreams, soft and/or scary and things will go back to normal. Of course, they will.

It’s all been a momentary lapse in his normally A-plus self-control. A glitch in his life simulation. That’s it. It won’t happen again. He’ll make sure it doesn’t happen again and then he’ll never have to worry about nonsensical things like this.

Admittedly though, he doesn’t know what he’d do if it happens again.

 

Which it won't. Jesus.

 

Notes:

i feel...bad for him dsfhshfdshf rip

the next chapters have a LOT of content and two more ships which is why my sick ass was getting overwhelmed just thinking abt them so i like. self indulged in this. comment and kudos are always welcome and i love u all the most uwuwuwuwuwuuwuw updates might be a TINY bit flaky bc im like constantly sick these days but i wont abandon it so dw dw

Chapter 6: 2.2

Notes:

this is self-indulgent 15k. i have no control over my life anymore
i need to develop two more ships so this ch has a lot of awase lol
also this shit is almost at 200 kudos WHY but also THANK YOu
content warnings: ??? monoma deals with the aftermath of his dream, does not know what friends are and is useless as usual

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Neito is fairly certain, routine dramatic exaggerations aside, that he’s never been this tired in his entire sixteen years of existence.

That’s not to say that this is the first time a dream has ever wore him out. He’s used to waking up after particularly harrowing or extended dreams, feeling like he’s slept less than he actually has with his head aching and his body not fully functional. It usually takes him a while to properly wake up and even longer for his brain to process and recover from whatever his subconscious has decided to murder him with the night before but after a few hours, usually, he feels as fine as can be. Depending on the severity of the dream of course. He’s used to it. He’s adapted to his crappy sleep habits over the years and it’s fine. He’s fine.

This though…

The sun is properly up and shining through the shower room’s slanted windows when Neito finally turns the water off and sluggishly drags himself out of the shower, headache ten times worse and teeth chattering at record speed. His issue has long been resolved, thank god, but that’s the only positive he can think of as he stands on the threshold of the stall, wet tiles ice-cold under his feet. That’s the only positive there is.

If there’s more, Neito can’t bring himself to concentrate on them, not when he has other more important things to focus his hurting brain on. Like the fact that his body is trembling like a leaf, hard enough that even walking the five steps to his haphazardly tossed change of clothes is pathetically hard. He can’t even figure out whether he’s shaking from the cold of the shower—and god, had that been icy, why did he spend so much time in there, why does he want to die an early death—or just from the plain exhaustion that feels integrated with his internal organs at this point. It’s bone deep and intense and so, so annoying. He’d thought, hoped, that the shower would wake him up and make him feel less tired, less like he’s going to topple over any second, less like pure shit, but if anything, he fears that the cold might have actually made it worse.

Irrationally, though it seems rational enough to his numb brain—who knows if that’s because of the cold or because he’s overthought himself to death in the shower—Neito wonders if he’ll ever be not-tired again. If he’ll ever be warm again.

If he’ll ever stop being this much of a goddamn fucking pussy about everything.

As he shakily extracts the towel from the clothing rack, he wonders if he’s going to cry, if he should cry to make himself feel less like crap but ultimately decides he’s too tired to bother when his body dangerously sways on the spot.  It’s all he can do to not fall asleep standing up, after all.

Neito isn’t quite sure how he manages to force his shaking limbs into fresh clothes, much less awkwardly drag himself over to the communal bathroom next door to half-heartedly brush his teeth but he does somehow, driven entirely it seems, on sheer autopilot. The whole thing is miserable; his hair refuses to stop dripping no matter how much he towels it and wets the back of his shirt and by the time he’s done, he’s even more exhausted and brain-dead and cold than he had been, which is a feat in and of itself.

Even putting one foot in front of the other to get back to his room is hard and taxing but he drags himself along, hoping he doesn’t fall over and pass out in the middle of the hallway for someone to peel off of the floor once his friends start waking up later. That would be embarrassing and an even bigger bitch than all of this to explain to his already concerned mob of classmates. He’s not sure if he can even handle the thought of them smothering him like they have been since Monday. He can’t handle much of anything in his brain really, not when it’s throbbing with fatigue and anxiety the way it is.

Not for the first time since the start of week, Neito feels thoroughly pathetic. All of this crush and love-life stuff is starting to turn real stupid and dramatic and inconvenient and he hates it.

He hates it so much.

Distantly, he wishes he could find it in himself to just break down and cry it out but he can’t seem to extract enough brainpower for it no matter how hard he tries. And he’s not trying very hard, really. He can’t, not when he’s this tired, both physically and of life and of himself. He’s too exhausted for anything.

So exhausted, in fact, that by the time Neito finally makes it back to his room—without falling over, which is a miracle—and collapses face first onto his bed, his brain has shut down completely. All he can think of is how much he wants to sleep; pass out and never wake up so he doesn’t have to face the crappy circumstances of his newly acquired problems.

There’s a part of him—the irrational part—that doesn’t want to dream ever again, of Shinsou and everything else, lest something like whatever happened during the night happen again. There’s a fear there somewhere, deep in his heart beneath all the fatigue of something as mundane as sleeping; it’s a dramatic, strange anxiety, a blind sort of terror that he’ll lose his mind entirely if he dreams of something like that again, if he even lets himself think of Shinsou again. Because if he thinks of him then there’s a chance of his brain using that against him, showing him things like that again that he’s not ready to see or acknowledge.

And lord, he’s thinking of Shinsou right now, isn’t he?

He’s not very good at this.

On another day when he feels this shitty, Neito would let the irrationality win over the more reasonable course of action—sleep!—as he tries to half-heartedly dispel any and all thoughts of passing purple that has effectively ruined his life. It would be easier and he’s not mentally strong enough but right now…

Right now, he’s more tired than anything else he’s feeling, sprawled on top of his covers with his cheek buried in the pillow and his chest pressing uncomfortably into the slightly bunched up blanket below him. He really should move, he supposes, and get under the covers to warm up at least a little. The cold from the shower still hasn’t fully left him and his hair is wet and his vision is blurring at the edges and he’s most definitely going to catch a cold or something. He should also text one of his friends—literally anyone—and tell them that he won’t be able to make it to class because his clock says it’s 6:12 and his alarm goes off at 7:15 and there’s no way in hell he’s making it to morning classes today after sleeping only an hour. Or any classes, as incapacitated as he feels. Not to mention the fact that the passing prospect of even catching a glimpse of Shinsou at lunch sends cold, flustered butterflies straight down into his stomach. No, he can’t go today. He won’t go today.

He doesn’t usually skip school but he can make an exception today, can’t he? Yeah, he can. He can, he should message someone. He should do that.

But just because he should doesn’t mean he does. He doesn’t think he can spare that kind of energy, not in that moment. And so, over the screaming of his aching irrational brain, Neito doesn’t fight it when the exhaustion and the cold finally pulls him under.

He’s not exactly opposed to the fleeting idea of not waking up for at least a year. Even more so when the last thing his conscious mind conjures up is husky whispers and ghost pressure on his mouth.

He’s definitely not very good at this.

 

Neito doesn’t know how long he manages to sleep; he doesn’t know if it even constitutes as sleep, what with the way his brain constantly goes in and out of awareness every few seconds. One second, he can feel the sunlight behind his closed eyelids and drool escaping the corner of his mouth onto his pillow. The next he’s floating through dreamless nothingness with absolutely nothing in his head. It’s peaceful and nice and a little annoying, but there are no thoughts in his head for the duration of it all and he’s not opposed to that. He’s too tired to be opposed to anything.

Somewhere along the duration of his strangely peaceful but fitful sleep, music starts to play somewhere to his left. It’s a delicate melody that starts out quiet but gradually gets a little louder though not uncomfortably so, soft piano with sounds of the ocean in the background. Neito is pulled into consciousness for just one annoying second before the soothing tune pulls him under again, like a lullaby lulling him to sleep.

So, he does once more as the music plays on. He can’t quite remember the last time he’d felt this at peace, so in control and serene as he floats on and on and on. And on and on…and…

 

The next time Neito’s peace is broken—after what feels like only a few seconds because the world hates him obviously—is when the calming music abruptly shuts off mid note, his dark surroundings descending into silence. With the new quiet comes a burst of dim light behind his closed eyelids, like the sun has pierced through his dark bubbly abyss, and immediately he decides he doesn’t like it. And as soon as he reaches that conclusion, exerting just the littlest bit of brain power, his body stops floating.

Slowly, as if he’s being lowered at a snail’s pace, he gently drops down to a solid surface chest first. The light behind his eyes becomes a little brighter and despite the fact that they’re closed, he still squints them shut further shut. It’s too much light, it’s too early. He’s not awake enough for any of it.

Oh, and that’s what’s happened there, hasn’t it? He’s woken up. Sort of.

Maybe?

And there’s a voice saying his name, far away and muffled like the person’s underwater. Distantly, because Neito is tired as shit and doesn’t want to be awake, he wonders if that’s whoever’s woken him up. It’s a boy, he can tell that much through the muddle that is his mind, and sounds extremely familiar. If he had any more brain power to give up, he might be able to place it but he can’t.

He can’t, why is he so tired?

“Monoma-kun?” the voice repeats after a few seconds of blissful silence, slightly unsure and wavering. It’s quiet but it’s not so quiet that Neito can’t hear it, and despite his exhaustion, his brain begins to process the situation, pushing the haze of sleep a little further away from him.

Death be on whoever this is.

Sensation returns as soon as awareness does, creeping back to him in an unwelcome landslide and Neito shifts slightly, suddenly uncomfortable though he can’t place why. He’s still in the same position he’d been in when he’d fallen asleep—he has slept, hasn’t he?—face first in his pillow, sprawled on his covers with his arm hanging off the bed. He doesn’t feel the cold from the shower anymore which is a relief, though now his body feels a little too warm for reasons unknown and he’s pretty sure he’s sweat a considerable amount again.

Has he broken a fever during his nap? Has he been cursed?

Oh my god, Shinsou has cursed him. That’s what this is. A big curse.

God, he’s so sleepy.

“Monoma-kun,” the voice breaks through his slowly returning and entirely unwelcome thought process and this time, a gentle hand on his shoulder accompanies the words. “Monoma-kun, are you awake?”

No, he wants to say, if only to make the person go away so he can go back to sleep and not think about the mess that is his life for just a little bit. He wouldn’t particularly be lying either, considering how darkness threatens to creep back into senses every time there’s a silent pause.

Fuck off, he also wants to say and maybe kick out a leg at whoever dares disturb his already highly disturbed rest. He wants to say a lot, really but moving his mouth and forming words is too much effort that he doesn’t have in him so he stays pathetically slumped on the bed, pretending to be more asleep than he is.

Maybe that way, the person truly will go away.

“I guess you aren’t, huh?” the person says, tone questioning like he’s considering what to do. Neito reckons it’s one of his friends; who else would it be really, which makes it all the more vital that this human alarm clock embodying fucker get out of his room immediately. If he was awake enough, he would worry about his friends worrying more about him if this person goes out and blabs about his current state of alive-corpse-on-bed to everyone, but he’s not awake enough. He’s tired and he’s gay and he just wants to sleep.

The person shifts above him and briefly presses his fingertips against his damp cheek before retracting them at record speed. If Neito had power in his limbs, he would’ve flinched away immediately. But he doesn’t, can this person please

He can’t even tell how he got in here. Neito always sleeps with his door locked against his resident idiots for fear of something like this happening.

Then again, he’d been…really out of it after the shower.

No, no, don’t think, go back to sleep. No thinking, he begs his brain vehemently. He doesn’t want to be awake.

“Uh,” the person says and Neito finally, belatedly realises that it’s Awase.

Of all people. Why the hell would they send Awase to see what he’s up to after he’s—predictably—slept past his alarm? Why not Rin or Kendou? Why are these dorms a fucking nightmare?

“Are you skipping?”

If Neito could move, Awase would be dead on the floor.

“Stupid question,” Awase mutters, now mostly to himself like he’s sizing up this situation in his head, as if he’s been shoved into a lion’s den and told to survive with a twig. “Of course, you’re skipping. You really aren’t waking up anytime soon, huh dude?” there’s a pause, heavy with deliberation. “Alright, guess I’ll just…,”

Who the fuck are you talking to if I’m asleep dumbass, Neito wants to say, irritation and anxiety blooming in the pit of his stomach at the prospect of not being asleep when he wants to be. He’s convinced his brain just comes up with the most random things to freak out over and if he was awake enough, which he isn’t goddammit, fucking Awase, he would be over it.

He almost does find it in him for a second, the articulate art of being over it and rising from this bed to sock his friend in the face and kick him out. But then there’s a huff followed by the sound of receding footsteps and Neito sighs quietly into his pillow. His very spit soaked pillow that he can’t find the energy to lift his head and roll away from.

His door opens and then closes softly.

Neito is unnecessarily relieved at being left alone again, only just now starting to register the dull pain in his neck from the awkward position he’s been lying in. It’s not the most ideal for sleeping, he’s pretty sure his ass is in the air, but the fatigue overrules it all. Despite how awake he’d felt a few moments ago, darkness is already starting to spot at the brightness behind his eyes, and when his body tentatively toes the boundary back into sleepy-land, he doesn’t protest. He can’t.

The last thing he hears is doors opening and shutting somewhere in the dorms, loud voices exclaiming something or the other as his classmates make to get to class. Neito supposes he should feel guiltier for skipping only on the third day of term, for being this lazy and sleeping through his alarm like a failure, but then there’s a flash of purple in his memory and phantom lips around his ear, lest he forget the source of his misery and he—

He really is fucking over it.

 

-

 

The next time Neito wakes, he feels like pure and utter shit.

Not to say he hadn’t felt like shit ever since his traitorous body had roused him at ass o’clock in the morning with a boner and an existential sexual awakening. But he just feels…shittier. He’s still in the same position as he had been—shocker—but sweatier than before, bangs sticking to his forehead and clothes clinging to him uncomfortably. The pain in his neck has gotten worse, realistically, and his cheek is in his drool-soaked pillow at point blank range.

It’s disgusting. He’s disgusting.

He feels disgusting.

But despite all of that, Neito can’t deny the fact that he feels considerably more awake than when Awase had woken him up. His head is clearer, no haziness in his thought process, and if he wasn’t so sticky and uncomfortable, he would almost define the feeling as refreshed. He’s still tired but at least he doesn’t feel like dropping dead.

Experimentally, he curls his fingers in his bedsheet right as his mouth lets out an involuntary groan of discomfort and well. His limbs are working again so there’s that. Small mercies and all.

With a burst of energy that lasts all of five seconds, Neito manages to propel himself up on his forearms and drop down onto his back, neck screeching in protest. He groans in pain because he can now and then again, louder, when he realises that his hair—his suspiciously sweaty hair—is directly on his gross, wet pillow and his life is a mistake.

But then he stretches his arms over his head—more on instinct than actually wanting to move them because they hurt and he’s stiff—and it feels so good that he momentarily forgets how irritated and whiny he feels. His back cracks too many times to count and he stretches out so far, his legs hit the edge of the bed—he’s a tall boy—and it’s all very nice and possibly, the highlight of his day. Though that lasts all of twenty blissful, neck popping seconds before mental awareness catches up with him and reminds him of just why he is where he is.

Neito lets out another groan and rubs at his sore eyes, summoning enough strength to crack them open as he thinks about what shitstorm has transpired in his life overnight. He wonders that if he overthinks it enough, maybe he’ll evaporate.

Straining his brain however, he’s mildly surprised to find that he doesn’t remember much of the cursed dream at all. Just purple and weight and mouth on mouth in fleeting succession, fast enough that it wouldn’t make sense if he didn’t know what it was about.

The lingering visual memory isn’t horrible and vivid, at least, and Neito is nothing if not tentatively grateful though not any less fucked up about it.

Opening his eye—his right because he knows better than to blast his eyelids open and suffer the brightness—hurts as he’d expected it to and he almost scrunches it back shut instantly before he reminds himself that he’s not a pussy. With more efforts to wake himself up and not lie in the same spot all day, frankly though he could, more sensations hit his body that he’d ignored or simply overlooked in the hazy aftermath of sleep. The first thing is that his body hurts way worse than he’d initially thought. The second is that his stomach is positively eating itself and he needs food and water to survive or he might drop dead. Not surprising, considering how long it must be now since dinner last night, but unpleasant nonetheless.

Neito rubs at his closed eye a little more aggressively. The ceiling swims into blurry view.

As he waits for his vision to adjust, he weighs his options on what he needs to do to get food into his stomach right now immediately. He supposes he could find something in the dorm kitchen. He usually just goes to the 1-B designated cafeteria for dinner or, rarely, an actual breakfast that isn’t Rin chucking candy bars at his head. But he doubts that the dinner staff is still there right now, waiting for his incompetent self to show up in the middle of the afternoon. Neito doesn’t know if he has it in him to embarrass himself like that.

Going to the school cafeteria is also an option and a viable one at that if he’s hopefully woken up before lunch hour. He supposes that if he has, it wouldn’t hurt too much—yes it would—if he could get up and go take a warm shower and re-brush his teeth because his mouth tastes his sandpaper. Then he could get dressed and drag himself and have steak and maybe even attend afternoon classes and also hand in his filled forms before anyone else to show them all up and—

And Shinsou goes to the cafeteria for lunch. And…

And Neito is instantly a little confused, startled and thrown off as his thought process is straight punctured through with an eerily vivid vision of Shinsou in the hallway from the day before; on the floor and hair in his face with his sketchbook looking like some kind of edgy hipster. He doesn’t know how his thoughts make the U-turn that they do without any of his consent, from planning the rest of his day into dangerous territory. Territory that makes his heart traitorously speed up in his chest as he blushes up at the ceiling with breath that comes out quicker than before. It’s almost like he’s going into the beginnings of a panic attack but without the dedication to the cause.

A mouth on his.

“Why?” he moans, covering his face and resisting the urge to roll around and squeal and groan in frustration. He’d already done that yesterday night and look how that had ended. “Why me?”

There’s no answer. Of course.

Peeved and more than a little miserably sweaty, Neito scrubs at his face and turns his head towards his desk to check the time. Shinsou goes to the cafeteria for lunch and he doesn’t know how to brave his cocky self on this miserable, sunny day but steak sounds better than anything they have in the fridge here. He’s pretty sure Tokage bought convenience store turkey slices the other day and he can’t trust that, no matter how shit he feels.

So, if it’s before lunch he’ll just have to ignore his pride and his heart and go get that nice steak to make—

Neito pauses in his thoughts as he processes the visual of his desk, not entirely sure what he’s seeing. For a second, he thinks he might be dreaming again. Or hallucinating, at best.

Nothing’s actually out of the ordinary if he thinks about it. His desk is the same as always, rickety and wooden and way too expensive, and his forms are stacked neatly on top of it to the side. His pen cup—which is a pen for his cups; it’s blue and it’s got clouds and it’s cute—is still slightly close to the edge from the night before when Neito had almost knocked it over in his haste to get to his bed to celebrate his crush life. The digital clock lies next to it, red letters less threatening in the slanted sunlight coming in through the window. 1:34pm.

Way after lunch. The lesson after lunch is almost halfway over actually.

Neito would focus on that fact, maybe even be disappointed and grumble and whine about it a second longer if he wasn’t so weirded out by his desk chair; what is on his desk chair. Or rather, who.

Awase, to his credit, holds eye contact with him, looking sort of sheepish to Neito’s baffled. He’s curled up on the chair in full uniform with his shoes off, knees up to his chest and phone in one hand like he’d been casually fucking around on it before Neito had decided to wake up. He looks like he’s supposed to be there, all the air of someone who belongs, which makes the situation all the more confusing.

Is this another dream? It seems shocking enough to be one.

He doesn’t think he can take another hyper realistic dream and survive. Not this time.

“I figured I’d let you have your moment before sayin’ anything,” something must show on his face because Awase pipes up, like he’s replying to something that hasn’t been asked. It’s almost like he’s explaining the reason behind his presence—like that explains anything—which is frankly the most random thing Neito could’ve ever thought of waking up to. He doesn’t think that makes even the remotest of sense, both the situation and whatever the hell is happening, brain still slightly sluggish from his extended nap. “You looked like you needed it.”

The other boy might as well be stringing nonsense words together.

“What?” he croaks, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion. It comes out flatter than he intends it to, voice crap after disuse, but he genuinely means it. Because what? What the hell? “What are you…?”

Awase regards him with curious eyes for a second, chin propped up on his knee before he tilts his head, almost apologetically. Neito stares back at him, trying not to concentrate on how shitty his breath feels as he props himself up and onto his ass. He refuses to be lying down and vulnerable for whatever is happening.

Maybe it is a dream, which is the best-case scenario. Worst-case that he can think of is that Awase has been left behind for whatever weird reason to babysit him because his friends are still worried about him or something equally gross. Or maybe even more worried than they had been yesterday, which Neito frankly doesn’t know how to deal with, if they think he needs a chaperone and/or someone to watch him sleep.

That’s creepy. He wants to slip into a coma forever.

Awase, it seems, is either highly perceptive or has been hit with a mind-reading quirk because he chews his lip and shakes his head.

“I haven’t been sitting here since this morning and that’s what you’re wondering.”

“So, you haven’t been watching me sleep for all of the time I’ve been asleep, only some of it.  That’s comforting,” Neito mutters, rubbing at his eyes and flexing his toes as he tries to wake up more in the face of whatever threat this is. He can never catch a break.

He’d really only meant to be snarky or a little shit or just to hint to the other boy to get the hell out of dodge and his room—at least until his brain’s processing ability has come back—but to his surprise, Awase just laughs. Or well, inhales and exhales air masterfully through his nose so it sounds like a laugh.

“I came when lunch started,” he says like he’s agreeing with Neito’s poorly delivered sass. He’s not at his prime. “I came this morning, too, but you seemed kind of like…feverish and weren’t responding so I didn’t wake you up.”

But you did, dickhead, Neito wants to say. But he doesn’t want to be an asshole in the face of this concern he still doesn’t quite know how to react to, doesn’t have the mental capacity really, so he just stifles a yawn and picks at his fingernail idly. The fever bit doesn’t really surprise him particularly so he chooses not to react to that, either. He pops stress fevers like nothing else all the time.

“Oh,” he replies simply because there’s nothing else he can say and covers his mouth when he’s unable to hold a yawn back. God, he’s exhausted. Too exhausted to question Awase on his weird life decisions on this shitty Wednesday. Too exhausted to deal with human interaction in general.

The other boy must sense this somehow, Neito’s demotivation and a general lack of will to be alive, because he scratches his cheek and has the decency to at least look apologetic. Or maybe it’s embarrassment. Or a blend of the two.

He looks a bit like a sharp-eyed puppy.

“Yeah man, your alarm was going off for a proper half an hour, you know? Maybe more,” he rests his forearm on his knees and peers at Neito like he’s trying to see right through him. It’s unnerving. This whole situation is. Why is this happening? Why can’t he have one normal day? “It was so loud and we could all hear it and everyone was getting kind of antsy about it because you wouldn’t show up so I said I’d go see what your damage was. It was even louder in here, yknow? It’s a miracle you slept through it at all.”

Oh. So that’s what the dream music had been. Duh.

“Was tired,” Neito says quietly, the understatement of the century, fidgeting on top of his bed slightly. The desire to take a hot shower and get his breath minty fresh has never been stronger, considering how crap he feels, but Awase is still looking at him, is still in his room and he feels a little pinned down by his stare.

“Yeah no shit,” the other boy laughs, that weird inhale-exhale laugh of his, and buries his chin into his knees a little more. “Everyone thought you’d come to lessons after you woke up or something ‘cuz you never skip but you didn’t.”

“Too tired,” he repeats, rubbing at his eyes. They’re crusted over only a little bit and he barely resists the urge to full body cringe. He needs Awase to fuck off right now immediately to he can go wash his face and feel less shit about himself. He doesn’t even have the mental power to spare to think about the fact that everyone knows he was half-dead in his room and have been wondering about him. They’re probably more worried than they were yesterday god fucking dammit. And after all his efforts to quell their mothering at dinner too.

But as much as he wants Awase to go away and go to class or wherever he should be, the other boy, it seems, isn’t done talking and only leans back into his chair further like he’s making himself comfortable. Neito, very irrationally, wants to cry.

He’s so hungry and dirty.

“We figured you were tired! It’s okay to skip once in a while, dude,” he says sincerely, like that’s Neito’s biggest problem with this whole situation. He couldn’t give less of a fuck. “Everyone’s just a bit worried about you-,” of course they are. Jesus this will never end. “-so we figured we’d send someone to check how you were doin’ during lunch and whether you’d woken up and all.”

“And they picked you?” Neito asks curiously before he can stop himself, but it’s not a mean question. Awase does seem like an odd choice for a thing like this. Last time Yanagi had gotten sick, it had been Kendou who had stayed behind to look after her. He’d expect Rin to do that kind of thing for him. Awase…

Awase can’t even take care of himself. Not that Neito is sick of course. Just hypothetically.

No, his brain supplies, you’re just love-sick.

Shut up, shut up, shut up

“You wound me,” Awase mutters bluntly, flushing a bit, but he doesn’t sound defensive. He’s self-aware at least. “I only volunteered to come ‘cuz half of the others would either let you rot entirely and the other half would hover over you and question you a lot and I don’t think you’d like either of that.”

“Oh,” Neito says, eyes widening in surprise as he processes that piece of information. He’s doesn’t think he’s ever been transparent enough for his friends to tell what makes him uncomfortable about them and what not, but apparently, he has. To Awase at least.

He can’t quite figure out why his chest suddenly feels warm. He’s so weak to soft stuff.

“That’s nice of you,” he manages to get out, blood rushing to his cheeks slightly. “For caring and staying and stuff. You didn’t have to.”

“I was gonna go back to class if you were awake ‘n stuff but you were still asleep and looked like death and were still warm-ish so I figured you wouldn’t want to wake up alone,” the other boy shrugs like it’s no big deal and Neito almost feels bad for being annoyed with the situation and his general presence. Almost. The need to shower is making him crankier.

“You didn’t have to skip for me,” Neito says instead, pushing himself forward towards the edge of the bed and not surprised when his body moves slower than he wants it to. Maybe if he gets moving, he can escape this awkward conversation. “I would’ve managed.”

“Not with that body temperature,” Awase fires back, raising an eyebrow into his headband obstinately. He doesn’t say anything to Neito moving off the bed, just watches and shifts on his chair. Honestly, why would he say anything?

God, he feels so stupid.

Why does he feel stupid?

“Fridge is empty, too. I checked,” Awase continues, watching Neito’s valiant attempt to get off the bed. It’s not as hard as he thinks it would be; his legs wobble a little when he stands up on his own two feet and his back screams but he doesn’t topple over or anything. “I figured you’d want some food or something when you woke up but you’d be too sick to get it yourself so I thought I’d help. Turns out, the motherfuckers raided it last night.”

“Great,” he mutters, stretching his arms over his head as his stomach growls in protest at that piece of information. Not only does he feel miserable and sleep deprived and too hot inside his own body, he apparently also has nothing substantial to eat and will probably have to either wait for Rin to come back and supply him with candy or stick it out until dinner.

Today is going incredibly.

Awase regards him for a second longer, perched in his chair like an overgrown bat and watches silently as Neito puts his feet shakily into his slippers and wallows in his misery and his lack of options before saying anything else.

And when he does well,

“So, I went back to the cafeteria and got you some lunch for when you woke up.”

Well.

He can stay for a little longer, he supposes.

 

The “lunch” isn’t special or anything much. It’s two sandwiches from the cafeteria—mayo and egg and chicken and cheese—along with a chocolate pudding cup and a mineral water bottle, all from the poor-people section that Neito doesn’t get his food from. The mayo and egg is frankly a little disgusting and the pudding cup isn’t as big as Neito wants it to be—he likes pudding—not to mention the fact that it’s all a downgrade from what he usually eats. But in the moment, he’s so hungry that he scarfs it all down without complaint. If he has to be poor for once, he will be.

He feels relatively better, though as he eats in Awase’s dutiful presence, hair damp from his nice, hot shower and mouth no longer feeling wooden as he sits cross legged on the bed in his new, clean clothes. The exhaustion hasn’t fully left him—honestly, his shower just served to make him sleepy again—and his body is still kind of slumped. The crick in his neck is still there, too though less aggressive than before and if he lets his thoughts wander a little too much—which he’s trying not to for the sake of his sanity—flashes of purple hair stab through his subconscious. It’s not the best of times, but at least he doesn’t feel like dying and/or crying anymore.

Maybe food really is the solution to most of his problems, no matter how gross or cheap.

“This is good,” he offhandedly comments, digging into his chicken and cheese sandwich like a man who hasn’t eaten in days. He really should be ashamed of himself but he supposes he can do that later.

“I know,” Awase responds simply, typing away on his phone and not sparing him an upwards glance. He’s still in the desk chair—that’s going to hurt his back—but he’s got his feet on the floor now, posture more casual than it had been when Neito had first woken up. He looks like he’s slightly less on edge now, but his eyebrows are still furrowed. For whatever reason.

“Thank you for all this,” he manages to say between mouthfuls of food which he’s taking too much of in one go probably. He’s inhaling this sandwich like nothing else and it’ll probably give him a stomach ache later and he really wishes he could care.

“It’s no big deal, man,” Awase says good-naturedly, peeking at him with a grin before going back to his phone and tapping away at it with a speed that Neito can never hope to achieve with his technologically illiterate fingers. “Friends are supposed to be there for each other when they don’t feel so hot. I was just doin’ right by you.”

Neito isn’t sure why that throws him for a loop for the slightest of seconds; maybe it’s because of the dramatic Monoma-tier wording or maybe because the sentence is way too sappy to be something that would ever come out of Awase’s mouth, but he recovers fairly quickly, if only to eat faster because he’s still so hungry. He wonders if he’ll ever not be hungry.

“I told everyone you’re awake and not deathly sick anymore, by the way,” the other boy informs him matter-of-factly, fingers still flying over his phone haphazardly. “They want to come see you after school but I’ll tell them not to question or crowd you too much.”

“Okay,” Neito distractedly mumbles into his sandwich, regretfully the last bite of the second one, though again, he feels pleasantly surprised. He’s not quite sure when the world flipped in and over its head and made Awase his ultimate protector mom friend but here he is. Maybe he always has been. Maybe it’s the headband.

He wonders how hostile he came across to everyone’s hovering the day before for the other boy to have rightfully drawn all these correct conclusions out of thin air, but he can’t say he’s entirely complaining. If it’ll mean less oppressive concern—not that it’s a bad thing—then he’ll take it. Maybe Kendou had told them all off for it or something. That sounds feasible.

“You aren’t though, right?” Awase asks and Neito looks up at him questioningly, cheeks full of sandwich. “Deathly sick anymore, I mean,” he tilts his head, as if in consideration. “You don’t look as deathly sick right now.”

“I wasn’t ever deathly sick,” he mutters, washing his food down with water, cheeks flushing with embarrassment. He wonders what looking deathly sick means; he probably just gets paler. Maybe it’s the sweat.

Awase tilts his head.

“You felt pretty hot, man. Like you had the flu or something.”

Neito pulls the pudding flap open with a too loud ripping noise and tries not to salivate like a starved loser. It’s probably him being blindsided by his friend’s kindness and the pudding about to go down his system that he entertains this half-assed conversation without too much irritation. He’d feel too bad thinking like that. He owes Awase his life, even if he’d sat in one spot and stared at him while he was sleeping like a creep. That’s a technicality. He’s still trying to process that.

“I get temporary fevers when I don’t sleep,” he answers honestly, unpacking the little plastic spoon from its packaging. He sees no reason to lie about something as stupid as that, though he also sees no reason to call it a stress fever lest Awase take it the wrong way and start questioning him. “They go away once I sleep enough.”

The other boy clicks his tongue in understanding.

“You had a rough night, huh?”

“Couldn’t sleep,” Neito confirms, shoving pudding into his mouth when his brain decides to remind him of exactly what had him up so early. The weight on his chest, the tongue in his mouth, and the pressure on his—

He shoves the spoon down his throat and almost chokes to death.

“Eat slowly,” Awase scolds when he coughs a few times to get his throat back in order, the pussy ass traitor. A flash of purple passes the recesses of his brain, vivid but blurry at the same time and Neito instantly decides that he’s miserable.

He grudgingly spoons more pudding into his mouth and down his suddenly very dry throat.

“You know, I also can’t sleep sometimes so I know how that feels,” the other boy says after a beat of silence after they’re both sure that Neito isn’t going to cough up a lung or anything. “Just lie awake and stare at the wall until I pass out or somethin’. It sucks.”

“It does,” he mutters into his pudding, wishing he could’ve had the privilege of staring at walls rather than getting his daylights kissed out of him in a too-vivid dream and then waking up hard in his pants and having an existential crisis in the shower. But he can’t exactly say that so he doesn’t, nor does he want to be a stuck-up asshole when the other boy is kind of telling him something about himself.

How does one even bring a dream like that up to a friend? Neito’s never had friends, much less the kind that watch him while he sleeps and make sure he’s fed without his consent, but he’s sure that’s not something you discuss with a friend. Even if it’s that kind of a friend.

Do you?

He can’t even fathom telling anyone about the fact that he has a crush, much less who it is and all the gritty details of his botched love life even if the feelings sometimes feel like a suffering-in-silence kind of burden…that, in comparison, sounds like way too much of a far reach.

Okay, no. You definitely do not discuss it with a friend. Why had he even considered the idea for a second? Did that even count as considering?

“Waking up early is especially fuckin’ troublesome ‘cuz I can never go back to sleep after,” Awase is saying when Neito tunes back into real life, a faint flush on his cheeks though he can’t be sure why it’s there. The other boy, to his credit, has either not noticed him spacing out or has chosen to ignore it. “And it’s like, what the fuck do I do until an actually acceptable wake-up time? It sucks so bad. You know?”

“Yeah,” Neito says obediently in reply. He’s not really listening, too distracted and hungry, but Awase’s voice fills the air around them nicely as he continues to spout nonsense about something or the other. It’s almost comfortable in a way. Maybe he hadn’t wanted to wake up alone, after all, even though he hadn’t consciously been aware of that fact.

It’s all very odd, and not the first time since June, Neito wonders if he’s going ridiculously soft, the way he had been before he’d come to UA. The prospect is unnerving.

 

Awase talks for as long as he can, launching into stories from the school day Neito has missed and talking about stupid things like what the peasant section was offering for lunch today. He can’t tell if the other boy is just really stupidly talkative and unaware of it—too much Tetsutetsu influence—or if he’s genuinely trying to make him feel less shit by keeping him company. Judging by what he’d said earlier, Neito figures it’s the latter.

It’s a welcome sentiment, a friend making sure he’s not alone when he’s feeling down, and not as oppressive as his other classmates’ worry but it doesn’t make it any less weird. Neito’s never been particularly nice to Awase, not horrible but nothing spectacular in terms of friendly behaviour, so the whole situation is just off. It could just be pity or it could be Kendou putting him up to it to ensure Neito doesn’t shut down and zombify like a freak again but that doesn’t make any of it any less strange.

Not that he’s complaining.

His friend (!) is in the middle of talking about something Fukidashi had done at lunch, something chaotic and explosive from the sound of it, when Neito’s thoughts finally drift away from the one-sided conversation. He doesn’t mean for them to, really, but before he knows it, he’s mentally somewhere else entirely. Awase is still talking though he sounds far away and way beyond the recesses of his mind as a familiar flash of purple—this is getting ridiculous—passes by.

The lips on his. The weight on his thighs…

Neito crushes the empty pudding cup and lets out a heaving sigh. The phantom sensation doesn’t disappear.

The cheap plastic crumbles with a weak sound in his hand and he holds it there, letting it dig into his palm uncomfortably. The slight discomfort is annoying and he hates it but at least it serves to ground him. After a few seconds, his head clears up and his legs no longer feel oppressively burdened.

He can’t say the same thing about himself though. When did having a simple, teenage crush turn into something so bothersome? Why is he so bothered? Surely, he’s not the first person to have a sexual dream about someone they like, so why is he being the most dramatic?

Why is he this uncomfortable?

Because that’s what he is, isn’t he? Uncomfortable. Flustered. Stupidly, anxiously distressed over a normal thing human beings do and feel and think about. It’s not like this is the first time he’s had thoughts like this, even if he’s never quite dreamt them up like lucidly. He’s thought about Shinsou before, about holding his hand and sleeping in his arms and kissing him and all that other sappy stuff, and the dream was all consensual and he’d even indulged a tiny bit, then why is he so—

“I,” he hears himself say before he can stop himself, before he can even know what he wants to say. His voice comes out small and his fist holds on to the murdered pudding cup for dear life. Abruptly, Awase immediately stops talking as if he had just been waiting for him to say something other than obligatory grunts to his long-winded rants.

There’s an expectant silence and as Neito comes back to his surroundings once more, he realises that he’s made a huge mistake because where the hell does he go from here? Why the fuck has he spoken? What did he want to say? He reasons he just must have gotten a little overwhelmed in the moment and spoken up without thinking—he tends to do that though usually, he just talks to himself—because he has no intention of sharing anything about his crush and the sheer agony it has been putting him through since June to anyone.

And even if it wasn’t about the crush, it’s not like he actually wants to deep it with Awase, nor does he want to talk about his dream or his love life with someone he’s never had meaningful conversations with. If it was Kendou he would barely even consider it. With Rin even less.

Awase isn’t even on that list. No one in 1-B is, and he’s not on theirs.

But despite all of that, his mouth falls open and words fly out, much like they had in the cafeteria the day before and he attempts to reign himself in at the last minute, already annoyed with himself.

 “I,” he finds himself repeating, scratching at his cheek and letting the pudding cup fall on top of his sheets. Disgusting. He’s really let himself go. “I, uh…” he manages, before trailing off awkwardly.

Quietly, like the socially inept beast he is, he stares at his socked feet that are sprawled out in front of him. Way to make everything weird. Really, what had he expected to say to Awase? Come clean about everything? His feelings? As if.

The other boy, to his credit, doesn’t seem too fazed. “Yeah?”

Or his tone doesn’t, at least. Neito can’t really bring himself to look him in the eye, already tired from all of this social interaction. He doesn’t want to be alone but he doesn’t want this either, he doesn’t have anything to say.

Why has he gone and opened his big, stupid mouth?

He wishes he knew what Awase had been going off about before Neito had so idiotically interrupted him so he could make his reply about that instead, pass a comment, but he’s dumb so he can’t.

“I just,” he tries, figuring he can just make shit up as he goes along but fails at the last minute, trailing off this time too. This quite possibly may be the worst day of Neito’s life, all dramatics aside.

Not to mention that the last time he’d looked at the time it had been 2:39PM, which had been a while ago, meaning it’s close to 3:30PM which is the time classes let out, which means soon everyone will be back and barging into his room and demanding to know if he’s okay and what’s wrong and why he didn’t show up and why he overslept and the way his mind is right now, he can’t be sure he won’t just spill his guts accidentally, oh god why

Awase sighs and he freezes in his mind, wiggling his toes unconsciously. Belatedly, he realises that his breath is coming out quicker, audibly so, and his chest is heaving.

“Alright man,” he says uncharacteristically seriously, too seriously; seriously enough that Neito turns to look at him warily. His headband is falling into his face and he’s curled up on top of the chair like an overgrown cat again but his eyes are intense in their gaze, like he’s trying to figure something out.

It’s all very unnerving.

“Look,” he says and Neito blinks. “I don’t know what’s going on with you and I know I’m not your go-to person for deep shit. I’m only here because I don’t ever pry enough into anyone’s shit to ask questions and I thought you’d ‘ppreciate that, sick ‘n all. But,” he adds, and purses his lips into a thin line. This whole situation is getting weirder by the second. “But, if you’re trying to tell me something, then you gotta spit out and let it happen or it’s never gonna come out.”

Neito can’t even begin to unpack that, much less come up with a response. He wasn’t about to give up or unload his shit on Awase, of course not, how could he even think or imply something as mundane and weak of—

“Something’s obviously been wrong with you since term started and you like, fell over. Maybe even before that, too,” Awase says breezily, bulldozing over his rising indignance with a straight face. Neito kind of wants to lean over and punch him but all he does is gape, trying to figure out when the conversation went off the rails like this. Hadn’t he been casual ranting like two seconds ago? “I know you like to act weird and doozy but you’ve been weirder than normal since Monday and everyone’s worried about you, you know that right?”

Jesus Christ, slow down, what the fuck is happening, what happened

“They’re freaked the fuck out, man but they don’t know how to ask ‘cuz everyone’s afraid you’re gonna bite their head off,” he’s saying, taking the weirded-out silence as a cue. He’s not saying anything Neito didn’t already know or had inferred from his friends’ reactions and behaviour but Jesus. “I’m not here to ask questions and stuff but what I’m trying to say is that if you want to tell me something, anything at all, you can. You don’t have to hesitate like that, it’s weird.”

“I wasn’t hesitating,” Neito mutters indignantly, trying not to pout at the other boy who’s staring back at him right in the eyes. He doesn’t know that much about Awase, aside from the fact that he’s a clown who likes to sing karaoke on top of tables and threatens everyone with swear words, but he does know that he’s cool and reliable most of the time.

Neito feels like an uncool child in his presence. He is an uncool child.

God, this is the weirdest fucking afternoon.

“Yes you were,” Awase retorts, waving his phone around like an accusation. “You were making it all weird and you don’t gotta. We’re friends, aren’t we? If something’s wrong, you can tell me. It’s really not that deep.”

Barely even friends, he wants to reply because it’s the truth, but he doesn’t want to be mean so he just opts to look at his lap as his cheeks flush. This is the most aggressive way anyone’s ever told him they’re there for him. The others had been softer, both after the training camp and after he’d shut down on Monday.

Awase just seems to be holding a very dismissive gun to his head.

The thought of it is kind of hysterical.

“I wasn’t trying to tell you anything,” Neito settles on instead of laughing like he wants to. How has he gone from stuffing his face to being in the middle of this oppressive discussion? Fuck having friends. Fuck Awase too, he trusted him. “I don’t know what I was trying to say. I zoned out.”

At least he’s honest.

The other boy is silent for a second, a deliberating kind of silence, and Neito uses it to collect his bearings a little bit. The others will be back soon and he needs to think up a cover story, not agonise over him almost blabbing to Awase. That will have to wait until night-time when he’s alone and can overthink in peace. Great.

He opens his mouth, mostly to tell the other boy to leave so he can prepare and escape this, but then Awase speaks up and throws that prospect out of the window.

“So, you’re not denying that somethin’ is wrong with you then.”

“God, obviously,” Neito huffs before he can stop himself, sounding more like his usual self than he has in days. He regrets it instantly, of course, giving himself away like that but then he figures that Awase knew anyway. Everyone knows really. As long as he doesn’t provide any details, he should be good. No one in their class knows Shinsou, after all. This doesn’t even constitute to there being something wrong with him. It’s just a crush. Just a big, stupid crush.

And Shinsou doesn’t give a fuck about it. Shinsou has a girlfriend and thinks he’s an idiotic loser. Shinsou would never date someone like him. Shinsou also happens to hate everyone in the hero course. Shinsou…

“Fuck,” he mutters without thinking before Awase can reply, scrubbing at his face to get rid of the faint, muddled dream flashback that dutifully presents itself at the mere passing thought of the boy. He’s in hell. “Goddammit.”

There’s silence for a few seconds.

And then—

“This is why everyone is freaked out about you if you’re wonderin’,” the other boy cautiously points out, presumably talking about Neito’s outburst who throws him a stinky side-eye before burying his face in his palms again. “They think you’re on drugs or huffin’ glue or somethin’.”

“Tell them to fuck off,” Neito hisses, rubbing at his eyes and trying not to let his thoughts stray again. This is the worst his feelings for Shinsou have ever hurt him and he’s ridiculously over it.

For some reason though, Awase laughs. “You’re real fucked up and frustrated if you’re cussin’, dude.”

“I am,” he replies, defeated, bitterly burying his face in his knees. That’s what he is, isn’t he? Frustrated. Messed up and out of his depth after months of dealing with this alone inside his own head. Maybe telling someone is the right solution after all so he doesn’t have to kill himself over this shit over and over.

No details, though, he immediately reminds himself. He’s begging himself at this point to not run his mouth; no details and it’s all good. No details and he can successfully reach the end of this god-awful conversation and manage to escape in one piece with none the wiser. No acting on stupid ideas just because Awase watched him sleep once. He wouldn’t even ever tell Kendou, even though she’s the one who caught him love-sick squealing in the middle of the hallway on Monday. Back when everything was good and he hadn’t fallen and his life wasn’t as much of a fucking mess.

God, why the fuck is this happening to him? Has he not suffered enough?

No details.

But then the other boy’s reply, which comes a few seconds later, takes him by surprise.

“You tried breakin’ somethin’?”

“What?” Neito asks, looking up at him in surprise. Awase hasn’t moved but he’s tapping away on his phone casually, like his reply had been normal. Is this how people talk to their friends? One-on-one in chill settings?

If it is, then that’s weird. Weird question that is. He’s not barbaric, everyone in class knows that. He barely even ever gets physical in his education unless it’s obligatory training and he has to fight someone; he’s a non-combat hero. It’s a stupid, stupid question.

Fuck, he’s tired.

“You know,” the other boy looks up at him, his headband finally giving up and falling over one eye. “Hitting something. Whacking shit until you feel better? Slamming a bitch against the wall?”

“What, no,” Neito sniffs, scandalised. He’s never slammed anyone into any surface. His arms are too tiny. His morals are too big. He’s wanted to, though. “I’ve…punched a pillow a few times though if that’s what you’re asking.”

Awase gives a non-committal grunt, typing away on his phone before looking back up. There’s a twinkle in his eye, sort of a proverbial lightbulb that’s lit up with some sort of solution to all of Neito’s problems. Warily, he backs up a little bit.

He also, randomly, realises that he has to pee.

“You let anything out since Monday?”

He thinks back to last night, rolling around and squealing and hugging a pillow, giggles erupting from his chest.

“No,” he lies, like a liar. “Not violently, anyway.”

Awase tilts his head and rests his chin inside his palm, a calculating look on his face as he stares at Neito. Neito stares back and it’s a bit like staring into an uncertain abyss, if the abyss was an idiot.

He can’t remember what’s happened to have the conversation end up here. Where is he right now?

“I don’t know the extent of whatever’s up with you but hittin’ shit always helps,” the other boy starts, chewing at the inside of his cheek. “Like wouldn't you, for example, feel better if you got to beat someone’s ass from 1-A?”

Neito startles in surprise, this time thrown completely. He blinks once and then twice.

Three times.

Awase regards him and his silence for a second longer before tilting his head innocently, like he hasn’t just advocated bullying and violence. Not that Neito is entirely opposed to the idea of punting those assholes into the ground. He would never get physical with them because again, arms tiny, him small and them big and vicious beasts but in theory. Sure.

“Wait I made that sound really weird,” the other boy mutters before he can reply, a what the fuck on his tongue. Awase moves to tap something on his phone before looking back up with something akin to sheepishness on his face. Neito gapes back at him.

“Yeah you did,” he agrees easily. He’s never taken his friend to be particularly violent or hateful towards 1-A, nor has he ever been very big at advocating bullying. Hell, he’s friends with some of them.

Not that Neito disagrees with the idea or anything. There’s nothing that would satisfy him more in this world than socking those assholes in the face until his brain has sorted itself out. Why hasn’t he thought of this before?

Wait, is he advocating bullying now? He did whack Midoriya in the head once but he’s never gotten particularly physical. It’s always psychological with him, he’s more of a Cold War kind of person…

“What I was trying to say-,” Awase says after taking half a minute to aggressively type on his phone before he looks up again, not looking sorry in the slightest. He’s been doing that a lot and it’s annoying; maybe the old anti-phone people are right. “-is that me and Tetsu-kun are setting up a sparring session after school right now with some people from 1-A and if it works out, would you like to come? Punch someone in the face. Get yourself some fresh air.”

It takes Neito a moment to process what’s been said as he sits in the middle of empty food wrappers, looking at Awase like a very confused deer caught in the headlights with the afternoon sun filtering in through the curtains. Off the bat, he can list fifteen different ways why taking his friend—friends?—up on this weird offer would be a bad idea. He doesn’t know how to physically fight much, nor does he have any desire to ever take someone up from 1-A because he knows they’re going to win, what with his all-bark-and-no-bite self and his day is already shitty enough. He also knows that Awase is probably only offering out of pity and/or to get him back to normal, though the activity is a little…odd.

His friends try to include him in a lot of stuff all the time, what with birthday planning projects and study groups and dinner outings and all that; whether he takes them up on it or not is a different story, but that’s what generally happens. But sparring. No one has ever tried to get him to go to sparring sessions before, hell, he wasn’t even sure if they went out and did all that like the barbaric brutes that they are. The barbaric brute that he isn’t. He’s dainty and relies on mental intelligence and keeps his nails trimmed and his clothes clean. He does not fight people.

How stupidly bothered is he coming across that Awase is willing to go that far?

The answer is a hard no. Obviously. He’s too tired and mentally gone from last night and can already feel the earlier exhaustion creeping back under his skin now that his hunger has been somewhat sated. How is he going to beat people up—no matter how appealing the idea—when he’s almost certain that he’s probably going to nap until dinner after the others come back and confirm that he’s alive and kicking?

And so, that’s what he means to say. No, that is.

What comes out of his mouth instead, stupidly after a too long silence, is…

“Why the hell is Tetsutetsu texting you from class?”

Awase sends him an unimpressed stare.

“Mind your own,” he mutters, pushing his headband up out of his eye and back to its rightful place a few minutes too late. His tone is light though, like he’s joking. He probably is joking. “So, you in or not?”

No.

“Why are you asking me?” Neito’s mouth says, completely disconnected from the rest of his rational brain. His subconscious mind, it seems, is jumping at the idea of leaving his small hellhole of a room and see 1-A get subjected to violence. The rest of his body isn’t too sure. He hates himself infinite amounts. “I don’t spar.”

“Which is why your arms are twiglets,” Awase replies without missing a beat, going back to typing on his phone as Neito gasps, offended beyond belief. It’s the truth but it’s not nice. “I already told you, didn’t I? Letting your frustration out will help you with whatever you’ve got going on right now.”

“You’ve never asked me before,”

“Yeah, and you haven’t gone zombie on us and came back from class late looking like you’ve been hit by a truck and slept in and skipped class and worried everyone before either, have you?”

“Fuck you,” Neito sniffs, scandalised at the lack of tact.

“See,” Awase murmurs, staring at his phone. “Shit got you buggin’ so bad you’re cussin’.”

There’s a pause as the other boy goes back to texting—seriously how can one person have that much to say in the space of so little time? Neito isn’t quite sure what to say back to him, sass incoming delayed because of how slow he feels. Awase isn’t wrong, per se. He really is, as he’s put it, bugging. He has been bugging since June. He might keep bugging his entire life. Shinsou has, in fact, got him bugging.

And it’s not like the proposal is all that bad. For one, if he concedes and goes with, he’ll only have to see the rest of the mother hens only briefly and not have to deal with them until this “sparring” session ends. There’s also nothing he would love more than seeing 1-A get their divine retribution in the form of his friends wiping the floor with them, no matter how abruptly the idea has been brought up or how tired he feels. He’s not as confident in his own abilities though, which is why he averts his eyes and stares at his comforter.

“I’m too tired to fight anything,” he settles on. 

Awase considers this for a moment, silent before replying. Or maybe he’s just returning a text. Neito isn’t looking.

“Well, you can come anyway if you like,” he says eventually, voice soft like he’s negotiating. Talking him into it or something; why he might be doing that is unclear entirely. “You don’t have to fight. You can just sit and watch or something. Referee, maybe.”

“I’m not very good at being impartial when it comes to class A,” Neito points out, waving his hand around and everything, though he is surprised and the expression travels to his face. His friends have tried to get him to participate before, yes, but Awase’s convincing is bordering on insistence. No one’s insisted that Neito hang out with them before.

Is it because he hasn’t flat-out said no? Should he do that? Is he flattered? What is going on.

“I’d just make you kill them or something,” he adds, trying to assess this whole thing, intentions and all. Awase is nice and doesn’t seem like the type to lure him out just to get him to embarrass or hurt himself in front of his mortal enemies. But he doesn’t seem nice enough to just be doing this for the sake of Neito’s well-being or out of the goodness of his heart. Is he?

Is he just being a presumptuous dick or something?

“Fair,” Awase laughs, huffing when his headband falls into his face again. “But I think it’ll still do you good to get out of here and go outside, even if you don’t wanna bodyslam anyone. It’ll wake you up and all.”

“Uh huh,” Neito echoes, unsurely. Maybe his friend really is worried about him? He had been part of the protect-Monoma-brigade yesterday, after all. “I guess.”

“So, you in?”

On a surface level, he isn’t. Genuinely and truly, he can think of no greater misery than going out when he’s already tender like a chicken and seeing some fuckers from 1-A acting like they’re hot shit. If he has to see his friends get their asses kicked, has to see those buffoons be superior—as if—to 1-B again, he thinks he might actually cry and kill them all. And himself. And Shinsou.

But about that…

As weird as this situation is, as weird as this conversation is, Neito can’t deny the fact that he hasn’t thought about the dream even once ever since Awase’s started engaging him in active conversation. Being alone only fuels his angsty bullshit after all and gives him more space for overthinking—has Awase somehow caught on to that? Is he a genius?—and just for this sole reason and despite his better judgement and gut feeling, going out and seeing 1-A suffer doesn’t seem like that bad of an idea.

He sniffs, wondering how the hell his life ended up here.

“I won’t fight.”

Awase brightens up considerably, like Neito’s answer has made him happy or something equally absurd, which doesn’t make any sense. Maybe there is an ulterior motive, after all.

“You can just watch,” he agrees easily.

“I won’t be nice to them if I come,” Neito warns, picking at a thread in his pyjama pants. They’re soft pink, big blue ducks decorating every inch of soft fabric and briefly, he wonders if he’s allowed to go in these clothes. It’s hardly an official event. He’s not even sure he wants to go.

Yes, he does.

“You don’t have to be,” Awase replies, texting again but this time his fingers fly almost excitedly over the screen. Neito doesn’t understand his enthusiasm; he doesn’t think his presence is perceived as that joy-inducing by the general masses. “Just go back to being yourself and it’ll be a win.”

Being himself? His annoying, over-the-top self? Why the hell would anyone want that?

“And you better not lose to them,” he mutters, dropping his gaze to check the time as his cheeks flush—it’s 3:37, meaning he has only a few minutes of peace, if this could even be constituted as peace—left before he gets smothered with attention. Much like yesterday, he oddly feels cared for and he likes it and doesn’t at the same time. His life is in ruins.

This is all Shinsou’s fault and he will be hearing from Neito’s lawyer.

“We’ll try our best, Monoma-kun,” the other boy replies earnestly, beaming at him sincerely and locking his phone. His smile is so genuine and happy that Neito feels almost bad for doubting his intentions. Maybe he’s just trying to be a good friend, after all, in his strange, awkward little way. “Tetsu-kun said they’re walking back now, by the way.”

Neito shrugs in response, unsurprised and not as bothered by that information than he would’ve been if Awase hadn’t given him an out. He’s sure he can fend them and their questions off and go by his no details policy for a little bit before his friends inevitably rescue him and whisk him away to this sparring thing. Then, he can watch men fight like dogs and use their suffering as the weirdest distraction in the world.

The bar truly is on the floor if he’s willing to jump this hoop just so he doesn’t have to think about his stupid crush and his stupid dream. Until he’s stable enough to handle it anyway.

 

He doesn’t realise he’s made the biggest mistake of his life until it drop-kicks him in the face a while later.

 

-

 

The concern isn’t as bad and overwhelming as Neito had thought it would be.

Rin and Kendou are the only ones who particularly fret over him, though it’s toned down like they’ve learned their lesson based off his reaction to yesterday’s intense smothering. The others just dismissively ask if he’s okay, take his yes at surface value, give him some notes to copy for the things he’s missed, ask a few obligatory questions and tell us if you get sicker okay and fuck off. He gets a comfort chocolate bar out of the whole thing—that’s Honenuki—and a packet of tissues in case your nose runs—what the hell, Kamakiri—and then he’s promptly left alone.

It’s not as crappy as it could’ve been. Neito is overall satisfied and rates the experience 8/10.

He gets enough time after they’re gone to bin the trash from lunch in his room, make his bed because he’s not a monster, brush his hair and throw a cardigan over his pyjamas before Tetsutetsu busts in and tells him it’s time to go. He doesn’t seem all that concerned about his well-being, though he is happy—why are these people so invested in him—that he’s going with and Awase. It’s weird. It’s nice but it’s weird. He’s distracted at least.

It’s been a while since Shinsou has been at the back of his mind, the dream pushed firmly into the recesses of his memory and the feeling is, though temporary, refreshing.  

 

It’s not awfully cold outside when Neito steps out of the dorms in all his glory, duck pyjamas and purple sneakers with stickers on them and all. He doubts it would send the right image of him across to the 1-A dweebs; he’s not a baby and he’s certainly not soft. But he is tired and a little doozy and it’s not like he wears anything else in the dorms, so everyone will have to deal. It’s not like he’s presenting himself to Shinsou that he actually has to give a shit about his appearance.

No. No. Fuck Shinsou.

He looks better than all of them combined anyway. At all times. Yeah, fuck Shinsou, too. He’ll wear what he wants.

“You look adorable,” Awase comments, lips twitching slightly as they descend the steps and make their way to the gate. It’s obviously supposed to be a dig at him, maybe he’s making fun of him, but Neito is sleepy and not as petty as he would be on a good day so he lets it slide.

“Thanks,” he says, shoving his hands in the pockets of his cardigan. His very pink cardigan.

Awase snorts.

Maybe he’s made a mistake.

“You really are!” Tetsutetsu tells him brightly, giving him an extremely genuine grin. There’s no sarcasm there at all, no dig whatsoever, and Neito isn’t sure if he likes or dislikes him more in that moment.

“Thanks,” he repeats, rubbing at his forehead. He can already feel his earlier headache coming back on and wonders why he’s done this to himself.

“Our resident baby child,” Awase coos, pushing at his shoulder and Neito peers up through his fringe to glare at him. The other boy is decked out in a plain sweatshirt and shorts, his school shoes on his feet and a bag over his shoulder. Tetsutetsu looks more or less the same, minus the headband and the bag.

He’s made a mistake mistake then. Who knew sparring sessions had a dress code?

Speaking of…

“Where are we going anyway?” he asks curiously, eager to get the attention away from himself and his poor dressing choices. They’re walking in the general direction of the training grounds but he can never be sure with these idiots and he’s still not entirely sure that Awase hasn’t brought him out here to sacrifice him or something.

“Ground Ten,” Awase replies easily, adjusting his shoulder strap. “It’s open for the hero course for sparring and practicing until curfew every day.”

“Oh,” Neito tilts his head, staring at his friend and then at the gravel path in front of them. He didn’t even know they have ten training grounds and instantly feels like something akin to a failure, though the feeling dissipates immediately. His brain tries to push its lookie-your-dream agenda in its immediate absence and Neito slaps it down immediately.

Not now. Not ever.

“And are they…uh, going to meet us there?” he asks, eager to fill the silence with something, anything, to get his brain out of the dangerous thought waters. Despite himself and his inner turmoil, though, he can’t help but wrinkle his nose at the mere mention of the 1-A monkeys leaving his mouth. He doesn’t know exactly who is showing up to this shitshow but he knows that he already hates them.

 “Yep!” Tetsutetsu replies, popping the p like a loser.

“Who’s coming?” Neito asks, despite the fact that he doesn’t give a shit, because in the brief silence between replies, he finds that his brain is beginning to short circuit and blow its fuse and he needs to keep these assholes talking. In a way, he’s glad he’s come.

“Kiri!” Tetsutetsu says, sounding way happier about it than any normal person would. “And he usually brings a friend or two!”

Usually.

Kiri?” Neito repeats the nickname to himself though he has heard it before, pursing his lips in distaste as his ears already begin to hurt at what is inevitably about to be the noisiest time of his life. Kirishima is one of the only ones from 1-A that he doesn’t think he would murder in cold blood, but he’s loud and annoying and too dramatic—and that’s saying a lot, coming from him—so he’s automatically on the hitlist. He can’t believe his friends do this shit willingly on the regular. “You nicknamed him?”

“His name’s too long,” Awase says dismissively, though he does snort. “No one has the time.”

“Yeah, so he’s Kiri and I’m Tetsu!” Tetsutetsu says animatedly.

“Vlad-sensei would forsake the both of you.”

“No he wouldn’t!”

“He adopted you from a dumpster and housed you when no one else would,” Neito mutters dryly, sniffing haughtily. He thinks he’s trying to be funny but he’s not entirely joking. “And you repay him by fraternising with the enemy.”

“A dumpster?” Awase exclaims, holding a hand to his heart. “I’m too hip for a dumpster. I was at least found on the side of a dirty street, thanks.”

“Yeah, in a dumpster.”

“Are you sayin’ I’m garbage?”

“You kind of are,” Tetsutetsu points out kindly, too genuinely. “Sometimes.”

“Oh my god,” Awase moans, sounding fake wounded.

“Oh my god,” Neito agrees, stifling a smile. His head feels just the slightest bit better and worse at the same time.

 

The rest of the walk passes much in the same way, loud and annoying and thankfully with no quiet gaps for Neito’s brain to act up in. He gets his pyjamas insulted at least twice and he calls Awase every non-cuss insult under the sun as Tetsutetsu howls with laughter beside them but it’s…nice. Well, not nice because he’s getting playfully sassed but still nice. In the distraction sense at least. He’s not thinking about the dream or about his love-life for even a second and feels more awake than he probably would’ve if he’d stayed behind and moped in his room.

Maybe Awase did have a point.

And that is why he’s feeling relatively better by the time they get to Ground Ten. It’s not really a ground in the literal sense, more like a mini-concrete arena, but it’s well built with steps leading up and into it and what looks like changing rooms to the side. It’s all very UA.

It’s also not deserted like Neito had expected it to be, if the consistent sounds of fists hitting…something—wood?—accompanied by heavy grunts coming from the general direction of the arena is any indication. The 1-A idiots, it seems, have made it there before them.

Instantly, he’s annoyed beyond belief. Fucking punctual overachievers.

“Oh,” Tetsutetsu says in wonder as the three make their way up the stairs, ignoring how Neito is overdramatically fuming beside him. Hating 1-A for breathing might as well be ingrained in his DNA at this point. “I can’t believe Kiri got here before us for once.”

“Started before us, too,” Awase points out casually, idly stretching his arms over his head and adjusting his bag after.

“How rude of them. Are these really your friends if they can’t even wait?” Neito sniffs, digging his hands into his pockets and trying to lower his blood-pressure that has decided to spike just at the thought of those arrogant assholes. Do they really have no shame, he wonders heatedly as they make it to the last step and into the arena, concrete crunching beneath his feet. Could Kiri and company really not have waited a few minutes for everyone to get there before they started throwing hands like the barbarians they are? He doesn’t particularly give a fuck about fighting or training, nor is he into all of this, but his friends are and 1-A, it seems, aren’t interested in being good, inclusive, patient friends who wait.

“There he goes,” Awase snorts, side-eyeing him as Tetsutetsu launches into some weird defence of Kiri speech, waving his hand in every direction humanly possible.

“It’s true! They could’ve at least said hi to you guys before they got into it,” he fires back before idiot-steel-boy can get very far into his tirade. “It’s only polite. But I wouldn’t expect 1-A to know anything about manners.”

“Fuck ‘em up, man,” Awase says sagely, reaching over to pat his shoulder much in a way that you would an angry child’s. Neito ought to kill him too.

He’s about to, verbally at least because he’s not a physical monster, his mouth half open to fire out a snarky reply but it’s at that moment that they reach the entrance to the main training area and whatever Neito was about to say dies in his throat as soon as his eyes take in the general scene.

It is then, right at that second, that he knows that his life is one big, cosmic joke and nothing is sacred. This is what his gut had been trying to warn him against.

For a second, just one blissful second, his brain decides that this is all just another vivid dream and he never actually woke up. That would explain a lot, like why Awase was randomly in his room and why he’s outside with his friends willingly to subject himself to 1-A’s nonsense. This is all a dream. It has to be.

Because there is no reason, absolutely no fucking reason, for Shinsou to be here. Other than the fact that the gods in charge of his fate are playing a really bad game of sims with his life.

This ground is for hero course students. He’s never been here before but he’s pretty sure that’s what Awase said before. Shinsou is in general studies. Shinsou is not required to do the rigorous training they all do. Shinsou should not be here. Shinsou is probably not allowed to be here but he is. Right in front of his tired, helpless, undeserving eyes, sweating in a tee and sweatpants and landing blows at fake targets, hands wrapped in what looks like bandages. He’s sweating and grunting, hair down completely as he, as Awase had said, punches shit. He pauses for only a second before he punches another one, full force.

Shinsou shouldn’t be here. Shinsou shouldn’t be here. This is a dream. This is all a dream. This is all a dream concocted solely from the depths of his hormonal, teenage thoughts about his crush. This is a dream and he’ll be fine. He’ll be fine. He is fine.

It’s probably because his friends have gone silent around him, or maybe it’s because of this new absurd development in his dream—because it is, it’s a fucking dream, Neito refuses to believe it’s anything else—but his brain takes that exact moment to unleash the repressed memories of last night onto his poor, unsuspecting mind. Was it even last night? Has he ever fucking woken up?

Shinsou, this Shinsou that apparently pounds into stuff with his bare fists, grunts and sends a target flying across the arena. Neito, the idiot that he is, stands there in his stupid duck pyjamas and gapes.

The ghost pressure on his mouth comes back with a vengeance.

Had a lot to say before, didn’t you baby?

“Fuck,” he mutters inaudibly to himself, barely resisting the urge to wrap his arms around him and booking it in the opposite direction. This has been a mistake. His life is a mistake. Being born has been a mistake.

When will this dream end? When, when, when, when will he be put out of his misery? Should he pinch himself out of it? He should pinch himself out of it. Definitely. He’s not sure how much more of this stupid dream he can take at this point, he’s on his last thread of sanity

“Oh,” Tetsutetsu speaks up beside him, sounding as confused and thrown as Neito feels and he startles violently, having forgotten his friends had been there in the first place “That isn’t Kiri.”

A pause. Neito takes his shaky hands out of his pocket and pinches the back of his right hand as hard as he can, eyes not wavering from whatever the gods are blessing him with. He might be bothered but Shinsou is being hot right in front of him and he’s like, weak.

The pinch hurts like hell. Nothing changes.

Tetsutetsu pipes up again, right as Neito’s heart sinks down into his guts. “That’s not Kiri, right?”

“No, you dumb bitch,” Awase replies, though he too sounds confused and maybe just a little bit annoyed. At what, he doesn’t have the mental capacity to look into. Not when God has forsaken him like this and thrown him into the mouth of a hungry tiger with no regard to his well-being.

He wants to die.

“Ain’t that the angsty dude from General Studies?” he continues, moving forward a little maybe to look closer, not that Neito is actually paying attention to what he’s doing or saying. He doesn’t think he’ll be able to tear his eyes away anytime soon. “Mind-wash guy who fought Midoriya.”

“Oh yeah,” Tetsutetsu echoes in wonder, also taking a few steps towards where Shinsou is annihilating shit. Neito, of course, is rooted to the spot, feeling overly warm for some weird reason. He’s not sure if he’s elated or anxious. Both?

“Fuck is he doing here?”

Baby, a phantom voice says in his ear and he almost screams. He would if he could move his mouth, actually.

Shinsou—who Neito now is convinced is either stalking him or he’s stalking him or they’re stalking each other, or maybe fate is just an asshole—hasn’t noticed them yet, though he’s whirled on the spot to drop-kick the shit out of a few targets.

Irrationally, he thinks he still might have a chance to turn tail and run before he’s seen.

He’s about to, too, for a second. He almost convinces himself to find his bearings and run away back to his room so he can scream and maybe cry, explaining himself to his friends be damned. He would like to see Kiri and friends get their asses kicked, no doubt about it, but at this point that doesn’t matter. None of it does.

What matters is getting the hell out of dodge and trying to figure out where his life fell off the rails in just three short days. Two and a half, even. He refuses to become the blushing, constantly suffering lead of a heterosexual anime.

He moves his foot backwards as Awase and Tetsutetsu take a few steps forward, cheeks red and nose cold from the wind, and makes to bolt.

Which is, of course, understandably, the exact moment one of his dumbass, stupid fucking friends decides to yell out a loud “Hey! Naruto over there!’—Awase—and Shinsou whips around to stare at them with comically wide eyes, fist still in the air and chest heaving with pants.

No, no, nononono.

His surprised expression only stays on his face for about half a second before he remembers to school it back into his intense, perpetual bored annoyance. His gaze flickers to Awase and then to Tetsutetsu and then he raises an eyebrow and has the audacity to turn back around towards his targets. He doesn’t seem to notice Neito cowering behind his bigger friends—sort of—which is good.

“I have permission to be here,” is all he says them, hitting a fist into the wood of a target as if to prove a point, and then throws them a look over his shoulder. Pure and utter disdain, like he’s saying fuck off and choke just with his eyes. Like they’re pests.

Neito’s crotch does something really weird at that, like a somersault, and he concentrates on making himself as small as possible so he’ll stay concealed and run back at the first given distraction.

“This place is for hero course students only, hotshot,” Awase says, crossing his arms and paying no mind to Neito who’s trying to make himself one with his friend’s back. The other boy is only about half an inch taller but he’ll take what he can get in this time of distress. “If you wanna kill something, go do it in the general grounds.”

Shinsou turns towards them fully this time, full blown annoyance on his face that seems to intensify about ten times when loud voices in the distance cut through the air around them, obnoxious laughter following. It’s probably the 1-A gang, arriving a little too late to Neito’s death ceremony.

Oh god, he’s going to look like an embarrassed, flustered fool in front of them. Why has he come here? Why is Shinsou suddenly everywhere he goes since term started? Why, why, why, why

“You know damn well I’m not about to show you my signed permission slip,” he says snappily, crossing his arms and glaring Awase down. The hostility is out of place and aggressive, and on any other occasion, Neito would defend his friend to the death and tell this tall beanstalk of a boy to piss off but it’s…it’s Shinsou and he’s weak.

“Who signed it, then?” Awase fires back, sounding equally annoyed. Someone who sounds ridiculously like Bakugou screeches something, the voices closer than they had been before. This is a nightmare.

“A teacher,” Shinsou says simply, flexing his arms in what looks like a clear threat and oh god, he’s about to beat them all up with no shits given if Neito doesn’t run right now. It would be an honour but still. “This is my space until six. Because a teacher said so.”

Neito distantly wonders if it was Aizawa-sensei. That would make yesterday make a lot of sense and no sense at the same time.

Shinsou pauses the tiniest bit, gaze flickering between their little party and seems to ignore Tetsutetsu’s whiny “but we always spar here after school!” in favour of staring straight at Awase and then, surprisingly enough, over his shoulder.

His eyes meet Neito’s whose heart stutters and then stops completely. He wasn’t well-hidden or anything, but the sudden attention is still enough to send him flying across the training area hypothetically. He’s still panting slightly but his gaze is intense enough.

There’s a tongue caressing his and Shinsou pants straight into his open mouth, chuckling when he whimpers, like the asshole that he is

Neito makes a tortured noise in the back of his throat. Oddly, through the hostility on Shinsou’s face, his lips quirk up for the briefest of seconds, and again after he’s done giving Neito the most stripping once-over. Amusement, like yesterday.

Oh god. The duck pyjamas.

Neito has never wanted to disappear more than he does in the moment.

Footsteps thunder up the stairs behind them, Kirishima’s laugh echoing boisterously around them as Bakugou screams something garbled, awfully resembling a “What makes you think I won’t kill you, too?”

Neito can’t bring himself to focus on any of that though—he’ll get annoyed by them later—not when he feels awfully aware of himself and his childish clothes, his fringe in his face and the blush on his cheeks. Not when Shinsou is looking at him and smiling—sort of—and not looking as annoyed as he had when looking at his friends.

Does that mean something? What does that mean? It’s all very weird and overwhelming.

And that’s only before Shinsou opens his mouth again.

“You know I can see you back there, right fruit-salad?”

And it is that moment, that exact moment, that all of Neito’s internal organs exit straight out of his ass.

 

Notes:

yall smell that. yall smell tht good kiribaku coming for u? good
does shinsou have a crush on monoma? no. does he think hes cute? very
all ships will be thru monomas eyes but if anything super monumental happens ima make this a series and add their oneshots there

tysm for all ur kudos n comments :3 pls dont hesitate to leave a comment they keep me going and inspire me a lot thank uu

Chapter 7: 2.3

Notes:

uhh this is.....getting put after 3 months lol but i had finals then a vacation then i got sick then school started and i was going througha lot of shit and i couldnt bring myself to write and then yeah idk i had to replan this whole fic bc i hated what i already had and this is more of a long ish filler to tide into the next part of them actually getting along as friends but yeah IDK lmfaooo i wish i had the motivation to put this up before bc i know some ppl liked it but yeah

i proof read this but this might have some errors so im sorry abt that. im mostly just proud that im even updating bc for a hot sec i thought i wouldnt hhhh but here we are!

Thanks to anyone who’s waited this long for a chapter I’m v grateful
anyway yay

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Okay, so here’s Neito’s thing with drawing attention to himself in any way, shape or form at any time of his life when he doesn’t want the spotlight on himself: he doesn’t like it. He actually kind of hates it.

That’s not to say that he doesn’t like attention in general, of course. He’s built himself to be fit into this persona, this Monoma-The-Psychopath-From-1B thing for a reason after all—loud and sassy and provocative—but that, at least, he attracts on his own terms. There’s a game plan there, some sort of an idea of what he’s going to do, what cannon he’s going to fire at 1-A on a particular day depending on the mood that he’s in. That sort of stuff, in the case of which, attention is fine.

It’s the unwanted people addressing him and/or putting him on the spot in stupidly public situations and then leaving him to die that’s the problem.

Neito can’t say he isn’t used to this sort of thing happening. Growing up with the quirk that he has hadn’t been easy, his ability often putting him at the end of undue criticism and taunts both at school and at home—because there’s no better way to deal with a child copying something intimate to you with a simple touch than putting them down and jeering at them until their self-esteem evaporates. And so, consequently those experiences, combined with the docile, anxious demeanour he’d had throughout his childhood—before he’d said fuck it sometime in middle school and turned his personality around—have made him very perceptive to when someone is making fun of him. It’s a gift of sorts. A radar for picking up insults aimed at him when he hasn’t asked to be insulted on his own terms.

The same radar that has currently come back to life after a while of laying idle, blaring inside Neito’s head and picking up signal after signal as he stupidly stands at the edge of Ground Ten in his stupid clothes behind his stupid friend, Shinsou’s stupid words echoing inside his head and over the still air around them over and over, like someone’s put them on repeat. Or maybe that’s just Neito’s subconscious mind acting up. At this point he’s not even sure if he’s alive.

 

Fruit-salad.

Fruit-salad.

Fruit-salad.

 

The dramatically, annoyingly loud footfalls of the 1-A company—another disgusting addition to this already harrowing situation—come to a stop somewhere to Neito’s immediate right and in his peripheral, he registers a shock of bright red hair in the split second of mental clarity the spike in his base level 1-A-breathing-around-him irritation allows him before his brain goes off the rails again, phantom lips pressing against his own with a vengeance and heart thundering in his chest. It’s not that he’s forgotten to be annoyed in the moment or anything, he’s sure he is beyond belief somewhere deep in his core and wants nothing more than to turn around and sass and then punt Kirishima—because that’s who that is obviously, probably—and Bakugou and whoever else they’ve brought straight into the sun to make himself feel better, as per Awase’s transparent plan to cheer him up.

It’s just…it’s difficult to reach that part of him and extract his gut fighting spirit to talk to these idiots in the moment, what with the way Shinsou’s staring straight into his eyes, looking like the most self-satisfied motherfucker on the planet.

 

Fruit-salad.

Fruit-salad.

Fruit-salad.

 

Neito has been given a lot of demeaning nicknames over the years as a side-effect of the constant bullying, been called a lot of things that ranged from completely stupid to actually hurtful anxiety fuel, but never in his god-forsaken sixteen years of existence has he been called something as jarring as…as…

“Fruit-salad?” he whispers himself in confused despair, his voice barely audible past the lump that is clogging up his throat as he stares back into Shinsou’s stupidly smug eyes over Awase’s shoulder and tries to not have a stroke. The same eyes that are intensely boring into Neito’s and Neito’s only, as if it’s just the two of them and none of the others exist.

He only has two eyes, realistically so he can look at only one person at a time, but still. Still.

That fact has little to do with how stripped Neito feels in the moment, how Shinsou’s eyes are rooting him where he stands, unable to speak or blink or do much of anything that doesn’t involve blushing and gaping back at the other boy like a fish. Like time has stopped for the two of them or something equally cheesy like that as they stand at two ends of one god forsaken arena like the dumbasses that they are.

Neito isn’t stupid, though, no matter how highly—weirdly—intimate this moment feels, at least on his end. He knows a teasing taunt when he hears one even when it doesn’t necessarily sound like it, because he’s an expert in the field of jab-ology and judging by Shinsou’s expression, eyebrows raised and barely a ghost of a smile on his lips—like this whole thing is one big joke—he knows that he’s being made fun of for his falling stunt on Monday. And even though Shinsou and him talked yesterday casually, like they’re the friends that they’re not, the other boy has no right to just dive straight into more teasing than he already has subjected Neito to. Hell! They barely know each other.

Which automatically means that he, in his rational mind, knows that he should be feeling offended right now, should be snapping out of his daze and spluttering in anger, defending himself and his friends for the earlier hostility and then telling Shinsou to fuck off and never tease him again in all the years that he has left or he’ll be sorry. He knows he should because if he doesn’t do it now then Shinsou might get comfortable in constantly taking digs at and making fun of him or something, god knows yesterday had been mortifying enough and now this and so he knows, Neito knows but—

Shinsou is a little ethereal where he stands in that moment, this weird shared moment they’re having, with his hair framing his face and sweat making his shirt cling to his skin and Neito can sense his brain liquefying by the second. The other boy is beautiful, much like he had been in the hallway, a splash of colour and energy against the bland white walls of Ground Ten, and Neito can’t find it in himself to feel even the slightest bit defensive.

 

Fruit-salad.

 

His breath catches in his throat on the way up when Shinsou raises an eyebrow at him, a motion barely visible past his wild, unruly fringe, like he’s expecting Neito to stop gawking and reply. Or something. Which is asking way too much of him because the motion is…devastatingly attractive, so much so that Neito can’t even blame his brain this time when shattered remnants of the dream’s memory descend upon his subconscious mind all at once, can’t even blame himself for feeling well and truly fucked. Not that he hadn’t been before but it is at that exact second, through the lightness in his chest and the wind in his hair and the undivided attention of the boy he’s made himself sick over over the past few months, that Neito knows completely how fucked he is.

It brings him harrowing anxiety and a warm feeling of content all at once, not unlike what he had felt yesterday after school before his brain had went and ruined it overnight.

The phantom pressure on his mouth presses just a little bit harder, like a bullshit reminder, and Neito instinctively takes half a step back, fight or flight mode completely activated, even more so when Shinsou cutely—fuck—tilts his head a tiny bit at the action.

Baby…

Neito inhales a little too sharply, the pull almost painful up his nose and faintly, desperately, hopes that it’s enough to kill him where he stands.

“Uh, what’s going on here?” someone—Kirishima, probably—asks from Neito’s right, tone dripping in confusion and goes cleanly, promptly ignored. All of them, it seems, are stunned into silence from the sheer bafflement of the situation. Well, Neito is silent because he’s dying and quivering but yeah. Maybe.

Shinsou’s lips twitch when Neito—along with everyone else—stays religiously silent and takes another half a step back in sheer terror, especially when the other boy looks like he’s about to say something more—or is he holding in a laugh? He then, simply because he’s Shinsou and seems to not give a fuck about anything, proceeds to rakes his eyes up and down again, in what looks like one more embarrassing once over of Neito’s entire body before he shrugs and has the absolute audacity to simply look away, gaze flickering to Neito’s right lazily.

And just like that, the shared moment shatters. It realistically must have lasted barely a few seconds, their awkward staring contest, but it felt so much longer and a heaving breath Neito wasn’t even aware he’d been holding the whole time escapes him aggressively. It’s all he can do to not double over from the intensity of it.

Shinsou, on his end, runs a hand through his messy hair and clicks his tongue, looking completely unbothered like the universe didn’t just align for him and this stupid duck pyjama clad boy two seconds ago. Neito makes a valiant effort to not pass away on the spot, feet rooted to the ground.

“Anyway,” he carries on casually, raking his judgemental gaze across their small group, like he hasn’t just committed first-degree murder. “Like I was saying, I have a signed permission slip. This is my space. Go find another training ground or share. Or fuck off. I don’t care.”

And then, with all the audacity of someone who was born with absolutely no shits to give about anything in life, Shinsou shrugs at them and turns on his heel, adjusting the bandages on his hand as he goes, like he plans on continuing his little punching sequence whether they want him there or not. It’s all a little bratty, a little attractive. Neito is fairly certain that he’s dying and he hasn’t even started to unpack the whole fruit-salad thing yet, not really. Not that he can, with how hazy his brain feels and how his lungs aren’t pulling in enough air, but he figures he couldn’t, even if he wanted to.

Turns out, he doesn’t have to.

Because Awase does it for him without much of his consent.

“What the fuck did you just say?” he snaps after a too-long confused silence, voice piercing through the still air and echoing dramatically around the arena and Neito, through his heartbeat thundering, vaguely comes to the conclusion that this situation is about to go to shit very fast.

Not that he can care much, though, when Shinsou throws an unimpressed look in their general direction and the phantom pressure crashes into Neito’s entire body like a tidal wave.

“What, are you deaf as well as disrespectful?” Shinsou drawls, putting a hand on a target behind him and Neito can sense more than see Awase clenching his hand into a fist, radiating absolute blood-lust in waves. He can’t even be bothered to feel flustered over how much being an absolute nightmare suits Shinsou as a human being. “I said this is my space. So, share or go away.”

“What the fuck?” Bakugou mutters hoarsely and Neito jumps slightly, almost having forgotten he was there in the first place, but everyone seems to mostly ignore him. What a time to be alive, everyone just collectively breezing over things the brats from 1-A have to say. Neito almost wants to bask in it. Would, if the time and place was right.

Instead, he just reaches an arm out and grabs hold of the back of Awase’s shirt who’s practically vibrating in irritation, right as Kirishima mutters, “I dunno, dude,” predictably to Bakugou.

Not that important.

“Not that, you asshole,” Awase grits out, and it’s kind of funny how no one but Neito seems to concerned about the absolute shitshow that is about to go down between his best friend and the boy he likes, considering how Tetsutetsu is just quietly looking between them curiously with wide eyes. The situation is a bit surreal. “Before that. What the fuck did you say?”

(“I’m leaving,” Bakugou grunts in the background and feet scuff the pavement, followed by a noise of protest and an arm slapping onto another arm, though the foot movement stops successfully.

“Dude, we can’t leave them, no.”)

“Before that?” Shinsou asks innocently, turning toward them again and if the absolute hatred wasn’t dripping from his eyes almost viscerally, Neito would argue that he almost looks playful, like he’s toying with them. He scratches the back of his neck and gives them a small grin. “Oh, I don’t believe I was talking to you, then. You don’t have to worry about that.”

Oh, jesus lord almighty.

Neito is going to die where he stands.

“You shouldn’t concern yourself with business that isn’t your own. Hasn’t your mama taught you any manners?” Shinsou adds, a sparkle in his eye that looks almost crazed. Come at me and get your head taken off, he’s saying.

Neito is going to definitely die. Double, triple when the other boy reverts his gaze, his attractive, challenging gaze straight at him over Awase’s shoulder again for the briefest of seconds before he looks away, predictably back to Awase himself.

Awase, who’s got his fists clenched so hard, Neito’s kind of scared he’s going to bust his palms open.

“Bastard,” he hisses, hisses, with enough venom that Kirishima barely has time to throw out an ignored, “Woah, hey, what the fuck is going on, calm down!” before Awase takes a step forward, easily freeing himself from Neito’s grasp. “Who the fuck do you think you’re making fun of?”

“I wasn’t making fun of your friend,” Shinsou answers without missing a beat, flexing the bandages across his knuckles as Awase pauses just briefly, probably thrown in confusion, before he takes another step forward, this time seemingly successfully having made the inference between fruit-salad and Neito’s Great Falling Incident. Or maybe he hasn’t, and he’s just irked at Shinsou in general. Neito’s guessing it’s the latter.

Neito is also, only mildly, slowly losing it.

I wasn’t making fun of your friend.

I wasn’t making fun of your friend.

I wasn’t making fun of your friend.

He’s been nicknamed.

Nicknamed!

“Don’t fucking talk to him, what is wrong with you?” Awase says, easily shaking the grip off his arm when Tetsutetsu reaches out to grab him and cutting through the clouds of soft pink currently stuffing Neito’s already overwhelmed mind to the brim.

Nicknamed!

“Your fight is with me, don’t go takin’ the piss out of people you don’t even know for something that wasn’t their fault! What the fuck is wrong with you?”

Ah, so he has made the connection.

But…but…nicknamed!

“He’s baiting ya,” Tetsutetsu says urgently, taking a few steps forward to drag Awase back and preferably away from this garbage fire of a situation. Neito wonders, lost, how bad it has gotten that Tetsutetsu is walking away from a potential fight. It’s like something out of opposite day. “Come on dude, we’ll spar somewhere else!”

“Yeah, man!” Kirishima says much in the same tone, coming up to Awase’s other side and into Neito’s field of vision to potentially hold him back. He’s dressed much like the others are, workout cargo shorts and a tank top but he looks so much like a douche with his stupid hair that not even the arrow of Cupid that is currently stabbing the shit out of Neito’s innards—nicknamed!—can hold him back from feeling irritated just for a split second. Bakugou, thankfully, stays where he is.

“I’m not baiting him,” Shinsou says in that same fake innocent tone, eyes wide as if in wonder and Neito’s traitorous heart picks up speed. “I’m simply saying what’s true. This issue is only between me and fruit-salad, didn’t you know?”

Fuck. Fuck!!!

Nicknamed!

Shinsou then, because he’s a dickhead, throws Neito an amused half smile, like there’s something only they know and it’s all he can do to hold himself upright and in place and not run straight into the other boy’s arms like a lovesick puppy.

Again though, he doesn’t have to.

Because Awase does it for him, though the screamed, “you leave Monoma-kun alone!” and everything else that happens after is an addition Neito wasn’t really going for.

Nicknamed! But at what cost?

 

-

 

Neitohastrulylosthisminditis: a recently discovered disease—named after the person who is its very first documented case since all of five minutes ago—that renders a person completely useless—flustered, floaty and even dumber than they usually are, in the exciting event of if they ever find one of their body parts semi-permanently pressed into one of the body parts of their crush. Thigh to thigh? Shoulder to shoulder? Knee to knee? It doesn’t matter! One tiny press into the person whose affections you so desperately seek and their radiating body heat will consequently fry your brain and overheat your general judgement until your body inevitably gives in—it will—and meets its maker! No known cure is yet available, though moving away from your crush is heavily advised and will most probably help.

That is, if it’s possible.

And for Monoma Neito, the tragic first patient of this absolute monster, it was not and that is why he died an early death, absolutely fucking conked out right in the middle of the UA staff room having contributed nothing to the universe in the grand scheme of things. Rest in peace, Monoma Neito, you stupid fuck.

 

…is what Neito wants his eulogy to say, recited word by word at his impending funeral by Kendou, his one and only best friend in this cold, harsh world who has always been there for him, chop violence and all, and has never once dared to wrong him in the way he has been wronged today. He’s not sure what the highlight of this incredibly amazing day is: the night he had, the after effects of his stupid wet dream, the poor people lunch he had to down, whatever the fuck just went down at Ground Ten a few minutes ago and consequently carried him sixteen feet closer to his untimely demise or…or this.

Shinsou shifts slightly where he’s rigidly pressed—no, absolutely plastered—between Neito’s left side and the arm of the narrow couch their little group of offenders is currently huddled close on, in an attempt to fit or to make themselves smaller in the face of the fury that is being rained on them, Neito can’t tell. But no, yeah, Shinsou squirms nonetheless, because that’s what this is about, he moves and his about-to-bruise knuckles brush Neito’s knee ever so slightly because they’re squished so close and he loses his train of thought all over again for the billionth time in the last five or so minutes despite his most valiant efforts to keep his fractured thought process in check.

Neitohastrulylosthisminditis.

Shinsou is a disease. A disease he doesn’t have time for, considering the delicacy of the situation Neito has been so passionately thrown into against his will, but diseases don’t ask before they affect you. Diseases kill.

Shinsou’s pinky brushes the outside of his thigh lightly then, as if to make a stupid point and Neito refuses to look at him. Not because of how flustered or awkward he’s feeling being so close to the object of his long-suffering affections, per se—okay, maybe a little—but mainly because there isn’t much time to worry about trivial things like Shinsou sharing body heat with him (for the first time!) or Shinsou’s haphazard hair tickling the side of Neito’s neck slightly when…

“What the hell is the matter with you kids?” Eraser-sensei hisses down at them, face twisted into a murderous frown which, combined with the way the teacher is tightly holding on to his scarf—like he might actually strangle everyone in the entire staff room and then himself if he loosens his hold even a little bit—is making this situation that much worse. That much more terrifying.

Next to him, Vlad-sensei covers his face with a too-large palm and sighs. He, on his end, doesn’t look that mad and hasn’t said a single thing to them, standing back and letting Eraser-sensei rip them apart. You know, not mad just disappointed and that’s arguably a lot worse.

Neito wants to die. This mess isn’t even his fault and he wants to die.

Okay, maybe it is his fault a little bit.

Fact of the matter is though, that he’s never leaving his room again. No one will catch him in public spaces again if his fucking life depends on it as soon as he escapes this situation alive, which in itself is starting to seem more and more unlikely by the second.

“Did the hero licensing exam leave you with too much leftover energy?” Eraser-sensei is rambling, going redder and redder with every word that is leaving his mouth. Neito wonders if he might be having a heart attack. “Is that what this is? Are you all bent on getting into physical fights to get your adrenaline out? Did you get inspired by Bakugou and Midoriya’s fight on Sunday? Huh?”

Bakugou makes a tortured little noise in the back of his throat when his name is mentioned hoarse and a little angry and Neito barely keeps his eye from twitching, keeping his gaze trained at a spot on the wall in front of him right over Eraser-sensei’s head. Because it’s not bad enough that he has to be part of a brutish group that instigated a fight in broad daylight and had to be physically forced back to the staff room kicking and screaming and it definitely isn’t bad enough that he’s now sitting on this tiny couch in this stuffy room in his duck pyjamas and getting his ass handed back to him by someone who isn’t even his homeroom teacher, but all of this just has to happen in front of not only his own homeroom teacher but also two idiots from 1-A. Two! While being pressed directly against his crush who seems livid at the entirety of the world! As he should be! Fuck!

 “You ought to be ashamed of yourselves! What the hell were you thinking?”

They weren’t really thinking, judging by how quickly the situation had gone to absolute shit—no correction, Awase hadn’t been thinking—so Neito isn’t sure how any of them are even remotely meant to answer that. Or is the question rhetorical? He can’t really tell because it’s barely been fifteen minutes since the security robots—those tattling fucks—had snitched to their respective homeroom teachers about how Awase and Shinsou were two steps away from basically beheading each other—an exaggeration—about ten since they’d been brought into the staff room to get ripped into and all Eraser-sensei has done thus far after getting the smallest of explanations from Awase and Shinsou—bitten off and angry, as they had been—is yell at them.

Are they even meant to be defending themselves? Will it do anything to make this better?

Neito tries to pull together just a single brain-cell to think about what it will take for him to escape this absolute scandal unscathed, rationalise an escape route past the cotton wool inside his head. But it’s hard, it’s so ridiculously hard, especially when he’s unsure if the haziness is a by-product of the humiliation he’s being subjected to or his newfound proximity to Shinsou or what.

And whew, the proximity. He might die.

“You don’t just lunge at people and attack them, no matter how much they antagonise you or your friends!” Eraser-sensei is still going, this time specifically at Awase, and Neito blinks a few times to clear his head so he can half-heartedly defend his friend if need be, unsurprised when it takes the smallest of shifts from Shinsou against his shoulder for his mind to spiral again. “That is the first step to becoming a hero! What the hell will you do out there in the real world if someone says something you don’t like? Will you try to start an irresponsible fight again? With someone who hasn’t received half the training that you have? Will you try and hurt someone who isn’t on your level of power? Huh?”

This whole situation, ridiculous as it is, oddly feels like witnessing a murder. Vlad-sensei, the legend, just sighs again, looking as powerless as they are, packed onto a couch like a pack of kittens about to go up for slaughter.

“I didn’t antagonise anybody,” Shinsou mutters hotly in response—a lie, but is it really—while sounding almost ridiculously offended, though mostly to his own self because obviously doesn’t want to die, almost at the same time as Awase’s distressed whispered—because he too, doesn’t want to die, “Aw, fuckin’ balls.”

Aw, fucking balls indeed.

If Neito had the brain power, or any of his former general dignity that was forcibly knocked from him the second he hit that cafeteria floor on Monday, he would argue that the little spat at Ground Ten wasn’t technically a fight. Sure, Awase had lunged at Shinsou and thus, been the one that “swung” first and sure he’d taken Shinsou down into an absolute heap and sure he’d tried to punch Shinsou in the face—and missed spectacularly, hitting the concrete next to his face instead and busting his knuckles open, the fool—and sure, Shinsou had whacked him in the head right back and sure, he’d looked really attractive doing it and Neito had frozen where he was with his crotch doing all the thinking for him, and sure, Tetsutetsu and then Kirishima had jumped into the fray screaming to break them up and sure, Shinssou had whacked them too, in what had looked like panicked self-defense and sure, Bakugou had just stayed where he was, radiating confused, scared annoyance as they all started trying to kill each other and-

Okay. So it was a fight.

But still.

It wasn’t like, a fight-fight. Neito isn’t quite sure what it was, as fast as it had happened. He wasn’t really sure, in the moment, what would come of Shinsou calling him fruit-salad and essentially giving him the most insulting nickname—nicknamed—in the whole universe, but he hadn’t expected that.

“I legitimately do not know what the hell is in the water lately! Why is everyone so aggressive!?” Eraser-sensei says, aggressively. “As soon as I even think of having downtime, someone starts beating the absolute crap out of someone else! Why? Why!?” he adds, directly—furiously—at Vlad-sensei who just stares back, looking attacked. “At this rate, I’ll run out of punishments to give!”

Neito barely restrains himself from pointing out that only one fight happened on Sunday. This is literally only the second in the grand scheme of things.

“I can think of some punishments if you like,” Vlad-sensei offers kindly and gets immediately ignored because Eraser-sensei whips in Kirishima and Bakugou’s direction with an extremely accusatory, “And you two!”

And just like, the attention is off Neito’s side of the couch, the teacher’s fury finding its next unassuming targets.

Neito wonders how out of it he has to be, how defeated and flustered and tired, that he can’t even bring himself to fully enjoy the verbal lashing Eraser-sensei starts raining down on his own students with no holds barred. It’s kind of sad, really, considering there is nothing more in this world he would like to see than people from 1-A getting rightfully reprimanded within an inch of their lives, but now that he’s been presented with the perfect opportunity, he’s barely in his senses.

“I didn’t realise I wasn’t clear in what house-arrest meant!” Eraser-sensei practically spits at Bakugou and Kirishima, holding onto his scarf in an even tighter death grip as if he lets go, someone will definitely die this time around. Neito fidgets uncomfortably in his spot and tries to put his entire weight on Awase’s shoulder so he can get away from the warmth of Shinsou’s body and get his bearings back.

It doesn’t really work. If anything, his mind fogs up even more, as if this is a game.

“Not only were you not allowed to be outside, but you thought it would be a brilliant idea to get into another fight? Couldn’t wait until Friday to go outside? Really, Bakugou?”

“Hah?” Bakugou, bless his audacity, just defensively fires back. Absolute madness. “I didn’t fight anyone!”

Which, you know, the truth.

Shinsou shifts the tiniest bit, his right shoulder and knee bumping into Neito’s only slightly and the process and the sensation—the experience—is nothing short of religious. Neito clenches his hands into fists and begs any higher power for mercy as Eraser-sensei starts to go off on every single thing Bakugou has ever done.

This whole proximity thing is so not good for his health, especially not so quickly after the dream he’d had, and dramatically, he thinks his nerves are a little bit on fire. He wants to enjoy the free entertainment, dammit.

But…but—

Shinsou cradles Neito’s cheek in his too large, too cold hand, gently coaxing his mouth open with the slightest flick of his tongue and it

“It wasn’t his fault, sensei!” Kirishima is protesting weakly when Neito whips his stare to his feet and manages to dig his own fingernails into the delicate skin of his palm to snap himself out of his too vivid dream flashback, lest he do something stupid like whimper or cry sitting right next to the asshole responsible. “He didn’t even want to go, I told him to and he didn’t even fight! Not even a little, it was-,”

“And what made you think you could take him wherever you goddamn pleased?” Eraser-sensei hisses, anger changing direction completely from Bakugou to Kirishima in the smallest of seconds.  Neito tries to pay attention, tries to indulge in the drama, really, he’s trying but—

Shinsou leans back towards the back of the couch and sags, it seems, right into Neito’s side heavily and all of his brain functions halt immediately. If he wasn’t squished uncomfortably the way that he is with Eraser-sensei’s clipped yelling providing the romantic background music—“and why on Earth would you actually agree, Bakugou? Do you really want to break this many school rules five minutes into the new semester?!”—the position they’re in is actually kind of…domestic. Friendly.

Neitohastrulylosthisminditis.

“Who swung first!” Eraser-sensei says, handle on his rage and irritation completely evaporated, and it takes Neito a few long blinks to realise that the teacher’s hostility is back on Awase and Shinsou. He’s just stuck in the middle of this mess, really. He didn’t even ask for it.

Vlad-sensei, bless him, just sighs and leans against a table.

“I did,” Awase grunts, sounding every bit like he might blow something up as soon as they leave this room. “But he was insulting Monoma-kun after getting hostile with me and, so I felt like I had to defend my friend,” he adds quickly, before Eraser-sensei can start going off again. “So, I attacked first all of my own will. Monoma-kun didn’t instigate anything.”

Neito flexes his toes in his shoes and stares at the staff room carpet, feeling incredibly guilty without meaning to, just for a second. He’s not sure if it’s toward Awase who is only in this mess because of him or toward Shinsou who, well, wasn’t really insulting him at all.

Nickn-

“But!” Awase adds again, cutting across whatever was about to come out of Eraser-sensei’s mouth, and he sounds only a little fierce. “It was entirely my fault! I’m not saying he wasn’t at fault but he was only forced to get physical because of me. And Tetsutetsu-kun and Kirishima-kun only joined in to stop us. So, if anyone should be punished, it should be just me! Not my friends!”

Neito turns his head up to look at his friend in surprise, who has his most typical anime-protagonist determination face on, and is slightly awed at the dramatics of it all. Beside him, Tetsutetsu—who has stayed surprisingly quiet throughout this whole thing, aside from the initial explanations he’d screamed at the teachers—is wearing about the same expression. The dumbstruck mixture of gratitude and surprise, that is.

Neito isn’t even half this cool.

But as it turns out, this isn’t, in fact, anime and coolness apparently, does not sway the man that Shouta Aizawa is, who just stares down at them silently for about three seconds before clapping a hand straight to his forehead, muttering something that doesn’t sound all that polite.

Shinsou huffs in what sounds like irritation and moves forward on the couch the slightest bit and Neito has to practically force himself to not evaporate at the way their thighs drag together.

 

-

 

In the end, it’s not all that bad.

Neito, unsurprisingly, gets off with a tap on the wrist and a slight warning to “not cause fights”, which is utter bullshit but it’s infinitely better than the detention Awase and Tetsutetsu get slapped with—a month and a week and a half respectively—so he can’t complain all that much. Kirishima lands straight into detention with them for throwing a blow or two—three weeks—and also apparently has to partake in extra “after school community service” for “going against a teacher’s orders and sneaking out a student under punishment” and Neito has no idea what that entails but finds that he doesn’t care too much. He’s too emotionally exhausted and too pissed at life, he finds, to rejoice an enemy getting into trouble and it would make absolutely no sense to do it, considering his friends get to suffer, too. Partially because of him, of course, but he isn’t sure he’s ready to unpack all that yet.

Really, the situation is fine. The most disappointing part of it is maybe Bakugou not getting any further punishment past like…extra cleaning or something but that is so stupidly trivial and affects Neito’s life so less that he can’t even find it in himself to be smug about it, not even when the blond throws a fit about it on the lowest of keys somehow directed at both Kirishima and Eraser-sensei, the bastard. Can’t stand him.

And thus, Neito’s horrifically bad afternoon ends very anti-climactically. Their punishments are dished out, Eraser-sensei releases them all, except Shinsou, from absolute staff-room jail—and maybe to wait for his own homeroom teacher—and they leave with Vlad-sensei who looks very much like he’s mentally loading the most epic lecture of the century to throw their way. Neito doesn’t even get to turn around and look at the Crush Who’s Ruined His Life one last time before he leaves—lest his friends notice—doesn’t even get to hear his punishment, belatedly realises that Shinsou didn’t look at him even once after the fight, not even out of the corner of his eye in the staff room and hopes desperately that a) he’s not mad at Neito for Awase’s actions and b) he doesn’t get into too much trouble.

Which is stupid of him because Shinsou doesn’t care about him, really. Shinsou’s smart ass mouth and bad attitude, mixed with Awase’s, is the reason all this happened in the first place, and if Neito peers hard enough into his slowed down brain, he can still feel the ridiculous jab floating around. Fruit-salad. Of all things!

Nicknamed!

And so, technically he shouldn’t care. Maybe he should be offended or something, never look at this guy again, throw a fit and scream into a pillow until he’s over this dramatic state of mind. Something. Instead, like the absolute idiot that he is, all Neito can feel, or rather miss, is the press of Shinsou against him and the body heat that had kept him warm-ish in the already warm staff room. The same warmth that evaporates quickly after Neito trudges out of the room with his head low and Awase’s arm bumping into his side.

“Seriously,” Vlad-sensei starts, tone resigned and pissed at the same time somehow, and the words bounce off Neito’s tired, overwhelmed brain as quick as they register. “Did you have to do all of that just because that boy was in your sparring space? I understand that he was rude and everything, but you did not have to stoop to his level, that isn’t what heroes do.”

“It wasn’t about the sparring space,” Awase mutters bitterly, clicking his tongue in annoyance and Neito stares at his feet as he concentrates on putting on foot in front of the other, eager to lock himself in his room and take several deep breaths. “He was insulting Monoma-kun and I couldn’t just stand there and tolerate that!”

Interesting, Neito notes, how this entire situation is being pinned onto being because him and his honour and not the fact that Shinsou and Awase were gearing up to kill each other before that anyway. But he digresses.

Well it was kind of your fault, a voice in his head that sounds ridiculously like his mother’s whispers somewhere in the recesses of his mind and Neito bites the inside of his cheek at the sudden, surprising intrusion. Away from Shinsou’s distracting presence now, Neito is starting to realise how crap he’s starting to feel, how sleepy, how weirdly guilty—and honestly, what is up with that—and he almost dashes back to the staff-room to Shinsou but doesn’t.

“Defending a classmate is good,” Vlad-sensei says sagely, knee deep in his gruff dad voice. “But you have to understand and look at these situations the way a hero would, Awase. Heroes aren’t impulsive and don’t let things cloud their judgement for even the smallest of seconds. The second you let someone get to you to the point where you think or do things you normally wouldn’t, you’ve strayed away from the concept.”

Ah. That. That is one hell of a callout.

Neito swallows uncomfortably.

“I know,” Awase says dejectedly, breezing over all that deep shit and only barely managing to finish his sentence before Tetsutetsu decides to go back to his usual self—a relief and a curse—and cuts him off with a very enthusiastic, “All that is fine but sensei, you shoulda seen him out there!”

“Seen him?”

“Oh, stop,” Awase mutters.

“Yeah, seen him, he went like this,” Tetsutetsu says brightly like the whole situation hasn’t landed them all in detention, likely punctuating his sentence with dramatic air chops. “And then like this, and then, wham, it was kinda awesome!”

That is at least three more air-chops and Neito wishes he could lift his head to actually see his friends and the expression Vlad-sensei is wearing when he splutters in response, wishes he could contribute and tell them off in his own smart ass way for being such men and maybe even direct a comment or two at Kirishima and Bakugou who are trailing next to them for some reason, he wants to, he does but—

Your fault, his brain says again, as if he hadn’t gotten the memo the first time. Your impulsive, distracted, lovesick fault.

And so, he keeps his mouth shut, unsure why he’s as tired—of life—and sleepy as he is in that moment. For some reason, he thinks back to that time abruptly, a lifetime ago when Shinsou had caught his eye in the cafeteria one inconsequential lunch and left him flustered beyond belief, and wonders why things seemed so easy back then.

Is he just an idiot? Dramatic? Too anxious for his own good? A wet blanket that needs people to defend him? Or does he just not know how to have friends? How to have a crush on someone? Surely, it’s not meant to be this chaotic, this upsetting.

That kind of sounds like your fault, too, the voice says and Neito grudgingly takes responsibility.

 

-

 

Kendou, understandably, is livid and breathing fire at them the moment they set foot across the threshold of the dorms after a brief trip to Recovery Girl and getting thoroughly lectured by both her and Vlad-sensei about something or the other—Neito had stopped paying attention somewhere halfway through, which is fine, because all of that hadn’t been for him anyway—and while none of Kendou’s shit isn’t directed at him personally either, he still feels oddly reprimanded.

“What the fuck were you thinking?!” she hisses at their sheepish forms, followed by a few, “Can’t just beat people up! Now you have detention for no reason!”s and “What goes through your head, Awase? Tetsu? What good could possibly come from all of this?”s and a lot of, “Did you think you wouldn’t get caught?”s

Neito can’t help wondering, through the very Eraser-sensei-esque scolding and the haze behind his eyelids, who the fuck thought telling Kendou immediately after the event had been a good idea. His money is on Tetsutetsu and his stupid sneaky live-texting tendencies.

No wonder he’d ben so quiet in the staffroom, the absolute bastard.

It takes a full twenty minutes of absolute screaming, followed by whacks and chops with Rin joining in at some point because of course he does, for the general air of anger around the room—it’s mostly Kendou—to dissolve and Neito tiredly realises that no one’s put their hands on him. He’s not sure why that makes him feel as crappy as it does, as left out, as guilty, as weak. Like he’s something to be handled, to defend.

Getting chopped by Kendou is meant to be his thing but she doesn’t even look at him, really. He’s losing his mind.

She doesn’t look his way in general, actually, and the only time she does she looks concerned and asks if he’s “okay”. Kendou! Asking if he’s okay! The fucking audacity.

But it’s good in some capacity, really, because she or Rin don’t try to stop him or pay him much attention when he slinks away from their group and makes his way toward the elevator without a word, and he’s not sure if he’s offended or grateful that she mostly let him be when he doesn’t want to talk about it. This is a little bit about him, after all.

His fault, and all.

But Kendou doesn’t seem to see it that way.

“Idiots,” she’s saying exclusively to Awase and Tetsutetsu as his brain tunes back in. “Next time you try some shit like that, I’ll throw you into the sun myself.”

“You woulda done the same thing if you saw that guy, I’m telling you Kendou!” Tetsutetsu says animatedly, crashing down onto the couch and talking like he’d been the one to singlehandedly throw himself at Shinsou. Shinsou who hadn’t even done anything.

It was just a nickname. That’s it. Nothing more.

Neito tries to summon the power to sass that fact at his friends, to defend his crush, but his mouth won’t move weirdly enough so he just sticks close to the wall next to the elevator and prepares to escape as quickly as possible. Seeing Awase and Tetsutetsu get their ass handed back to them is fun in some capacity and all, but hearing them talk shit about arguably his favourite boy he’s never properly met is about to be super detrimental to his already crappy state.

“That guy was a real piece of work! Cocky as shit!” Tetsutetsu says brightly, angrily like it’s a fact. Neito stabs the elevator button and keeps an eye on them out of his peripheral. “I’ve never seen a braver man in my life, it was so ugly.”

“Cocky to the point of being an absolute weirdo, yeah. I knew I didn’t trust him after what he did to Shoda-kun at the sports festival, the dick,” Awase stretches on the couch and sounds like he’s pouting. Neito stabs the elevator button again, a little more aggressively. He’d forgotten that second part. “I maybe would’ve let him go ‘cos he had a teacher’s note apparently even though he was being such a gremlin about it but then he insulted Monoma-kun! And acted like he didn’t say a fuckin’ thing wrong, what the fuck was I meant to do?”

Neito feels several pairs of eyes turn toward him and he curses under his breath, surprising himself. So, his mouth is working after all.

“Fighting still isn’t the answer,” Kendou grumbles, though she doesn’t sound all that disapproving anymore. Neito pointedly ignores them and averts his eyes, staring at his own blurry reflection in the closed elevator doors. Maybe he should just take the stairs. “You should’ve put him in his place without getting physical.”

The elevator is one floor away. Heights Alliance isn’t even that big. This is a nightmare.

“I tried, really,” Awase says Neito wants to argue that no, he really didn’t, but he doesn’t. “He was talkin’ to me and then he turned on Monoma-kun all of a sudden and it was so weird. Even Bakugou was silent as shit. Bakugou.”

“That takes a lot,” Rin says, sounding mildly awed.

The elevator is almost here.

“Monoma seemed so upset,” Tetsutetsu says sadly, though his volume doesn’t waver and Neito clenches his hand into a fist. “You know how he got on Monday and that fucker said that bullshit just like that.”

Fruit-salad.

“Must be my fault,” Awase says with a click of his tongue as Kendou makes an affirmative noise. “I was mean to him so he took it out on Monoma-kun, probably.”

“What a dickhead,” Rin says with a lot of feeling. “Remember he talked to Monoma yesterday at lunch, too? Who knows what he said then, too. Though he probably wouldn’t try anything like this if he knew what Monoma is actually like.”

“Just caught Monoma at a bad time in the week, I guess,” Kendou agrees, sounding contemplative and Neito belatedly realises that they don’t know he can hear them or tell that they’ve been staring at him this whole time or they wouldn’t be talking about him like this. “He’s been off since Monday.”

“Yeah, really quiet and subdued.”

“I guess he did fall pretty hard.”

“If he’d been his usual self today…,”

“Shinsou would’ve been dog meat,” Tetsutetsu says, the sound of an aggressive arm chop whipping through the air. “Just that bastard wait until Monoma is back to normal!”

Neito almost laughs, tearing up in the space of a second because this absolute pathetic pity party is his normal. But they don’t know that. Don’t need to know that. And he’s not sure why that makes him feel so suffocated.

The elevator dings.

 

-

 

Neito isn’t sure what he’s feeling as he stumbles into his room and locks the door behind him resolutely, determined to never leave this small space where no one can look at him or talk to him or about him where he can hear them at least. A part of him wants to be dramatic as his hand hovers over the light switch unsurely, wants to not turn on the lights and curl up above his covers instead to mope and cry it out into his pillow until he falls asleep, whatever it is. Anxiety? Guilt? His self-esteem flushing itself down a hypothetical toilet? Happiness at being close to Shinsou, at being nicknamed, as ill-meant it had been? Giddiness at the thought that maybe it hadn’t ben ill-meant, that Shinsou had leaned against him, even though he’d had no choice in the position they’d been in? Worry, because what would his friends say, who went so far to defend his honour, if they knew how he actually feels towards Shinsou? Absolute despair because Shinsou already has a girlfriend figure in his life?

Neito shudders, pushing that thought far back into his brain and flipping the too-bright lights on.

It would be easy right now, to be emotional and let his mental weakness consume him until he has his billionth panic attack of these past few days alone. It would be even easier to avoid every one of his friends out there who think he’s weak now, something to be protected from other people because he can’t get a grip on his goddamn emotions. They think he’s always been kind of antisocial anyway, what could it hurt? Avoiding them, that is.

It could be easy but Neito isn’t a coward.

He’s studying to be a hero. Impulsive and easily swayed or not, he is going to be a hero.

A breath wheezes out of him as he realises that the blurriness behind his eyelids is actually unshed tears that spill down his cheeks hotly as soon as he blinks and he barely keeps himself upright as he trudges through his room. He’s not going to be a coward, he’s not.

No, fuck that. He is a hero. He’s also not the first person to have a crush. Nor the first person to have anxiety. Or the first person that gets overwhelmed by things easily.

He refuses to waste his time having an unnecessary breakdown over absolutely nothing.

And so, despite the absolute poison in his head—seriously, he needs to get over himself, he’s not even sure why he’s crying anyway—and the ache in his chest, Neito bypasses burying his head into a pillow for collapsing down into his desk chair instead. The notes his classmates had brought back for him lie haphazardly strewn across the table and Neito sniffs aggressively, not bothering to wipe his tears as he bends down to get his bookbag. He will copy these notes and he will copy them prettily if it kills him.

He’s not a pussy.

All your fault.

He’s not, he’s not.

Should’ve defended Shinsou, probably thinks you’re another by-product of the hero course he hates so much. Not that it matters. He’s taken anyway, right?

Neito digs out his hero history notebook and a pen and slams it onto the desk, quivering with tears that he has no justification for other than the fact that too much has happened in too little time and no one ever taught him how to deal with it.

Friends might hate you if they knew what you’re like, who you like.

The notes are Kendou’s, thank fuck, she has good handwriting and he won’t have to pay too much attention towards deciphering them. Easy. Easy, easy.

Not really hero material at all if the most trivial situations make you end up like this, snotty and panicking.

Neito digs his pen into his notebook and sniffs, ignoring the sob that bubbles up and out of his throat and fees infinitely tired of his stupid tendencies, of the profession he’d decided to think would suit him in the future which doesn’t really suit him at all, really.

The universe can suck his whole goddamn ass.

 

-

 

He, to his own surprise, ends up copying all his notes in time for dinner and even makes an effort to scrub his face clean afterwards, face a mess of tears and snot. His head is pounding, his left palm hurts from how deeply he’d dug his fingers into it all throughout to focus, his body won’t stop feeling the phantom pressures from his goddamn dream—still!—and he’s overall just…barely coping.

Yet, he still goes to dinner with everyone else and pointedly ignores the collective surprise, like they hadn’t expected him to show up at all. To be fair, he hadn’t expected himself to, either so he doesn’t say anything. He doesn’t say anything, actually, just quietly eats, listens to Awase and Tetsutetsu drag Shinsou through the mud, listens to the sympathy and anger-on-his-behalf directed toward him by a bunch of his classmates because he’s weak to them now and leaves as soon as his plate is clean.

It’s not much in the end in way of “progress” that Neito knows he won’t make in the space of two hours even if he wants to. He still needs to stop letting things get to him to the extent that they do and he maybe needs to look into letting go of his stupid crush that has made him fail exams and revert back into his middle-school self on more occasions than one, needs to get his shit together and prioritise the way he had been able to before he’d caught feelings.

It’s not much at all, but it’s better than locking himself in his room and crying without even knowing what he’s crying for so he’ll let himself have it.

 

-

 

And thus, starts the most inconsequential time of Neito’s first week of his second semester.

Despite how crap he’s felt since Monday, how crap he expects to feel when he wakes up on Thursday after a dreamless seven-hour deep sleep that drains him regardless of that fact, Neito is surprised when he feels…okay. Well, okay isn’t the right word really. He still has a semi-hard time getting out of bed after his alarm goes off, still has the headache from the events of the day before, has probably cried in his sleep a bit if the dried, gross wetness on his cheeks is any indication, but he at least doesn’t feel like keeling over and dying, so that’s somewhat good.

He’s not okay okay, but he’s at least numb in a sense, to the point where he’s not really feeling much of anything. And that’s what matters even though that might technically not be healthy. Makes it that much easier to ignore the persistent jabs that his head is throwing at him.

And so, the day passes by in a blur, the events blending in together as if Neito has switched entirely to autopilot and maybe he has. There’s only so much bullshit he could take before his brain ended up collapsing out of self-care, but at the same time, it’s not entirely the same as his Monday shutdown, not really because he can still have conversations if he chooses to—which, not really—and eating doesn’t feel like a burden when he thinks about the concept in general. He’s fine, if not a little out of it and a bit sleep deprived but he’s not…he’s not dying or anything.

Of course, he’s still not back to top form like he was before the semester had started. He feels it all underneath his forced layer of numbness if he pays attention, the tiniest jitters over leaving the safety of his room and going to the communal bathrooms to take a shower and then to class, an awful amount of misplaced guilt over not being able to protect himself or his dignity to the point where he had to get his friends into trouble over it, weak and overdramatic and not in the best way that is his usual brand. There’s all that but there’s only so much he can take.

And so, he forces himself through it and slaps his cheeks enough times in his bedroom mirror as needed to get his shit back together. He’s a Monoma and this can’t go on forever, it’s unacceptable. He’s better than this, has more guts than this, is more resilient than this. If he could survive his time in his house and everything his mother threw at him, he can definitely survive this.

With cheeks that are a shade too pink by the time he’s done, he picks up his bookbag, adjusts his tie to perfection and purses his lips, throwing himself one last look in the mirror—he’s hideous and tired, really—and taking his first step out into the hallway to go to his Thursday morning class.

 

He doesn’t do too horribly. He eats the protein bar Rin chucks at his head for breakfast, walks with his classmates to the main campus, picks up bits and pieces of their conversation and contributes a sentence or two himself where he feels like he needs to—that is where he doesn’t need to strain himself to apologise or defend Shinsou, who is somehow still getting trashed within an inch of his life understandably—(zingers like it was Kirishima’s own fault for bringing Bakugou, is he dumb and of course, he’d get detention, 1-A literally share a single braincell).

It’s on brand, god tier 1-A slander and even if he doesn’t feel like himself much, it should at least serve to get his classmates off his back. Again. And he’d barely done it after the Monday shit, goddammit.

It’s a small mercy they don’t try to ask him if he’s okay. Neito might have committed murder.

 

Instead, thankfully, all he really does over the day is go to class, submit his internship forms—with no hope of actually getting an internship, of course—take notes and mind his business. He does end up catching a glimpse of Shinsou at lunch despite his efforts not to where the other boy is sitting at one of his usual tables with the girl, who is his girlfriend or something, and a part of Neito wants to stare at him—at them—out of habit and figure out his relationship with this girl who has essentially ruined his entire week, maybe figure out if he should go up to Shinsou and apologise for his friends’ behaviour, even though that would be really fucking stupid, considering Shinsou had insulted him—had he though—and also that his friends would never talk to him again ever but…

But it only takes two minutes of his gawking before Shinsou laughs at something the girl says, his entire face crinkling beautifully with the motion, and Neito averts his eyes before he can see worse go on between them, something ugly throbbing beneath his chest.

He doesn’t get up and bolt or anything like he stupidly had on Monday, though. He’s learned his goddamn lesson. Instead, he stays where he is, sitting between Awase and Tetsutetsu who are heatedly arguing over some anime girl, the conversation literally bouncing off his brain, and doesn’t feel all that hungry anymore. Shocker.

He does good with the situation overall in the end though, a solid 6/10. He wants someone to tell him he does good, validate him so he doesn’t feel like he’s taking shots in the dark like an idiot but he knows no one will because no one knows about it, so he sucks it up and bites into his steak, letting his friends’ conversations crash over him in comforting waves.

He’s good with it. He is. He’ll learn.

 

-

 

The afternoon sun is warm on his face as he walks out of the main campus with Kendou and Rin and Kamakiri, hands tight on the straps of his bookbag as he listens to them talking to each other comfortably and knows he’s not being asked to contribute. He’s not sure he can, considering how floaty he feels, kind of lovesick and only mildly heartbroken if he reaches past his emotional barrier to check.

Who knew Shinsou was pretty when he laughed—he’d done that about four more times after the first one and no, Neito wasn’t looking to check—considering his smile is so unconventional? Who knew that girl knew how to make him laugh? Maybe that’s why they’re—

Okay, no focus.

“Proper nutcase, he was,” Kamakiri grunts quietly, probably referring to the number one UA third year that had come in to give them a speech about the internships they might not even do in their last period and proceeded to talk so loudly, Neito had been temporarily jostled emotionally awake from the sheer power of his laughter. “I almost had a stroke listening to him.”

“Do you mean he wasn’t having a stroke before my very eyes? Could’ve sworn,” Rin jokes, earning himself a playful Kendou whack—“that’s rude, Rin-san!”—and a wrangling a snort from even Neito who’s surprised at himself for a second.

“They were all nutcases. Makes you wonder what kind of power they have that they’re at the top even with their five combined braincells,” Kamakiri shrugs, though when Neito looks at him out of the corner of his eye, he’s smirking. “I swear the girl was about to try writing on Fukidashi’s face.”

“Kinda like a hyper-puppy, in a way,” Kendou notes thoughtfully, though not unkindly. A compliment. Neito bites the inside of his cheek and moves into her side as a business student goes zooming past them towards the dorms. Walking back at the end of lessons when the entire school’s been let out is the fucking worst. “They must be very powerful, though.”

“Yeah, I heard he got really physical with 1-A before lunch and defeated them all but I’m not sure if that’s true,” Rin says and Neito looks up at him curiously, narrowly avoiding another gaggle of stumbling kids that seem to be racing against time to get back to their rooms. “Maybe that’s why they looked subdued at lunch? I’m not sure, though,” he adds, when everyone looks at him in surprise. “It’s just a rumour I think, since Togata-senpai didn’t mention anything about it.”

Kendou hums, stroking her chin and says something about “asking Momo about it” as Neito tries to picture the hulking giant of a boy—Togata-senpai, that was his name—just beating the absolute shit out of everyone in 1-A singlehandedly. The visual is amusing, though he wished he’d paid more attention to the 1-A students at lunch, just to see what Rin is talking about. No instead, he’d tried his absolute hardest not to look up from his steak, lest he see Shinsou laugh again and his chest burst with longing, and failed.

What a waste.

Maybe he should try fighting Shinsou’s girlfriend for his hand to make himself feel better. Is that something he could do to ensure that this entire situation doesn’t ruin his life? Was his life already ruined from the moment he failed his exams and let himself go?

Or is it just—

“We have a long way to go to catch up to the best of UA, that’s for sure,” Rin says and Neito’s sure he’s missed a little chunk of the conversation, as distracted as he’d been. Not that it matters; he’s missed at least 70% of his day, lost inside his own head.

“I just hope we don’t turn into absolute idiots when we get there,” Kamakiri grunts, though he at least sounds like he agrees, and unsurprisingly earns himself a Kendou-chop. Neito, who has been itching for one since yesterday—anything to feel normal again—gets nothing. Maybe he should go insult someone or something.

Does he even have it in him anymore?

No, no! Of course he does, of course, he’s not that far gone yet to be thinking like this. He’ll insult someone first thing tomorrow.

Neito shakes his head to clear it, eyebrows furrowing in determination as he sticks to Kamakiri to avoid getting trampled by a group of giggling girls moving toward the dorms. He’s going to first of all, not fight Shinsou’s girlfriend, maybe nap on whatever he’s been feeling—ignoring the fact that sleeping on it last night did nothing but anyway, technicalities—get started on his homework, go to dinner and actually take part in conversation like he usually does when he’s not feeling beaten down by life like this, earn that Kendou chop one way or another tomorrow, try to get his life back together and…and….

And oh, there’s Shinsou in the distance.

His thought process derails almost immediately. It’s almost comical.

Neito’s first reaction is to almost groan a very pronounced are you fucking kidding me straight to the higher powers as the visual of the boy—that he might actually fist fight one of these days, him not the girlfriend—walking a few paces ahead of them with a bag slung over his shoulder and his girlfriend by his side cuts straight through his internal monologue of redhot determination to feel better and more stable like a knife might through melted butter.

If fate is trying to send him flying into Shinsou’s arms or something, it’s not doing a great job of it. And this is some fate bullshit, isn’t it? Neito can’t think of a single explanation as to why he’s been seeing Shinsou around that much ever since he realised he has a crush on him and even more since Monday when he’d gone—literally—flying into Shinsou’s arms (hand). They’re not from the same department, don’t even have the same friend circle then why, why? Even if it’s just in casual passing, like it is this time because of course their dorms are in the same direction and this is normal and all, why. Before all of this, he hadn’t even known the bastard existed!

Why can’t Shinsou just fucking disappear before this whole thing becomes super detrimental to Neito’s mental health; not that it can get any worse, considering it’s been sending him through rollercoasters of emotion that go from I’m okay to I will never love again in the shortest amount of time?

No wonder he’s been a goddamn mess.

This moment in itself though isn’t iconic or monumental or shared or anything. Neito doesn’t keel over wheezing and Shinsou doesn’t notice him at all, no dramatic looking over his shoulder and not noticing him, no repetitions of what he’s dubbed The Fruit-Salad Incident in his head. Neito supposes he should in all realism, keel over wheezing that is, because Shinsou’s hand is loosely linked with the girl’s—that goddamn girl—and she’s looking up at him and talking animatedly about something. Neito should feel like utter shit, as is the law of the universe regarding his reactions to any small inconvenience that happens ever, but surprisingly, there’s next to nothing that erupts in his head. His ears don’t even stop registering whatever Rin and Kendou are saying—it’s about a fund of some sort—and there’s no feeling of I’m going to fucking die.

Okay, that’s half a lie. Whatever had bloomed in his chest at lunch, frustrating and suffocating from the inside out, does make a slight comeback as he trains his eyes on their clasped hands—the girl’s tiny pinkie finger holding on to Shinsou’s thumb—but that’s about as far as it goes. There’s nothing overdramatic or anything. Nothing at all. Neito had known they were involved in some way or the other, after all, and visual confirmations aren’t about to do shit to him when he’s already done feeling like crap over that fact.

If anything, he just adjusts the straps on his shoulders and looks away, like he’d look away from any other couple and pointedly ignores the faint remnants of The Dream that pop up in the recesses of his mind for the first time that day, though the phantom sensation shit seems to have disappeared.

He’s going to be a hero. He can’t afford to waste his time on stupid stuff like this.

And so, with all the fake bravado of someone who can’t hear their heart shattering in their chest and every single romantic dream they’ve ever had evaporating into thin air—because none of that is happening, he’s too brave for any of this, shut up—Neito turns his head up to pay attention to what Kamakiri is saying, mostly so he doesn’t lose it, and suddenly, the distance between him and Shinsou, though only roughly a few paces, feels like an entire lifetime’s worth.

Neito can learn to be okay with that. Will have to learn to be okay with that. And this, not melting down into a puddle of depression on the spot right now, is a start. 

Notes:

comments are very inspiring and helpful please leave some ! i will try not to take another 3 months w ch8 lol

Chapter 8: 0.1

Notes:

wow HI

i love u all thank u sm for loving this garbage fire

throughout this fic, theres gonna be abt 3-4 flashback chapters for the Coming Of Age Monoma bit of this fic that tell u abt his childhood and his shitty parents and school life and why and how he is the way that he is so thats gonna be Exciting. theyll be scattered throughout between chapters they fit before and this one like fit before the next chapter (bc some of the incidents in this are mentioned in the next chapter and i didnt want too much dialogue and explanation) so here, have 7 year old babbie monoma who is very sad in ur first flashback chapter which looks like a filler but is p important

content warnings: protect ur son, please, too small,
development of anxiety, bullying, child neglect, overall sadness, but hes adorable tho !

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Changing schools immediately after Neito finishes second grade—and just in time for the new school year, too!—is his mother’s idea of a birthday present, the bright, genius critical thinker that she is. It also seems to be a fool-proof solution, presumably, towards fixing his current school situation that she’s apparently going around calling “unhappiness”—and not even to Neito’s face but to his nannies of all the people—but really falls under the whole “bullying” umbrella.

It doesn’t come from a place of comfort or compassion or parental love, not really, because making healthy decisions concerning Neito and his life in any way, shape or form would imply that she’s actually decided to acknowledge his existence past being a boy that lives with her that she cannot get rid of, if only to keep up images in her social circles.  Even more ridiculously it would mean that she cares about him, and even though Neito is only seven (but not for long!) he’s not stupid enough to believe that. He’s even less ready to believe that she even knows what’s going on at school in the first place and why he’s so unhappy, no matter what the people around him say.

Because really, logically, if she knew or cared, why would it have taken her two whole school years to take action?

And see, Neito doesn’t know much about logic but he’s very smart for his age, his teachers say so and all his bullies agree wholeheartedly so he has to be, and that is why he knows that his mother and his father have known this whole time or at least some of it—have to have because Monomas in general are very smart!— about the scrapes on his knees and the cuts on his arms and the tears in his eyes every time he’s come home from school for the past two years, absolutely and loudly vowing to his nannies that he will never go back to school and endure the same torment again, never, never, ever! It doesn’t matter that he doesn’t see his parents a lot and has only really seen them a handful of times since he even started first grade, but he knows they have to have noticed the signs in those brief interactions, his bruises, his sadness, his constant tantrums and need for many hugs, and so they must have picked up on something being wrong with him.

His teachers sure did because they’re stupid smart and asked Neito lots and lots of questions for some time about it before they just let it be because they kind of agree with the bullies, even if they don’t say it, Neito knows.

And so, like his teachers, his parents must have known but refused to do anything about it because they just don’t care enough. Or maybe it’s because they think his quirk is so stupid and the bullying is good for him like the bullies or that his thoughts running away from him all the time and making him hazy and distracted makes him super-duper dumb so he deserves it—or at least that’s what his English teacher had kind of said. Or something. All of it is very serious and complex for Neito, so he’s not quite sure what the issue is here with his parents taking this sudden step for him.

The point is, though, that Neito had not been expecting this change in the slightest, so when his new head nanny, Sana, brandishes a new official looking tiny outfit in the midst of his howls and his tears—it’s his three days to school start, don’t wanna go, tell mama I will not go tantrum!—he’s so confused that his kicking and screaming halts immediately.

“What’s that?” he sniffs after three seconds of waiting for an explanation, looking at his anxious-looking nanny curiously from his dignified position of flat on the floor and rubs a hand roughly over his nose, consequently getting snot all over his cheeks. He’s not sure why he asks, to be fair, because he knows that that is a school uniform, though not for his elementary, and he’s not stupid but the question leaves him anyway.

“It’s your new uniform, Master Monoma,” Sana says, looking a bit more relaxed and relieved than she had about five minutes ago, which is when she’d been at the edge of teary hysterics. Probably because he’s stopped screaming his head off now, he guesses and tries to feel at least a little bad about scaring her night and night again but finds out that he can’t through all the pent-up misery and frustration in his too-small body. “Your mother had it ordered a week before just for you so you can wear it to your new school.”

Her tone picks up at the end in what sounds like enthusiasm and her eyes twinkle down at him, gauging him for a reaction, but Neito knows she’s faking it to get a reaction out of him. His mother does the same when he’s too quiet at their rare dinners and he’s not sure why adults are so transparent. Still, he can’t pretend that this new piece of information doesn’t intrigue him at all because it does, more so because, at the prospect of going back to school, he’s been sobbing himself hoarse on every piece of furniture the upper wing has to offer in every bratty position known to man, in front of every servant that has contact with his parents for the past four nights, but no one had told him not to embarrass himself earlier.

Really, they could’ve said something if they’d known for a week.

At the realisation that maybe they’ve just been letting him do it so they can laugh at him later, the ever-turning cogs in Neito’s seven-year-old brain come to a halt and he pouts up at Sana with as much sadness and spite he can muster.

“No one told me I’m going to a new school,” he mutters, turning his body away—because he’s mad at her now and also confused, which makes him madder—and rubs at his nose more aggressively than before, wrinkling it when more snot flies out.

“That’s because it’s your mother’s surprise present for your birthday, Master Monoma. She heard from some of the nannies you were…very unhappy with your current situation, so she said she would arrange this to surprise you and asked us not to tell you until the arrangements were done,” Sana says softly, tone cautious and placating like she’s dealing with a time-bomb rather than a small child. Neito watches her move in his peripheral and senses her drop to her knees beside him but pointedly ignores her, pouty as he is at the fool that’s been made of him. The pout returns, deepening when he realises that his mother has been keeping in touch with the staff and not with him and he’s not sure why that makes him feel more irritated than rejected like it always does when his parents do that. Teacher Hinata said little boys like him shouldn’t feel anything but happy when he’d asked about it, that he was too little to be feeling such things.

Neito doesn’t really understand adults. They’re really crappy at answering questions which sucks because he has so many.

All that aside though, he should realistically be happy, shouldn’t he, that he doesn’t have to go back to get pushed around again? That his mother bothered with a “surprise present”—though he really wanted a new toy or something—when she just forgets his birthday every single year, never mind the fact that his birthday isn’t for another month, so she probably did forget again and just took a shot in the dark and guessed, but still! Still, shouldn’t he feel happy? Wanted? Acknowledged? Something?

“Master Monoma?” Sana says softly, putting a hand on his upper-arm when he doesn’t reply to her for a long time, lost in his overactive brain as his thoughts take a different turn completely and he only realises that he’s sniffling into the fabric of his shorts when her voice jolts him back into the present. And really, what can he do at that point, except pathetically sniffle more and stare at the floor between his legs. Thinking of his mother makes him feel very strange, sad things.

“You don’t like your present?” the nanny tries cautiously, rubbing softly at his arm and then his back, like she’s calming a wild animal, and Neito thinks it’s stupid but welcomes the uncharacteristic touch with a petulant hum and a shrug anyway. People don’t usually like making contact with his body unless they absolutely have to—like the very reluctant nannies that dress him for the day—because they’re scared of his quirk, which is dumb because they’re adults and adults aren’t supposed to be scared of kids, but it’s something Neito lives with.

But here, right before bedtime with snot on his face, Sana is touching him like it’s nothing. He figures it’s because she’s only been here about two weeks. They’re always alright in the beginning before they figure out what an awful boy he is.

Neito, embarrassingly and not feeling like the big boy that he knows he is, rubs his cheeks on his knees and hiccups with sobs that hit him with startling abruptness, all traces of childish anger long gone and brain taking another turn. Hikaru at school who picks on him says that one day his brain will go really hot with how much he thinks and explode and Neito doesn’t think he disagrees, even though he doesn’t understand. It’s tiring, the way his thought processes deviate from one topic to the other until he isn’t sure where he started from or why he’s upset anymore.

Why is he upset? Neito can’t remember.

“Okay, here,” Sana says, voice wavering slightly as she hooks her arms under Neito’s armpits and lifts him almost effortlessly off the floor, mostly because he goes without protest and buries his sticky face in her neck as soon as he’s high enough in her grasp. He hasn’t been carried in a few months so he almost slips off but doesn’t. “Why don’t we go get you cleaned up for bedtime and you can tell me how you like your present when you wake up tomorrow?”

Neito knows it’s not really a question because she’s already walking without his approval, leading them out of the laundry area—his location pick for his tantrum today—and towards his bathroom, even though bedtime isn’t for another half an hour.

“I do like my present,” he mumbles, though he knows that’s not what he’d been asked, sniffling and trying to swallow down the stubborn whimpers rising up in his throat. It’s hard though, because his head is already hurting a little, the way it does when he cries with a lot of feeling and he’s starting to feel a little doozy now, so it’s harder to contain his childish noises. His mother says crying is for bad boys because crying makes him loopy and sleepy and makes him snooze at school a lot.

But what can he do? He’s a big boy but he’s not that big.

“Don’t like my school. New school is good,” he manages to add, head lolling off her shoulder as he blinks tears from his eyes and stares at the fancy, golden patterned wall of the hallway as they pass by it.

“Then why are you crying, Master Monoma?” Sana asks, a little incredulously in his ear as the shift of her gait rocks him. He hasn’t been rocked like this, like he’s a baby, even longer than he’d been in someone’s arms. He doesn’t really hate it, as long as Sana doesn’t tell anyone about it.

“I don know,” he murmurs truthfully, yawning into her shoulder as she lets go of his back to turn the handle of the bathroom door with one hand before replacing it in the middle of his shoulder blades. Neito sniffs and swings his dangling feet, letting Sana carry him into the darkened bathroom.

“I see,” she replies, somewhat awkwardly when he doesn’t elaborate and places him, fully clothed and wet-faced into the empty tub, flipping the light switch on after. Neito supposes he could explain further, tell her all about the crushing sadness he feels every time someone mentions his parents to him, all the constant pressure in his tiny chest that just makes tears spring out of his eyes even when he doesn’t want to cry, all the racing thoughts that just never settle down in one place even when he’s in a very important test and has to know the answers, maybe even tell Sana about the fact that he’d asked another nanny three weeks ago to tell his mother to come home so he can see her and she very obviously had heard and thought that this…present would satisfy his request instead.

He can tell her all that, but he doesn’t want Sana to think he’s strange like his teachers do and the old head nanny that was here before her did and he doesn’t really know how to really articulate his feelings in that moment anyway, gloomy as he is, so he keeps his mouth and eyes dutifully shut and lets Sana wipe a wet towel over his face, gently twisting his jaw this way and that to get his cheeks clean.

The harsh fluorescent lights shine bright against his closed eyelids.

 

-

 

The new uniform is a little tight on him when he’s wrestled into it by his dress-nannies at the start of the first day of third grade but fits nonetheless, blue shorts and a white shirt with matching socks and polished black boots that Neito’s never seen before.

“They’re a present from your father,” one of the nannies tells him when he asks, halting his fidgeting roughly by grabbing his wrist as another nanny does his laces and letting go hastily as soon as she can. “Aren’t they lovely?”

“I guess so,” Neito frowns, wiggling his toes inside his new feet prison and wondering how shoes can be “lovely”. They’re shoes, or is he missing something?

He doesn’t wonder for long, however, because the nanny’s first sentence registers in his brain then and he looks up at her excitedly, all thoughts of shoes abandoned. “Daddy got them?”

“Yes, yes, they’re your father’s birthday present to you,” she mutters distractedly, fixing his school hat—navy and soft—onto his neatly side-combed hair.

Neito shifts forwards on his toes and then backwards on his heels and beams at her, trying to connect one thought with the next impending one as he attempts to reach a conclusion. Because surely, if this school change is a birthday gift from his parents and these shoes are also a present, even though they’re not really a toy, then—

“Then…will daddy take me to school today?” it’s a valid question, really. Neito is proud of himself for asking it.

The nanny, though, looks at him a little like she can’t believe he’s a real person, with some emotions thrown in there that he hasn’t learned the words for yet. They don’t look very pleasant, though. Neito’s pride falters, as does the hope in his heart.

“No?” like he’s asked for the moon itself. “Master Monoma, you know he’s not home.”

“Oh,” he mutters, disappointed as the nanny who’d done his laces guides his arms into his upper-cardigan. “Mama, too?”

“Yes, of course. Why would they be at home?” she says a little impatiently, turning around to fetch his school-satchel from the dressing room counter and Neito wonders what he’s said wrong, letting quick fingers do the buttons of his cardigan without protest. He can never quite figure it out, though; his dress-nannies used to be quite nice to him when they’d been new until they’d grown tired of him for some reason. He wishes someone would tell him why so he can fix it. And fast.

Because if he’s made someone agitated this early in the day then how is he possibly going to make any good impressions at his new school? What, if he doesn’t watch himself and his rotten personality, as his father had once said, will be different there than his old school?

Neito thinks long and hard on it as he’s ushered into the garage and deposited into the back of his usual car by the butler, driver already in place and ready to go. He holds his satchel by his side, staring thoughtfully for answers at the scars on his knees and his arms that have accumulated from the two years of getting pushed into the ground at recess. A lot of them have come from the times he’d used his quirk on someone, because people around him, he’s learned, don’t like it when Neito copies from them—only to show off!—because it’s scary and dangerous and incentive enough to knock him to the ground or scream at him and call him awful names no child, in his opinion, should have to hear. He can say with confidence that he had been much littler before they’d been said to him!

Some scars, though rare, are from times his classmates had found out he’d told to a teacher about the bullying and consequently decided to hurt him more, as punishment for opening his mouth.

Neito isn’t quite sure, as the car drives on through the morning din on the highway, how children so small can be so vicious. He’s never even hated anyone in his whole life, not even his bullies, because he’s not sure how to.

Maybe he should start? Adults do say he’s very strange because apparently, he doesn’t have the emotions of a child, but rather someone who’s significantly older than seven. But isn’t anger and hate something grown-ups do and he doesn’t? So, wouldn’t not being that hostile make him a child? It’s all very confusing.

Neito bounces his knees, puffing out his cheeks and staring out the window as he tries to piece together a list-plan in his head so third-grade also doesn’t suck. Using his quirk is an immediate no-no, as is going to the teachers a lot with complaints and questions every two minutes, because the ones at his old school had hated that for some reason. Telling on children is also a legitimate no because they hate that, no matter how much Neito thinks it’s justified. All that, and keeping his distractions and big thoughts in check and to himself, and he thinks he’s going to be okay.

The more he thinks about it though, the more the problem comes down to him and he’s not quite sure what to do with the burden of the realisation that maybe no one likes him because he…well, exists. And that’s only what he’s unpacked for his school life so far. Home life…his mother and father’s attitudes are a whole different thing.

He’s sure he’s not that bad, though. He doesn’t even throw tantrums without reason and gives some of his lunches to the birds in the playground, so how can he be?

And it’s with this conflict of thoughts inside his head, a jumbled-up battle of is it me and is it not me, Neito hops down from the car in front of his new school, feeling a little sick with apprehension that feels too big for his body but also hope for something different. Something good. Anything, really.

And it is at this new school, an elite private elementary school for the children of the upper-class that consists of two very depressing grey buildings and doesn’t look much different from Neito’s first premium hell, that he truly begins to learn intriguing but consequential things about the world and himself.

One of these things, or rather the start of it, comes in the form of a boy that is in his class, a red haired, green eyed force of nature looking human that is too much teeth and twice as many smiles who beams at Neito from his seat when their eyes meet for the first time. Neito figures, a few hours later, that if he hadn’t been so nervous standing in the front of the class, legs shaking and resisting the urge to cower behind his homeroom teacher as she introduced him to his new class, he might have smiled back.

And though he doesn’t know at the time, because how can he possibly really, that is the exact moment, that enthusiastic grin that makes Neito feel like he’s looking into the sun, that pinpoints the start of his life’s first ever important downward spiral, at an age so young, Neito shouldn’t really even know what those words mean together.

 

-

 

Some eight years later, Neito robotically swallows his dinner meal at UA—rice and chicken with some sauce he isn’t familiar with—and while only half listening to Tetsutetsu’s strange, aggressive get-off-the-table-Tetsu-holy-shit speech on new hero laws, he teeters on the edge of his life’s second impending downward spiral, trying, at the same time, to physically wrestle the visual of Shinsou and his girlfriend holding hands from his mind.

Get off the table!

Holy shit, it’s Lunch-Rush, get the fuck off of there!

Neito’s mostly unsuccessful.

Notes:

me, looking at all the subtle parallels in here that will be monoshin in later chapters: hwihwihwi

 

 

comments are appreciated and inspire me and also make me smile pls leave some ! thank u

Chapter 9: 3.1

Notes:

if u dont acknowledge the fact that im updating 6 months later ill pay you

OH GOD WOW i just got wrapped up with the end of a semester then i had a summer semester and the time i had off i didnt do shit and i didnt realise how late it had gotten. anyway if youre still here and waiting thank you sm hdhf ur dedication will go down in history books

content warnings: just...wholesome 1-b frandship. maybe a hint of homophobia

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Neito wakes up to what seems like a whirlwind of activity Friday morning, with a headache pounding behind his skull and so much haze in his brain, he feels like someone’s spent the past 8 hours shoving cotton through his ears while he slept. There’s also the real culprit of this situation, a persistent banging noise coming from somewhere downstairs, probably the common room, which is annoying as it is confusing because when Neito turns on his side to blearily check his phone, it’s only 6:59AM, a solid fifteen minutes before his alarm is due to go off. He can’t possibly imagine who in their right mind would wake up that early and be brave enough to rouse him from his extended depression sleep at ass o’clock in the morning but he can think of several ways he can murder them.

Neito throws his forearm over his eyes, resisting the urge to get too violent in his murder fantasises as the bangs get more calculated, like they’re hitting straight into his skull.

 

He doesn’t expect to catch the criminal in action because the noises stop around two minutes before his alarm goes off—really, you couldn’t pay him to get out of bed fifteen minutes early because of some early riser fucker—which really puts a damper on his murder plans, because by now the person has had ample time to get away and back to their room. But they’re either dumb or stupid or fearless (same thing) because when Neito stumbles into the common room half asleep with his toothbrush, they’re still in there, standing shamelessly on a table in their pyjamas with a hammer by their feet and a kazoo clutched between their teeth, staring contemplatively at a toy white board they’ve physically nailed into the wall above the couch.

Neito blinks, staring up at Tokage who hasn’t noticed him yet from her vantage point on the table and then around the room to Kendou, Rin and Kamakiri who are hanging out in different corners, doing mundane human things and pretending that everything is normal. He briefly considers questioning it but he’s learned that his classmates are insane and eccentric and out of his realm of understanding on various occasions so he just shrugs and heads toward the bathroom, not intending to bring it up again because he doesn’t think the answer would make much sense.

Tokage’s lucky she isn’t one of Neito’s guy friends or he really would have murdered her for waking him up. Don’t put hands on women and all as they say.

 

And it’s true, he really wasn’t going to question Tokage or anyone about what had possessed her to start decorating the dorm at 7AM (against rules to keep the building intact—Vlad-sensei is going to have an aneurysm) but by the time Neito gets out of the shower, the common room has filled up considerably and she’s still where she was but now she has a marker and she’s leaning precariously over the edge of the couch to scribble on her whiteboard. On every other breath, she’s also apparently breathing into her kazoo but not enough because the noise comes out wheezy and dead, like a death omen.

And so, he can’t help but ask, “What the hell is she doing?” to no one in particular.

“Huh?” says Kamakiri, the closest person within earshot who’s caught his question and is currently fiddling with his phone half-dressed and lazy like they don’t have a class soon. He doesn’t even look up. “Who? Tokage-san? Oh, planning.”

Neito looks between them, between Tokage forcing longer sentences onto the whiteboard than could possibly fit and Kamakiri who looks sleep-deprived and tilts his head.

“Planning for…?

“The-,”

“What do you mean, planning for?” Tetsutetsu bellows from Neito’s right where he seemingly appears out of nowhere and throws an arm around Neito’s neck in a chokehold, effectively and successfully scaring the shit and the soul out of his body. “Don’t tell me you forgot, Monoma!”

Neito chokes under his arm.

“You’re killing him,” Kamakiri says mildly, locking his phone and sidestepping the two to head in the direction of the bathrooms without bothering to rescue him from his fate. Tetsutetsu, forever unbothered on the other hand, just carries on with his forearm jammed into Neito’s throat and body positively vibrating with excitement. Or enthusiasm. Or whatever.

“Now, if you forgotten that’ll be really bad, I really wasn’t expecting that from you,” he carries on happily, his other hand coming up to ruffle Neito’s wet hair into some impossibly messy horror but that does cause him to loosen his grip on trying to commit murder on Neito’s poor neck. “Imagine if Kuroiro remembered and you didn’t! Not that I can talk about it, of course!”

“Let go of me,” he hisses, trying to extract himself from his friend’s steel-like—ha ha—grip because he really doesn’t remember, he doesn’t have the mental capacity to remember things at the moment and if it involves Tokage hammering shit into a wall that it can’t be something he can partake in anyway. Or would want to. “You’re gonna take my head off.”

“Right you are,” Tetsutetsu agrees easily, which is scary, but does let go of Neito who takes a leap to his left, wheezing. “Could kill someone with these guns.”

“Love your guns, Tetsu-kun,” Awase says casually, passing behind them with a towel on his head and Tetsutetsu grins wide, flexing dramatically. Neito huffs, taking advantage of the distraction and turning on his heel to go in the direction of the elevator himself because he’s going to be late and he still has to get his tie and shoes and bag from his room. But he gets a full five steps with Tetsutetsu bounding behind him, babbling about something—he’s honestly halfway into that conversation and Neito doesn’t know how he got there—when Tokage finally manages to get a solid noise out of her kazoo and effectively makes everyone jump.

“Fuckers!” she promptly announces, spitting the kazoo out and turning to face the room properly. Neito stops, parts morbid curiosity parts Tetsutetsu grabbing onto his shirt collar to pull him backwards. “The instructions are on here this time around since you guys are degenerates and don’t know how to be organised unless I spoon-feed you! Don’t say I didn’t tell you well in advance!”

Neito shifts his gaze from her jumping precariously off the table to her hammered whiteboard that she’s thrown an unceremonious thumb towards. The amount of writing crammed on it is frankly impressive, so tiny that he has to squint slightly to read it.

 

Lunch. My table. Join me or cry.

(Not you Kendou. Or Shiozaki).

See me for donations. You have to donate. You have no option.

Monies

-Setsu <3

“Huh,” Neito mutters, raising an eyebrow and trying to figure out if he cares enough about whatever ominous implications the message brings. He already knows there’s no chance in hell they’re dragging him to any table meetings so he can join their silly cult or whatever Tokage is asking for real money for; he really does have better things to do at lunch like stay quiet with his depressive thoughts and stare at Shinsou a bunch to get the depression back that he’s somehow lost by sleeping on it. Teenage fun? Never heard of it.

Really, the only thing that even remotely concerns him is the exclusion of Kendou and Shiozaki from the situation but he figures it’s something they don’t want to be involved in anyway. He trusts everyone enough to not be mean to two of their classmates for no good reason, plus the girls always band together so Tokage has no reason to bully-

“Hehe, look at Kendou, she’s cringing!” Tetsutetsu says at a surprisingly normal volume right into his ear as he drapes himself all over his back, the tall fucker, and Neito is jolted out of his racing thoughts, only just then realising how many miles a minute he’d been going to justify Tokage’s exclusion sin. “So cute~.”

“Huh?” he manages, dragging his feet under Tetsutetsu’s weight and wiggling his hips to half-heartedly throw him off so he can go up to his room in one piece. He does crane his head to look around the room though, because Kendou is the only person he gives a real shit about in this house, and she does indeed look some degree of embarrassed in the corner of the room. Her face is red, hidden in her hands and she’s groaning while Rin laughs at her heartily. “Yeah…,”

She doesn’t look particularly upset about the whiteboard. She doesn’t look upset at all, in all honesty and Shiozaki isn’t even in the room so the weird knot in Neito’s stomach loosens. Why was he uneasy in the first place? He can’t remember. Or care. Maybe.

“She’s so endearing,” Tetsutetsu is saying in the dreamiest voice possible by the time Neito manages to trudge to the elevator and smack the call button, in the middle of a weird Kendou appreciation rant. “I’ve never seen someone who gets so embarrassed at attention.”

Neito grunts, no fucking clue what he’s talking about.

“I’ve honestly been waiting for her birthday to see how she’ll react when we throw her a party,” he says excitedly, voice pitching up and Neito grunts again. “I hope she wears something nice. And Shiozaki! Aah, they’ll look so cute. My babies.”

“You’re so weird,” Neito mutters, only half-listening as he drags himself into the elevator as it chimes open. Tetsutetsu smacks the top of his head in retaliation and he hisses at him. “Will you get off me?”

“Nope,” Tetsutetsu replies brightly, hugging him tightly around the torso. “Anyway, what will you donate?”

“Hmm?” Neito rubs his eye and blearily blinks up at the elevator fluorescents, wondering why Tetsutetsu even thinks he’s going to fund any part of their stupidity any day of the week. The only time he’s ever willing to trust the idiots with actual money is on birthdays and holidays, and even then he’s wary, which is why they’re shit out of luck if they think—

“I’m thinking of giving all the pocket money my mom sends me monthly so we can pitch in and get both of them something nice,” Tetsutetsu says contemplatively, putting his chin on Neito’s shoulder right as his internal organs fail with crushing realisation. “I am not repeating we’re-broke-here-have-a-single cookie-happy-birthday gate, I still cringe-,”

“Birthday!” Neito gasps, trying to throw off his hulk of a friend so he can think more clearly through what is now reading as sleep-deprivation and panic. Birthday? Birthday! “Kendou’s birthday! It’s Kendou’s-,”

“On Monday? Yeah, and Shiozaki on Sunday?”

“Shit!” he mutters, mind racing a mile a minute as the elevator comes to a stop at his floor. “Wait, what?”

“Aha! I knew you forgot!” Tetsutetsu exclaims, waggling a finger in Neito’s face which is a bad thing to do when he’s trying to manoeuvre them both onto the landing and also try not to explode from sheer panic because there’s no way in hell he would ever forget his—arguably best—friend’s birthday and have to be reminded by Tetsutetsu of all the annoying fuckers in his class. Just how depressed has he been? So lost in his head that he hasn’t even begun to pay attention to the fact that it’s September and of course, it’s birthday season. For Kendou at that! Does he have time to get her something? Does he have time to jump off a cliff?

Shinsou is a disease.

“You were acting a little too clueless! I thought you were going along with everybody else and pretending like nothing was happening like we decided, but you-,”

“When the hell did we decide that?” Neito snaps, dragging his feet towards his room and hoping Tetsutetsu doesn’t follow him inside. He’s already distressed enough; 1-B always gives joint presents with whatever they can afford with donations but Neito had decided to maybe get her a tiny solo present because she’s so nice to him most of the time when she isn’t beating his ass, and—

“Last night at dinner! You were right there!”

“Shut up,” Neito grunts, finally managing to throw his weight off enough that he can scurry inside his room before Tetsutetsu can latch onto him again. He strains his brain briefly for any sort of memory of said decision but comes up empty. “Of course, I remembered!” He says, like a liar.

“Yeah, sure,” Tetsutetsu scoffs but he doesn’t seem real-life upset about it so Neito glares at him without anger and slams the door shut, locking it before the other boy can barge in. It’s not like he isn’t angry, he is, but at himself because Kendou had been nice to him on his birthday while the others were still deciding whether he was worth their time and he’d written hers down and everything so he could do something good for her. It’s not like Tetsutetsu will open his mouth and tell everybody he forgot—or he actually might, who knows—and it’s not like Kendou would particularly care if he did. She knows he’s had a hard week, everyone does, and Neito is definitely sure he’d remembered during their licensing exam last Sunday. He’d just…forgotten during the course of what he’s now dubbed hell-week and now he’s pissed beyond belief. Pissed enough that he’s ready to donate a kidney to Tokage if it means Kendou (and Shiozaki he mustn’t forget) will get a nice present and a good party.

He’s pissed even further, if possible, when a tiny part of him wonders when Shinsou’s birthday might be in a fleeting moment that he lets his brain wander in the process of doing his tie.

“You,” he hisses at himself in his mirror, looking frazzled beyond belief and eyes blown wide. “I’m going to kill you.”

 

-

 

Neito doesn’t know if he’s going insane or if there really are more people than usual in line for lunch today. It’s not a disorganised mob or anything, though he doesn’t think the degenerates at this school are incapable of that on a given day, but there sure is a crowd and he isn’t sure why. He’s slept well enough the night before, so he doesn’t think it’s any haze in his brain that’s making him hyperaware of everyone that’s in line in front of him or bumping shoulders with him occasionally. Really, other than the headache that’s dulled slightly but is still pressing against the back of his eyes and this weird heavy feeling behind his ribcage that materialised sometime before he got to class, he feels okay. He knows it’s probably guilt he’s feeling about forgetting Kendou’s birthday (and Shiozaki’s, god he’s been an excluding asshole about this) but Tetsutetsu isn’t going to tattle on him—probably—and Kendou would never hold something like this against him so it’s going to fine. He hopes anyway. If it isn’t, he’s not above just claiming his sadness points from the week past to blame his forgetfulness over—which isn’t even a lie—and redeeming them in return for concern and his friends leaving him alone and not clowning him for anything.

Really, it’s fine. He’s remembered now and he’s going to go sit at Tokage’s table and take active part in her birthday planning right after he gets his food, because no matter how much he abhors her impulsiveness, she’s still nice and sisterly and plans good birthdays for everybody. That is, of course, excluding the mess when she blew all the donations on Neito’s birthday, drunk on power and money as she was—he wishes it’d been because she liked him as a friend or something—and they had to give Tsuburaba a cookie for his because they were broke as shit and she wouldn’t accept any more donations.

We die like men, Tokage had said, who told you motherfuckers to both be born in May?

Point is, she’s gotten really good at birthday planning since then and if Neito can’t trust her with his life, he can at least trust her with Kendou’s happiness.

A sentiment he holds on to for all of the five minutes that it takes him to get to the front line, get his food piled and wrestle his way out of the lunch lines because life is a fucking nightmare and a scream from the void of Neito’s soulless body threatens to erupt as soon as his eyes land on the table Tokage is sitting at with five of his classmates after a brief skim of the cafeteria.

So, here’s the thing. Shinsou has two very specific tables he sits at and no, that’s not creepy to know considering the amount of staring Neito has specialised in these past few months, which alone is creepy but whatever. One’s near right at the back where he sits when his friends are with him, or he’s with multiple people and one’s near the entrance, the one Neito had fallen by on Monday, where he sits with that girl. The cursed table, so as to say. For Neito anyway. Anyway, for whatever reason, Shinsou rotates between these tables almost religiously everyday to the point where he has it down to an artform, which isn’t a problem because if Neito started screaming at this mundane thing, he’d really have to get checked into a mental hospital.

No, what he wants to scream at is the fact that Tokage has somehow chosen the table right in front of Shinsou’s entrance table. Granted, Shinsou isn’t there—the cursed table is empty, thank god—but a quick skim of the back table tells Neito that that’s empty, too, which means today is a gamble, Shinsou could show up and sit at any of the tables and if Neito is sitting with his friends, he’d be too close, they’d be too close to each other and he’s not sure how he feels about that with his current state of mind.

He has to do the math, he has to get statistical probabilities of Shinsou’s table choosing schedule to guess where he’s going today because Neito is not landing in close proximity of this boy, fate has beaten him up enough, plus Tetsutetsu is at Tokage’s table and if he’s close to Shinsou, he’ll definitely start a fight or something, oh god, is he going to have a heart attack—

“Oi!” Tetsutetsu calls out from the table, loud and shameless and beaming and waving and Neito jumps a foot into the air as his thoughts come to a screeching halt. Why is he panting again? “Over here!”

“C-Coming,” he mouths back, because like fuck he’s screaming back and embarrassing himself, and wills himself to breathe because he can’t be found dying in plain sight like this. Really, he’s worked himself up over some ridiculous things over the course of his short life but this might actually take the cake. Maybe he does need a mental hospital if the sight of his empty table makes him short circuit.

He’s in way too deep. If Neito cared enough about his well-being, he’d actually be scared.

But he stopped giving a fuck a long time ago (like yesterday), so all he does is take a deep breath and walk towards his friends, heart rattling in his chest like it’s stuttering to a stop. Maybe murdering Shinsou is the answer.

“Monoma~,” Tokage exclaims with a smile when he gets there and motions aggressively to the only vacant chair at the table like he can’t see it. “Another birthday slave here to join us! Take a sit, my boyo!”

“Ugh,” Neito mumbles half-heartedly as he drops down across from her and settles his food down. He can already sense his headache getting worse in the near future, t-minus fifteen seconds.

“I was just giving out the birthday assignments!” she goes on, volume giving Tetsutetsu a run for his general money. Neito shuffles steak into his mouth gingerly and eyes her with what he knows is the most tired expression he’s ever worn. It’s for dramatic effect. Probably.

“You’re all in teams! Find your name please!” she says chirpily, sliding a sheet of paper towards him and Neito nearly chokes on his juice when he sees the amount of glitter pen it has been annihilated with. Very organised though. A first for them. Guess everyone does love Kendou.

 

Groups!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Team A: Decoration

Awase, Komori, Rin, Yanagi, Honenuki

 

Team B: Gift ordering and collection

Pony, Bondo, Shoda, Kodai, Kaibara

 

Team C: Invite making

Tokage (me<3), Kamakiri, Tsuburaba, Shishida

 

Team D: Cake ordering and collection

Kuroiro, Monoma, Fukidashi, Tetsutetsu

 

Neito chews on his lip.

“We’re never going to stick to this,” he manages after looking up and deciding his eyes hurt from all the glitter while also trying to figure out where to start with the monstrosity he’s been presented with. “Also no one in invite making can draw.”

“They’ll stick to it if they don’t want me to knife them,” Tokage says breezily and Neito looks up with a mouthful of food, less to look at her and more to look at Tetsutetsu, Kamakiri, Rin and Honenuki’s terrified faces. Only Komori looks comfortable with the situation and she’s got hair covering half her face so Neito can’t really tell.

How did they cram this many people on a table, anyway? Have they always been there?

“I’m not working with Tetsutetsu on cake,” he tries again and all the boys give him sympathetic looks, like they’ve already tried. “He’s too indecisive and we don’t like the same things.”

“I-,” Tetsutetsu starts.

“It’s Kendou’s birthday, not your private picnic,” Tokage says without missing a beat. Neito looks at his juice with disdain, so distressed by this information that he forgets all about Shinsou. “The cake is decided as her favourite, you don’t have to decide on anything. We’re gonna get it from the café cake shop and everything will be fine.”

 “Café cake shop?” Rin asks bravely, and the table is suddenly muttering anew like this is new information, like they have new hope to challenge Tokage on something. Neito must’ve missed quite a shitshow. “But the cakes aren’t that great. We always get cake from the bakery outside the-,”

“People change,” Tokage says dismissively and everyone deflates again. A pause and then, “Also, Kirishima is doing some community work there after school and he’ll sneak it to us for free.”

“Absolutely not,” Neito says immediately, even though he has no opinion on the café cake shop. Cake is cake. Cake illegally given to them by someone in 1-A is poison.

“That’s a crime, Setsu, don’t be so cheap. We have money,” Rin says in agreement.

“Why do you know Kiri?” Tetsutetu adds curiously after a beat of silence, the king of priorities that he is.

Tokage throws all of them an unimpressed look one by one.

Everyone stares back.

Tokage stares harder.

Is this an intimidation tactic?

“Kiri,” she says eventually with a huff. “Is my bestie.”

“What?” Tetstutetsu wails, absolutely tortured.

“Also!” Tokage snaps over him, loud enough that Neito chokes on his steak. He’s not sure what plane of existence he’s on right now. “We’re broke. Take that free cake or disobey my orders and perish.”

“We have donations!”

“For the presents, god, you’re all so fucking whiny this is why we gave Tsuburaba a fucking oatmeal biscuit-,”

“That was your fault!”

“Shut your fucking mouth, Honenuki or so god help me,” Tokage starts then stops, closing her eyes and rubbing her temples slowly. Neito watches her warily, regretting the second he decided to follow her whiteboard out of his own misplaced guilt. No guilt is worth being here and not at his usual table with Awase and Kendou (and Tetsutetsu but whatever), here in the middle of this weird war.

Are they even arguing?

“We’re going to get free cake from Kirishima,” Tokage says with finality and everyone groans. “And it’s going to be delicious.”

“The sponges are kinda weird here,” Honenuki mutters in a last-ditch effort and Komori breaks her quiet to let out a very unattractive guffaw. Neito feels like he’s going to be murdered indirectly.

The sponges are kinda- that is the gayest thing I’ve ever heard, oh my god, are you kidding me you’re such a maiden-,”

Neito pauses mid mouthful. Honenuki rears back, looking so horrified, it would actually be kind of comical if Neito’s bodily functions didn’t just shut down at the visual, at how personally his body decides to take it.

“I’m not gay what the fuck, why would you say something like that-,”

He feels his chest seize up a bit more, suddenly not wanting to be at the table. It’s not fun anymore.

“The fragility of men,” Tokage wistfully sighs, putting her forearm over Komori’s head who’s descended into a giggle fit. “So,” she adds brightly at all of them, all smiles. “When can I take your money, pussies?”

“I’m not gay though,” Honenuki insists again, in a tone that implies something like they’ve accused him of double homicide and he can’t quite let it go, leaning forward on his palms and everything. Scandalised beyond belief or whatever. “Seriously. Don’t say shit like that to people, man.”

Neito chews at the inside of his cheek in silence.

“We believe you!” Tokage singsongs, like it’s all a big joke. Everyone laughs after so he figures it must be, even harder when Honenuki fake gags.

 

Shinsou walks into the cafeteria near the end of lunch some ten minutes after their table finally settles down and stops trying to killing each other. Neito barely just notices him though, which is a first, because really the only reason he does is because he looks up from his steak to grab his juice at the exact time he saunters in with one of the guys he usually hangs out with. Pure coincidence for once in his life. He’s too busy trying to get his chest to unknot after what Honenuki said.

It’s anti-climactic. Shinsou bypasses their table without a single twitch of acknowledgement and Neito, despite himself, follows him with his eyes to see where he goes. It’s disgusting, it’s unacceptable and creepy and yet he doesn’t look away until Shinsou’s settled down at the table at the back.

Please look at me, a part of him says in full desperation until the rational part of him takes his head and physically turns it back around towards his friends, where he’s supposed to be looking instead of craning his neck like an idiot. A quick glance around the table indicates, much to his relief, that his friends haven’t noticed anything, too wrapped up in their conversations. He can’t afford to look…gay or something. If that’s how they feel about it.

And he’s pretty sure that was a joke, a passing comment to rebut what Komori said because his classmates aren’t horrible people, or so he would like to think, so he’s fairly certain he’s overreacting by a mile. But that doesn’t make him feel any better. He feels kind of filthy, wondering whether Honenuki would gag at him too, look at him with that horrified, disgusted expression if he knew, like his parents did when they—

Neito suddenly feels physically ill.

“Hey Monoma!” Tokage says suddenly and very brightly, forcibly extracting him from the haze his body was ten seconds away from floating under. He blinks at her, dazed. Is he panting? He might be. “Actually…everyone!” she quickly adds when her exclamation directs everyone’s attention to the two of them. Neito doesn’t want to be dramatic but he’s ten seconds away from a panic attack, eased only slightly when everyone looks at Tokage instead. “If you guys want to donate, I’m gonna make a box and put it in the kitchen after school so you better not be stingy! And hurry with your food!” she adds snappily. “You’re never gonna finish it before the bell!”

There’s a slight pause before murmurs of agreement rise up, followed by everyone shrugging their shoulders and going back to their conversations without looking at Neito again. Everyone except Tokage who throws him a brief glance before reaching into her backpack by her feet and Neito’s breathing evens out just the slightest bit when he realises that none of the attention is on him.

He stares at the top of Tokage’s head in surprise, unsure if that was on purpose or not. They’re not really close or anything, never talked even save for Tokage’s periodic birthday planning schemes, so he doesn’t think she can read him enough to know when he’s distressed or anything or wants no one to look at him without physically having to get up and leave. Her timing is just…super impeccable. Yeah, Neito decides, finishing the last of his steak and trying to will his heartrate to go down. Just a very convenient coincidence. The universe throwing him a bone of sorts when he started working himself up before he could get too lost in his—

Tokage slides a small post-it towards him, partially covered by her fingers. Neito stares down at it and then at her.

“Some donation specification just for you, my rich boy!” she says casually, not removing her hand until Neito cautiously replaces her fingers over it with his own. “Mind your fucking business!” she haughtily adds to everyone who’ve turned to look at the two of them. “Maybe if you were rich, you’d get some too!”

“Aw, low fucking blow-,”

“Don’t show them, Monoma!” she instructs before chugging her juice like it’s a shot.

Neito tilts his head at her and then peeks at the paper through his fingers, eyes widening in confusion.

 

Are you okay?

 

He barely has time to register the words, brain blanking out completely like he doesn’t know language before Tokage quietly slides him a pen. Shocked enough as it is, he’s even more surprised at himself for immediately uncapping it.

He feels possessed.

 

Yeah

 

Possessed but not honest, that is. He slides it back. He’d be damned if he opened up to Tokage of all people.

She slides the post-it back towards him after a brief scribble.

“Seriously, what the hell are you guys doing?” Rin asks, curiously like he’s dying to take a peek but Tokage swats at him pretty physically until he’s yelling in protest. It’s a fair question, to be honest, Neito doesn’t know what’s going on either.

Even less when he manages to shield it from Tetsutetsu’s curious eyes and read her response, and honestly, he can pinpoint the exact moment his heart stops beating.

 

What’s the deal w you and that Shinsou boy? Is he bothering you?

 

Neito’s head snaps up, palm slapping over the note hard enough that he slams the table surface. Everyone jumps. Tokage just looks…curious and looks him straight in the eye completely unbothered.

“You-,” he manages to croak, trying to crush the post-it under his hand so no one will see, even though it doesn’t say anything incriminating at all. Or does it? Because what, has she noticed? Has she noticed him staring, does she possibly know the extent of his…fixation, has everyone noticed? Or is this about Awase and Shinsou’s fight and Shinsou “making fun of him” or whatever and Neito is just completely panicking for no reason—

Tokage touches his hand and he jerks it back, shocked.

“I’m guessing you need more specification,” she says with a smile, taking the post-it back and glaring at everyone but Komori who are gaping between her and Neito with shock and curiosity. “Mind your fucking business.”

“Show me what that says,” Honenuki reaches forward and Neito is about to move and push him back out of sheer, blinding panic that he doesn’t even have basis for when Tokage simply slides the note to the edge of the table and amputates her right hand to begin writing on it, left hand protectively hovering over it.

It’s a strange visual. Neito can’t help but stare.

“We’re talking shit about you specifically,” she says dryly, smirking when Honenuki groans and the atmosphere lightens a bit immediately, though everyone still looks curious. “I don’t want to hurt your feelings, big boy.”

“Big heterosexual boy,” Komori adds without missing a single beat and Tetsutetsu barks with laughter. Neito, having gone through ten different emotions in the past fifteen seconds, quite wants to go to bed and never come back out.

“You’re both so mean to me, I can’t believe it.”

“It’s your fragility,” Tokage says, throwing up a peace sign with her left hand as her right drops the note in front of Neito, immediately reaching into her bag again for another one maybe. “That’s why we talk shit about you.”

“Monoma, will you betray a brother like this?” Honenuki moans, leaning dramatically over Rin who pets his head in sympathy, but at least the post-it is mostly forgotten. And it’s not that Neito doesn’t want to reply and feed into their dramatic nonsense, because no matter how upset he is with someone, he still contributes and it’s not like Honenuki took a personal dig at him; he doesn’t even know Neito likes boys. He does, he does want to reply, but with every word that Tokage has written registering in his mind, his heart seizes up a little more.

She’s crammed a…lot on there. Too much than was possible, probably and she’s also used most of the backside of the post-it too but she’s managed and now Neito can’t stop staring at it, parts awed parts suddenly so terrified, he’s seeing darkness around the edge of his vision.

 

You were staring at him. You was making moony eyes. Is he really bothering you cos Awase said he made fun of you so they fought. But is he really? I thought you didn’t look really upset, you were looking at him different. Not bothered. Just really positively. Not positively. Like you wanted to say something to him. You only looked upset after

 

Neito flips it over hurriedly.

 

he didn’t look at you or anything. You’ve looked this upset multiple times these past few days. Months even. Or so I infer. You’re upset because he isn’t looking at you? Am I wrong? You’ve been awfully upset since Monday and that also involved Shinsou. And I care about you so I’m asking what the deal is. I know you won’t tell me.

 

Neito briefly pauses reading as Tokage slides him another post-it—filled front and probably back—before going back to roasting Honenuki and distracting everyone’s attention like nothing is even happening. They must’ve given up on their secret communication because no one comments on the note.

Neito’s throat is suddenly awfully dry.

 

But pls don’t hold something like this in. If Shinsous done something to you, tell someone. We’ll all support u. But that’s only what Awase says. It’s probably not true right? He doesn’t bother you at all.

 

Neito quickly moves on to the second note.

 

Or maybe he does bother you. But not in any way that we can understand. Because you won’t tell us. Maybe you want to talk to him because you’re embarrassed from what Awase did and you want to apologise to him. Maybe it’s because of Monday. Or maybe it’s something even deeper than that.

 

Neito, flipping the note over with a shaking hand, suddenly wants to cry.

 

I don’t claim to be deep or know you inside out so don’t worry. But Monoma we’re all here for you. I’m here for you. Please do not let some boy fuck you up like this for any reason. It isn’t worth it. If you do want to allow him to mess you up then at least don’t do it while suffering in silence. I’m here for you. We all are.

 

It’s a little dramatic, how affected he feels as he reads and rereads the notes, flipping them over and around and trying to see if they’re for real, because they’re simultaneously the scariest and nicest things he’s ever read in his life. No one’s ever said anything like this to him before, not about things that matter.

Not that Shinsou matters. He doesn’t matter that much, not with his girlfriend and stuff. So, he doesn’t. He doesn’t, he shouldn’t.

“He’s memorising them, is he?” Kamakiri remarks dryly right as the first bell goes off, shrill and loud and startling Neito back into the realm of the living, who looks up abruptly with enough comedic timing that it makes everyone else laugh. He can’t even get his mouth to twitch. Faintly, he thinks he’s broken out into cold sweat.

“They’re good fucking specifications,” Tokage snaps as everyone reaches down to get their bags, reminding Neito to robotically get his own. It’s silly to be affected by something like this, he tries to convince himself as he shoulders his bag, the post-its clutched safely in his palms like they’re scripture or something. It’s silly because it’s Tokage and he would rather suffer in silence than be open with her about literally anything, but she also has never said anything this gentle and sweet to anyone else in class to his knowledge and Neito feels—

He, oddly enough, feels kind of pleased.

And that is the feeling he chooses to blame, the fluttering in his stomach when Tokage falls in step with him and he looks down at her immediately, half hoping she’ll say something else and half hoping she won’t so he can stop feeling terrified. Because as nice as it is, he can’t let anybody know. Not about Shinsou, not about anything.

And yet—

“If you wanna talk about the specifications,” she starts slowly, the quietest Neito has ever heard her. “You can talk to me about them. Tonight after dinner. In my room. Alone. If you really want.”

Neito blinks down at her.

“Seriously what are they plotting. Hey!” Tetsutetsu snaps at them, breaking their bubble of secrecy. “What are you plotting?”

“The physics of poisoning somebody,” Tokage says sweetly, kicking a leg out at his and laughing when Tetsutetsu yelps. “It’s for you, my deary.”

“Sadist, god-,”

“No, but really Monoma!” she hurriedly adds before she has to dodge a flying shoe—a shoe!?—and falls out of step with him to run ahead. “Keep it in mind!”

“I-I will,” he replies, absolutely bewildered and knowing full well she can’t hear him anymore. Knowing full well he absolutely won’t be keeping it in mind no matter how much he wants to. He’s scared, he’s terrified, he feels seen and yet—

When Awase jumps at him from behind, laughing boisterously and scaring the shit out of him, Neito oddly doesn’t feel as alone as he thinks he is.

 

-

 

Tokage’s room is nice, though a bit messy and smells like every air freshener known to man mingled together to produce a scent so heady, Neito feels like he’s going to faint on the spot. The least pressing of the factors that make him want to shoot himself for being an idiot and going in there in the first place, but it’s definitely on the list.

He wants to leave. He’s wanted to leave since he impulsively sought Tokage out after he’d robotically shovelled his dinner into his mortal mouth and she’d nodded at him and taken him to her room without him having to say a word. He’s wanted to leave since he realised the implications of being here, of having to talk about his problems, of being honest for once in his life with Tokage of all people, not even Kendou, and really, is he a fucking idiot?

He’s wanted to leave since he realised that he doesn’t know what the fuck possessed him to take her up on her offer in the first place. He’s wanted to leave since he came to terms with the fact that he does not know how to talk to people about vulnerable topics without doing something stupid like crying.

He’s wanted to leave since he realised that if he is to talk honestly, he’ll have to tell her, her, fucking Tokage, that he’s…that he’s g-

“So, sweet thing,” Tokage starts, staring at him from her desk chair where she’s perched with the most god-awful gleeful expression Neito’s ever seen in his life. There’s no gentleness or compassion—maybe a bit. Or a lot—but mostly she just looks like she’s going to eat him up alive. “Go on ahead. I’m listening.”

Neito, backed up into the wall where he’s physically cowering on her bed, vaguely wonders why she looks like the most comically misplaced therapist on the planet.

Notes:

coming up next is: kiribaku and tokage playing the most dedicated matchmaker on the planet

thank you for your kudos and comments <3
please leave some comments they motivate me thank you very much

Chapter 10: 3.2

Notes:

thank u for 500+ kudos! ily
this was hard..for me i cried irl lmao. rip

cw: monoma crying it out and receiving comfort for the first time ever, wlw mlm solidarity

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Neito doesn’t know exactly what’s led him to this point, this…whatever this is. This sitting against the wall next to Tokage’s bed with enough anxiety thrumming through his body to probably kill him. This, with his hands clenched in the fabric of his shitty poor people shorts so they won’t shake as violently as they want to and definitely this, with his eyes looking anywhere but at the girl sitting in front of him, looking so expectant Neito almost feels guilty for some foreign reason.

Because the thing is, he doesn’t talk to people. He’s never been given the opportunity, the liberty to just sit down and talk to somebody about what he’s feeling because no one’s ever noticed what he goes through. Because he’s gotten so good at covering up his mental weakness, so skilled at mopping up the parts that seep out through his façade, that people just see him one way and not any other. Monoma Neito, insufferable asshole, lowkey classist and highkey annoying as fuck.

And he’s okay with that. It’s how he’s survived literally anything past the age of eight; really, how 1-B care about him to the extent that they do is nothing short of a miracle and he’s still confused about it.

Because that’s what this, isn’t it? Tokage had noticed, noticed him sinking into the beginnings of a panic attack and not only pulled him out of it but also offered him a shoulder to lean on. Because, and this is the part that blows Neito’s mind, they’d all noticed how off he’d been the past week—hell, since training-camp if he broadens the strokes—noticed his shutdowns, his little emotional cues that told them to back off and come back to him at separate times, his…well, everything that had been going on with him.

Maybe, he’s just been off his whole life, he doesn’t know.

And okay, so maybe Neito does know what’s led him here, into her room with all his vulnerability on display even if his rational brain hates it. It’s the care. It’s someone actually reaching out a hand, and while everyone cares, no one’s actually trampled his walls and pushed him post-its across lunch tables. No one’s actually called him straight out, and maybe that’s why he’s here instead of sulking in bed and overthinking himself to death.

Neito is desperate for someone to care about him, about his stupid, trivial problems, about Shinsou, even though his pride still won’t admit it. He doesn’t even really need to, anyway—just the realisation that someone is there is enough to send his bones sagging with relief, though the waves of anxiety don’t ebb in the slightest.

He wants concern. All he’s ever wanted is someone to worry about him. And that…is sitting right across from him.

He just doesn’t know to respond to it.

“Uh,” he murmurs slowly, resolutely keeping his eyes locked on his hands and dragging out the syllable until it dies in his throat. He can’t even bring himself to cringe, as forcibly numb as he’s making himself so he doesn’t get up and flee. It makes him feel cold all over.

Tokage doesn’t say a word.

“It’s…,” he starts again, chewing on the inside of his cheek and stops almost instantly when he realises that there are no other words coming to mind at all. What does he even want to say? It? He doesn’t even know what “it” is.

“Take your time, I understand,” Tokage says softly—kindly—like she’s talking to a cornered animal, like she’s a mother soothing a terrified child, no longer sounding dramatically gleeful. She sounds…serious, like she’s dropped the cheery act.

Neito’s brain decides that he instantly hates it. He hates it because he likes it. Hates it because how could she possibly understand?

He fists his shorts tighter, trying to fight against the onslaught of the waves of nearly tangible doubt that wash over him. This is a mistake. It hasn’t even been a full thirty seconds and he already knows this is a mistake. He’s not ready to talk to people. Of course, he isn’t ready to talk to people, no matter how much his heart wants to or tries to convince him that he needs to. Years of himself being his only sole social support isn’t going to...go away just because Tokage slid him a post-it with good things on it. And he knows that. That’s the worst part. Yet, he’s still here.

Like the idiot that he is.

He’s not ready, he knows he’s not ready, will never be ready because he’s Monoma Neito and he was put on this earth to suffer alone and then die alone with all his miserable thoughts.

He knows then that he has to get out, he has to get out, he never should’ve let Tokage’s stupid words linger on his mind, never should’ve wasted his time thinking about it all afternoon, never should’ve listened to his instincts and come here, never should’ve—

“Oh man,” Tokage says—yells—loudly, much louder than before and Neito is so badly startled that he jolts back into reality, panting and a lot sweatier than he remembers being thirty seconds ago. She’s still sitting where she was, on her desk chair but now with her legs propped up, and oh, he can’t remember looking at her but he is now, right into her eyes that are wide. Wide and shining with something he can’t really recognise.

He can’t get a single one of his thoughts together.

“Wow,” she continues, still as loud as before and Neito blinks at her very slowly. He wasn’t quite as exhausted when he came in here as he is now, bones seeming to sink into his body and making him feel just…heavy. “I cannot believe I’m having a slumber party with Monoma Neito of all the bitches in this class. I feel like I’m setting some sort of record here!”

Neito doesn’t have a clue what she’s talking about but he’s suddenly too lethargic to argue so he just stares back, subtly unclenching his hands because they feel gross and sweaty. It doesn’t make them any less sweaty, but surprisingly he feels like he can breathe again.

When had he stopped? Had Tokage noticed?

“Don’t know what to do to entertain my most esteemed guest, to be honest,” Tokage muses, twirling a lock of hair around her finger as she stares into space thoughtfully and then straight at him. “I’m at a bit of a loss. What d’ya usually do at slumber parties, Monoma?”

“Huh?” Neito mumbles back, dry mouth jumping into motion without much prompting simply because the question is absurd as hell. He’s never been to a slumber party before. He’s never had the type of friends. Any friends.

Also, this isn’t a slumber party

The fleeting thought that had escaped somewhere into the void of his racing thoughts, the one about his friends caring about him, touches the edges of his unconscious and sinks again.

Neito suddenly feels himself get very uncomfortable.

“Like, what kind of activities do you like?” Tokage asks, not quite shrieking her words now but her normal volume is loud enough as it is. She purses her lips, as in deep thought. “Do you like board games? Fort building? Painting nails and braiding hair?”

Neito barely represses the urge to heave. He really should leave.

And yet—

“I’ve never been,” he says quietly, eyes still staring into Tokage’s despite his mounting discomfort. He doesn’t even know what he’s so distressed at. He’s just knows his chest hurts and he’s kind of sweaty.

Tokage gasps and he doesn’t flinch like he wants to.

Never been?” she says mock-horrified, holding a hand up to her heart like he’s just confessed to murder. Neito blinks. “I, Tokage Setsuna, am your first slumber party is what you’re telling me, youngin?”

He opens his mouth and then shuts it, unsure if she’s being seriously dramatic or if this is a joke. He can’t tell with people his age at least sixty percent of the time, and with the way he is right now, he feels like being wrong about this will send him headfirst into a spiral.

Hell, he should be in a spiral right now, but he isn’t. For whatever deranged reason.

He’s just…there, on his ass in a girl’s bed and staring said girl in the face as she fans her face and makes strange, disbelieving noises.

“My, my, my,” she exclaims, holding the back of her hand to her forehead. “This simply is too much pressure on my frail little self. I must deliver now, since you’re here on my invitation, young Monoma. I have to blow your fucking mind.”

“Uh,” he manages as way of response, trying to get a handle on the situation that has just gone from A to Z with no midpoints. How did they get here? Where is the linear progression? Wasn’t he just on the cusp of a panic attack?

Neito’s discomfort gives way to baffled confusion, an emotion he doesn’t even get the liberty to linger on because Tokage’s suddenly sprang to her feet and he’s back to feeling small and terrified and unsure like he had when he’d come in in the first place.

Most of his very major anxiety, for whatever miraculous reason, has evaporated for now, just like the afternoon in the cafeteria. Tokage must be some sort of goddess, though he’s not sure what she’s been doing exactly.

But goddess or not, she looks very much like a menace now as she shakes her hair out and talks a mile a minute like she’s hell-bent on it not falling silent. It’s kind of comical.

“Well, I’m not prepared at all for this. I should’ve made some arrangements before I passed you the invite because I’m afraid I’m now going to bore you to death if I don’t come up with something cools within the next sixty seconds-,”

“It’s okay,” Neito manages, strangled and a little hoarse, unsure why this situation has flipped to him comforting her. Is that what this is? Comforting?

“-I don’t have the resources to build a fort with you and I can’t just leave you here to go get more pillows and shit. I mean, you’re my guest,” she pauses, looking around her room until her eyes pause on her bed-side nightstand.

Neito follows her gaze apprehensively.

“Give me a colour,” she says, no demands and he slowly looks back up at her, already shitting his pants a little bit. She looks just a little bit crazed, bright-eyed and open-mouthed as she stares straight into his soul. It’s so unnerving, it takes Neito five seconds or so to realise that she’s asked him something. And even then, he just says,

“Pardon?”

“Give me a colour,” Tokage repeats completely seriously, looking just a touch impatient. Neito blinks, trying to get a handle on the situation that seems to be flying in sixteen different directions at once. “Any colour, Monoma. Your favourite. Your least favourite. Work with me here, man. My slumber parties are a matter of life and death.”

“Oh, um,” Neito mutters, averting his gaze and chewing on his lip as he thinks about what he’s asked, though his cheeks flare up in embarrassment when he realises that he’s actually putting thought into this stupidity. He doesn’t want to do that, because that’s extremely dumb and also because Tokage is staring down at him like a demon from hell in her intimidation. She also looks like she’s vibrating with anticipation and two seconds away from taking off from the surface of the planet itself, so he just shrugs and puts her out of her misery. “Blue.”

Neito doesn’t even like blue that much. Why did he say blue?

Why is any of this happening?

He really should’ve said green.

“Excellent choice!” Tokage exclaims, clapping her hands together and beelining straight to the night-stand, pulling one of its drawers out before Neito can even blink. “I was beginning to think I couldn’t come up with a good enough fun activity that would not only satisfy my delicious self but also yours-,”

“I-,”

“-but I think I’ve got it!” she chirps happily, yanking on the drawer and digging her hand straight in. Neito, whiplashed and wanting more than ever to just up and leave, doesn’t dare crane his neck to look at what’s inside because it’s a girl’s and what if it’s like…underwear or something?

He honestly thought he was here to talk about the post-its. That is not a concern he should be having. At all.

“Honestly, I wasn’t quite sure what to expect when I invited you to come here. I really wasn’t sure if you’d even come, yknow?” she continues unprompted, throwing him a glance as she deposits small bottles onto the bed next to him before going back to the drawer. Neito eyes them warily, not quite sure what they are. “But you did! And I’m so happy!” she dumps more bottles onto the small pile. They’re all different shades of blue, he can tell that much. “And I’m going to make sure you stay so we can have a nice chat about something and an even nicer time. I think that’s all of them,” she adds, a quiet mumble as she throws one pink bottle onto the heap before closing the drawer and suddenly, her full attention is on Neito again.

“Um-,” he offers intelligently in an effort to be kind and responsive towards her obvious good-will efforts to make him feel at ease—not that they’re entirely working. The sentence dies in his throat when Tokage rises from her crouch on the floor and climbs up on the bed next to him instead of going back to her desk like he’d expected her to. The bed isn’t that small but from where he’s sitting, she’s close enough to him that he can feel her knee pressed into his thigh as she kneels next to him and suddenly Neito doesn’t know what to do.

It’s not that weird. He knows it’s not that weird, he’s been on beds with Awase and Tetsutetsu and Kendou and stuff all the time for homework and stuff, but sitting on a girl’s bed that he’s not very familiar with as she peers at him with wide, welcoming eyes and a grin is a little…uncomfortable. Not in a very bad way, just enough that it manifests as a tiny ache under his heart, fluttering and thudding against his ribcage.

He won’t say anything about it anyway. All Neito does is stare back at her and wonders, not for the first time, what the fuck he’s doing and why he’s come here.

Tokage must see something shift in his expression or maybe she’s just a mind reader because the thought hasn’t even fully crossed his mind before her expression softens and mellows out, making her look not as deranged and dramatic as before. Oddly, the knot in Neito’s chest loosens and tightens all at once.

It’s a look of understanding. He has no idea what that could mean, no idea what she’s understood.

She doesn’t help any either, because all she does is stare at him some more for a few seconds before she smiles, bright and wide and reaches for one of the bottles as she holds out her other hand to him.

“Hand,” she says.

Neito, baffled beyond belief and feeling just a little soft-brained from all the events of the night, puts her hand in his without so much as a flinch of hesitation. Whatever is happening—not that he has any clue—is infinitely better than lying in bed and crying about things he has no control over, so he might as well indulge.

He can afford to sometimes. Maybe.

 

-

 

The bottle, as it turns out, is nail-paint. Neito isn’t sure what he’d thought it was, exactly. Poison maybe?

He could use some poison if it means he can escape this bad decision.

“Okay, so I’m gonna do your hands and then we can go from there. Is that good?” Tokage explains like this is normal, as she aggressively shakes one of the bottles with a grin. She’s still holding tight onto Neito’s hand, like she’s scared he’s going to up and bolt and honestly, she isn’t wrong.

It’s not even that he’s all that anxious or on the verge of spiralling anymore—the confusion has taken over mostly so he can’t really think about anything else. So far, Tokage hasn’t brought up any touchy topics or said anything to make him freeze up badly or give him fuel for overthinking, either He doesn’t want to cry and honestly, the prospect of just sitting back and having a nice night with someone who cares and getting his nails painted or whatever doesn’t sound unappealing.

Yet, Neito still wants to run, the environment too alien for him to fully get comfortable no matter how hard he’s trying. He’s not trying very much.

“Okay, keep your fingers spread and far apart, so I don’t get it on your skin,” Tokage chirps, loosening her grip on his hand and he finds himself mindlessly obeying even though his rational side screams, screams that this is weird and Tokage isn’t even really his friend plus how is he going to explain why his nails are fucking electric blue to the rest of the guys tomorrow, what the fuck is he doing—

“Ever painted your nails before?” Tokage says, breaking him out of his distracted reverie as she takes the brush to his nail for the first stroke. It’s kind of cold and it tickles a little. Neito can’t stop staring at how efficiently she does it, how normal she’s making all of this seem.

“Um,” he says after an awkward beat passes between them. Tokage has already finished his right index finger and Neito is kind of mesmerised, kind of uneasy. “No.”

It’s for girls isn’t it, he wants to say but doesn’t.

“Figured,” she says breezily, moving onto his next finger and sighs happily. “I cannot believe I’m your first nail paint sleepover, this is the highest honour and I’m going to brag about this to everybody if you’ll allow me.”

Neito doesn’t know what she means by “first”. She’s the only nail paint sleepover he’s ever going to have in his stupid life if all goes his way, thank you. Yet, for some reason he still says,

“Okay,” and his voice is a little hoarse. “You can…ah, brag about this.”

“Oh, hell yes!” Tokage cheers, doing a little wiggle dance with her body while miraculously keeping her hand steady enough to paint over Neito’s ring finger with even strokes. “Fucking score!”

Neito barely registers what she’s said before she’s pressing on, holding onto his pinky finger tight.

“I’m kind of scared no one will believe me, so promise you’ll let me use your nails as cold hard evidence of us being bros tomorrow,” she chirps, colouring his nail in with what he can only call point-blank efficiency. He’s actually kind of awed at how professional she is. “You will, right?” she adds after he doesn’t reply for a few seconds, too busy staring at his own hand that doesn’t quite look his own anymore. “Let me use this as evidence, I mean?”

“Huh, yeah sure,” Neito mutters absentmindedly, still too engrossed at how bright his nails look and suddenly only half aware of what she’s saying. She’s moved on to his left hand now, fully done with his right but he still has it limply lying on top of her knee and the colours…well, they look nice, especially against her bright pink pyjama bottoms. For some reason, Neito can’t look away.

It’s kind of pathetic, he thinks, though he can’t figure out why that might be so.

“You’re awfully agreeable today,” Tokage says casually, like she’s commenting on the weather and Neito just hums noncommittally, resisting the urge to hold his hand right up to his face so he can stare at his nails. “I feel like I can talk you into anything and you wouldn’t protest.”

“I’m always agreeable,” he finds himself saying back, sounding a little lost even to himself. The rational part of him knows he shouldn’t let his guard down, knows he should at least try to sound unapproachable and a little haughty like he always does, but somehow his brain feels like it’s filled to the brim with cotton fluff. Oddly calm, kind of serene. Dumb fixated on his pretty hand.

Distantly, he’s sure this is a problem but he can’t quite muster up enough of a level of realistic consciousness to address it. There’s still anxiety there somewhere, pressed against his chest and thrumming through his veins but it’s faint enough that it’s not noticeable for now. Tokage, it seems, has a PhD in making him feel calm.

Who would’ve thought?

“You’re not always agreeable! That is a lie,” Tokage exclaims, clutching onto his thumb like one would clutch onto their pearls when offended, and finishes off his thumb with three clean strokes. Neito is mesmerised enough that he doesn’t reply.

“Which means I have somehow tamed you enough that you haven’t murdered me yet. I should count myself lucky and maybe run before you decide to,” she mutters, heaving a dramatic sigh and Neito lifts his gaze up to briefly look at her before going back to staring at both of his hands where they rest on her thigh. She looks playful enough so he knows she isn’t actually mad, plus he doesn’t have enough brain capacity to give a shit so he doesn’t bother with anything else other than a hum.

His nails are really nice. He can’t think past that for whatever reason that he should be a little worried about. While she’s painted her right a bright electric blue, his left is a more mellow pastel shade and he can’t stop staring back and forth, thrown by the novelty of it all.

He feels…okay. He’s not sure if painted nails are supposed to incur that effect generally.

Or maybe that’s Tokage.

Tokage who, after a beat of silence passes between them, simply tells him to “Blow on your nails and they’ll dry faster!” Neito, filled with what he can only call childlike wonder, obeys immediately. Up close, they smell a little weird but it’s nothing he can’t deal with so he diligently holds them up to his lips and blows on every single nail, eyes going a little blurry with his valiant attempt at not looking away from them for even a second. He’s anxious. He’s serene. He wants to leave. He wants to stay. He’s forgotten what he came here for in the first place. Post-its? What post-its?

He feels good.

He doesn’t know why.

 

-

 

Neito blows for what feels like a long time, flexing his fingers this way and that. He’s not sure what amount of time nail paint takes to dry but he doesn’t think it would take as long as he spends on it. Still, he puffs out his cheeks and exhales onto his nails in small bursts of air over and over because he’d rather do that than think about things.

And he does. He does want to think about things, his brain itching to give him something to worry himself sick over. He knows for a fact that his entire system is uncomfortable with how long he’s gone without hyperventilating at least once and is looking for something, anything to latch onto and bring his floaty mood down. He knows all that and yet, he can’t think.

He just can’t. He can’t because his nails are blue and that feels like a strange, pathetic temporary win.

There is of course a fleeting thought at one point, one that says painting your nails is gay and they’ll all hate you and another that says resorting to femininity will not solve your pathetic crush problems which then attempts to veer off into the territory of Shinsou will think you’re fucking creepy for stalking and thinking about him, not to mention gay too. There’s all that.

And then there’s his nails and Tokage’s knee pressed into the side of his thigh like it belongs there, even though she’s busy painting her own nails and hasn’t said anything in a good few minutes. And oddly enough, Neito doesn’t spiral. Doesn’t question her intentions or care for him. He lets his breath quicken for a mere three seconds before his mood stills again.

Just like that, he feels okay.

Pathetic, something sneers inside his head, and Neito decides to worry about it later when he’s alone in his room and his nails are plain again.

 

-

 

His nails have long dried, as have Tokage’s—bright pink, not that Neito stares—the next time she speaks. He’s not sure how long they’ve been sitting in silence side by side up until that point, but it hasn’t felt uncomfortable at all.

Really, he’s just oddly sleepy.

“You wanna come up here and help us make invites tomorrow?” is what she says, tone soft and accommodating and Neito looks up at her from under his lashes. His hands are still firmly on her thigh. He really should move them.

He doesn’t.

“I can’t,” he murmurs and averts his gaze back to his hands, feeling oddly disappointed though he doesn’t know why. “You put me in cake ordering.”

“That’s on Sunday,” she says breezily, moving her hands around and Neito looks up at her again, chewing on his bottom lip. “You can still do that and help us out tomorrow as well if you’d like. Get your mind off…things.”

“Oh,” Neito says, resisting the sudden weird urge to clutch onto her leg. “Okay.”

And then, as an afterthought:

“I can’t draw.”

“Perfect,” Tokage says, throwing him the toothiest of grins. “None of us can.”

Neito, for all its worth, gives her a smile back. He thinks it might be a grimace but he doesn’t get the chance to dwell on it because she isn’t finished talking.

“If you get here by 11, we can sort stuff out and start. If you can drag Tsuburaba’s sorry ass out of bed and bring him with you, I’ll give you extra props!”

“Ah,” he mutters, trying to mentally decide if he’s capable of that or not. He isn’t quite sure. “I’ll…um try.”

“Good boy,” Tokage praises, reaching up and ruffling his hair in different directions and Neito isn’t quite sure why his cheeks flush the way that they do.

Yet, she still isn’t finished talking, seemingly making up for her chasm of silence earlier and so he has no time to unpack anything. She does sound oddly on edge this time though, which forces him to pay extra attention. “Which reminds me! It’s going to be bedtime curfew soon and we both have to brush our teeth and get to bed and I had a ton of fun with you but we didn’t get to do what I’d hoped we would, so I’d like you to allow me to say one last thing before we separate for tonight. Well,” she laughs. “The thing I invited you over so I could say to you, actually.”

Neito blinks. Didn’t get to do what she’d hoped they’d do? She’d had plans inviting him?

More importantly, bedtime curfew? Soon? A cursory peak at Tokage’s alarm clock informs him that it is indeed nearly ten p.m.—ten—and that they’ve been sitting in her room for over an hour pretending to be best friends and Neito hasn’t up and bolted the entire time. Weirdly enough, something in him wants to stay even longer.

Pathetic. Really, actually pathetic.

Neito tilts her head, his system of anguish starting to stir inside of him and realises he hasn’t replied to her when she raises her eyebrows at him. “Well?”

“Huh?” god, wake up, wake up.

His chest is suddenly tight, like it had never loosened. But he’s still calm. Mostly.

“Can I say the thing?”

“Um,” Neito blinks, feeling like he’s waking up from a long sleep. He has no clue what she’s talking about. “Sure.”

Tokage gives him a smile, small and understanding like she knows exactly what’s going on with him when he doesn’t have a single idea himself. It’s unnerving.

And then she starts talking.

“The reason I gave you those post-its was partially because I noticed how…distressed you were. But also, because it was important for me. I needed to…do that for you to be at peace myself. It-,” she takes a deep breath. “When I was in middle school, there was a girl who was in my class for all three years. Her name was Yuki-chan,” she pauses again, twirling her fingers and Neito stares at her. He thinks he’d rather have the comfortable silence back but he feels like this might be important so he keeps his mouth shut and listens. “Yuki-chan was a good person, she was kind to everybody and she was always organising events and doing stuff for clubs and student councils.

“And she was beautiful,” here, Tokage seems to genuinely brighten up, taking his hands in hers and bouncing them excitedly. Neito just looks at her, wide-eyed and unsure as to where this is going. He feels like he might have missed any context as to what is prompting her to say all of this, as fuzzy and content as he was, and now he’s sorely confused. “Beautiful, she had long brown hair, like down to her knees and the biggest green eyes. Plus, her quirk! Her quirk was so good, she could produce clean water from her fingers! Enough to maybe fill a glass at a time! Cool right?”

“Right,” Neito stammers back, clutching onto her hands. Awareness has brought discomfort with it and while he isn’t about to spiral, he still suddenly feels like he should close off. He doesn’t want to. Does he have a choice?

“Yeah, she was filling people’s water bottles and stuff around school. Really genuine person!”

Her smile is infectious and slowly, Neito realises he’s also started unsurely smiling for some reason.

“She sounds nice,” he politely adds.

“She was! She was so nice that every boy in the school wanted to get with her. Constantly getting confessions, real shoujo manga kind of shit with her especially on special days. True goddess energy.”

Here, she pauses and Neito might imagine it but she grips his hands a little tighter.

“Lots of people wanted to get with her,” she says, staring right into his eyes with sudden seriousness and Neito stares back, trying to be as immersed and supportive as he can. Though despite everything, nothing can prepare him for what comes out of Tokage’s mouth next, as casually as the rest of her sentences with just a hint of a strain to her voice. “Lots of them, including me.”

Neito exhales right as she finishes and the breath gets stuck in his throat on the way up. Suddenly, his chest is abrupt extreme pain and nothing else. He would double over if he didn’t feel so rooted to the spot, just…gawking at her.

“I watched her a lot, across class and at lunch and every time she addressed me for anything or even looked in my direction, I would swoon. You understand what I’m saying, don’t you?”

Neito genuinely feels like he’s about to heave because he does. He does understand what this is and where this is going and he hates it. Yet he can’t look away from her and her big, determined and stupidly earnest eyes.

A part of him wants to tell her to stop talking, to give him time to adjust to this huge bomb that Tokage has decided to unload on him after a period of nothing but light-hearted silence. Somewhere in his brain, he is angry that he no longer feels calm. In another area, deep somewhere, there is relief pouring into his veins and he has no idea why.

And yet, she’s still talking even though he hasn’t replied.

“I would day-dream about her, make up scenarios where she was with me and we were happy. Stupid, teenage shit. For three whole years. Three years, Monoma do you understand?”

Neito understands and doesn’t at the same time and the feeling makes him sick to his stomach.

“Three years of constant pining to the point where I felt like if I didn’t get her to love me, I was a failure. I would constantly look at her, trying to will her into looking back at me and when she wouldn’t, I feel like my soul was completely crushed. It-” Tokage takes a deep breath and her hands in Neito’s tremble. He has zero idea what to do; he can barely keep his own racing heart in check under the weight of this confession. “It wasn’t nice. Not at all. I started to see meanings in her niceness where there weren’t any, started to look for her attention when she didn’t even fully know my name. I didn’t know the next thing about her either, aside from basic stuff, mind you but…,”

Tokage’s voice trembles and sways Neito’s soul with it, his entire being cold like he’s been doused in icy cold water. He has no time to process anything, no time to breathe, he needs her to stop so he can—

“But I was…well I don’t know if I did but I was convinced that I truly loved her. Maybe I did, maybe I didn’t but it-,” she exhales lightly and Neito grips her hands so hard, his knuckles turn white. “It felt real. In the end I couldn’t even…say more than two words to her at graduation much less confess my feelings. I was terrified and she…didn’t like girls ah…,”

“I’m sorry,” Neito blurts out, eyes suddenly blurring over with hot tears as realisation sets in, of exactly what she’s been noticing about him, of why sending those post-its over were important to her, of why she’s called him over and he’s not even sure what he’s apologising for.

And suddenly, without his consent, the dam he’s constructed so carefully around his feelings for the past some months breaks in an instant. The sheer realisation that he’s not the only one who feels like he does towards another person in this world is enough to send his defences crumbling.

“Oh, don’t be silly!” Tokage says immediately, quite literally pouncing on him and landing in his lap until Neito is enveloped in an all-around hug. He’s so overwhelmed he can hardly breathe, their hands clasped between them. “I’m completely over it! It was stupid and if it was gonna happen, it would’ve! That’s not even the point of this! Oh my god, don’t cry!”

Neito doesn’t even realise when his tears have escaped his eyes, what with how loudly his ears are ringing until she says that right into his ear. He’s pathetically crying into her neck by then, he suddenly becomes aware and it’s embarrassing and he wants to run away but she’s on him and they’re holding hands so he can’t.

Every one of his senses is emotional agony.

“If you cry, I’ll cry you dummy!” Tokage says, already sobbing loudly as she sags against him and hooks her chin over his shoulder like she’s getting comfortable for this. Now they’re both ugly crying.

Neito feels like he’s in a void, but every tear feels like something is being lifted away from him so he doesn’t forcibly push her away.

“The p-point was! I looked at Yuki-chan so much with so much dumb longing that,” she pauses to heave sobs and Neito joins right in like they’re competing. “That…t-that I recognised your expression immediately today and I was like, aw shit…,”

“No,” he rasps the first thing that comes to him, head spinning and nose firmly pressed against her neck. He’s not sure if it’s because he’s so genuinely upset or if it’s because he’s never been this close to another girl before but it’s something. And it’s making his body feels completely off-tilt.

He just wants to stop crying. How did they get here? They were fine.

“It’s okay! It’s okay if you like him! Even if it’s without reason! Really,” Tokage is wailing into his ear and Neito wails right back, chest tight and loose all at once. “No one will judge you! If Awase says something, I’ll b-beat his ass to kingdom come! Just don’t…,”

Neito sobs and she clutches his hands so tight between them, he feels like she’s cut off circulation.

“Don’t go through it alone! Please, please! You’ll d-destroy yourself when there isn’t any need! Really, really I regret not telling anyone…,”

“I’m scared,” he wails, the words ripped from him so loudly he even surprises himself and Tokage flinches against him. But he’s heaving and shaking and crying so loud at this point, he doesn’t even know where he is and has no way of filtering out his thoughts at all. “I’m scared, I’m scared, he’s a boy and m-my….my p…,” parents he wants to say, wants to wail and scream as terror suddenly washes over him. Terror he’s tried hard to keep at bay by simply not thinking about what his parents would do to him if they knew what he’s thinking.

Neito’s breath freezes completely on the way up, memories of a time long past resurfacing at the worst possible moment, of the first time his parents had…had known, of when—

“It’s okay to be scared,” Tokage screams into his ear right at that second and the mental illusion shatters, hard enough that all the breath is whooshed out of his throat in one go. It’s painful, it’s messy and he’s crying so loud, he thinks someone actually might hear.

Someone might hear, someone might hear, someone might—

“It’s okay, it’s s-scary to like the same gender, it’s real scary to not be-,” Tokage is sniffling so hard, Neito might be concerned if he didn’t feel completely unhinged all of a sudden. “T-To be gay…or whatever, really scary, but that’s why you have people! You have people to get you through it and I wish someone had been there and told me it was okay when I loved Yuki-chan!”

Neito can’t breathe.

“Please, if you like Shinsou,” oh god, he thinks and a whimper loudly escapes him, she knows for sure. “If you like him like I liked Yuki-chan, then please know that even if he never likes you back, it’s not on you! Y-You’re perfectly fine and beautiful and it’s his loss that he’s annoying and stinky a-and doesn’t know a good boy when he sees one! Really!”

“No,” Neito wails, freeing his hands so he can hug her around the middle and cling like he’s a child. There’s a part of him, a distant part of him that’s screaming, horrified at his pathetic show of vulnerability, but he doesn’t care. He can’t care because he’s so overwhelmed, he feels like he might pass out.

“It’s true!” Tokage says, and he’s already forgotten what she was talking about, as loud as he’s crying. How did everything derail this way? “If y-you want to seek his attention and you want t-to know him and t-talk to him, then do it! Don’t regret not making more of a move like I d-did with Yuki-chan! All I’m asking is that you accept s-support and not do it alone! Okay? Okay Monoma?”

She squeezes him into a hug, crying harder and suddenly, much like his emotional dam had burst, Neito’s verbal dam bursts too.

“I like him,” he sobs, words flowing out of his mouth and leaving behind light relief and crippling anxiety all at once. “I like him! I like him! I like him, I like h-him so much! I like him, so, so much s-so much!”

Faintly, through the chaos that the situation has become, Neito realises he’s never said it out loud.

The catharsis is…outstanding.

“I like him! S-So much!” he says again, and hotter tears drip down his cheeks and ruin Tokage’s shirt.

“Yes!” she says back, and they’re both too loud and everyone is probably hearing this and him and Tokage aren’t even really friends and this is stupid and weird and Neito can’t even care. “Yes, you do! And that’s okay!”

“Just w-want,” he wheezes, hugging her so tight he feels like he might crush her. “Just want him to…t-to look at me and…he might have a g-girlfriend and…and I d-don’t-,”

He trails off, chest blazing pain and breaths not coming out as evenly as he wants them to.

“Honey,” Tokage coos, or attempts to coo through her own crying. Neito shakes against her and can’t even will himself to calm down. It’s like years and years of repression have opened up inside of him and he has no idea what to do.  No idea how to deal. He thinks he’s going to die. He thinks he’s going to go insane. “Honey, even if he has a girlfriend, t-there’s plenty of other guys! It’s okay! You’re so pretty, you can get anyone you want! Really! Fuck Shinsou if he doesn’t know what’s good for him!”

“But I want him,” Neito downright screeches, howling with tears so hard he faintly gets the sense that he should be embarrassed but it’s gone in the next moment. “I want h-him! Only him! D-Don’t want anyone else, him, want…,” he’s having a lot of difficulty swallowing and his head is pounding something fierce and yet, he still can’t stop crying. “Want him. W-Want to see h-him all the time, w-want him there always, want-,”

“Okay, okay,” Tokage says softly, sniffling into his ear and rubbing a hand up his back over and over until he feels his trapped breaths come up and out his mouth in spurts. He’s exhausted, he’s upset, he’s stupid, he’s pathetic, he’s—

“If you like him, then you can like him,” she whispers, putting a hand on the back of his head and rubbing in circles, softly enough that Neito’s crying pauses simply from the alien feeling. “No one is saying you can’t. You can want him all you like. Okay? Want him, it’s okay.”

“I do,” he whispers, shaking with another wave of sobs that subsides fairly quickly. Neito can’t feel himself coming down from his hyperventilation but he does feel like he can breathe a tiny bit easier. Maybe it’s the hair-petting.

“Okay, that’s okay. Just don’t keep your feelings to yourself, okay? You have me if you want to talk about h-him. Yeah? Don’t cry, there you go.”

Tokage’s still hiccupping a little, though not sobbing as aggressively as before yet she’s still soothing him like he’s a child. Neito feels like he should be guilty, feels like he should say something to make her feel better after she’s said so much and he does try, he wracks his brains so hard it hurts, yet the only thing that comes out of him is a tiny, whimpered and weak:

“You like girls.”

Tokage pauses in her hair petting for a split second before she resumes, softly breathing in his ear in a way that is more comforting than gross.

“I do,” she murmurs, scratching the back of his head lightly with her nails in a weird way that makes Neito’s eyelids droop even through the aftershocks of his tears. “And you like boys.”

She says it as a fact, not a question. A statement like she’s telling the weather. Completely objective.

Neito quivers in her arms.

“We’re okay, aren’t we? We’re okay. We’re fine,” she mutters, cooing and humming into his ear like he’s a scared child. He is. “We’re okay. We didn’t do anything wrong at all.”

Neito doubts that a little. Not on her part, of course, just on his own and the feeling sickens him a little for reasons unknown.

“Nothing wrong with having a crush. Nothing wrong with wanting somebody to notice you at all, there you are, you’re completely fine.”

 

Is this how you’ll fucking embarrass me? Are you not embarrassing enough? Are you bent on making my life a living hell? Are you Neito? Fucking answer me!

 

Neito flinches slightly as a memory long repressed attempts to come to the surface, malicious words spat at him by his mother so many years ago but Tokage instantly hums into his ear, rubbing his hair so gently, he doesn’t even remember to be so bothered about it.

“You’re okay, yes? You have a crush on Shinsou and that’s okay. There’s nothing wrong with that. Nothing at all. You’re fine. Absolutely fine,” she’s babbling into his ear in a gentle voice, a tone he didn’t even think she was capable of producing and Neito can’t help calming down, though only slightly. “I’m right here for you, don’t hesitate for anything.”

Neito exhales, long and hard against her shoulder and feels burdened by the weight of the world and relieved two-fold of things unknown all at once. It’s a strange feeling.

You’re going to regret all of this in the morning, a voice sounding awfully like defeated-rational-Neito’s sounds in the back of his head and he hums, as if in response. Tokage continues to talk into his ear, praises and reassurances and his bones feel weak with something he can’t name. You’re going to regret all of it.

He knows that, so he’s not overly bothered by it. He knows he’s going to panic first thing in the morning at how open and pathetic he’s been in the past few…he doesn’t even know how long. He knows he’s never going to be able to look Tokage in the eye for as long as he’ll live his shitty life, knows he’s going to regret getting comfortable in this hug and all this petting, knows he’ll never allow himself to be so weak again.

This is a one-time thing. Really. Probably.

And yet, for all his stupid bravery that he doesn’t possess right now, Neito still lets the comfort wash over him, lets Tokage talk random stuff into his ear as he comes down from his agitated high and learns how to breathe properly again. Lets himself utter the forbidden words that feel surreal leaving his mouth, even though he’s said them so many times.

“I-,” he breathes. “I like him.”

He feels Tokage smile against his ear.

“Yes, you do! And that’s okay!”

Notes:

phew. jfc lmao that was hard.

kudos n comments are always welcome <3 they inspire me to keep going! thank you!

Chapter 11: 3.3

Notes:

whew this was an imp chapter for monoma n the storyline. went overboard w tokage n monoma bc i love them and their wlw/mlm solidarity and im just. very proud of this one.

thank you for 600 kudos i love you all and your comments are so nice :( ily

cw: implied homophobia, nightmares, child abuse, 1-b being adorable, monoma being happy ish

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Neito does not recall falling asleep after sobbing his emotions out in Tokage’s arms. He does his best to wrack his brains, trying to figure out what he’d done after he’d finally gotten over his embarrassing, frankly shameless breakdown but finds himself coming up completely empty. All he knows is that one second he was hiccupping into her neck and the next he is here, looking at a younger, much tinier version of himself in the middle of his mother’s study with every single limb trembling.

Neito blinks and finds that the action is almost exaggeratedly slowed down. His head feels stuffed to the brim with cotton wool and his hands and feet feel heavy beyond belief. Though he doesn’t try to, he knows without doubt that in that moment, he won’t be able to move a single muscle. He won’t be able to tear his gaze away. He knows that. He doesn’t know how he knows that.

Realistically, his brain is conscious and aware enough to know that this is probably a dream. The image in front of him is a little too bright and blurry around the edges, like he’s looking at it through a filter or maybe through glass that’s a little dirty. He can see himself, no more than eight or nine, cowering in his uniform and trying to make his body as small as possible. In front of his younger self is his mother, sitting at her desk with her legs crossed and looking down at him with a glare so hateful, it’s hard to believe it’s being aimed at a child. Her own, no less.

It’s like watching a movie. Neito swallows uneasily.

“I can’t believe it,” she spits, her voice low like she’s telling a secret but tone so vicious, so angry that Neito flinches exactly at the same time as his younger counterpart across the invisible glass that separates them. Though his thought process is comically slowed down in a way one can achieve only in dreams, he’s starting to realise just exactly what he’s looking at as the haze in his head begins to clear slightly. Suddenly, as realisation dawns on him in bits and pieces, Neito wants to run. His body doesn’t move an inch.

The scene plays on with no regard for how his heart has suddenly started pounding in his chest, hard enough that it kicks up a physical ache.

“Your school called me. Did you know that? They called me. They called me and made me come down all this way. They made me drive five hours. Do you know why?”

His mother is still speaking as low as before, still as furious and Neito helplessly watches as his younger self bursts into tears, loud ugly sobs that suddenly crash through the eerie silence.

Neito tries to close his eyes, look away, bolt, something but even the sheer terror of now knowing what’s coming next does not do anything to facilitate him. He stays frozen where he is, staring unblinkingly through the looking glass with dread filling his chest and clogging his throat.

This isn’t a dream at all.

This is a memory.

His younger self is still crying, hiccupping and heaving and his mother continues to look down at him like he’s filth of the lowest standing though her face is blurry like it’s not quite there. With a jolt, Neito realises that during all of this while it happened, he never quite looked her straight in the eye, never quite knew—still doesn’t—exactly what face she made at him that day.

The product of his brain’s conjured imagination, this angry, condescending glare, doesn’t seem too far off from what was probably the truth.

Neito’s chest constricts. He feels like he’s going to have a heart attack.

“Do you know why?” she hisses venomously, though her voice is louder now so it’ll presumably carry over those ugly earth-shattering sobs. She looks nonchalant, casually sitting back in her chair like there isn’t a child sobbing at her feet. A nine-year old child too small for his age with adults angry at him for a problem too big for him to understand.

He was only nine. Neito remembers. He remembers all of it.

Distantly, he wonders if he might throw up when he wakes up. Even more distantly and a little irrationally, he wonders if he’s ever going to wake up.

Is this his hell? How did he get here?

“Mama,” the child cries, collapsed onto his knees with how hard he’s sobbing and Neito wants to close his eyes. If he can’t run, he wants to at least close his eyes but he’s not even allowed that much, his eyes suddenly refusing to blink.

“Ma-,”

“Who’s your fucking mama?” his mother scoffs and Neito feels bile rise up his throat. “If you really saw me as your mama, you wouldn’t do things that would make me drive five fucking hours just to clean up after you, you absolute fucking idiot.”

“’M sorry,” Neito sees himself whisper, vulnerable and terrified and coughing through the force of his own sobs. “I didn’t do anything. I-,”

“Didn’t I tell you to not fucking copy other people’s quirks without asking them first? Didn’t I tell you that?” his mother’s getting increasingly angry now, voice rising and composure shattering with every syllable. Neito knows this is a dream, he knows this is nothing more than the floating remnant of a repressed memory his mind has dug up to torture him tonight for whatever reason. He knows he’s been through this before and he’s safe now, probably in Tokage’s bed and dead to the world. He knows. He knows.

He knows but—

“Didn’t I fucking tell you that!? How many fucking times do I have to tell you things before you’ll listen to me!? Aren’t I your mama!?”

Neito wants to cover his ears and heave and sob like he did back then. If his body was able to move, he thinks he might have.

Instead, he’s forced to watch with a straight face, forced to relive how he scrambled for excuses back then, stuttering and gasping with tears and snot on his face. His brain has tormented him for years now, endlessly and ruthlessly, but he thinks this might be the most creative episode yet.

His throat hurts with how hard he wants to scream but can’t.

It wasn’t his fault back then, with the whole copying without permission thing. He still remembers what had happened vividly because how can he forget the event that changed his life completely for the absolute worst, and to this day maintains his innocence to at least some capacity.

“It was an accident, and I-,”

“How do you accidentally copy someone’s quirk and hurt them with it!?” his mother shrieks, downright howls at him, reaching down to cup a fistful of his hair and shaking his tiny, skinny body with nothing but her grasp. “What the fuck do you mean accidentally!? You can’t even come up with a good enough excuse!? Can’t survive without causing drama!? You didn’t cause shit for a year, bet you were itching to do something to get the spotlight, no? If you don’t have attention, you’ll fucking die!? Is that what it is!? Huh!?”

It had been a bully. A bully that had come at Neito with a hand swinging like he was going to attack and in sheer, blind panic, he’d reached out and grabbed onto the skin of the arm that wasn’t coming down to hit him. In another split instinctive moment of bad decision and pure survival mode, Neito had copied his quirk, completely uncaring of what it was.

And in the next second, as the bully’s palm smacked onto his cheek, Neito had sent the borrowed quirk blasting through his fingertips.

How in the hell was he meant to know that his bully’s quirk consisted of tiny fingertip fireballs that did minimal damage from a distance but up close, with Neito’s hand clutched firmly onto bare skin, would leave a considerably large burn?

“Every single time I see you, you make me regret ever giving birth to you!”

Neito trembles, hot tears escaping his open eyes as he tries to look away, to get away, anything, please, he doesn’t want to see the worst of this, he doesn’t, he doesn’t, he doesn’t-

“Monoma,” someone says into his ear right then, a frantic sounding whisper that’s all but hissed into his consciousness but it’s quickly drowned out by his mother. His mother who’s continuing to scream things at him, bad and awful things that no child should have to hear and Neito shakes and shakes and wishes he could move, to go ahead and warn his younger self, to cover his mouth so he doesn’t say what Neito remembers saying next, to—

“Monoma? Monoma, hey,” the voice says again, more urgently than before and Neito feels his breath speed up. He feels like he should care about the voice, it does sound familiar after all, but he can’t look away, can’t even process whose it is, if they’re male or female. All he knows is that he can’t look away, he wants to look away, he wants to look away, he wants to look away, please, please, please

“Really, I really ought to-,”

“It wasn’t my fault!” his younger self shrieks through his loud tears, cutting off his mother’s venomous words and rubbing furiously at his eyes as he curls up on the floor like he’s trying to make himself smaller. Neito remembers how he’d felt then even if he doesn’t think about this memory too much, how terrified and wronged and indignant, frustration and defiance building up in his tiny body as he’d toppled over the edge of a temper tantrum. Even now, as he shakes and looks on, he can feel the distant phantom of those emotions spreading across his chest. Hard defiance. Terror. Frustration. Pain, pain, pain, why won’t anyone understand!?

It still feels brand-new. Neito thinks he’s choking on his own spit, even though his throat is drier than it’s ever been.

He knows what’s coming. He wants to run. Run, run, run, he knows and he doesn’t want to hear it, not again, not—

He knows and yet he still gasps audibly when the words leave his younger self’s mouth, because of course the memory doesn’t stop just because he wants it to. When has his brain ever listened to him?

“Monoma! Hey! You’re okay! Monoma!” the voice says, sounding a little panicked at the same time as he watches himself say, garbled and angry through his howling sobs, “If Shugo-kun hadn’t said mean things ‘n tried to slap me ‘cos Takeru-kun kissed my cheek, then I wouldn’t hav’ copied his quirk!”

Neito takes a deep gasping breath he didn’t realise he’d been holding that goes straight down his throat and gets painfully stuck in his lungs, making his chest hurt so badly his heart throbs with it.

It’s over. He’s said the thing. It’s over. Over, over, over, over.

“It’s not like I meant to!” he’s still rambling, angrily scrubbing at his face and kicking his feet as he cries and Neito can feel himself short-circuiting. “Just ‘cos Shugo-kun is a meanie who doesn’t think two boys can kiss, it doesn’t make it my fault!”

“Monoma! Oh baby, no, hey,” the voice, the stupid voice in his ear, has resorted to murmuring now though it doesn’t sound any less panicked. Two sensations hit him then, one on his cheek and another right in the middle of his scalp and only then does Neito realise how hard he’s crying, how badly he’s shaking and how awfully sweaty he is. They’re hands, he realises, phantom gentle touches that are most likely trying to calm him down. The stark contrast between them and the way the scene in front of him has gone deadly quiet, like the weight of his younger self’s words are taking time to process in his mother’s mind, only makes Neito sob harder.

He knows what happened next, knows the absolute storm that had descended upon him after his mother had understood the implications of just what he’d said. He knows, and he doesn’t want to see it again, doesn’t want to feel it, he doesn’t, he doesn’t—

“Shh, wake up, it’s okay, it’s just a dream,” the voice whispers softly, barely audible as a hand—a thumb?—swipes the tears away from his cheeks. The fingers of the other hand are in his hair, stroking it, and Neito can’t stop crying.

 

“Shin-,” he chokes on a whimper, chest constricting and it hurts, it hurts, everything hurts and he just wants Shinsou which sends a new wave of pathetic distress down his body and he can’t do any of this, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t do this, make it stop, make it stop. He doesn’t want to look, he wants to look away, please, please, don’t make him look, please don’t, please don’t make me look, please don’t make me—

“Shh, no one’s making you look,” the voice says into his ear, gentle and quiet and no longer so panicked, the fingers stroking his scalp soothingly and Neito, shaking as he is, realises that he’s rambling nonsense under his breath through his tears. He’s not sure what happens next, what with the amount of emotional stress his brain is under, but one second, he’s standing up being forced to look at…god please no, not that please no—and the next, he has his face buried in someone’s chest as he cries and cries and cries.

He’s not sure what pulls him out of the dream without his surroundings slowly and dramatically dissolving like they usually do but he guesses it might’ve been the blind terror. Or it might’ve been the voice or the gentle touches. Really, could’ve been anything with how his shitty brain works. Neito can’t really focus on the reason anyway, there’s no need to, not when he can barely breathe and his clothes and hair are clinging to him with sweat and he’s clinging to somebody else like they’re his lifeline, fistfuls of their clothes in his hands.

It’s disgusting. He’s disgusting. He’s at least thankful that he isn’t talking out loud now at least; thankful that he’s undeniably awake now. He’s on his side, he can tell that much, and he’s on a bed in the arms of a very, very soft person. He can tell and yet the panic won’t leave him, his body too convinced that his mother’s going to come at him any second to punish him to let any relief pour into his veins. Not yet.

Neito wants to throw up.

“It’s alright, it’s alright you’re alright, you’re safe now,” the soft person—he can tell it’s definitely a girl—is whispering over and over, rubbing circles into his back and stroking his hair like he’s made of glass. Like he’ll shatter if she touches him too hard and the prospect of that just makes Neito sob harder into her chest.

As his senses clear just the slightest bit, his ears pick up the sounds of birds chirping outside and the smell of a thousand and one air fresheners mixed together assaults his nasal cavity.

Tokage’s room. Not his mother’s study. He’s at Heights Alliance.

Of course he is.

“You’re fine now, shh, it’s okay I’m here with you,” Tokage murmurs, her voice more recognisable the more Neito begins to register where he is, as she nuzzles what feels like her entire cheek into his gross, sweaty hair. Neito takes a deep shuddering breath that hurts his lungs. As ashamed as he begins to feel about this at the back of his mind the more he wakes up—because he is and he knows it’ll hit him full force when he’s feeling even more awake—he can’t lie and say that the softness and gentleness isn’t making him feel more and more grounded by the second. He wants to deny the comfort, he wants to stop crying and bottle everything up and escape and never look at Tokage again but…but…

“There you go, breathe like that! Match your breaths with mine, good boy,” she says encouragingly, like she’s his parent or something and stupidly, Neito finds that he’s unconsciously been doing exactly that. The realisation only makes his lungs stall for a little bit before they start up again and he finds that he can breathe a little easier with every passing second, though he hasn’t stopped crying entirely. He’s getting there though and that’s a small comfort in and of itself. Neito doesn’t want to keep up this sobbing pity party for longer than he has to, no matter how hard everything feels right now.

Sometimes, and this is not the time to wonder this, but only sometimes, Neito wonders whether upholding his gigantic mountain of pride might kill him someday. He hopes it does.

 

-

 

It takes him longer to calm down than he would like to admit but Tokage doesn’t let him go, even after his breathing is normal and he’s stopped sobbing like he’s dying. It’s kind of awkward and extremely embarrassing, considering he’s got his nose buried in her chest but he doesn’t want to be the one to bring attention to it so he just…lies there. Lies there and lets her rub his back and stroke his hair and wonders when the hell he got so weak, so comfortable with her, so as to have to two—two!—emotional breakdowns in front of her within a few hours.

Tokage, of all the people in 1-B he could’ve embarrassed himself in front of! If he didn’t feel so weak and disoriented and vulnerable, Neito has no doubt he would rip himself out of her arms and run far away enough that no one could ever see him again. Especially Tokage.

Not to say he dislikes her, of course. He never has; if he did, he would never have come to her room over some supportive post-its. Because some deep recalling of the events of the previous night while he lies there with nothing else to do but think, plastered against her tiny body, confirms that he indeed is in Tokage’s room. The memories are slightly hazy past the point where they started wailing at each other but Neito definitely thinks he remembers them sobbing so hard, they passed out where they were without brushing their teeth or going to the toilet or showering or anything. It definitely explains why he’s cuddling her in her bed instead of being in his own and suffering alone, as is standard procedure after he has nightmares. It also explains why he has to piss so badly.

But yes. Tokage. Doesn’t dislike her. Not at all. Sure, he never saw her as a close friend because they just have different friend groups but Neito wonders if they are friends now, what with how they’re clinging on to each other silently as the room gets lighter and lighter behind his eyelids. Neito opens one eye experimentally at some point, an eternity of cuddling later, to maybe check the time and also to figure out if it is as crusty as he thinks it is, finds out that yes, it is and that from his vantage point, he really can’t check the time off her clock and also sees himself staring straight at Tokage’s collarbone and cleavage.

He promptly shuts his eye, apologises to the gods for reasons unknown and awkwardly loosens his grip on her shirt. He thinks his thigh is asleep with how she’s got an entire leg thrown up over it.

They’re definitely friends after this. Neito doesn’t care. They have to be or else, he’d have embarrassed himself in front of a girl he barely knows but also now knows too much about.

They’re best friends now, screw this. Fuck.

Tokage, the girl he barely knows but also now knows too much about, doesn’t seem to have the same reservations about this situation as him because she’s still rubbing his back and stroking his hair and occasionally humming under her breath, like he’s a child. Neito feels the entirety of his blood supply rush to his cheeks as the weight of the situation finally hits him in full. He’s fully awake now, the room flooded with early morning sunlight as seen during his three seconds of one-eyed bravery, and he’s starting to get increasingly embarrassed and flustered by the second.

At least he’s not sobbing, though he is ridiculously snotty. Small mercies.

 

-

 

It takes an even longer eternity of Neito lying in Tokage’s arms stiffly before she moves even the slightest bit and even then, it’s just her hand leaving his back to reach for something that’s lying behind him. Neito sniffs up the snot in his nose, prays he hasn’t gotten any of it on Tokage’s shirt, and lies there stiffly some more until she decides to acknowledge his existence. He wishes it will be soon though, because while Neito likes to think of himself as small and tiny, he really isn’t and he’s heavy on top of that and has been lying on Tokage’s poor arm for god knows how long. If she can move it after this morning, she can count herself lucky.

But, like before, Tokage seems to have no such qualms about any of this and only shifts slightly before her hand returns to rub at his back. Perfectly casually. Like this is normal. Neito swallows thickly, if only to stop making his throat stop feeling like sand paper, and flexes his fingers in her shirt. He’s not sure if he does that to get her attention or because he’s feeling nervous and more and more ridiculous as time passes, but he at least succeeds on the first front.

Because shortly after Neito is done and has his hand splayed awkwardly on her back, Tokage finally decides to put him out of his misery and say something.

“Are you awake?” is what she mutters very quietly, petting at his hair gently like she’s afraid she’s going to wake him. Neito, red in the face and extremely embarrassed, takes the opportunity to get out of her embrace and jumps on it.

“Yes, I’m awake,” he replies, wincing as his voice cracks at every syllable imaginable and awkwardly backs up so his nose is no longer buried in her chest. Instantly, he feels like he can breathe at least a little easier; even easier still when Tokage doesn’t attempt to keep him caged in and lets him extract himself enough so he can lie on his back next to her. He finally opens his eyes, awkwardly squinting at her ceiling as they continue to just…lie there.

God, Neito is so tired and embarrassed and will be faking his death and moving to China or something after this. The past twelve or so hours feel like a fucking fever dream. Having a breakdown in Tokage’s room—her arms—is one thing, emotions were running high, whatever. But sleeping in her arms?

Monoma Neito is dead. He is over. He is done.

Under the guise of rubbing his eyes, Neito runs his hands over his wet and gross face and suppresses a groan. Tokage’s leg is still thrown over his thigh as she lies there casually and she’s facing him and Neito will never look her in the eye again.

He’s embarrassed, annoyed at himself and slightly terrified of his emotional openness. And despite all that, he finds that he still doesn’t want to particularly leave, almost content to just lie there. He suspects it might be so that he never has to actually fully process what the hell has happened in the past few hours.

But of course, the universe isn’t that kind.

“You cried yourself to sleep and I didn’t have the heart to tell you to get up and go to your room,” Tokage speaks up, like she’s offering an explanation to the shitstorm brewing inside his head and Neito really does inaudibly groan at that.

Cried himself to sleep! Disgraceful! Sure, he does that almost every night but Jesus Christ, in someone else’s room, has he no self-control—

“You’re cute when you sleep,” she offers helpfully, too sleepy maybe to sound as lively as she is during the day and Neito goes so red in the face, he thinks he might be dying, still resolutely staring at the ceiling. It’s blue like his. Very nice. “And you had a rough night so I didn’t want to wake you. That alright, yes?”

“Sure,” he mutters, covering his face and rubbing at it so he can perhaps scrub his failures out of himself and beat them to death. Traitorous emotions and tears. Who even asked? And now he’s stuck in her bed alongside her and they’re still kind of cuddling and Neito has no idea how to get out of this situation, though it’s questionable if he even wants to.

He’s gone insane. He’s possessed. There is no other explanation.

It’s only a small mercy that Tokage is either stupidly talkative even in the mornings or she’s stupid perceptive and senses his discomfort because she keeps talking, her voice raspy with sleep. The subject matter of the shit coming out of her mouth makes Neito want to shrivel up and die but the sound of her voice at least keeps him from overthinking himself to death.

He isn’t even really thinking about his nightmare, past a bit of physical uneasiness. That is a first; usually he’d still be crying about it.

“I’m really glad that we had that conversation last night,” is what Tokage is saying, all casual. She’s looking at him, Neito can tell, so he closes his eyes and tries not to go haywire from embarrassment. “I’m so happy you got it all out of your system, I can tell you needed it.” A pause. “I hope you feel lighter, even a little bit.”

“I do,” he mutters back reluctantly, embarrassed at his current situation and even more embarrassed because he knows it’s true. Sure, he had a nightmare that she had to talk him down from—and lord, he can’t even imagine purging his brain of that awkwardness for the rest of his life—the slight. effects of which still linger at the back of his head. He can feel his chest being a little tight and there’s definitely the start of a headache at his temples but…

He does feel lighter. Like a weight that has been lifted off his shoulders, as cliché as it is, and the more awake he feels the more he processes the weightlessness inside his stomach. Like something has untangled. Sure, there’s also that buttload of embarrassment weighing him down currently but that doesn’t have anything to do with the…the lightness. A lightness that having a crush had taken from him months and months ago. A lightness that has returned, if only slightly, if he can concentrate on anything past how awkward he feels.

Neito suddenly has no idea how to proceed. Now aware of it, he can’t stop feeling it.

Even more horribly, he likes it.

“You kind of scared me for a second,” Tokage says softly and he balls his hand into a fist and doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t know what to say because he doesn’t know what she even really means. He thinks a thank you would be a good start, but even that falters and dies in his throat when she brings a hand and starts combing through his sweaty bangs. “Do…you have nightmares like that often?”

Right, okay, of course she’s talking about that. Neito wasn’t sure for a second, but really, what the hell else could she possibly be talking about?

“Uh,” he manages to get out of his very dry throat—he needs water and a toothbrush right now immediately—because after everything that has happened between them, Neito feels like it would be downright rude to not reply. It doesn’t make talking any easier but it helps to have his eyes closed. He doesn’t think he wants to open them ever again. “Yeah. Sometimes.”

Tokage hums and strokes his hair.

“Are they always that bad?”

Neito feels himself stiffen slightly before relaxing, though it’s more out of habit than any real discomfort. Embarrassment and awkwardness aside, he just…doesn’t feel as bad as he’d expected himself to. As bad as he usually does after nightmares of that nature. He suspects that waking up to actual comfort afterwards may have something to do with it and he sincerely hopes and prays that his brain hasn’t gotten used to that because he’s sure that won’t be happening ever again.

Regardless of what he’s sure and unsure of though, fact of the matter is that he’s got himself sort of under control. The whole sharing his feelings and problems issue…he’s still working on getting around that. Kind of.

God, he wants to escape. He wants to stay here forever.

“Depends on…the dream. Sometimes they’re only kind of bad and sometimes…,” he manages to get out in lieu of making an effort to reply, trailing off lamely when he belatedly realises that he doesn’t actually want to talk about the real nasty aspects of it. It’s a good enough answer though, and Neito doesn’t think it’s that rude to not want to talk about something that personal even though he’d wailed about Shinsou a few hours ago so he tries not to feel bad about it with some success.

Tokage, with an understanding hum, seems to be completely on board.

“Would you like to talk about your nightmare or would you like me to pretend nothing happened and we both slept like babies?” she says, a note of her usual liveliness seeping into her voice as she playfully tugs at his fringe. Neito, finally allowing relief to spread through his body, releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He hadn’t expected her to force him into talking about it, of course he hadn’t, but he just…didn’t know what he had expected. He’s never been in this kind of situation after all.

This though. This is good.

“I don’t want…to talk about it,” he replies and hopes he doesn’t sound strange. Tokage ruffles his hair and that’s how he knows for sure he doesn’t. Sound strange, that is. Not that there’s anything wrong with talking about problems or nightmares but Neito just doesn’t feel ready. Not after everything he’s already spewed to her. “If that’s okay,” he adds quickly and keeps his eyes resolutely shut.

He wonders, just for a split second, if it’s okay to not be ready. For a second, he even wonders if it’s rude, if he’s being rude by being elusive and weird, especially after he wasted so much of her time with so many of his tears. She had shared something very personal with him last night after all, so it is only good manners that he gives her some stuff back. Right? Is that how friendships work? He has told her about Shinsou which is more than anyone will ever get out of him, sure, but…he’s not sure he’ll ever open up further than that. Is that rude? Neito can’t tell.

He doesn’t have to wonder for long, however, because Tokage doesn’t seem to mind at all, though Neito isn’t sure what there would be to mind. She merely hums gently before immediately bursting forth with loud, obnoxious speech.

“Wow, good sleep last night, my dear Monoma! Nice chat yesterday! Good lord I’m rested!” like Neito didn’t spend cumulative hours sobbing into her chest, like she knows what Neito is thinking currently, and he immediately feels an additional weight lift off his chest. A weight he didn’t even know was there.

And just like that, Neito can breathe.

He even manages to slightly laugh and open his eyes when Tokage keeps going on her little spiel of “My, my, I can’t believe Monoma Neito actually slept in my bed and cuddled me! I feel like I’ve unlocked some sort of achievement! I feel like I’m invincible, I feel like I’ve put my hand in a lion’s den and all it’s done is nuzzle me! Wow!”

“’M not a lion,” he mutters, rubbing at his eyes for real this time and trying to muster motivation to move so he can go take a shower and brush his teeth and maybe not look Tokage in the eye for at least a week.

“No,” she agrees. “You’re a kitten!”

Neito digs his knuckles into his eyes and groans, though he’s still laughing. Oddly, he feels like he might cry.

 

-

 

By the time Neito and Tokage manage to peel themselves off the sweaty sheets and stumble out of bed to start the day, the alarm clock on Tokage’s nightstand reads 9:14AM in bright, green letters and the room is entirely bathed in sunlight. It’s warm in her room, the smells still as sweet and gross as last night, and Neito wants to throw himself into a lava pit when his gut instincts just tell him to screw all this and get back in her bed the second his feet hit the slightly cold floor. He can’t really blame himself, it’s a comfy bed and he’s still a little tired, but not wanting to particularly leave just means Neito has learned fucking nothing from this experience.

God, he’s so embarrassed and the feeling is so general and widespread throughout his body, he’s not even sure what he’s embarrassed about anymore. Existing? Maybe. Generally being alive is a nightmare.

Tokage on the other hand doesn’t seem to be sharing the same sentiments, doesn’t seem to have Neito’s overthinking shitstorm inside her head as she bounces around the room as casual as can be. Neito silently watches her out of the corner of his eye, fully prepared to look away if their eyes meet, and watches as she picks up her laundry basket and balances it against her hip the same way one would carry a child. Only then does she turn to give him her full attention and Neito suddenly finds himself very interested in his fingernails that are still extremely blue. He’d forgotten that part.

Jesus, he has blue fingernails.

He’s really hit rock-bottom, hasn’t he?

“You got any laundry?” she chirps at him casually and Neito internally screams before he forces himself to look her dead in the face. She’s still the same Tokage, though he’s not sure why she wouldn’t be, big green eyes trained on his face as she smiles at him toothily waiting for a response.

“Huh?” Neito manages intelligently, wanting to break eye-contact but fearing it would be rude. He can already feel his cheeks colouring, as embarrassed and jumpy as he is, and now he’s being forced to think about his laundry. Of all the shit in the world. But speaking of, “Yeah, a little bit. Why?”

A little bit is a lie. He hasn’t done his laundry since maybe Tuesday, what with the horrific week he’s had. Tokage grins wider at that for whatever reason and Neito wishes he could look away. To compromise, he looks at a spot on her forehead and begs the gods for mercy. Why is he still here?

“I’m going to pop my shit in the washers before showering! You wanna hand yours off to me, too? I’ll put it in for you!” she says, extremely animatedly while bouncing the basket at her hip and Neito warily looks at it before looking at her face again. She doesn’t seem like she’s joking about it.

Then again, who jokes about laundry? It’s really hard to tell with her, as he’s slowly realising. Thus far, he hasn’t been able to tell how Tokage manages to get from A to B, or what A and B even are, but he’s learning. Slowly. Maybe.

Kind of.

“Um,” he says, wondering if Tokage is the kind of person who would make laundry jokes, it’s not like he really knows her at this point. “I’d have to get it from my room.”

That’s not the biggest inconvenience if Neito really thinks about it because he does have to go back to his room to get fresh clothes so he can shower and get out of his sweaty clothes, the same ones that he wore yesterday. He would wrinkle his nose at how gross he feels, how gross he is but Tokage is also still in the same outfit as yesterday so he can’t bring himself to feel too bad. A shower would still be nice though.

Tokage bounces the laundry basket to balance it and beams up at him.

“Then go get it! I’ll pop them in for you, bestie!”

Neito blinks, staring between her and the basket again when he can’t figure out anything else to say or do, and slowly nods. Vaguely, as he mentally processes the fact that Tokage’s laundry basket is nearly the same size as her, he wonders if she’s always been this tiny and he’s always been this weirdly tall.

And that’s before he even begins to unpack the whole bestie thing.

No one’s ever called Neito that with the amount of sincerity Tokage says it with even though her tone is playful. He wonders why he doesn’t hate it.

 

-

 

On standard days, this is how things would realistically go if Neito woke up distressed from a nightmare on a day where there were no classes. He would cry for at least three hours, curled up on his gross bed while overthinking himself to death and forcing himself to relive the dream over and over. Bonus points if he could miss Shinsou so hard, a void of pain and longing opened up in his chest that would then proceed stay there for at least half a day until he got his shit kind of together again. After he was done crying, it would be noon at least provided the mess in his head didn’t just kill him and only then upon grudging survival, with a snotty nose and itchy, swollen eyes would Neito fall out of bed to drag himself to the showers.

He would then cry some more in the shower, the temperature of which would depend on the nature of his shitty dream, after which he would get dressed, drag his feet back to his bed while avoiding all human interaction, maybe change the sheets if he was feeling up to it and then proceed to lie in bed until someone inevitably came looking to take him to lunch against his will.

But today does not seem to be a standard day and Neito is almost warily cautious and confused as to what the hell is happening.

For one, he doesn’t feel as shit as he usually would. He has a bit of a headache and needs to blow his nose in the shower—he’s not doing that in front of Tokage, god knows how much of it he got on her shirt because he refuses to look—and the remnants of his dream still linger somewhere at the back of his head if he concentrates hard enough. But he isn’t doing that, not when Tokage seems to follow him like a shadow chattering all the way.

“God, I hope I get everything done before 11 ‘cos we need to make those invites and if everyone else comes to my room before even I’m there, I’ll die,” is the topic she’s currently on as she and Neito go up the elevator to get to his room. “Though I doubt anyone’s even awake, the lazy bitches.”

Neito nods, humming slightly and staring at his slippers, very horribly embarrassed still.

He had not anticipated this.

“What time do you wake up on the weekends generally?”

“Huh?” he replies, taking a while to realise that this is a direct question. Only then does he lift his head and look at her, taken aback by how wildly bright her eyes are. “Depends on how well I sleep, really. Early sometimes and not…early other times.”

Tokage blinks up at him and something like understanding flashes through her eyes before she’s back to her lively, sparkly demeanour. Neito doesn’t understand what she’s understood but he decides not to dwell on it, can’t dwell on it, because she’s talking again.

“I see! I’m usually an early riser!” the elevator dings open and Neito steps out, unsure of whether he should help her or not as she struggles to hold the laundry basket. Why is it so big? She has it mostly under control within the next second though, so on they walk to his room without Neito having to offer his assistance. “I like to get out of bed bright and early so I have more hours to get stuff done. It works wonderfully!”

“That’s nice,” he politely says as they reach the door to his room which he pushes open a little too hurriedly. It isn’t locked, he knows it isn’t because he hadn’t had the chance to lock it before heading to Tokage’s. It hadn’t been necessary at the time because he’d assumed he’d be coming back to sleep.

Never in a million fucking years would he have thought—

Neito’s room is as untouched as he’d left it, sunlight filtering through his curtains and bed partially unmade. His tiny laundry basket is shoved half-heartedly under his bed, sticking out only the slightest bit so as to avoid anyone tripping over it, and Neito points to it once with a grunt before crossing the room to get fresh pyjamas for his shower.

Tokage is on the floor and pulling at his basket in an instant. Neito rummages through his wardrobe and resolutely tries not to think about how strange everything is, which is what he seems to be doing since he woke up.

“That’s a whole lotta laundry, Monoma!” she says, lively and teasing like it isn’t gross of him to have a pile of unwashed clothes and by the time he’s got his clothes and turned around, she’s got his basket balanced precariously on top of hers. Like that she almost looks dwarfed, barely staring at him over the baskets. “You should get a bigger one! Why’s it so small?”

Neito gapes at her, clutching his pyjamas to his chest. Why are you so small is what he wants to say but he can’t quite get the words out. He’s not sure if he’s embarrassed or exasperated at this point, though it’s probably both. He wonders if that’s how Kendou feels with him.

Tokage is an enigma. He wonders if he’ll ever understand whatever the hell is happening inside her head.

“You don’t have to carry it, give me that,” he says immediately, reaching out for it with a hand and utterly confused when she dodges him and skips out of the room beyond his reach, almost tripping in the process. “Hey!”

“I want to carry them!” she fires back indignantly though she’s grinning wildly and her hair looks like she’s been to war. “Wanna do it for my bestie!”

“Tokage-,”

“Oh, you should call me Setsu!” she says, so loudly that Neito has to reel back. She’s skipping towards the elevator and he’s at her heels, unsure if he should stick out of his arms behind her to catch her when she inevitably collapses under the weight in her arms but she doesn’t seem to be bothered by it at all. “The Tokages are my parents! My friends call me Setsu!”

“Okay,” he replies without thinking, grabbing her arm when she stumbles. He doesn’t have time to unpack all that. “Please give me my basket.”

“I don’t wanna! I wanna carry it for my bestie!” she says stubbornly, impressively keeping it out of his reach when he does try to swipe for it. Neito is so baffled, he doesn’t try again. He’s taller and he’s bigger so realistically he could just wrestle it from her but… “Why’s it so small though, you didn’t tell me.”

“I don’t…know?” he really doesn’t. “I just got it from home before moving here.”

“We should pitch in for your next birthday and get you a proper laundry basket,” Tokage says sagely, eyes bright as she looks up at him like she’s just had a great idea. Neito doesn’t know where the conversation is anymore, nor does he know how he feels about getting a fucking laundry basket for his birthday. It’s not that big of a deal. “Your clothes are barely in there. It’s so sad.”

“Not really,” he mutters, running a hand over his face and sniffing up his snot aggressively. He really needs to blow his nose. “It works well enough.”

“They’re falling out!” Tokage says, loud and sounding very scandalised and Neito wonders if he’s finally met someone more theatrical than he’ll ever be. He’s had his fair share of dramatics—he’s Monoma Neito, for god’s sake—but even he’s never found a reason to wax poetic about a basket. “I refuse to let you die like this!”

He wonders if this new friendship has been a mistake. Oh god, is he the Kendou of their duo?

“It’s fine, it works,” he shoots back, wondering why they’re arguing about this as they step back into the elevator. Neito doesn’t want to argue about this. He wants to get into a shower and sort his thoughts out and blow his nose and brush his teeth. That’s what he wants to do.

He makes another broad armed spike for the basket and impressively, and a little annoyingly, Tokage holds it away from him with a wild look in her eyes and she’s grinning so hard as she says “no, it’s mine!” that Neito finds himself unsurely grinning back though he doesn’t know why.

“What are we doing?” he blurts out through his toothy smile as the elevator descends, a smile that he can’t suppress no matter how uncomfortable it makes him feel. He doesn’t smile all that much, not like this where it’s genuine and not sarcastic or mocking or theatrical. Not that he doesn’t have a problem with smiling, he just…

He doesn’t even know what the problem is. Hence why he asks.

Tokage is smiling just as widely though, looking at him like this is all so much fun so he can’t bring himself to forcibly repress his grin. A part of him, scarily, doesn’t want to at all.

“I don’t know!” she says chirpily as the elevator dings open on the ground floor and she all but skips out, almost toppling over with her basket mountain. Neito reaches out a hand to help her, she dodges it with expertise and takes off running towards the bathrooms before he’s so much as breathed. “But it’s fun!” she screams behind her and a laugh is punched out of Neito’s throat before he can stop it. “Meet me at 11! In my room!”

And then she’s turned the corner and is gone with the wind with both their laundries, leaving Neito staring after her. It’s only three seconds later when the elevator shuts behind him that he remembers to start moving himself, smiling and hugging his pyjamas to his chest.

Possessed. He’s definitely possessed.

 

-

 

It’s not until Neito is in the shower, letting the comfortably hot stream wash over him, that he begins to realise just how light he actually feels. It’s not happiness, per se, but it’s definitely something. A strange comfort of sorts that’s enveloped him and refuses to let go, hard enough that he can’t even bring himself to think back on the dream and process it fully. He tries for what it’s worth, because he feels a little too light and surely, he must ruin his mood at least a little bit to feel normal again.

But Neito just…can’t. He barely even remembers what had upset him about his nightmare so much, can’t remember to dwell on the details because whenever he tries, he thinks of purple hair and smug grins and Tokage bumbling around and laundry baskets.

And so, scrubbing shampoo into his hair, all Neito can do is stifle a smile he’s not used to.

He knows the happiness isn’t permanent. Years and years of torment and overthinking himself to death has taught him that, not to mention the rollercoaster of emotions that the past week has been. He knows, he’s not dumb, and yet he can’t stop fucking smiling.

The worst part of it is that Neito can’t even bring himself to be all that bothered about it.

 

-

 

Saturday, as it turns out, is an extremely slow and uneventful day; possibly the dullest out of the entire week that Neito’s had and he’s both relieved and apprehensive at the same time. Surely, he can’t feel this nice and light and not have something go to shit. He’d learnt his lesson after feeling so floaty and out of it when he’d talked to Shinsou on Tuesday because despite how pleasant he’d felt, what the hell had that led to?

That stupid dream.

In the first time in almost a week, a breathy whisper of baby resonates across his subconscious and Neito tries his best to not pull a face or show any kind of reaction where he’s sprawled on the common room couch, head pillowed on Rin’s lap. He mostly succeeds, internalises the grimace that threatens to take over his face, and just like that he’s safe.

For now. He would like to never unearth that dream if he can help it, especially not today when his day is actually…semi-good for once.

He hasn’t done much thus far although nearly half the day has passed. Neito had, admittedly, gone to Tokage’s room after he’d showered and rested in his own for a little bit at 11 sharp for making party invites because she said so, because no matter how embarrassing the basis of their new friendship is, he couldn’t—can’t, even now— seem to convince himself to stay away from her. It’s bad. He’s not clingy like this, not even with Kendou, but being around her is just nice in ways that it wasn’t yesterday so he doesn’t overthink it too much. He’s been trying not to over the span of the day at least with some success.

Not that Tokage shuts up for even a millisecond ever so he can think about much of anything, as he’s starting to catch on. But still.

Invite-making had, understandably, been a disaster. Almost everyone had tried to join in, everyone spitting a colossal fuck you at Tokage’s responsibilities list as they tried to cram themselves in Tokage’s tiny, ill-smelling bedroom (Neito can’t fault them since he was one of them) and taken up so much space that they all had to be promptly kicked out and moved to the common room where there is much more space and less chances of suffocation by air fresheners.  

And that’s where they’ve remained for the past seven hours—minus Kendou and Shiozaki who have been shunned—sprawled across different surfaces as they glue plastic stars to shitty paper—a bad idea—and try to get glitter to stick to even shitter paper—the worst idea—but Neito is strangely content. He’s sure there is some part of him that wants to bitch and moan about how being “forced” into this is ruining his life, about how bad their decisions are, about how pink doesn’t go with hot red what the fuck Tetsutetsu put that down holy shit.

But he just…hasn’t. Sure, he’s sassed here and there, he definitely screamed when Tetsutetsu decided to rip open a packet of glitter with the force of a thousand suns, but everyone had screamed so it doesn’t really matter. They’ll all be picking out neon green glitter particles out of their hair for weeks anyway and have definitely ingested some with their hurried afternoon lunch. That’s not really a Neito thing. Everyone’s bitching about that.

So, by those standards, he’s actually been on his best behaviour. All he’s done is lie there quietly on whoever’s lap that is willing to lend it and do the work anyone asks him to, even though he’s not very good at arts or crafts. None of them are, really. Apart from Komori whose cursive is incredible and who has thus been trusted with writing names on the invitations, all of them are doing a pretty shitty job.

No one’s even commented on his nails for whatever reason! No one’s asked the whys or the hows! Sure, he’s gotten nods here and there, maybe a stare from Honenuki and a “nice!” from Rin but other than that…

His day is so ridiculous. All of it is! It’s so pretentious—invites for a two-person birthday party? Seriously?—but it’s light and nice and Neito just feels…good. Cared for. It’s not even his birthday. He’s, as Awase would say, bugging.

And he can’t bring himself to feel bad about it.

 

By the time 7PM rolls around and dinner-time closes in, everyone in 1-B has thoroughly exhausted themselves from an entire day of unnecessarily tedious hard-work. There is a fairly large stack of done and ready-to-go invites in every ugly colour imaginable on the table by the end of it though, and while they’re not very good and honestly kind of tacky, they’re there and so, no one has it in them to complain about them too much, lest Tokage take their whining at face-value and have them redo everything.

Neito shudders at the mere prospect of touching glue again. He’s content where he is, with his head pillowed on Awase’s thighs, thanks so much.

“When do you guys wanna start on decorating this place by the way?” Kamakiri asks like the bastard that he is when the activity in the common room has slowed to a stop entirely and everyone is falling asleep or generally dying on any available surface. He gets someone’s carpet slipper to the head for his efforts that flies across the room like a bullet, and Neito’s pretty sure Tetsutetsu straight whines into his face to let us rest and then it’s silent again.

And he is grateful. And oddly, very sleepy in ways he only is when he feels at peace and somehow knows that he won’t be having nightmares tonight.

Today is cursed. It has to be.

 

-

 

Dinner is quiet, four surprisingly good egg sandwiches for each of them that Vlad-sensei personally delivers to the common room—because they’re all too dead to move, clearly— before promptly leaving to give Kendou and Shiozaki their share who are still shut up in their bedrooms. Neito isn’t all that hungry, more tired than anything, but still scarfs them down for survival more than anything. The light feeling from before hasn’t gone away, no anxiety or worry swirling around in his chest as is custom. He thinks it’s still there, of course, if he really reaches in and tries to feel it but he doesn’t in fact want to do that because for once, Neito finds that it’s more taxing to be sad than it is to be happy. So he shuts up, minds his own business and eats quietly while he leans heavily against Awase’s shoulder who lets him with no questions asked.

No one has really said much to him all day that wasn’t directly related to invite-making. There has been no unnecessary worry shown or asking him any questions about his nails or otherwise and no one has definitely looked at him funny like they all were a few days ago. Like he’s a ticking time-bomb about to emotionally go off and either die or cry. Neito, optimistically, hopes that that spell has passed for all of them as he looks around the common room and listens to conversations as discreetly as he can where the energy levels are starting to get high again as they inhale more food.

“I’m thinking of purple balloons over there,” Komori is saying as she points at a corner of the wall. “And pink over there. And we can connect it with silver streamers, what do you think?”

“Wouldn’t that clash?”

“Clash with what Honenuki?”

“The paint colours?”

“No, the hell it wouldn’t,” Komori pinches the bridge of her nose in frustration and Neito can’t help the half-smile his lips quirk up in. “I’ll show you once we’re done, it’ll look good. You’ll see.”

“Yeah, but when are we actually going to start decorating?” Kamakiri asks again, cheeks full of sandwich. Neito bites into his own and watches the exchange. “We really don’t have enough time, do we?”

“I mean, yeah we do,” Tokage replies, stroking her chin thoughtfully as she holds her sandwich in the other hand, completely forgotten. “The party starts at 4 tomorrow right? We can just get up early and decorate.”

“I think it would be nice if we could get some done before we slept so there wouldn’t be too much of a burden?”

“Yeah it definitely sounds like a good idea. I do have to go to the shops to pick up the gifts we ordered in the morning tomorrow, so it could get hectic,” Tokage says, tilting her head and cutting off with a giggle when Komori grasps her wrist to bring her ignored sandwich to her mouth. “Thanks!” a bite. “Let’s get done with eating before we start.”

“Okay great!”

“I’ll go with you,” Komori offers and Tokage enthusiastically agrees.

Neito chews his own food as he watches them speak—or rather, watches her speak—eyes drooping with how calm he feels and snuggles further into Awase’s side before he can stop himself. Awase, to his credit, doesn’t say anything about it so Neito doesn’t feel too embarrassed either.

 

 

“Oh, by the way who’s the extra person you were talking about earlier?” Yanagi pipes up during a lull in conversation when the food is pretty much gone and Shishida is gathering up the containers to put them in the waste bag. Neito also perks up at that, half to not fall asleep on Awase and half because he’s curious and he’s nosy. “That person Shiozaki’s friend is bringing to the party you told me about,” she adds to Tokage specifically when she’s met with a bunch of questioning looks.

“Oh!” Tokage exclaims, snapping her fingers in realisation. “Yeah, I don’t know either! Shiozaki just came up to me in the morning before we started working, right?” and here, for some deranged reason, she looks straight at Neito like she’s talking to him and not a million other people. Geared by the remaining dredges of embarrassment, he flushes under her gaze.

He nods at her, unsure what she wants him to do. Tokage just stares, wide-eyed and looking a little wronged and it takes him a few seconds to realise that it’s because of the story she’s telling.

“She came up, and she was like, oh I have this friend in General Studies that I’m inviting,” she takes a bite out of her sandwich, seems to inhale it and continues like it’s nothing. “And I said, yes I know. Because you know, I got them to give me guest lists in advance so I would know how many invites to make-,”

Guest lists? Neito is baffled. They gave Tsuburaba a biscuit, for God’s sake.

“-and she’s like, do you have space for one more person? And I was like, well I don’t know Shiozaki, I have this budgeted down to the person and she just said something about Christ and sharing and I was like, yes, yes, I’ll murder my budget for one more person if that’s what you would like,” Tokage waves her hands around animatedly and she’s so into the story, everyone seems to be hanging on to her every word, Neito can tell. Even Bondo and he doesn’t give a shit half of the time.

“And she was like, yes thank you, and turns out that friend in General Studies has this boyfriend who doesn’t like people and he’s our extra person?”

“Oh?” Rin asks, helping Shishida gather up the trash. “Who?”

“No clue. Shiozaki doesn’t know either. She just said he’s her friend’s boyfriend who doesn’t like to really hang out or do much of anything if it’s not working out or watching cat videos? Apparently?” Tokage makes a face and swallows her bite. “And so, Shiozaki’s friend thought coming to a party would do him some good and get him some human interaction because he has like 2 friends. Or something. I don’t know, I’m just quoting her, and she really seemed to want this guy to come with her friend. So, I said yes.”

“He sounds like a delight,” Awase mutters, at the same time Kuroiro snaps, “You’re telling us this now?”

“Wonder who he is,” Shoda throws in. “Do we like know him?”

“Shiozaki said she doesn’t know who it is, so I can’t confirm,” Tokage says, muffled through her food.

“Honestly, cat videos aren’t even that bad though. She should not force he to do something he don’t want to do,” Pony says, always the gentle one.

“Right? That’s what I thought,” Tokage says, shoving the rest of her sandwich into her mouth. “But Shiozaki was like, please won’t you add him in for me, so I said fuck it sure, how bad can it possibly be?”

“What if he’s a dick who doesn’t know how to interact with us and ruins the mood?”

“Then it’ll be up to you boys to entertain and deal with him because the girls will be on the other side, thanks very much!”

“What?” Tsuburaba says, scandalised as he springs up to his feet accusingly. “How’s that fair?”

“Don’t be horny, man,” Honenuki kicks out at him and goes largely ignored. “Just pray he’s nice enough.”

“What if he isn’t, though? What if he just sits in a corner all evening and glares at us or something?”

“He sounds like a hissy cat when you put him like that, dude-,”

“Holy shit, what if it’s Bakugou!” Tetsutetsu bellows abruptly cutting across Awase like he’s had a revelation and another carpet slipper flies across the room, narrowly missing him. This time, it’s Neito’s whose hands have moved of their own accord.

“Don’t speak that into existence!” he sniffs, unsure of why the mere mention of someone from 1-A has prompted him into movement quicker than he could breathe. But he’s here and he’ll be damned if he doesn’t milk this. He’s not in a good mood for nothing. “If Bakugou comes, I will lock myself in my room and never come out. I will never breathe the same oxygen as him! That will not happen!”

“Drama queen,” Awase snorts, pulling at the hair at the base of his skull and everyone laughs when Neito yelps because apparently they’re psychopaths. “You’d never do that at Kendou’s birthday party.”

“The hell I would,” Neito huffs, sticking his nose in the air for extra dramatic effect because he is a drama queen, he’s not denying that part, but also to hide the fact that his face probably reads clear as day that Awase is right and he would never abandon Kendou on her special day, as violent as she is.

It makes everyone laugh and groan in exasperation the way they do with him though, and the lightness in his chest gets even lighter. Neito finally feels like he’s back in commission. He hopes the nice feeling is here to last.

And just like that, with the conversation moving entirely somewhere else, Shiozaki’s friend’s antisocial nightmare sounding boyfriend they’ll have to deal with is forgotten.

 

-

 

The room decorating starts in some capacity right after the trash has been put away and everyone is fed and not as tired as before. Neito, who has retrieved his thrown slipper since then, is walking around the common room to stay out of his classmates’ way, fiddling with his phone that he’s not entirely sure what to do on. He doesn’t have many apps and he’s not “in” with pop-culture, so he doesn’t have any interests to waste his time on and be updated with. Maybe he should get some. Maybe that would help him not think about things.

Neito chews on his lip and wonders if he should ask Awase to recommend him some things he might like. Maybe Rin. Or Kendou. Or maybe Tokage.

Maybe. But only when they’re not all trying to behead each other over some colour schemes. Because—

“The balloons look crap, Komori-san! I told you they would clash!”

“They’re fine!” Komori exclaims, waving her hands as Neito watches them. “Setsu, tell him they’re fine!”

“They’re not the worst, I’ll say that,” Tokage says slowly, clapping her sympathetically on the back and ugly cackling when Komori groans and stamps her feet. “They’re fine! We just need another colour for the streamer!”

“How about we just get two pink balloons and join them with a silver streamer?” Awase tries to intervene, putting his hands on Honenuki’s shoulders as he contemplates. “That wouldn’t clash nearly as much.”

“Wouldn’t it?” Kamakiri is taking this whole thing extremely seriously and Neito looks on in amusement as everyone looks at him like he’s preaching some sagely sermon. “Maybe if we get some colour that goes with the blue wall, it would be better.”

“Yeah that sounds reasonable,” Tokage

“Fuck y’all,” is Komori’s contribution.

“Stop trying to make pink and purple and silver on blue happen!”

“What do you know about colours, Honenuki?!”

“Maybe if sir and madam stopped fighting-,” Shishida tries to say politely and goes largely ignored as they continue to argue so passionately, it’s comical that it’s about fucking balloons. Tokage is laughing at them though, loudly and cheerfully, and that makes everyone else laugh and groan so Neito knows they’re not serious.

He hopes they’re not serious. Arguments make him very uneasy.

“How about we just go with plain white with silver streamers? Wouldn’t that be better?” Pony says reasonably like the reasonable person that she is.

“Jesus Christ, it’s motherfucking balloons,” Kaibara mutters from his spot on the couch where he’s doing a very nice impression of a tired cat that’s not going to move ever. “Kendou and Shiozaki aren’t going to care I promise you that.”

“What do you know about-,”

“Oh my god, Komori,” Tokage is in tears from laughing and Neito leans against their floor to ceiling window, content to watch from a safe distance where any flying objects won’t hit him. “It’s okay!”

“Pink and purple! I want it!”

Honenuki, “Fuck’s- you know what? Fine! If you want everything to look ugly, then fine.”

“What the hell is this fight?” Rin asks, looking on in wonder and terror all at once. He too, like Neito, is standing at a distance from the rest of the mob for his own safety probably, though he is on the exact opposite side of the room. “What are we even fighting about?”

“Yeah, like we should be worrying about more important things,” Tsuburaba says, attempting to sound wise but really just getting Komori’s rage to descend upon him instead.

“Oh yeah? Like what?”

“Okay, okay Komori calm down,” Tokage wheezes, wiping at her tears and laughing harder when Komori just sticks her nose into the air. “We’ll figure a decoration out that works for everybody. We have a lot of stuff.”

“But she wants the pink and purple,” Honenuki mutters under his breath and really does get a bracelet chucked at him that time. Tokage is two seconds away from collapsing from how hard she’s laughing and Neito can’t help but laugh with her.

She’s very infectious. He kind of hates it.

 

-

 

The arguments and debates go on for another hour as the class figures out exactly what to do that won’t look bad but also incorporate everyone’s ideas. Tokage does ask Neito at some point, something or the other about what he wants, but he just shrugs and throws out a random colour—blue, which is the first thing that comes to him by looking at his fingernails—and goes back to his phone. Not that he doesn’t want to participate, this is the first time he’s ever been this invested in one of their crap birthday party plannings, but he simply does not have an opinion. They have it covered and there’s already enough unnecessary hostility going around without him jumping in there with his theatrics and making it worse. So, Neito does what he does best: ignores them all, stays out of the way and takes a seat on the window sill to google random things on his phone.

By the time 9:30PM rolls around, there are a significant number of balloons and streamers taped to the walls and even though Komori has gotten her wish on at least one side of the room, it doesn’t look quite as bad as Honenuki had made it out to be. Neito is busy looking at pictures of corgis—very cute—on Google images when the class finally announces that they’re done for the night and though he doesn’t want to, he forces himself to get up and off the sill so he can go brush his teeth with the rest of them and not continue sitting there, alone like an idiot.

“I’d say it looks pretty impressive by our standards,” Kamakiri says, looking up at the wall that has white and green balloons taped along its length. Neito agrees, though he doesn’t say it, using that time to discreetly rub at his back that has gone a little stiff from sitting in a weird position for too long.

“Our standards are in hell, though. Hey guys, remember when you gave me a biscuit?”

“Tsuburaba, please don’t unearth that tragedy.”

“Was pretty funny,” Kaibara quips, still sprawled across the couch with no intentions of moving. “You still ate it.”

“Fuck you.”

Neito stretches as he locks his phone and listens to them bicker, arms thrown over his head as he tries to bring back feeling to his back. Sitting on window-sills, as it turns out, is not a great idea. He is not going to do that next time.

“Someone has to go get the cakes in the morning, too by the way, so don’t forget,” Tokage says as Neito rubs at his eye and faces the window so he can stretch his back in another position. There are murmurs of assent and some groans, but otherwise, everyone behaves.

Neito moves up onto his tip-toes as he stares out into their brightly lit front garden, casually flicking his gaze around the bushes and the trees before landing back on his feet. His classmates are starting to leave and he’s only just casually started to turn around so he can go with them when he suddenly picks up on slight movement outside that makes him pause where he is. For a second, he thinks he’s imagined it until he sees it again, a blur of red and pink to his right that seems to move before stilling again. And then again.

Neito squints out into the night, suddenly feeling irrationally uneasy. Why would anyone be out there at this time of night, so close to bedtime? Surely students know better?

“Move, Kaibara! It’s almost curfew!” Shoda says, behind him and Neito almost gets shocked out of his thoughts though he’s still looking. He continues, even when Kaibara whines high and loud and refuses. The movement—or whatever—did not occur in their garden as far as he can tell, but rather in the garden of the building next to theirs on the right that is slightly visible from the angle Neito is looking from.

1-A’s garden.

He can’t see much, provided he can’t exactly open the window and stick his head out to gawk into the heathens’ personal space, though he would like to as irritated as he suddenly is. The uneasiness is still there, maybe because the blurred colours had shocked him slightly, but his annoyance with 1-A existing or breathing generally trumps all so he keeps looking, even when he hears everyone leaving behind him. Who knows what that shit was out there? What if it was a villain? They sure do love targeting 1-A every living and breathing second and Neito’s not going to die at their expense! One time almost getting roasted was enough, thanks!

He must make sure!

And so he keeps staring as Shoda tries to wrestle Kaibara off the couch behind him, trying to figure out just what exactly was out there a few seconds ago. He can’t tell if it’s because of the uneasiness or because he hates 1-A so much he just has to jump into their personal business that’s happening so close to him. Probably both.

Probably, he’s just a nosy bitch.

Probably, he’s just scared.

 

In the end, Neito manages to somewhat figure out what it was that he saw. He can’t be fully sure of course, but despite the fact that there is nothing visible in the garden, he does think he sees someone sitting on the 1-A building steps at one point, with their head buried between their knees and their shoulders shaking when he leans forward enough that his nose is pressed to the glass, but the position is uncomfortable and Neito can’t hold it very long so he backs off. But from his more comfortable position, he can only see some of their garden and that is a tragedy in and of itself. Not that he wants to really see one of the 1-A brats sobbing or whatever the hell that person was doing.

But that few second glimpse does confirm that whoever the person is, they’re wearing a light pink shirt and the shock of hair that was tucked between their legs is bright red. That would, thankfully, explain what the blur of coloured movement was. Neito chews on his lip uneasily as he realises who that might’ve been and hurriedly backs off the window before someone asks him what the hell he’s doing. Shoda has given up and is now lying on Kaibara in an attempt to kill him (?) and Neito cracks a smile despite himself before walking out of the room and as far away from the window as possible.

He’s equal-parts annoyed at his time being wasted like this, irritated that he got scared for nothing and relieved that he’s at least not going to go through another villain attack or something tonight, what was actually out there doesn’t make him feel any better.

Because while Neito might not give a shit about 1-A and might want them all to drown and die, the visual of Kirishima potentially sitting out in the cold and crying—?—makes him feel things in his chest that he can’t really explain.

He’s not sure why it bothers him. Not enough that it does much to take down his light mood, but just enough that it’s slightly bothersome, niggling at the back of his head. It’s annoying. Neito hates them. He hates 1-A. Everything is their fault. Who even cares what any of them do in their spare time? If they want to cry outside, then they can cry outside! None of Neito’s business!

He’s not bothered.

Maybe he just needs sleep. Yeah, that must be it.

Notes:

me? laying the groundwork for tokage n monomas friendship? the groundwork for monoshin friendship? the groundwork for kirishima n monomas gay alliance? incredible.

please leave kudos and comments they encourage me to keep going <3

Chapter 12: 4.1

Notes:

This chapter be like: aha open for a surprise
Me, writing the end of this chapter like I'm slick: aha *dab*

So fun fact I had a majority of this chapter written in MARCH but college killed me and now it’s june this is so sad. Anyway enjoy

content warnings: monoma being dumb as shit and tokage being best girl for 10k words straight

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Neito knows from the moment he opens his eyes on Sunday morning that he is not going to know peace for a single second; though whether that will be the case on this given day only or for the rest of his life, his brain fails to inform him. He doesn’t know how he knows that exactly. There’s just an inkling at the back of his head that materialises the moment he rolls out of bed—his own, thankfully—that so cheerfully seems to say: good fucking luck.

Neito quietly asks the gods to lend him the strength he knows he’s going to need today, though he doesn’t know for what, and pushing the feeling to the back of his mind, busies himself in picking out fresh clothes for his morning shower.

The light feeling in his chest hasn’t fully gone away yet though, thankfully and Neito is pleased to realise that he still feels as well as he did the night before. The fact that he’s gotten a solid ten and a half hours of sleep without having nightmares, or any dreams really, seems to have contributed to his already budding good mood and by the time he exits his room with his clothes, he thinks he can shit rainbows with how nice he feels. There is an added pressure somewhere at the back of his mind if he really concentrates, not to be confused with the minor alarm bells he’s woken up with that he’s resolutely ignoring; this pressure is different one, a pressure that might have to do with that Kirishima brat and whatever the hell Neito had seen him doing outside last night. But the pressure is minor, barely even there and while Neito is an overthinker, he refuses to lend any brain capacity to people in 1-A and so he walks on, cherishing his good mood and willing it to stay forever.

Though by the way his ears pick up on more and more commotion coming from the common room the closer he gets to the elevator, Neito wonders if that’s going to be possible. He’s not surprised by it, it is party day after all and when they all come together to plan something there is chaos and blood and tears, but the noises down there—

Neito presses the elevator button, right as someone faintly shrieks downstairs, followed by a loud crash.

It sounds like someone’s getting murdered.

 

-

 

And someone is being murdered, Neito discovers when he makes it downstairs to the common room and finds himself in the middle of a war-zone. Nearly everyone is there and running around in various states of undress, yelling this or that and just generally kicking up a ruckus. The only people Neito can see seated are Kuroiro, Tsuburaba and Kaibara who are huddled on the couch side-by-side like sardines and whispering to each other conspiratorially while pointedly ignoring the aforementioned murder that is happening in front of them.

The murder in question being not of a someone but of a something, and that something being Tokage’s sanity and patience.

“We are not taking down those balloons again! That will be the fourth time and it is only 10AM!” she’s screaming, looking between Komori and Honenuki who seem to be trying their best to kill each other if not for Kamakiri standing between them like a shield. “We don’t have the time! The party starts in six hours! Get your fucking shit together! Jesus Christ!”

“But they’re hideous!”

“Everything is hideous to you!”

“Shut the fuck up!” Tokage bellows at Honenuki and then repeats it at Komori, albeit a little gently. Neito, though already quietly slinking off to the bathrooms before someone notices him and decides to involve him in this mess, is thoroughly amused. He doesn’t like fights, and he doesn’t like arguments. He particularly does not like screaming. But whatever the hell is happening in the dorms this early in the morning is horrible in a fascinating way. Like a car crash he can’t look away from.

Or whatever. He’s not poetic.

But between watching his classmates fight each other like dogs and keeping up his personal hygiene, Neito decides to prioritise the latter and so on he goes, hugging his fresh clothes and trying to laugh at his friends as subtly as possible so no one can catch him slipping.

“For fuck’s sake! No more balloon shit! Start spelling out the names and HBDs on the wall, you stupid sluts! Come on, oh god, we still have to distribute the invites and get the cakes, oh my god! We don’t have the time—,” is what Tokage is rambling in the background as Neito continues to drag his feet to the bathroom with a dumb smile hidden behind his palm.

And well, if he lets a few giggles loose in the privacy of his nice, hot shower at how funny he finds their argument, it’s both nobody’s business and also mildly concerning.

When was the last time he’d genuinely laughed?

 

-

 

It’s 11:05AM by the time Neito emerges from the shower with minty breath and fruity smelling hair. He’s in an even better mood than before and finds himself surprisingly agreeable even though he hasn’t been interacted with yet. He just feels, past the whole good luck sucker and fuck Kirishima niggling, like he’ll agree to anything and everything today.

Which is not good.

And he finds out exactly why that is the moment he sets foot in the common room because one second, he’s barely got one slipper through the doorway and the next he’s in the middle of the room without anyone directly lunging at him. He seems to have teleported and finds himself dizzy and disoriented as he stands there like an idiot.

“Monoma! Oh I’m so glad you’re here! My salvation!” Tokage screams in his ear and he jumps five feet in the air before coming back to himself. Right he hasn’t teleported. She’s pulled him in with an amputated hand or something. Of course. Standard stuff. “Help us cut letters!”

“What?” he hears himself say, or maybe he doesn’t say it, the way his ears and existence are ringing. He thinks he does though but it doesn’t matter either way, because he’s immediately wrestled to the floor into a sufficient sitting position with scissors and some sort of paper-material shoved into his hands.

“Thank you so much, I love you! Saviour!” Tokage rambles like he’s not all there, or maybe she isn’t, and then she’s planting a kiss on his forehead and zooming away to scream at everyone. Neito dumbly sits there, blinking at her retreating back and proceeds to feel himself blush so hard, he thinks he catches fire.

Out of the corner of his eye, he feels several pairs of eyes gawking at him that he pointedly ignores.

“Rin-kun!” Tokage barks in no particular direction as she moves off, swiping something out of Honenuki’s hands. “Feed Monoma! He hasn’t eaten! Give me that fucking streamer Juzo you fucking bitch, we’re never throwing another party again, Komori let’s go, Monoma thanks for cutting the letters—,”

Neito stares at her and then mechanically moves his gaze downward to look at what she’s so lovingly handed him. He finds himself staring at a pair of scissors and a sheet of bright yellow paper with huge bubbly letters printed on it. No less confused, he looks back up again at the chaos raining down around him and gets even more confused when all he does is smile like a giddy child.

His brain was right; there is no peace today. Not that he minds. He doesn’t think he does.

His fingernails flash up at him, still bright blue from Friday night.

 

-

 

Over the next two hours or so, Neito doesn’t move an inch from where Tokage had dumped him on the floor and diligently helps out with whatever is thrown at him, sometimes figuratively and sometimes literally. 1-B has never thrown a real party like this before, partly because they didn’t know each other that well at the beginning and partly because things were hectic most of the time and they just couldn’t spare the energy. This is Kendou’s birthday though (and Shiozaki’s), and not having a party just wouldn’t make sense. In hindsight, not holding this party was out of the question. Now that they’re actually preparing for it though, Neito is beginning to think that maybe they should just never throw one ever again because the lack of general agreeability makes things so stupidly hostile, he fears the dorms might burn to the ground at some point throughout it all.

Neito continues to sit on the floor cross-legged in the middle of the chaos, dedicated to his task and not paying much attention to everyone hissing at each other. He’s good at ignoring conflict anyway and he doesn’t think anyone would want him to kick up a fuss when there’s already so much happening so he stays quiet and helps out as best as he can. Of course, no one will ever find out how fluttery and nice it makes him feel to be involved in something important to his classmates. That’s just an added bonus.

And so, on the carpet he remains, working hard and stifling smiles as everything moves in fast motion around him. He lets Rin feed him toast, cuts up the letters the best as he can after someone actually explains what the hell he’s meant to be doing—they want to spell Happy Birthday Kendou and Shiozaki and stick the cut-out letters to the wall—finds out that no one actually cares if they’re cut that well, watches with flushed pride as Kamakiri and Shishida tape the letters he cut to the wall in sequence and just generally feels really good about himself.

He also eventually infers the reason why Tokage had so urgently dumped him on the floor in the first place when she bursts through the front doors with Komori and Vlad-sensei (who is holding two ridiculously small looking shopping bags when compared to his huge hands) in tow at around noon, red-cheeked and looking sufficiently pleased with herself. Neito finds himself unconsciously grinning at her. He even sends her a tiny wave when their eyes meet and barely has time to be surprised at his own friendliness when she beams back and bounds up to him.

“Monoma! Thanks for taking over while I went out!” He didn’t take over shit, he thinks. “You won’t believe how nice the presents look! And the snacks! Everything’s so great!” she says, plopping down in front of him without even taking off her coat and sending him a smile so bright he almost instinctively looks away, lest he be blinded. He’s not rude or weird about it, he hopes, because he’s currently working on cutting up some pretty paper stars Kodai has drawn for the decoration anyway and so looking away doesn’t look like he’s—

“I can’t show you them because they’re so prettily wrapped, oh my god, the girls will love them. Wait, Vlad-sensei, bring the presents here, lemme show everyone!”

What is he even overthinking? Tokage doesn’t care.

He cuts a little further around the star he was already working on, feeling strangely relieved though he doesn’t know why and only looks up again when Tokage makes an urgent noise and directs his attention towards their teacher who is walking up to them with ten pink boxes cradled in his arms. He’s so huge, they look comically tiny and Neito can’t help but grin again.

Somehow everyone minus the birthday girls has managed to fit themselves inside the common room and they all come bounding up to Vlad-sensei at once, ooh-ing and aah-ing at the presents in his arms; even Tsuburaba, Kaibara and Kuroiro see the moment to fit to get up and off the couch where they’ve spent the morning.

Oddly, Neito thinks they all look like puppies clawing at a mountain.

“Five presents each for both of them, right?” he asks Tokage instead of grinning like a fool; she is still seated across from him and smiling so wildly, he feels off balance. They already all know what’s in the boxes, of course. Five gifts each. Clothes and pretty stationary for Kendou and delicate decoration pieces for Shiozaki along with some religious book she’d said she’d wanted. They’ve discussed this before. Really, Neito’s not really sure why he asks. Tokage doesn’t seem to mind though.

“Yep!” she claps her hands together. “The donations were well-spent!”

The class ooh-s and aah-s some more, expressing joint wishes they could see the presents. Tokage threatens their lives if they even touch the wrapping and they disperse immediately, though Rin and Shishida do take the gifts politely from their teacher to place at the center table where they’re meant to be. Neito goes back to cutting his stars and Tokage stays where she is.

“Sensei, sensei,” Tsuburaba is saying, having not dispersed and currently hugging Vlad-sensei around the waist like a child. Neito spares them a glance and huffs out some oxygen in an attempt to stifle his laughter when Vlad-sensei hooks his arms under Tsuburaba’s armpits and raises him like a child.

“Yes?”

“Sensei, sensei, they gave me a cookie for my birthday. That’s not fair, is it?” Tsubaraba says, completely unfazed by the fact that his legs are hanging in the air and even manages to climb up Vlad-sensei when Tokage makes a swipe at his legs from where she’s sitting. “Sensei, this is bullying! You see! I am ill-treated!”

“You suck-up! We were broke that time!”

“Sensei, you see!”

“This does seem quite a severe case of bullying…,”

“Sensei?!”

Neito finishes his star, smiling so hard he feels like he’ll never not-smile again. The lightness spreads across his chest and not even the tiny bad feeling at the back of his mind matters in that moment.

Not that he’ll let the heathens in his class know that, of course.

 

-

 

He sits there until around 2PM, helping out with cutting and pasting—which he’s very good at surprisingly—until a certain point where his legs cramp up and feel like they’ll never work again. He’s done anyway so he gets up, stretches his legs and flops onto the couch that’s been two feet behind him the whole time. Kaibara, Kuroiro and Tsuburaba haven’t moved an inch from where they’ve gone back to whispering amongst themselves, cuddled together as they mutter about things instead of helping anyone do anything. Neito takes up the tiny space on the couch they’ve left and minds his business. Tokage will be back to yell at them and call them useless again in a bit, so he doesn’t think he needs to nag them.

The common-room is nearly ready for the party, balloons and streamers and other decorations all over the walls and Tokage isn’t nearly as stressed as she’d been in the morning. Even Komori and Honenuki are getting along, both having had their decoration comprises by that point and together, almost everyone is busy moving tables and chairs around into nice, functional formations.

Everyone but the couch party, that is.

Neito watches everyone at work, resolving to help them out as soon as his legs feel less dead and tries not to eavesdrop on the conversation happening next to him.

“Do you think so, though Kaibara-kun?” Tsuburaba is hissing, and it’s the most hopeful sounding hiss ever. Neito is trying not to listen, but they’re right there and so he watches everyone work and tries to plug his ears without plugging them directly. He may be nosy but he’s not rude.

His ears, however, work automatically and he’s almost helpless to the gossip.

“Do you really think…,” Tsuburaba hiss-whispers without waiting for a response, and Neito sees him wring his hands in his peripheral. “That you-know-who might come?”

“I don’t think so,” Kuroiro whispers much more normally and pats at Tsuburaba when the boy deflates like a balloon. “You-know-who has no reason to be here, you know that you-know-who has no particular inclinations to Kendou or Shiozaki.”

“Kuro!” Kaibara snaps, like he’s said something wrong at the same time as Tsuburaba who murmurs a simple “I guess,” and sounds so dejected Neito almost looks over in surprise. He doesn’t though because he’s only stretching his legs and he’s definitely not listening on to people’s private conversations. Across the room, Fukidashi rips open a bag of peanuts and starts hurtling them into a glass dish and Neito stares more pointedly at that instead.

“I just wish…you-know-who would come. I want to see h…you-know-who again, but I don’t know how. You-know-who smelled really good that time, you know?”

Neito inhales through his nose, wondering which poor girl is being discussed so thoroughly on their shitty couch. The darkest part of him wants to know so bad.

“You could talk to you-know-who. You-know-who won’t mind, I’m sure,” Kaibara offers, his whisper sounding so kind Neito has to make a real effort to not crane his neck and gape at them this time. Kaibara would sell all of them to the League of Villains for free on any given day, what is this compassionate nonsense?

Feeling like he’s about to witness shit that no one would believe he’s seen even if he swore on All Might’s life, Neito grips the arm of the couch and stands up on aching legs. He doesn’t need more whiplash in his life than what he’s already gone through this week.

Steeling his nerves and his protesting legs, he walks away and towards where the snacks are being unpacked right when Tsuburaba says “What would I even talk about with you-know-who though…? You-know-who is so cool and powerful and smart and-,”

Neito tries to purge his ears of their private conversation, prays for forgiveness and almost trips on his way to Tokage when he hears Kaibara gently whisper something back. It’s not that big of a deal; he considers the three of them friends (sort of) and did team up with them in the Sports Festival so they’re not strangers. They’d probably even tell him who they were talking about if he asked.

But it’s someone’s personal business, Tsuburaba is a baby and Neito is dramatic and weird and overthinking things he didn’t even think could be overthought before today and so onward he stalks towards Tokage who’s cutting up fruits with Yanagi.

“H-,” he barely manages before they notice him near their table and immediately Tokage grins, waving at him with a knife with an enthusiastic “Come here, I have a thing for you to do!”

Neito nods, walks closer and grins back carefully, wishing the damn thing would stop feeling so foreign.

“Monoma, Monoma, I’m so glad you’re here!” she says, stabbing an apple with as much finesse as a five-year-old. “Where have you been?!”

“Resting on the couch,” he shrugs, waving an arm in the general direction of the seating area. Tokage makes a grunting noise and smiles at him wide before murdering the apple in front of his eyes.

“So, you have time?”

“Yeah, I’m free,” Neito half-smiles, because he has nothing but time today.

“Good, good! I wanted to ask! If you’re not too tired, can you do me a chore?” she says, looking away so she can skin the apple. Yanagi takes half a step away from her warily and Neito stares at her questioningly. “I really would send Tetsu or Juzo or something but they’re all helping plate the food and then the others are fixing the music and handing out the invites and ugh, so much going on,” she wipes sweat off her brow and grins at Neito, panting like she’s running a marathon. “Yeah, so if you’re free, can you do me the favour? I really would go myself but you know-,”

“I’ll do it,” Neito says kindly, fearing she’ll explode if she talks more, as fast as she’s going. Yanagi quietly cuts the peaches and looks at him pointedly once, like she can’t believe what she’s witnessing but looks away immediately. “I’ll go. Where do you want me to go?”

“Oh, you’re a sweetheart,” Tokage is smiling so hard, Neito is concerned she might cry. “Really, I would go or send someone else, anyone else but there’s only an hour and a half left to the party and I need to get ready, too and oh god-,”

“Tokage-san,” Yanagi says quietly, nudging her. Tokage shuts up instantly, wiping more sweat.

“I’m going hysterical,” she says, giggling and Neito is concerned. “Anyway, will you be a sweetheart and go pick up the cakes from Lunch Rush? In the lunch hall? You just have to ask them for the 1-B party things and you’ll be handed everything! Really easy! I would myself but-,”

Neito finds himself stepping backward before she can say she really would go but and puts up two hands in a placating gesture.

“I’ll go,” he reassures her, already halfway across the room and nodding like he’s getting paid to do it. “I’ll get the cakes.”

 “I love you,” Tokage says, looking on the literal verge of relieved tears and Neito bursts out laughing before he can stop himself. It’s not funny. He’s not sure why he laughs. She looks two seconds away from crying but then she laughs too.

Stupid.

He immediately legs it out of the common room without bothering to change into outdoor shoes, fuelled by panicked embarrassment.

He really needs to stop being so joyful. It’s kind of creeping him out.

 

-

 

It’s colder outside than it is in the dorms, colder than he expects it to be really, and by the time Neito makes the short walk from Heights Alliance to the UA cafeteria, his nose is red and the chill has seeped right through his bones. He’s not freezing by any means, but his T-shirt is thin and his pyjama bottoms are flimsy and not meant for outdoor use and why did he agree to this again?

Why didn’t he just grab a jacket? Why is he still wearing his indoor slippers?

The heaters are on at the lowest setting inside the cafeteria and provide temporary respite from the September chill as Neito drags his half-frozen feet to the Lunch Rush food collection area. There’s no one there actually manning the counter but he can hear faint clanging coming from beyond the half-open door that leads to the kitchens and the smell of something really nice hangs in the air, like it’s been freshly prepared or is in the process of it. Unsure of whether or not he should announce himself, Neito stands there silently for a little bit, fingers flexing idly by his sides as he waits for someone to come out and acknowledge him.

Ten seconds of silence later, broken only by the noises coming from the kitchen, Neito awkwardly rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat as loud as he can, rapping his knuckles gently on the glass counter.

Something bangs in the kitchen. Neito, only slightly alarmed, attempts to crane his neck to see if he can peer into the room beyond where someone is making some sort of mess. Or murdering someone. Or something.

Glass shatters.

“Hello?” he manages, faintly reminded of the chaos that had been going down in the common room earlier that morning. Taken aback as nothing but another bang answers him, he knocks his palm against the counter, this time with more force. “Hel- is anyone there? Are you alright?”

“Yes!” a sickeningly familiar voice finally answers and Neito freezes immediately. “Yes! I’ll be right with you! Sorry!”

The person sounds out-of-breath and three bangs sound in quick succession right after the reply, like the motherfucker is aggressively wrestling with something. Feeling like he’s been doused in cold-water, Neito suddenly feels like his good-mood do an abrupt 180.

He’s suddenly so fundamentally annoyed and bitter, starting to slowly understand why Tokage really would’ve gone herself but and feels the wind physically knock out of him when the emotions hit him. He’s not even being dramatic.

The worst part of it is that he’s not even sure who the annoyance is directed at. Tokage for not fully warning him of the calamity that would befell him on this stupid errand, himself for not remembering that she had in fact brought this up on Friday and his silly, happiness-riddled mind had just merely forgotten all about it, or—and this is the most likely option—Kirishima who is currently murdering something in the back and who Neito will inevitably have to deal with face-to-face to get those stupid fucking cakes.

“Also, Kirishima is doing some community work there after school and he’ll sneak it to us for free.” Is what Tokage had explicitly said about cake planning. Neito even remembers countering this. How he’d forgotten something so important while he was going around with flowers and cotton in his head…

Hehe, I’ll go get the cakes, he’d said with full confidence.

Happiness is the worst emotion, Neito decides on the spot as he pinches the bridge of the nose and tries to inhale and exhale like a normal person to squash the flames of kill 1-A, put their heads on sticks, drown Kirishima in the kitchen sink.

Not even the lingering vision of the object of his very abrupt murder fantasies secretly crying as witnessed by yours truly is enough to eliminate the very irrational annoyance, though it does somewhat dampen the fire of enmity that had risen in Neito as his initial response.

Not enough, though.

The flames are still sizzling on low-heat somewhere deep in his belly when Kirishima finally comes bumbling out of the kitchen doors holding two huge shopping bags. There’s a kitchen hat—or whatever those white things are called—pulled over his hair, he has flour on his cheeks and an unnaturally large, incredibly forced grin stretched over his face that makes Neito recoil for reasons unknown, harder still when the second thing he registers about the brat is how swollen his eyes are. He’s not sure if it’s because of that, or the way the stark whiteness of the hat clashes with his skin, but something makes the puffiness of Kirishima’s eyes jump out at him uncomfortably clearly.

Neito would like very much to leave. How could Tokage do this to him? He forgot, sure, but she didn’t probably, then why

“My oh my, what’s this?” Neito finds himself saying almost as if he has no control of his mouth, all his inner aggression hurtling towards his mouth. Suddenly, his true, bitter self emerges the way a haunted corpse would from their grave at 3 am. Neito doesn’t know what that analogy is, but it makes sense in that moment. “As expected of 1-A, you’re so bad at your job you kept me, a customer, waiting a million hours as you did god knows what in there! Isn’t that against customer service rules, what would Lunch Rush say my my my--!”

“Sorry to keep you waiting! You’re here for the cakes, right? They’re on the house!” Kirishima says chirpily, loudly, like nothing has been said at all, and places the shopping bags on the counter between them so Neito’s vision of him is suddenly mostly obscured. Shocked that the response isn’t the usual “Oh my god, 1-B Monoma! He’s psychotic!” Neito abruptly shuts up, gaping at the top of Kirishima’s head which is the only thing that’s visible over the top of the bags.

A long silence stretches between them. Neito tries again after he recovers his petty bearings.

“Wouldn’t expect anyone from 1-A to be good at their-,”

“Be careful grabbing them!” Kirishima interjects as soon as he starts speaking like the words have shocked his vocal cords into action. “The boxes are a bit flimsy!”

Blinking slowly and stumped into confusion at being so blatantly ignored a second time, Neito reaches up and obediently grabs the cakes as carefully as he can as per instruction. As much as the anger suddenly lighting a fire in his ass seems justified—how dare this brat—Neito doesn’t know what everyone would to do to him if he did accidentally upset the cakes somehow. Would he get strung up and fried? Probably.

“Yeah, I’m here for the cakes,” he says a little belatedly in the most clipped, haughty tone he can manage when he’s made sure he hasn’t upended the boxes and is again ready to go to war. Kirishima simply looks at him, smiling widely and Neito eyes him warily when he receives nothing in reply.

Is he ill? What the fuck does he want? He’s clearly not in the mood for hostility.

“Thanks for the cakes,” he tries cautiously.

“Oh, no problem!” Kirishima says, suddenly deciding to acknowledge the words coming out of Neito’s mouth as he waves a hand around. Neito eyes him curiously, watching as Kirishima finally drops his smile to a degree where it at least looks human.

A beat of silence. And then the smile comes back full force, “They’re free.”

Neito stares at him, feeling physically wrestled into confused silence. Kirishima stands there and continues to smile and stare like he’s being paid to do it, swollen eyes reddened at the edges the way Neito’s get when he cries for more than an hour. He’s not sure why looking straight at the other boy makes him feel almost dizzy with what feels like misplaced anger, even more so when he attempts to read the strange expression brimming within his bright eyes.

Please not today, Kirishima seems to be saying though not with his mouth, the plea mixed in with a I’m really not in the mood.

“Thanks for the free cakes,” he mutters, feeling like he’s been defeated somehow as he finally breaks their awkward staring contest and slinks away from the counter, cringing at the sound his slippers make as they slap on the cafeteria tile.

“No problem! Have fun at your party!”

Neito grunts, shuffling away as fast as he can, uneasiness gnawing at his gut as he wonders what the fuck just happened. A part of him wants to go back to the counter, get in Kirishima’s face and pick an argument for argument’s sake if only to stop feeling like he’s missed a step going down the stairs.

The visual of Kirishima crying alone in the cold flashes before his eyes, at the same time as—

“Nice nails, by the way!”

Neito suddenly walks faster, legs moving with a vengeance. He sighs in relief when he manages to leave the suddenly suffocating warmth of the cafeteria behind as the cold hits him square in the face. He’s never doing errands for Tokage again.

Hell, if he never has to see anyone from 1-A ever again, he’d die a happy man. Fucking weirdos. Every time even looking at them is a mental challenge. He’s definitely knocking Kirishima’s teeth out next time.

 

By the time Heights Alliance comes into view past the tall trees that cage the 1-B dorm in, the nagging drag of what feels like worry and concern has been successfully stepped on and eliminated. Stepping over the threshold as Tetsu whines at him to just take your card next time, I had to come all the way over here to open the door, I’m busyyyyy, Neito no longer wants to turn back to force Kirishima into a healthy argument, scream at him to get over himself and have him call him “o-m-g 1-B Monoma the mental patient” the way he always does when provoked.

Not in that order necessarily.

 

-

 

As it turns out, Neito quickly discovers that he simply has no time to think about anything, much less Kirishima’s Big Depression Or Whatever The Hell That Was, because he’s barely crossed into the common room—that seems to have fallen into utter chaos again—when he feels somebody abruptly snatch the cakes from his hands even though no one physically comes at him. Struck by an incredible wave of dejavu, Neito’s brain barely has time to realise that no, the shopping bags are not floating through the air but are being carried away by Tokage’s literal disembodied hands and yes, that should realistically make him feel as ill and unsettled as it does when the rest of Tokage tackles him into a hug seemingly out of nowhere and the breath is whooshed out of him along with his train of thought.

“Thank you, thank you so much for bringing the cakes! Oh, you’re such an angel I literally owe you one!” she shrieks in the general area of his shoulder and it’s all Neito can do not to jump out of his own skin. “I’ve been so busy! Did I tell you how busy I’ve been?”

“You might have mentioned it,” he manages in an unintentionally wry tone, forcing his arms to hug her back as his chest fills with warmth and wariness all at once. Tokage, who’s currently squeezing the hell out of his neck, laughs like he’s just told the funniest joke she’s heard all year.

Neito feels incredibly pleased, nearly all the uneasiness brought upon by the interaction with Kirishima evaporating into thin air. He even forgets to get mad at Tokage for forgetting to warn him. Instead, disgustingly enough, he breaks into an awkward beam that feels foreign on his face.

“You’re such a doll, I can’t believe it,” Tokage coos like he’s a baby, pinching his cheeks with hands that seem to have reattached themselves to her when he wasn’t looking. Neito, taken aback, half jerks out of her grasp, half leans into her touch. “I really would’ve gone myself but I had to cut the fruits up and help arrange them, and everyone else was busy and I still have to go get ready, but thanks to your help I can do that without thinking about the cakes, you’re so sweet-,”

“It really was no problem!” Neito interjects, sensing that her gratitude is about to descend into overkill territory if the bright, almost feral look in her eyes is indicative of anything. “Go get ready!”

“Oh god yeah, I gotta check on Kendou and Shiozaki too!” Tokage gasps like she’s just remembered, finally letting him go and jumping on the balls of her feet. “There’s only like an hour before people start coming, I better go get my clothes on!” she pauses, throwing a cursory glance around the ruckus of the room and before Neito can attempt to formulate a response, she does two things in very quick succession.

First, she yells a very loud, very shrill, “If any of you dudes are not presentable by 4pm, the offender will be publicly executed and made an example out of! If I see a single pair of sweatpants in this bitch when guests start coming, you best believe I will skin you!”

Immediately afterwards, as everyone jumps and turns to look in her general direction and while Neito tries to recover from the way his soul has suddenly left his body due to her abrupt increase in volume, Tokage turns to beam at him with the force of a thousand suns, cups his temples with her hands and lands a kiss smack in the middle of his cheek. Intentionally or unintentionally, it lands a little too close to his lips for comfort and Neito’s systems fail on the spot.

Oh, says a part of his brain, the part that hates him the most, so that’s what kisses feel like

I wonder if it would feel the same if Shinsou

“Thank you so much again, let’s go put something nice on! Come on!”

“What? Yes,” Neito replies intelligently. Blood suddenly roars in his ears and any bearings he’d managed to briefly collect scatter all over the place again as several pairs of disbelieving eyes turn to stare directly at the two of them.

Tokage, who doesn’t give one fuck, grabs Neito by the hand, takes Komori by the elbow who is conveniently lurking near them and pulls the two of them out of the common room with a “Put nice clothes on, you dogs! Fucking hell, the hero course is a testosterone fest!” snapped over her shoulder.

Neito, struck dumb first by the force of his own good mood, then Kirishima’s nonsense and now Tokage’s…whatever the hell this is, all in the span of a mere few hours, lets her drag him along as the common room, that had gone silent for a split second, erupts into outrageous uproar behind them.

Traitorous motherf-,”

“Holy shit!?”

“No way is Monoma…dating-,”

“Monoma and…Tokage-?”

“Guys shut up-,”

“That sly old shit-,”

“I saw this morning, too-,”

As he’s dragged along by Tokage, who is paying him or the screaming they’ve left behind no attention and is animatedly talking right in Komori’s ear, Neito presses his free hand to his ear in an attempt to plug it and prays to whatever higher power there is for forgiveness and strength.

-

 

The next hour comes as a welcome respite from all the bullshit that has been thrown at Neito all day. Despite Tokage’s insistence at pulling him away from the common room with her to get ready, she thankfully doesn’t follow him onto his floor, choosing instead to part with him at her own with Komori and a bubbly “look handsome!” thrown over her shoulder.

Going up to his own floor in the elevator alone is the first time since he came back from picking up the cakes that Neito can feel himself breathe easily without it feeling like air is clogging the back of his throat every time he inhales and exhales.

Tired and mentally frazzled from the events of the past hour or so, Neito spends the next 45 minutes lying on top of his covers fully clothed with not a single clue what he wants to wear. Not that he can bring himself to really think about that right in that moment, because despite the fact that his good mood from yesterday hasn’t truly dissipated into nothingness—yet—Neito can’t stop himself from feeling like his braincells are exhausted from keeping up with the madness of the past two days. There’s the party, and then there’s Tokage and then there’s Kirishima and the prospect of him being one of the things bothering Neito at the back of his head and not in an evil, petty way is so fucking absurd to him that it just makes his brain hurt a little worse.

No way is he concerned about that little shit. He’s just tired and confused and happy and basking in friendship and affection and there’s a tiny part of him worrying about internships and a tinier, buried part that’s (always) working over-time in reminding him of his crush on Shinsou and it’s just messed with his head, that’s all. All that and the party preparations…he just…on top of all that stress, he doesn’t need a reminder that the brats in 1-A are actually human and not government powered robots placed in the school just to be colossal show-offs.

He’s not concerned. He’s not. He’s mad if anything. How dare Kirishima, really.

Throwing an arm over his eyes, Neito sighs and tries to rest as much as he can before he has to go back to the chaos downstairs. The warning bells that have been faintly ringing at the back of his head since morning pick up in intensity and he tries to squash the bad feeling they fill his chest with.

Silently, he prays for his happiness to last a little longer—not very much longer, just enough to tide him through the party. He prays harder when the comments that had followed him and Tokage out of the common room sound faintly in his head, though he’s not sure what he’s praying for.

Monoma and…Tokage!?

The warning bells ring louder. Neito presses his face in the pillow and screams for the hell of it. God, his life is a mess. They’re going to kill him when he goes downstairs. They’re all going to kill him.

 

-

 

The clock reads 3:51pm and the dorm visitor bell has rung about 7 different times when Neito finally finds it in himself to roll out of bed and throw something decent on. By then, his brain is absolute mush and he doesn’t doubt that if he lies back down, he’ll most definitely fall asleep. Which makes getting out of bed and setting his limbs on force-function the only viable option. If it was anyone else’s birthday, he might actually have napped through it but it’s Kendou and well…

Well, it’s Kendou. His first friend. He can’t miss her birthday—god knows how many times she’d karate chop him for that.

And so, with not much of a choice and not looking forward to the night very much, Neito rifles through his ironed clothes and searches for something that’s appropriate for a double teenage sweet 16.

As he buttons up the first pair of blue jeans he’d got his hands on, he absently wonders—only for the billionth time—what kind of treatment he’s going to get from the guys when he has the absolute audacity to saunter back in after getting kissed in front of their single, virgin eyes. The memory sends blood rushing to his cheeks faster than the speed of light and Neito hurriedly pulls at a random dress shirt from his wardrobe with both hands to avoid doing something stupid, like slapping himself on both cheeks to wake himself up.

He’s being dumb. He knows he’s being dumb; he’s being the dumbest 16-year-old that ever lived to be so flustered by friendly kisses just because they’re from a girl. Really, Tokage kisses all of her friends. Neito has first-hand seen her land smooches on Komori and Pony almost daily because that’s just how it is and now that he’s befriended her…well, of course she’s going to land smooches on him too.

And there’s nothing wrong with it. It’s welcome affection, and Neito can’t deny that it makes him feel really pleased inside, even though he wouldn’t admit it, plus he’s fairly sure he doesn’t even like girls and Tokage seems to not even like boys, and they’re just becoming really close really suddenly because of Neito’s own moment of weakness so to tell her to stop kissing his cheek or forehead would be kind of rude, plus it’s not like he dislikes it! He’s been kissed on the cheek only once before by a friend and that’s an instance he would rather never think about, but Tokage is being completely friendly…really and completely, which is why he’s not quite sure why he feels so strung out. He would not mind at all, he’s at least 70% sure, if Tokage gave him more smooches, but only if he can shut up the part of his brain that keeps wondering what it would feel like if Shinsou was the one to give him the kisses—

The visitor bell loudly goes off—is this the 8th time? —and Neito is scared out of the spiral of his own thoughts as he jumps almost a foot in the air.

Cursing under his breath, he mumbles irritably and attempts to neatly tuck his shirt into the waistband of his jeans. He’s being ridiculous. Of course, kisses would feel the same if Shinsou gave them. Fucking hell, he has a human mouth, doesn’t he?

Why the hell is he even thinking about this?

Grumbling, Neito rubs at his eyes and contemplates spontaneous human combustion.

 

-

 

Baby, a whisper passes by in his ear.

“No. Fuck you,” Neito says to his own reflection, face pulled into the most vicious scowl he can manage as he tries to clip suspenders to his jeans, though his rapidly reddening face ruins the effect.

The ghost of dream-Shinsou chuckles in what feels like his ear. The visitor-bell goes off and scares the shit out of him again.

 

-

 

By the time Neito steps out of his room and locks the door behind him, he’s feeling fairly calmer—and no, the red spots on his face are not hand-prints. He did not slap himself twice to ground himself. The dredges of his rapidly evaporating good-mood still linger if he concentrates a bit, and so he decides to do just that if only so he can find it in himself to survive tonight. The longer he’s thought about it, the more he decides that he can deal with the boys and their misunderstanding about him and Tokage just fine. They’re all dumb as hell for the most part. Once he tells them the truth about how him and Tokage are just friends, he’s sure they’ll understand. They’re not the priority-worry.

Neito doesn’t think he even has a priority-worry at the moment past “please let me survive this party and all the male scrutiny I am going to receive” but his brain thinks there is something else to be worried about, because the bad-feeling at the back of his head has intensified by a fair bit.

Sighing and wishing he could go back and scream into his pillow a little more, Neito drags his feet to the elevator as the visitor-bell goes off once more. This one is louder, probably because he’s not in his room anymore—oddly, this one sounds like a warning.

Neito is slowly losing it.

 

-

 

The common room is bustling when Neito finally gets to the ground-floor, packed up and down with people who are making so much noise, he almost wants to call the elevator back so he can escape back to his room. Pressing himself to the wall, he peers into the open space to assess the situation and figure out how best to make his entry. Kendou and Shiozaki are seated on the couch in really pretty dresses and are surrounded by a whole gaggle of girls. Neito knows some of them—the ones that are from 1-A, but some he has absolutely no clue of who they are. Probably from support and business and general studies, he very smartly infers, chewing on his lower-lip as he tries to figure out whether now is a good time to go over and wish the birthday girls before he can retreat to the corner the boys will without a question be shunned to for the rest of the night.

Shinsou’s from General Studies, you know, like those girls, his brain very helpfully reminds him. Neito feels a headache coming on.

He pulls back and takes a deep breath, rubbing his temples slowly to ground himself. It’s just a party. He’s been excited for it and preparation has been fun, plus he’s still in somewhat a good mood. It won’t suck. It can’t suck. Not as bad as he thinks it will, anyway. Tokage will probably look out for him and even if the boys go insane with their questions and accusations, he can rely on Rin to beat them up.

Yeah. There’s nothing to worry about. Absolutely nothing.

Neito takes a deep breath, adjusts the oversized cardigan that he regrets pulling on top of his outfit because it keeps sliding off and takes a step out into the open space.

Or half a step. Barely even, because he’s moved maybe a centimeter before a blur of green and red tackles him backwards and the wind is knocked out of him for like, the fourth time that day alone.

“Wh-,”

“Keep moving,” Tokage hisses in his ear, grabbing hold of his arm around the elbow so hard Neito feels the circulation cut off and then he’s being dragged behind her like he’s a ragdoll. Dazed and disoriented, he can’t even protest. He’s not even really walking. He’s fairly sure his feet are just floating behind him as Tokage manhandles him to the end of the elevator hallway, right towards the—

“What…what are we doing?” he pants, suddenly feeling like the earth has tilted from its axis. Tokage doesn’t reply; she only kicks open the supply closet door, throws a quick look over her shoulder towards the common room where no one seems to have noticed his sudden abduction, and then Neito is being thrown inside the tight space.

“Tokage?” he asks, half-amused (he feels deranged for that one) and half…well half quaking with unfounded fear. “Tokage wh-,”

“Listen to me,” she mutters, squeezing herself in with him and slamming the door shut. They descend into pitch-black darkness. “Listen Monoma. Are you listening?”

“Yeah,” Neito says, feeling like his brain capacity has been reduced in the last thirty seconds. “I’m listening, Tokage.”

“Call me Setsu, I told you,” she says hurriedly, like that’s the problem here. “I just want you to know…god, where is the fucking switch, it was over-,”

There’s a click and suddenly the closet is filled with dim yellow light. Neito feels like he’s gone blind.

“Right, I just want you to know,” Tokage says, taking a deep breath and Neito squints down at her, baffled and suddenly as frazzled as he was an hour ago. All his calming progress has gone down the absolute gutter. “That none of this is my fault.”

“What?” Neito asks—god, he’s so intelligent today—and watches warily as Tokage reaches down to rummage in her little bag. He didn’t even know she was holding one but it’s red and matches her party dress. He’s too afraid to ask what she’s doing.

“If I had known this was going to happen, I never would’ve consented. I would’ve told Shiozaki to pound sand when she requested it, honestly…ah, here it is,” she adds, pulling out a small oval looking…thing and Neito feels like he’s definitely missed a step going down the stairs.

He feels like he’s being beaten to death.

“What are you talking-,”

“Close your eyes and mouth,” she orders, looking up at him with so much determination that Neito immediately complies, heart thundering in his chest. She’s too close to him, way too close for comfort, and he doesn’t particularly want her to be and it’s—

What the fuck.

“Don’t open your mouth,” she hisses when he does so to ask exactly what the fuck she’s doing the second some spongey thing touches his cheek. Neito, 16, terrified, clamps it back up.

Tokage pats the sponge on different parts of his face, on his cheeks, under his eyes, over his eyebrows, on his chin and Neito feels like he might heave from the suspense of it all.

“I’m actually so sorry, baby. I really didn’t think this would happen and now it has and I feel like a failure for not double-checking, but honestly, what were the odds? God, I feel like a failure of a friend…there…you can open your eyes now.”

Neito does, staring down at her in question and what he can only name as baffled confusion as she rummages through her bag again.

“But I want you to know that I’m here for you. If at any point of the night, you feel uncomfortable or want to leave, just tell me and I’ll remove you from the situation immediately. Okay?”

“Sorry but,” he manages and successfully manages to not wheeze. “What…are you talking about?”

“I’ll tell you when we’re outside. Promise,” Tokage throws him an apologetic half-smile, pulling out what looks like a pencil out of her bag. Neito feels like he really is about to die.

“What is that?”

“This? Eyebrow pencil.”

“Eye- what?”

“Here, hold still,” Tokage says, leaning all the way into his face and Neito is so surprised, he holds his breath and dares to not let out even a squeak. Rarely in life has he ever been so surprised and confused, he doesn’t himself know what the hell he’s feeling but…he’s here now. Completely oblivious and kind of terrified.

“You’ve…tackled me a lot today,” is what he manages to say, the idiot that he is, after ten seconds of absolute deafening silence, the entirety of which Tokage spends running the eyebrow pencil gently through his eyebrows.

“Heh, I’m sorry. I get really clingy when I’m stressed and I wasn’t really thinking today. It’s how I bond with people really…did you mind?”

“Not really but the boys are thinking…weird things I think,” he mutters truthfully, staring when she pulls another…something out of her bag and throws the pencil back in. “What is that?”

“Blush.”

“Sorry?”

“It’s blush. Here, close your eyes and mouth.”

Neito, helpless and freaking out, feels like he has no choice but to oblige.

“I honestly feel bad that I’m doing this to you, but I…you will thank me for this later,” is all Tokage offers, though whether it’s because she feels him stiffen when she runs something soft across his cheeks, he’s not sure. “Only reason I’m not telling you is because I don’t want you to…freak out.”

I’m freaking out right now, Neito thinks with just a tinge of bitterness.

“Okay, you can open your eyes.”

“Tokage…Setsu,” he corrects himself, feeling only a little embarrassed when she looks at him with bright eyes. “What are you…putting…what is that?”

“Makeup,” she says simply, like it’s obvious, holding a new box. Neito blinks dumbly, feeling his heart pick up even more. He must look like a terrified deer caught in the headlights because she immediately waves her hands in front of his face. “Really light makeup. Hardly noticeable. To make you look pretty. Or prettier than usual.”

Neito stares at her, incredulous. Tokage smiles sheepishly before adding, “This is lip tint.”

Like that’s the problem.

There must be something in his gaze that gives away exactly how agitated he is, because Tokage seems to pause and look down at the box in her hand. Neito warily follows her gaze.

“Sorry, I didn’t think to ask before putting makeup on you. I do that to my friends when they need an extra edge in their looks for a night but they’re usually all girls and I forgot you’re…a boy for a second? Sorry, I’m…so stressed today and I completely freaked out when I saw…fuck-,”

“I-,” Neito starts and then stops, discomfort almost entirely replaced by incredulity. Not even the negative kind or anything he just—

Well he just can’t believe what the hell is happening.

Tokage, whose greater brain functions seem to be catching up with her panicked actions, looks up at him sheepishly with something like remorse in her eyes. Neito blinks at her, and she stares back for a full minute before she decides that now is the time to ask for consent.

“So, can I put the lip tint on or nah?”

 

-

 

By the time Tokage kicks open the storage closet door to let them out, Neito is dazed, disoriented and has had his lips touched by another human being for the first time in his life. He’s also wearing Tokage’s choker, a not-very-uncomfortably-tight thin strip of velvet with a round silver charm at the front.

The taste of her mouth-freshening spray is still clinging to his teeth. He feels…minty.

He feels…he doesn’t know how he feels.

“Tokage-,”

She throws him a look.

“Setsu,” he corrects, letting her grab his elbow without protesting. He feels like he’s had all fight beat out of him for today. He’s actually kind of sleepy. “Can you…tell me what’s wrong now?”

“Oh right,” she grabs onto his arm tighter, like she actually forgot something was wrong. “Um, okay so you have to know none of this was my fault. Or anyone’s fault really. I need you to listen to this calmly.”

The common area comes into view again. The girls are still hogging the couch and Kendou is laughing.

“Right,” Neito says slowly, heart slowly picking back up from where it had finally started to settle down.

“Uh, so,” Tokage laughs a little, patting at the side of her own hair. “You remember how Shiozaki has a friend in General Studies who thought coming to this party would help her anti-social boyfriend out?”

“What?” he falters only slightly, feeling like he’s been smacked in the face before he remembers. “Works out, watches cat-videos, has three friends guy?”

“That’s the one. Well…they came.”

“Okay?” Neito looks down at her, irritably hoisting his cardigan up to his shoulder as it slips down again and feels the most nauseating…something spread across his chest. The bad feeling thuds against the back of his head.

“Tokage—Setsu…,”

“Just…,”

The two of them arrive at the bend of the elevator wall, the same one Neito had stood at while peering into the common-room to assess the situation. Tokage motions him to come closer as she stands where he had and he leans over the top of her head to look at whatever she’s talking about, already feeling like he’s going to vomit.

Together, they sneakily look while being in plain-sight. It’s dumb. They’re dumb.

The noise level in the common room is astronomical, somehow louder than when Neito had first arrived and he barely resists the urge to plug his ears. The girls are still where they were, as confirmed earlier, and on the other side of the room, the boys have been side-lined. They’re all sprawled against the wall or slumped in chairs as they mourn being excluded from the party, most probably.

There’s Tsuburaba, Kaibara and Kuroiro huddled together the way they had been in the morning on what looks like one mini-couch, whispering amongst themselves. There’s Rin and Shishida and Shoda, good-naturedly talking to each other while also throwing wary glances at Awase who looks so pissed, he looks like he has a thunder-cloud constantly pissing down on him. He seems to be venting to Tetsutetsu, who looks sympathetic.

Neito almost snorts at the expression on his face and opens his mouth to ask what’s wrong with the pair of them when Awase throws a dirty look towards one corner of the room in particular and Neito regrets following his gaze.

Tokage must sense him stiffening because she immediately mutters a, “It really wasn’t my fault! If I had known…,”

“What the fuck,” Neito whispers, the absolute despair in his own voice catching him off guard enough to clear his thoughts a little bit.

“I know!” Tokage hisses back, sounding just as distressed. “How was I meant to know he was the boyfriend? God dammit Shiozaki! I’m so sorry, Monoma baby-,”

Neito, hardly listening to whatever she’s saying, stares and then stares some more in the corner that’s attracting all of Awase’s ire, where Shinsou sits against the wall with earbuds in his ears and nose nearly buried in his phone. He’s wearing a plain black T-shirt and jeans—the absolute bare minimum—and yet, Neito pathetically still feels all the oxygen in his lungs physically wheeze out of him.

“He,” he says, his mouth moving as if on autopilot even though he has no idea what he’s going to say until he says it and Tokage turns her neck to look up at him in question and possible alarm. Neito, feeling like he’s going insane, swallows thickly and what chooses to come out of his mouth is, “I think he’s watching cat videos.”

Tokage blinks up at him before dissolving into disbelieving giggles.

Neito, with his minty breath and his oversized cardigan, feels like he’s teetering at the edge of a panic attack and wonders if Kendou would forgive him if he just bolted right now.

 

-

 

He doesn’t, of course, because he’s not a quitter. Bolt, that is. He chooses to go into battle full-force, choosing the value of friendships and the prospect of cake over the fact that even looking at Shinsou melts his brain at any given moment. He choose to go in there, chooses to sit with his friends, chooses to take the brunt of their teasing, chooses to make every single wrong decision when it comes to human interaction, chooses to take part in the only game the boys play with the girls because Tsuburaba begs for some entertainment…chooses to…chooses—

And in the process of choosing to do this and do that and doing everything his brain warns him against—

Exactly three hours and fifty minutes from the time Neito stupidly decides that he is not a quitter and stalks into the party, he finds himself internally thanking the heavens with no small amount of panic that Tokage somehow had the foresight to make him choke on mouth freshener.

Because exactly three hours and fifty minutes into the party that Neito really should’ve bailed out of, Kendou or no Kendou, one Shinsou Hitoshi of class 1-C kisses him full on the mouth. Literally.

Notes:

me (rattling my cage and pushing their heads together): MONOSHIN! MONOSHIN! MONOSHIN! MONOSHIN! MONOSHIN!
don't get your hopes up this shit is still abt to be the longest slowburn in existence

I found this chapter funnier than I should have. I feel like I'm abt to pass away writing the party because of how hysterically stupid teenagers are

(Please leave kudos and comments if you like, they encourage me to keep going <3 thank you for almost 700 kudos wtf you guys are the best ily)

edit: chapter has been edited for some minor missing words because apparently I suck at self beta-ing. Story might go through similar edits here and there which arent a big deal why am I putting this here

Chapter 13: 4.2

Notes:

fun fact and full disclosure: this chapter is only so late because monoma is anxious throughout it and writing it gave me anxiety and i kept putting it off. i love projecting on him <3
[also late because it's long as hell]

also this is almost at 800 kudos and I am so so so grateful for all of you who keep up with it, leave kudos and comment. you really keep me going. thank you. thank you so so much.

content warnings: god, dude so fucking much just read it.

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

4:11pm

T-minus three hours and fifty minutes: Neito makes the conscious decision to walk into the party, or rather, stalk straight to where Kendou and Shiozaki are, and tries to ignore the blood roaring in his ears. The amount of rational thoughts in his head right at that moment is to a good, clear zero and he feels like he should be worried about other things that aren’t Shinsou’s sudden, unwelcome presence but can’t quite remember what they were. And so onward he goes, fuelled by what suspiciously feels like pure, unfiltered teenage adrenaline. Tokage cautiously follows, ready to catch him if he decides to topple backwards or something.

 

“Well, don’t you look all nice and handsome today?” is the first thing Kendou teasingly says to him and for a second, Neito barely hears her. It takes another second for his brain to log back in after the Big-Shinsou-Shock and by then, he finds that she’s got him bent forwards and gathered in a hug that’s less of a head-lock than usual. He can’t immediately tell if he initiated it himself. That information is forever lost in the void.

“Efforts were made, huh?”

“Yeah. Happy birthday.”

He doesn’t have a single clue why she seems to be teasing him in a tone that implies she knows something she doesn’t. Not that he can really focus on anything currently; all he really consciously finds in himself to do is pat the back of her head awkwardly before pulling back and taking a good look at her. She looks nice, girlier than she ever has and nicer than he ever will, sitting there surrounded by her friends in a peach pink dress and a teasing, bright smile. It’s almost hard to tell, looking at her in that moment, that her favourite hobby is actually periodically beating the shit out of him no less than three times a week. Give or take.

Efforts really were put in, I see,” Kendou seems to be teetering on the edge of straight-up laughing in his face.

Neito almost says it as a knee-jerk reaction; a teasing you don’t look so bad yourself tonight, miss brute nearly makes it to the tip of his tongue before he catches it and shoves it back down his throat. It would make Kendou come for his throat for sure.

He can just bully her later when she’s free to beat him half to death. He’s generous, really.

She’s so lucky because all he says is, “You look really nice.”

He shrugs with a smile—he hopes it isn’t more of a grimace—when Kendou thanks him, still with the same teasing lilt to her voice like she’s somehow making fun of him without being serious about it, and then he turns to Shiozaki who looks equally blinding in a white-dress. The pair of them are surrounded by so many girls, Neito feels like he’s looking straight into an explosion of colour.

He tries very hard not to look any of them in the eyes, especially the girls from 1-A, because he’s not feeling emotionally stable enough to spare their feelings. Instead, he turns to Shiozaki with a bowed head.

“Happy birthday, Shiozaki-san,” he says as politely as he can, putting both his hands together and bowing the way she usually does with his eyes trained somewhere on her lap. Shiozaki, bless her, bows back with no extra words other than a very dreamy, “Thank you, Monoma-san.”

And just like that, Neito’s work in this particular corner is done, at least for a while. He straightens up and faintly wishes there was a way to avoid everyone at this party from this point on; there is something very unenjoyable about having to pretend he is eerily calm and serene while his blood pressure is surpassing human limits.

Is it too late to bolt?

“You guys have a good time,” he says in a tone that’s more clipped than he intends it to be, but really, he’s just working hard on not throwing up. With another nod to Shiozaki and a scathing look at Kendou who can’t keep her smirk down for some reason, he makes to walk off to the corner where he is to be shunned with the rest of the guys.

He’s taken barely five steps off when one of the girls breaks into hysterical giggles and the rest follow, and suddenly they begin talking over each other. Neito, not interested and two seconds away from either dying or crying due to other very unrelated reasons, keeps walking.

“Oh my god, was that really 1-B Monoma-,”

“He just walked over-,”

“So calm!”

“Why was he not yelling!?”

 

Seriously fuck everyone in 1-A.

 

“It was kind of macho!”

“Kendou, he gave you a hug-,”

“None of the others-,”

“It was cute!”

“The rules, though-,”

“We had rules?”

“About the guys! It’s a woman-only event for the start of the-,” That’s Ashido from 1-A, that little shit.

“I didn’t know what he wanted, he just ran over it was honestly kind of brave-,”

 

Ah, fucking hell. Women.

 

“Well, he’s allowed, him and Kendou-,” he hears Tokage begin sharply but she’s quickly drowned out. He adjusts his god-forsaken cardigan—seriously this thing just won’t stay on—and reminds himself to later thank her for defending him and also tell her off for not telling him there were rules about approaching the girls or something. Provided he’d just stalked over fuelled by pure impulse with the presence of Shinsou lighting an immediate fire under his ass, but how the hell was he meant to know he couldn’t just walk up to them? He wasn’t even really seeing anything in that moment.

It was either walk into the party or run up the stairs, miss Kendou’s birthday-party and cry off the makeup Tokage had put very painstakingly put on him.

 

4:13pm

T-minus three hours and forty-eight minutes: Mildly offended and swallowing the urge to go over and Ashido Mina from 1-A who seemed to have shit to say about him in his own abode, Neito walks over to the boys corner to be shunned with the rest of them. He resolutely tries to not even glance in the general direction he remembers Shinsou being. Awase seems very angry and is making lots of hand gestures at Tetsutetsu who looks sympathetic. This entire class is an embarrassment.

 

Neito isn’t sure why it doesn’t hit him right in that moment when he’s still a semi-respectable distance from the rest of the boys and there is still time to salvage his reputation and his pride. It’s most-likely his hyper-awareness of the fact that the universe hates him and of the fact that Shinsou somehow managed to end up here at a 1-B Birthday Party where he has no business being simply because God is playing a really bad game of Sims with Neito’s life. That nonsense has brought with it a kind of all-consuming nausea and rushing of blood straight to his brain that he’s fairly sure may prove fatal in other circumstances. But he is, like someone from 1-A had once put it, an annoying cockroach. He does not die easy.

And so, maybe it’s because he’s too busy trying to keep it together while also trying not to leg it upstairs or maybe he’s just a bumbling idiot—seriously, he’s established this so it might be that. Maybe it’s just because two full days in Tokage’s company has him fucked up and he hasn’t quite picked up the pieces of his life from her sudden intrusion into every aspect of it.

Whatever the case, Neito doesn’t quite realise that he has makeup on his face or rather doesn’t realise the gravity of that fact, not even when he’s close enough to the boys that he can sort of pick up on their conversations and the girls’ giggling is mostly faint.

No one is paying much attention to him right at the moment of approach. Kuroiro, Kaibara and Tsuburaba are still huddled together and whispering, presumably hyping up the infamous you-know-who and ignoring the shitstorm brewing right in their side (and god, does Neito want to know so badly who that person is when he’s feeling less shitty). Rin, Shishida and Shoda seem to be talking to Awase, who has now gone from venting to Tetsutetsu to looking like he wants to physically rain the wrath of everything holy on—

On…well. On Neito’s personal you-know-who.

Neito resolutely continues to not look in that particular direction and keeps walking, unsure of whether his brain would actually explode if he snuck a glance. This week just doesn’t know how to end.

“I’m just saying this is an insult to everything that happened! What are you not understanding?!”

“Please keep your voice down, no one is saying-,”

“To invite him here, especially after what he did to Shoda-kun even if we’re not taking into consideration what he did to Monoma-kun! How did Tokage-san even let him in? Like-,”

“It’s really alright. I’m completely over it,” Shoda tries very feebly and gets flat-out ignored.

Neito’s stomach lurches and he can swear he tastes bile for a split-second—god, he keeps forgetting about that sports festival mess. Paired with the numbness that seems to be creeping over his ears, and he has no idea what the hell that’s meant to signify, he almost thinks he feels a bit faint.

That, and the fact that Tokage let him in-

Of course, that’s nothing compared to the ice-cold feeling that engulfs him when Honenuki, being the first to notice his approach, locks eyes with him and subsequently makes a face. Not a bad one, just…a face.

Neito racks his brain to think of why that might be and still his brain doesn’t realise, too busy trying to process the chaotic back-and-forth happening in front of him. With how much is going on, he’s not sure who he should look at.

Definitely not at Honenuki, he consciously decides, who is now staring holes into the general vicinity of his face. Definitely not there. Maybe the wall? The wall seems safe.

And so, Neito stands where he is, stares at the wall above the couch where Awase is continuing to preach at the loudest quiet-volume he can manage, which is not very quiet at all, and hopes someone other than Honenuki notices him soon because he’s not quite sure how to announce himself and Honenuki isn’t saying shit.

“Not only that, but we do need to take into consideration what he did—I mean, have we really forgotten what he did to Monoma-kun? That was on Wednesday, I’m sure it’s still fresh in our-,”

 

Ah fuck, that mess.

 

“Well technically, he didn’t do anything to Monoma exactly, that was just-,”

“Don’t defend him, Rin-kun!” Awase hisses—no really, he hisses like a very angry cat—and flails his arms around so aggressively, Shishida has to duck to avoid being smacked in the face. Neito doesn’t exactly blame Awase for being so worked up—he did get into a fight with Shinsou that no one asked him to get into and is currently undergoing detention doing god knows what—but the whole scenario is still dramatic and stupid and Neito hates teenagers more than any other demographic in the world.

Did he even ask Awase to defend his honour even though he was kind of flattered it happened? No, he did not, not on Wednesday and definitely not now in the middle of a birthday party.

Time and place. Time and place. Granted no one expected Shinsou to show up but isn’t this…this loud, idiotic argument that can honestly wait until tomorrow…isn’t this going too far?

Neito’s entire being decides that his brain is way too mushy and overwhelmed by Shinsou’s appearance to deal with this nonsense. Suddenly, he understands the appeal Kendou sees in beating the shit out of him whenever he opens his mouth.

Maybe he should do that. To Awase, not to himself.

“I was there, I know what he did!” Awase is saying when Neito’s brain logs back on, seemingly having missed a sizeable chunk of the conversation. “And to invite him here which okay, I get no one knew about, but for Tokage-san to let him into a party, a safe space for us, shouldn’t she have known better? I mean, aren’t Monoma-kun and her…the two of them-,”

The two of them. The two of them. The two of them?

The two of them.

 

Ah fuck. So that’s what he’d been forgetting.

 

He is, in that moment, full-force with the memory of the disbelieving outrage Tokage and him had left behind and not stuck around to see that had somehow temporarily escaped his mind the second he had seen Shinsou. Neito has to physically tackle the urge to get on his knees and start praying to the higher power that has suddenly made his life ten times more hellish. Goddamn you Tokage.

These people think—well of course, they would, but they genuinely think…and to think that that had slipped Neito’s mind for a second when he’d been fully prepared to deal with it all while getting ready…really, he deserves everything that comes at him if this is how he’s going to act because of nothing but a boy

“Shut up about that!” Rin exclaims; the argument is still going on in the background while Neito thinks and overthinks because the world doesn’t stop even when he needs a break to sort his thoughts out. He’s shocked and offended. “We all decided not to say anything about that!”

“When did we do that!?”

Monoma squints at the wall, wondering if he’s just gone permanently stupid or something. He should announce himself if there is a lull in the conversation he thinks, but then again, should he really have to? It’s a small miracle no one’s noticed him thus far with how big he is and standing less than two feet away from them. Is it his fault they’re blind and having the stupidest, most juvenile conversation he’s ever had the opportunity of hearing?

Neito isn’t sure what he expects from his classmates, his stupid ragtag teenage companions who seem to share two braincells amongst each other on a given day, but this whole thing is dumb and the bar for their stupidity is literally in hell at this point.

Sighing and threatening his cardigan with death if it slips down one more goddamn time, Neito gives up, nervously flexes his fingers and prepares to alert them to his presence before they all die of individual brain aneurysms. Depending on how put together he feels later, he might even clear up their stupid misunderstanding about him and Tokage but that all depends on whether his brain decides if it’s functional enough or not.

The answer is no. The answer is always no.

“No, no we did talk about that,” Kamakiri butts in right as Neito shuffles closer to the scene and Kaibara stops whispering to look directly at him. At least someone isn’t blind.

As always, Kamakiri doesn’t seem to have any fear for his life, what with how he willingly attracts Awase’s attention onto himself when the other boy seems to be channelling the indignant fury of ten thousand suns.

Neito sighs.

“Did what?”

“Decided not to bring it up in front of- why are you glaring at me?”

When?”

“When?” Kamakiri seems thrown for only a second before he recovers. “Before the party started. You were there. Wait, what are you asking?”

Neito sighs again, rubs the back of his head to discreetly assess the state of his brain—it’s a no-go but does he have a choice?—and defeatedly opens his mouth to announce himself, if for nothing than to put them out of their collective miseries that they seem to be swimming in solely because of him. It’s stupid. They’re stupid. He’s gone stupid, probably from being in their constant presence for months, and maybe it’s still not too late to just run and go lie down.

Only Honenuki and Kaibara seem to have noticed him lurking near them stupidly, because everyone else is blind and idiotic, and if he booked it right now, who would realistically be able to stop him? He’s already wished Kendou, his brain feels like a pile of clouds and he is woefully unprepared to deal with…boys. Yeah. Maybe he really should go.

 

And to think they think he’s dating Tokage. Fuck, he can’t even entertain that thought.

 

As it turns out however, the universe decides—for him like always, which is very rude because he would like a choice in his own matters—right at the second the thought of escaping even vaguely crosses his mind that he has not quite suffered enough. And so, two things happen in quick succession.

The first is Awase making a noise that is something of a cross between a squawk and a hiss.

“I am asking-,” he starts, sounding more indignant than he realistically should to the point where Neito thinks that even he doesn’t know what exactly he’s pissed at. It’s all a bunch of misplaced anger.

 

The second thing is—

The second thing is Honenuki. For god’s sake, Honenuki.

Neito is about ready to flee, consequences be damned, if only temporarily to the bathroom so he can breathe properly when Honenuki opens his mouth and ruins it all.

 

“Monoma,” he abruptly blurts out and it’s hard to tell if he’s calling out to Neito or if he’s simply alerting the others to his presence; either way, he effectively manages to cut Awase off mid-sentence and everyone, who had been blind up until that moment, turns to look at Neito at the same time in near perfect harmony wearing expressions like they’ve never seen Neito before in their lives. Even Kuroiro and Tsuburaba stop whispering.

Neito, feeling like a deer caught in the headlights even though he has quite literally made the decision to walk over here willingly, stupidly pauses where he is and makes the conscious decision to peel his gaze away from the wall and onto Rin who seems to be the safest option.

Rin gawks at him. Neito, staying as still as possible to not look compromised, stares back and bravely resists the urge to curse when his cardigan slips down his shoulder in favour of pooling around the curve of his elbow. Again.

“I-,” Slightly unnerved, Neito feebly starts with not a clue of what he wants to say when no one moves or speaks for a solid three seconds. As it turns out, he doesn’t need to worry about it, because the next second—as if they’ve been spurred into action by the sound of his voice—almost all the boys start talking over each other.

Neito really ought to-

“When’d you get here?” says Awase, sounding semi-incredulous and looking incredibly guilty as he slowly lowers himself down onto the couch from where he’d been standing on it to argue with everyone, shoes and all.

“We were just-,” Rin sputters.

“Swear you were just over there with the girls, how you move so quick-,”

“Mans materialised.”

“Wow, you look nice,” Tetsutetsu bellows, completely off topic as always.

“On god, I didn’t even see him coming.”

“No for real, I didn’t even realise you were there-,”

“You made it! Wasn’t sure you were going to survive going over to the girls. Kamakiri-kun got thrown across half the room when he made his valiant attempt-,”

And just like that, the conversation derails entirely.

“No I didn’t, what the fuc- That was you.”

“Lies,” Tsuburaba says breezily, waving a hand around. “Anyway, you’re so brave, Monoma-kun!”

“Doesn’t he look nice!?”

“Why are you lying in my name-,”

“Monoma! You look really nice!” Tetsutetsu adds, as if he hasn’t been heard the first time and gets promptly drowned out.

Neito suddenly has even less of a clue as to what the fuck is happening—does he ever?—but at some point, Rin reaches in to grab him by the wrist and he willingly lets himself be pulled along right into the center of the chaos. He has no choice anyway with how disoriented he feels, like he’s being mentally pulled in five different directions at once.

“Thank you,” he manages to belatedly wheeze in Tetsutetsu’s general direction, who seems to be complimenting him every two seconds like he’s being paid to do it, and lets himself be deposited in the middle of the couch on his ass in a vaguely uncomfortable sitting position.

At least he thinks he manages to say something. Whether the “thank you” actually makes it past his mouth is debatable at best.

Not that anyone notices or even appears to care, what with how loud everyone is being as if the mere sight of his presence has shocked them into very loud motion so hard, they’re not sure how to stop. Neito isn’t even sure who is saying what anymore, but he thinks he catches undertones of guilt to Awase and Rin’s voices who are being the loudest. It’s almost as if they’re trying to overcompensatingly drown out everyone else with stupid nonsense—for whatever fucking reason—but are somehow managing to get drowned out themselves by Kamakiri and Tsuburaba who are now having the world’s stupidest back and forth. Neito can’t hear it. Neito can’t hear much really, overwhelmed and tired and Shinsou-compromised and wondering why the universe punishes him like this when he really can’t handle it.

All he can do is settle down into the couch cushions and wait until everyone settles down so he can at least get a fucking word in without being talked over.

Resolutely, he refuses to look to his left lest he catch sight of anything remotely resembling Shinsou in any capacity. He doesn’t think he is in the right mental space to deal with that. Not yet at least.

 

4:29pm

T-minus three hours and thirty-two minutes: The very belated realisation that he is, in fact, wearing makeup hits directly after Neito falsely thinks he might actually survive the night. Honenuki seems to lose all sense of tact at least twice a month for whatever reason. These two occurrences are very mutually exclusive. A cause and effect, if you will. To be fair to Honenuki, he lasts a whole sixteen minutes without opening his mouth, even though the curiosity had to have been killing him. Neito, whose brain had barely started calming down, goes back to wanting to sink into a hole and dying right there.

 

The boys calm down and regain their heads quicker than Neito had thought they would. After a consistent two minutes of scream-talking, everyone goes back to doing what they were before Neito disturbed their peace. Rin, Shishida and Shoda pick up whatever conversation they were having before. Awase settles down and grumpily puts his earbuds in and Tetsutetsu takes it upon himself to annoy the living life of him like he’ll die if he doesn’t. Kuroiro, Kaibara and Tsuburaba go back to whispering amongst themselves, while Kamakiri breaks off from the group to surgically attach himself to the snacks table. No one asks Neito any unnecessary questions and he is surprisingly left in peace after they forcibly sit him down and talk directly into his ears for a few minutes. All is well; it gives Neito time to calm his nerves and attempt to figure out exactly what he’s feeling and why—he comes up with jack shit, so he drops the matter entirely and just…tries not to think. Difficult, considering Shinsou is right there, but he’ll manage. Probably.

After a few minutes of absolutely nothing and no one bothering him, he even allows himself to get a little comfortable and by the time Honenuki’s internal reasoning seems to say “fuck it” and die off, Neito has pulled out his phone and is currently looking at pictures of corgis as he usually does in his free time.

God, he loves looking at corgis. It’s been his one coping mechanism since he was old enough to know that there is this thing called the internet and that you can look at Anything You Want on there. So, here he is.

However, there is no denying that despite the fact that they seem to have settled down outwardly, there is a strange elephant in the room; a tension within the group is stretched taut and threatening to snap at any given moment that everyone, including Neito, seems to be collectively ignoring.

He thinks he knows what it is, sure that they’re dying to ask about Tokage and his non-existent relationship with her, but he’s not absolutely positive and so he simply doesn’t bring it up. Why would he hack an axe into his own foot when everyone seems to be giving him a wide berth? It’s not like he wants to interact with people particularly in that moment. It’s hard enough, simply forcing himself to ignore Shinsou’s existence and maintaining his usual cool, unbothered exterior so Awase doesn’t fly off the handle again. God forbid he finds out that Neito is in fact very bothered by Shinsou being at this party. He might actually commit murder.

And so, Neito sits where he is, is grateful everyone is keeping their mouths shut and tries to cling onto the rapidly dissipating remnants of his good mood, determined to make it through the night. He saw Shinsou, he knew the consequences, knew what hell the past week had rained on him, and still made the conscious decision to come and face it with bravery he knows he doesn’t possess. He’s here now. And he has corgi pictures.

For a second, everything seems like it’ll be alright. Neito thinks he might actually survive and get good food and cake out of this torturous venture.

And then Honenuki ruins his prospects for a second time that night.

Here’s the thing about Honenuki: he’s whip-smart academically. Does really well on tests, got in on recommendations, helps out with homework if you ask, fights really good. That sort of thing. Neito is very grateful for his existence most of the time because he’s good at being a leader and keeping everyone chill. Very nice boy, if a little clueless sometimes.

But here’s the other thing about Honenuki that makes up more of his personality than the aforementioned: he is so goddamn tactless. He is where situational awareness goes to die; has never read a room in his life. He says what he wants to say when he wants to say it, he does what he wants to do when he wants to do it and that’s just how it is. Neito doesn’t know if he’s just that confident in the things he says or does or if he’s genuinely oblivious. Either way, his power is feared throughout 1-B and most words that come out of his mouth are absolute adventures to witness.

So, it’s only right that he be the one to break the false sense of peace.

“So…Monoma-kun,” he starts very casually, twiddling his thumbs and Neito reluctantly peels his attention away from Corgi-In-The-Field-Number-55, instantly somewhat on his guard. Honenuki is looking at him with a faint sense of scrutiny in his eyes but he’s got a smile on his face—as much as his mouth allows him, anyway.

Neito swallows and locks his phone without breaking eye-contact.

“Yes?”

Honenuki stares at him for a second, as if he’s contemplating things, before something in his eyes shifts. Fuck it, he seems to decide.

“I was just wondering…,”

“Yes?” Neito repeats, feeling himself sweat a little but surprisingly, there is no imminent freak out brewing as far as he can tell. He knows Honenuki is probably going to say something about Tokage and dating and yada-yada-yada, all things he can handle and answer adequately since there’s nothing to hide. Plus, the remnants of his good mood are still lingering somewhere in there, he hasn’t had the urge to stare at Shinsou in a bit and the corgis have helped immensely, so he’s more or less stable and ready-

Honeuki reaches out and strokes a thumb over the bridge of his nose. Neito, who had unfortunately taken that moment to inhale, chokes on his own breath as it wheezes its way past his throat.

The scattered conversations around them screech to a halt immediately. Eavesdropping, nosy assholes; not that Neito can care about that when he swears he feels his heart stop for a second before it starts back up ten times faster than before. Just absolutely thundering in his chest.

He’s not upset. He’s not anxious. Okay, maybe he’s a little anxious but people have touched him before—obviously—and Tokage has put her hands on him so much over the weekend, he’s basically desensitised. It’s fine. Touching. Cool.

Touching cool. That’s a sentiment. Yeah. Well, boys don’t touch him on the face if he can help it, never have if he doesn’t count certain incidents and probably never will, but that’s definitely a sentiment.

Honenuki retracts his thumb and looks closely at it once before humming in…Neito doesn’t know what emotion that is…before lifting his thumb toward Neito who’s currently (unsuccessfully) trying to stop all the blood he has in his body from rushing to his face.

Confused. That’s the emotion he’s feeling. Confused and maybe flustered.

The silence around them is deafening. The girls stir up a racket on the far end of the room, oblivious.

“I had a feeling you had something on your face,” Honenuki says, tone still casual like he hasn’t just done the equivalent of shooting Neito in the face at point-blank range. “What is that, man?”

His thumb is still up, now closer to Neito’s face than before and he has to physically force his brain to pick up the pieces of his scattered sanity to even attempt to process what Honenuki wants him to see. It’s harder than it should be, but Neito manages to focus on the pad of the thumb that is now almost fully in his face; the pad of the thumb that has something pink smeared all over it.

Neito furrows his eyebrows in confusion as he attempts to put a leash on his straying thought-process. No boy has ever touched him on the nose, never mind stroke down the bridge like that all tender-like, so he figures the response is normal but fucking hell.

Is he panting? He can’t tell. He might be.

The pink thumb hovers in front of him. Honenuki looks curious, the dickhead.

“What…is what?” Neito’s voice comes out garbled when he bravely forces himself to say something, and for a second, he has no idea what he’s said. Honenuki, deciding not to help whatsoever, simply reaches in and strokes his face again but this time over the area of his right cheek.

Neito blushes so fiercely, he feels almost light-headed.

“What-,”

“This pink stuff on your face!” Honenuki says matter-of-factly, promptly talking over Rin who tries to rise from the dead (conversation) to intervene. “It’s all over your cheeks, I’ve been looking at it for a bit now I can’t figure it out! What is it?”

Neito, confusion now mixed with mild concern, raises his hands to his cheeks and covers them. He has no immediate idea what the fuck Honenuki means. The accursed thumb comes back to hover in front of his face, this time pinker than before.

“See?”

“Honenuki-kun, holy shit you can’t just-,”

“Um,” Neito mumbles, rubbing lightly at his cheeks. The tips of his fingers also come back pink, and for one blissful moment, he is completely unaware and frankly kind of thrown as to what the hell it could be.

“What the hell was that?”

“Can you guys really not see- here look, there’s something on his face!”

Honenuki holds his thumb up and Awase leans in to squint at it.

Realisation hits Neito somewhat abruptly as the conversation picks up again, though this time centered around Honenuki’s…whatever the hell that was. No one pays attention to Neito who was also in the center of the bullshit and whose ears are currently burning with the force of a thousand suns as shame and embarrassment hurtles into him like a truck, along with realisation as to just what exactly Kendou had been teasing him about.

His mind must’ve been real fucked up if he forgot about literal makeup on his face

For fuck’s sake, Tokage.

In the commotion of well…everything, coupled with the fact that Neito has been working really hard for the past few minutes to ignore that Shinsou generally exists as a person, the whole “let-me-shove-you-into-a-closet-and-put-stuff-on-you-before-asking-first” thing somehow slipped his mind completely. As he sits there, both hands on his cheeks and face absolutely flaming, he realises that he doesn’t actually know why Tokage had done that. He needs to ask her later. He needs—

 

Well, he doesn’t feel as fucked up as he probably should be feeling considering a boy has just touched his face that has makeup on it. Sure, there’s a tight knot in his chest and he can’t find the last of his good mood anywhere, Honenuki’s stunt having successfully dissipated whatever was leftover. There’s anxiety and definite shame somewhere in there, he feels kind of cold and light-headed. But he’s not as fucked up about it as he should be.

Something about that pisses him off. What, so now he can’t even find it in himself to be anxious properly? Disgusting.

“It is kind of pink,” Awase is saying when Neito’s brain decides that now is not the time to fold in on itself and logs back on. He looks at Honenuki’s thumb contemplatively and then up at Neito, squinting slightly with his Shinsou-spite temporarily forgotten. “He does look kind of pink around the-,”

He gestures vaguely to his own face.

“Right? I’ve been looking for a while, I couldn’t figure out what it was!”

Neito, who is being talked about like he isn’t sitting right there, scrambles to take a hold of the situation before it shoots in three different directions. This is the exact problem he has with almost everyone in 1-B. He loves them and considers them friends on good days, but they’re all so stupid. Half the time, he has no idea what the hell is happening.

He takes a deep breath, vaguely aware of the fact that Shinsou is extremely near and can look over at any moment. He can’t embarrass himself more than he already has. He can’t let Honenuki of all people embarrass him. Unacceptable. Out of the question.

“Oh, it is pink!” Tetsutetsu exclaims, holding Honenuki’s hand to peer at it closely. “Why’s it pink, Monoma?”

“Guys,” Rin starts helplessly.

Neito exhales and takes his hands away from his face. He’s been here multiple times, in the midst of stupidity he never asked for. He can deal. He will deal.

“It’s makeup,” he says simply, keeping his voice as level as possible. Years of putting up fronts has made him absolutely shameless and when shit comes to shit, he can pretend he’s completely stable and not five seconds away from crying or screaming. Not that that has worked for him at all over the past week, considering everyone seems to be on his ass for everything, fuck Shinsou—

But that’s not important right now. What’s important is that Neito has successfully managed to get the words out without wavering or showing a lick of emotion—all casual like—and now Honenuki, Awase and Tetsutetsu are staring at him in complete silence. His back is to everyone else but he doesn’t doubt they’re all gawking as well, the assholes.

Neito swallows when no one says anything, feeling slightly nauseous. His fingers are still pink and a quick glance at them reminds him of the fact that his nails are still very blue. A double whammy if you will.

That definitely makes him feel more fucked up than he did two seconds ago, he knows that much.

“I think the pink thing is blush,” his voice doesn’t shake at all; he’s so talented. “I didn’t know it came off so easily.”

Honenuki blinks slowly, staring at his thumb and then up at him as Tetsutetsu’s eyes and mouth go as wide as saucers. Awase is squished between them, looking kind of baffled. Behind him, Rin hisses something Neito doesn’t quite catch and Shoda laughs nervously.

There’s a pit wide open in Neito’s stomach but he’s mostly in control. He’s got this.

“Makeup?!” Tetsutetsu bellows, sounding even more awed than before. “Cool, I’ve never seen it up close! Can I touch?”

“Uh-,”

“So, that’s why you look so nice today! I told you!”

“Yeah-,”

“Why’re you wearing makeup?” Honenuki asks, cutting across Tetsutetsu who’s gearing up to say something else or maybe lunge in Neito’s general direction and the pit in Neito’s gut somehow widens. It’s reaching blackhole levels of bottomlessness.

Still, Neito doesn’t let himself or his voice waver. He looks Honenuki straight in his beady, miserable eyes and valiantly gives nothing away.

“I’m wearing makeup…,” he starts slowly, trailing off to take a deep breath and feeling extremely aware that everyone’s looking at him. He’s not sure what he’s going to say, because really, why is he wearing makeup, but the sentence is already half out of his mouth and he can’t swallow it back up. Therefore, in the process of attempting to get his degenerate classmates off his back and also trying not to spiral things down into a mess that would ruin this birthday party effectively beyond repair, he takes everything in stride, regrets nothing and says the first thing that comes to his head in what can only be described as blind panic.

“Because Tokage put it on me.”

The answering silence is deafening. For a second, Neito fears that the words have frozen everyone stupid around him. No one makes a sound and no one moves a muscle for the longest time; really, the only initial indication that he’s said anything at all in response to Honenuki’s question is Awase’s eyebrows shooting up into his headband and Honenuki’s eyes going wide, like he wasn’t quite expecting that response.

Neito, through all the panic that he’s forcibly suppressing in favour of looking as cool as a cucumber, feels oddly pleased by that though he doesn’t know why. So pleased, in fact, that when no one responds, his traitorous mouth starts moving and spewing words before he can really comprehend what’s going on.

“She also painted my nails Friday night,” and as if that’s not bad enough, Neito puts up the back of his hand next to his face, putting his dumb blue nails on display and straight into Honenuki’s line of vision to be scrutinised. Somewhere deep in the recesses of his mind, rational-Neito screams and bangs against the confines of his hell flesh prison.

Behind him, Shoda awkwardly clears his throat.

Honenuki stares at him for another second before he seems to retrieve his vocal ability from where it’d obviously gotten lost from the shock horror of Neito’s revelations.

“But…why?”

Good question, Neito thinks helplessly as he puts his hand down and clenches it into a fist, his bravado and ice-coolness starting to waver the longer this cursed conversation drags on. Great question, in fact! Next question please.

A sentiment he regrets even internally echoing because the next question, which comes from Awase—that traitor—is a clipped, trailed off, “Are you two…,”

A pause.

“…you know…,” Awase mutters like the words and the concept in itself is incomprehensible to him. Neito wholeheartedly agrees.

“I don’t think we should-,”

“No, it’s okay,” he blurts out, cutting off whatever Rin was starting to say as he takes another deep breath and wondering—in complete awe—how he is staring Honenuki straight in the face and keeping at least his exterior semi-calm. Not many have done this in the past and survived to tell the tale, not when the other boy is on his weekly tactlessness bullshit.

He gulps and hopes he didn’t do it audibly; he doesn’t think he can take that humiliation. Rational-Neito slaps his panicked psyche in the face and gives up completely.

“We aren’t…,” the idea of it is so ridiculous, him and Tokage dating, that he can’t quite bring himself to say the word “together” out-loud, lest he catch fire and die from the embarrassment of it all.

“It’s not like that at all, like what you’re all…thinking,” is what he goes with instead, which is good enough considering he’s just spouting whatever nonsense is coming to his mind first.

Not that it’s physically possible, but Neito swears everyone’s stares get ten times more pointed. “We just…sort of hung out on Friday, we’re barely even…well you know, friends. It’s…,”

Is that a rude thing to say? Neito feels like that’s a rude thing to say but he can’t dwell on it.

“She just put these things on me because…,” he doesn’t fucking know. “She’s been experimenting her…makeup and…nail-painting skills lately so when we were talking, the topic came up and I wasn’t opposed to it so now I’m her…guinea-pig of sorts.”

Lies. Utter lies and filthy deception, but he manages to say it very matter-of-factly and he only stutters once, mildly. Neito lets out a breath and wonders if it’s still not too late to get up and run away, a prospect that now looks more appealing than staying at this sham of a party ever did.

Honenuki lets out a drawn out, “huh,” and the look in his eyes tells Neito that he hasn’t bought a single word of all of his bullshit. Well, whatever. That’s not Neito’s fault. He tried his best, and although pulled out of his ass, his answer wasn’t all rooted in lies. She really does seem to be handling him like a guinea-pig; one she’s very handsy and friendly with. For what reason, he doesn’t know, though he’s not entirely opposed to it. If he himself doesn’t know then what can he possibly tell these assholes?

“Well!” Tetsutetsu, whose simple-mindedness is currently a very welcome thing, claps his hands together loud enough that the sound effectively manages to rip through the space-time continuum and jumpstarts everyone back to life. “I knew in my heart! That, well,” he aggressively gestures and whacks Awase in the back of the head.

“Ow-,”

“Well, Tokage and Monoma? I knew that that was impossible. I always believed in ya, Neito!”

Neito, unsure if that’s meant to be a compliment or an insult, just shifts his gaze to stare at Tetsutetsu instead and discovers that not looking into the depths of Honenuki’s scrutinising eyes does wonders at sealing shut at least some of the gaping pit of anxiety in his gut.

“Thanks,” he manages, still not sure how to respond. By the way Tetsutetsu beams at him, he figures he’s done something right. Add that to his list of accomplishments in holding himself together tonight while wanting to die—the list that keeps on growing; an alarming notion considering he hasn’t even really been downstairs that long.

Seriously, someone give him an Oscar for his non-anxious-while-actually-anxious performances or something.

“Well, for what it’s worth,” Honenuki starts slowly, right when Neito has started patting himself on the back under the false pretence that he’s out of the woods and has survived; his systems fail instantly. “Dating or not dating Tokage, I think you do look nice regardless.”

Neito, surprised and thrown, looks at the other boy blankly. The depths of his eyes are still on scrutiny mode—like he’s trying to catch Neito out and force him into admitting his torrid affair with Tokage—but he seems more relaxed, like he’s gotten at least halfway satisfactory answers for the moment. Neito lets out a breath he didn’t even was stuck in his throat, slowly coming to terms with the fact that he has nothing to worry about in terms of Honenuki not believing him, because he isn’t dating Tokage at all.

Who knew he had a talent for blatantly lying?

“Thanks,” he repeats, chewing on his lip and unclenching his hand, a motion upon which he discovers that his nails had been digging uncomfortably into his palm the whole time and now it hurts.

Honenuki looks at him for a second longer before he shrugs and just like that, the topic is more or less dropped At least for that moment.

 

After that, the general arc of the conversation slowly shifts away from him without many more words said about the makeup or Tokage in general—there is a point where Tetsutetsu asks him what Tokage is like as a friend, and whether her affections are as overwhelming as the rest of her personality and what exactly they bonded over because they’re so different as people (the answers to which are an honest “yes” and more floundering lying on Neito’s part respectively)—but that’s honestly as far as it goes.

Honenuki says nothing more, Awase puts his earbuds back in after a few minutes and even Tetsutetsu seems to lose interest after he dog-walks Neito’s lying ability in circles for an uncomfortably long amount of time. The conversations that had died down before pick back up, and after giving it a few minutes to ensure that no one is going to bother him again, Neito tentatively begins to put the pieces of his sanity back into something remotely functional—and once that has been done, he, even more tentatively, goes back to his corgi pictures.

No one says a thing. No one even really addresses him or looks at him. It’s relieving.

Of course, he pointedly ignores the fact that the idiots a) probably still think he’s dating Tokage but are not pressing the issue since he’s obviously hiding their passionate relationship for reasons and b) are giving him a wide berth characteristic of the one they’ve been giving him since Monday so he doesn’t lose his entire head and kill them all or himself or something. If they want to think nonsense, that’s not on Neito.

He has his own nonsense to worry about, one that starts with an S and ends with a U.

 

5:13pm

T-minus two hours and forty-nine minutes: The urge to look over at Shinsou and just stare at him in all his glory hits Neito extremely randomly after an hour of ignoring his existence. This urge might be causally related to the fact that he’s starting to run out of corgi pictures but it doesn’t really matter because 1) this causal relationship cannot experimentally be proven and 2) the need to look over at Shinsou blows the pit in his stomach—that he had worked really hard to seal up—wide the fuck open.

 

However, he refrains for a multitude of reasons that are very objective and because Neito is very intelligent. The first one is the matter of his enormous pride that will absolutely be hurt if he undoes the heaping progress he has made in the past few days in getting Shinsou out of his head, just to look at him like a stupid, lovesick puppy.

(This is a lie; he has made very little progress but he likes to delude himself into thinking he has.)

That, coupled with the fact that now it’s been more or less confirmed that Shinsou does in fact have a girlfriend and the girl he hangs out with isn’t just a handsy friend keeps him at bay. He’s not sure how he’d react to staring at Shinsou in his entirety because he hasn’t begun to even fully process let alone unpack that fact yet for whatever reason. Would he die? Would he cry? Both at the same time.

Probably.

The second reason, and this one would fundamentally damn him more than a hit to his ego will, is the fact that Shinsou is sitting somewhere to his left, a little way away from the couch. From his vantage point, Neito can’t see him at all, meaning he would have to physically crane his neck over Honenuki, Awase and Tetsutetsu’s big heads just to get a glimpse of purple if he’s lucky.

Does the thought of merely seeing Shinsou sitting and minding his business send a pathetic thrill down his spine? He will not admit to that. But does the thought of potentially getting caught looking in the process and sending Awase into a fit of disproportionate rage make his skin crawl well in advance? Yes. He will admit to that.

Hence why, despite every cell in his body aching to say fuck it and just sneak a peek, Neito keeps his neck firmly where it is. When he decides that he cannot look at anymore corgi pictures, for they’re starting to repeat themselves, he just takes a deep breath and switches to the next best things: pandas.

And so, he lets rational-Neito threaten the rest of him into staying put.

 

5:42pm

T-minus two hours and nineteen minutes: Kamakiri, who effectively manages to eat himself into a food coma, staggers back to the couch and lays down almost directly at Neito’s feet. Neito, who is sitting there in his socks, has no choice but to use him as a foot-rest considering he cramps half-his leg room. Kamakiri does not mind. On another note, the panda pictures successfully put a handle on Neito’s disgusting longing, do much to close up the pit in his stomach and part of him wonders if he’s found an effective coping mechanism to deal with this silly, stupid crush.

 

The other part, that is intimately familiar with the shitbag that is his brain, knows he could never be that lucky. But hey, whatever works in the moment and prevents him from imploding in on himself, works.

Right?

Right.

 

6:01pm

T-minus two hours: Neito’s mood takes a little bit of a nosedive when Rin and Shoda decide that they have ignored him long enough and try to involve him in their conversation…about the hero-study work internship things they’ve submitted forms for—that they very likely will not be getting accepted for anyway. Very fitting topic for a birthday party. Nothing like a grim reminder that those 1-A snot-nosed brats will likely be getting handpicked while 1-B rots and gains no experience to elevate Neito’s mood.

 

To Rin and Shoda’s credit, they steer the conversation into less murky waters immediately after the dark cloud pissing on Neito’s mood threatens to manifest itself and drown them all. Gloomily, he tries to salvage his mood by switching to kitten pictures, which is only half-way effective—but not before verbally shitting on 1-A a little for the aesthetic of it all.

 

6:23pm

T-minus one hour and thirty-eight minutes: After nearly two hours of sitting in the same damn place, Neito discovers that his ass has quite literally fallen asleep. He contemplates using a pee-break as an excuse to stretch his legs and get the circulation flowing again, but fears, irrationally so, that he might attract to much attention to himself if he propels himself into actual movement. He’s been so blissfully ignored the whole evening—mostly—and ruining that holds absolutely no appeal. What if someone attempts to speak to him again? What if Honenuki decides he wants to revisit their stupid conversation from before? Or, and this is the worst, what if Shinsou also decides that he has to pee at the exact same time and they end up together in the bathroom? What would Neito do? What would Neito say?

 

Yeah, no. That’s a risk he’s not willing to take; what if he does run into Shinsou and the emotional impact of seeing him, or worse, having to talk to him is so severe that he hurtles straight into a panic attack or pees himself or something equally horrific. Bonus points for Shinsou not being single which is a fact he is blatantly ignoring at the moment. He doesn’t feel like he’s going to freak out in the moment specifically but who knows with his dumb, shitty brain?

No pee-breaks. No moving. His ass will just have to wake itself up later.

 

6:44pm

T-minus one hour and seventeen minutes: Animal pictures stop doing it for him. Neito—who is still being ignored and now is 1) starving and 2) has to pee really bad—fears that he’s going to spiral into overthinking about Shinsou and his girlfriend and feel all the emotions he doesn’t want to feel in public but then something hilariously wonderful happens that takes his mind off it all at least briefly: Todoroki Shouto shows up, looking supremely uncomfortable and with a blue women’s sweater slung over his arm.

 

Well, that isn’t to say that Todoroki Shouto manifests in the middle of their common area like some sort of freakish entity—though Neito wouldn’t put it past his demonic looking ass. It starts with a knock on their door, followed by their visitor-bell going off three times in quick succession like someone’s experimentally fucking with it. Shishida is bullied into going to check who it is—read: beaten brutally at rock-paper-scissors because all of them are lazy bastards who don’t want to move and the only solution is a RPS tournament to the death; the girls don’t even acknowledge the bell, the fucks.

But when, half a minute later, he comes back in looking extremely confused with Todoroki Shouto in tow, everyone collectively regrets not going to check the door themselves.

Neito somewhat included.

See, Todoroki Shouto is regarded as a bit of an anomaly here in the 1-B parts. He’s intimidating, he’s rich, he’s almost ridiculously powerful—seriously, what was the fucking cheat code—and he has almost no mutual friends with any of them. No one really knows him, or anything about him past very basic information; even Neito knows the least about him out of all of the 1-A heathens, which simultaneously impresses and pisses him off at the same time because this means that he has almost no ammo to use against him in his 1-A trashing spiels. Or well, had—Todoroki failing his licensing exam was a delicious, surprising addition to his arsenal and he is forever grateful.

But all of that is not what makes his sudden, unexpected appearance so, as aforementioned, hilariously wonderful. No, it’s the fact that the second Shishida moves his hulking form aside to reveal Todoroki standing awkwardly behind him—and wow, isn’t he tiny—Tsuburaba, of all people, gasps very fucking loudly and all but shoots to his feet, almost knocking himself over in the process.

Shishida gapes at him, his mouth half-open where he’d been about to say something. The couch goes extremely silent as everyone’s heads turn to look at him instead of Todoroki with almost eerie synchronisation.

Neito takes in Tsuburaba’s flushed, suddenly very sweaty looking face, then notes the way his chest is heaving as he looks, very wildly, first at Todoroki and then down at Kaibara and Kuroiro with sheer, unbridled panic in his gaze.

And he wonders why all of those motions are so damn familiar.

“Sit down!” Kuroiro hisses.

Tsuburaba does not.

“Um,” Shishida says after a few seconds of no one saying a thing, eyebrows furrowed in what looks like awkward confusion, and the sound of his voice seems to jerk Tsuburaba into motion enough that he collapses back into the couch like a puppet with its strings cut.

Behind Shishida, Todoroki looks passively indifferent as he always does, though he bows briefly in their direction, as if in acknowledgement of their plebian selves; it makes Neito want to punch him for reasons unknown.

“Sir Todoroki is here to drop off Miss Yaoyoruzu’s sweater for it is chilly outside and she forgot it in their dorms,” Shishida says casually like that isn’t the most batshit insane thing Neito has ever heard. It’s not that cold outside and the distance between their dorms is like, twenty feet. Bunch of prissy, delicate daisies, people in 1-A are.

It seems that he isn’t alone in that sentiment because the second the words leave Shishida’s mouth, Neito feels Awase stiffen slightly in his periphery and feels very proud of him.

Todoroki nods like the gentleman that he is, oblivious to Neito’s mounting annoyance that is slowly overruling his anxiety. Maybe that is his coping mechanism for this. Maybe he should keep a picture of everyone in 1-A in his wallet or something so his anger can deduct from his panic attack potential. He may feel things for Shinsou but he feels things for these motherfuckers.

“You may go over there and give it to her, sir,” Shishida says with the politeness that Neito could never hope to possess.

“Ok,” Todoroki says in the most clipped tone possible with the straightest face on planet earth. If Neito didn’t have his feet on Kamakiri and ran the risk of tripping over him and embarrassing himself, he thinks he would’ve lunged over to him and roundhouse kicked him.

But the potential opportunity is taken from him when Todoroki starts making his way to the other end of the room, where the girls are sitting in a circle on the floor on comfy looking cushions, so engrossed in whatever they’re doing that they haven’t noticed his presence at all.

Awful response time, really, if Todoroki was a threat. But Neito can’t say anything negative about them, because the second Todoroki’s back is turned to them, all of the boys scramble to position themselves in a way that will give them a good look at this sweater-swapping event. Neito is almost disappointed in them, himself the most because he is also actively staring, leaning over with his chest pressed to Honenuki’s back.

They’re all primitive beasts that thrive on drama.

Neito only finds small comfort in the fact that while everyone else may be staring for the gossip aspect of it all, he personally is staring for a chance to add to his fuck-1-A-arsenal.

 

The whole thing takes maybe two minutes, really. Todoroki gives her the sweater, she ooh-aahs a bit, they bow to each other a lot, then he bows to the girls a couple of times, shakes his head a whole lot, Ashido from 1-A shrieks at him to stay, an offer which he thankfully declines and then he leaves—after bowing awkwardly in their general direction once.

The whole thing is frankly underwhelming—or rather, would be underwhelming, if it wasn’t for what happens as soon as the door has closed behind Todoroki and Shishida has come back to sit with them after politely escorting him out.

Well, it’s not so much as what happens. It’s what’s said; or rather, two things that are said almost simultaneously:

“What a bastard, stupid…fuckin’-,” is Awase’s intelligent contribution that is almost drowned out by whatever god-awful noise escapes Tsuburaba’s throat as he covers his face with his hands, seems to straight up heave and whispers “nooooooooooooooo-,”

Not for the first time that evening, everything goes still and silent for a second as the words are processed and the two boys stared between; the stupor is only broken by Kaibara and Kuroiro sympathetically patting their friend on the back.

And then all hell breaks loose.

 

6:50pm

T-minus one hour and eleven minutes: Although a flurry of questions and a ton of talking-over-each-other arises from Awase and Tsuburaba’s uncharacteristic, misplaced reactions to…god knows what, the discussion goes absolutely nowhere. The second it begins, Awase, who had clearly not meant to say his part out loud, threatens to weld everyone’s—read: Honenuki’s, who has the most questions as always—dicks to their assholes if they even begin to muster the audacity to question him on anything. When the discussion veers its course into Tsuburaba’s personal business, Kaibara threatens to choke out anyone—read: again, Honenuki—who wants to talk any kind of shit or ask Tsuburaba any unnecessary questions and the topic is dropped and remains, at least for then, in a veil of suspense. Neito absentmindedly thinks back to that afternoon, to the conversation he had accidentally overheard with mentions of “you-know-who” who is apparently smart, powerful, smells good and is out of Tsuburaba’s league and reach entirely and wonders, nosily, if Tsuburaba could possibly be that fucking dumb.

 

Then again, he wouldn’t put anything past Tsuburaba at this point after all that he’s seen from him. Neito just expected this kind of heinous betrayal from someone like Tetsutetsu. Because surely…Tsuburaba—straight, perverted, ridiculous Tsuburaba—surely, surely he doesn’t have a…a…cru-

Fuck, Neito can’t even say it.

 

(He doesn’t even begin to unpack Awase’s nonsense, he resolutely thinks after spending a solid ten minutes silently stewing it over in his head. He a) doesn’t know what it could mean, b) and if he does jump to conclusions, doesn’t like what it implies, c) a crush on Yaoyorozu Momo? Surely not. On Todoroki Shouto? Even less of a chance. Awase wouldn’t do that to him and d) doesn’t think he can take that much shock horror in one day.)

 

7:02pm

T-minus fifty-nine minutes: The most underwhelming birthday party of all time, at least for the boys, reaches its climax when the girls finally decide to stop whatever they’ve been doing for the past three hours—really, what have they been doing all this time?—and bring the cakes out. Neito who, having denied himself all the luxuries of life due to sheer anxiety alone, is now starved, parched and in desperate need of the bathroom. Consequently, he isn’t ashamed of how quickly he abandons his cardigan on the couch and hobbles over to the snack table when everyone else also gets up, in pursuit of literally anything to eat. No shame in getting up and moving if everyone else is, too right? No attention attracted; all is well. He only faces slight disappointment when he realises that Kamakiri has annihilated nearly everything in his food-run earlier. Quickly recovering and adapting, however, Neito shoves a fistful of peanuts in his mouth and feels the souls of his childhood meal-etiquette teachers cringing.

 

“God, I need to take a piss,” Awase grumbles next to him as he pops an entire cookie into his mouth. Neito grunts in agreement, poking a straw through a mango juice box and barely holds himself back from inhaling it in its entirety without once thinking about how he’s consuming peak poor people food. His hunger levels have reached critical, what with the light breakfast he’d had, followed by barely anything for lunch. At this point, he could care less what he’s swallowing as long as it provides him sustenance. That, and a trip to the toilet.

Neito’s doing fine. He’s barely even thought of Shinsou and his looming, sinister presence since the Todoroki debacle. This is great. And the mango juice slaps.

“Jesus, fucking Christ, who ate all the fucking pastries?” Honenuki exclaims his dismay, coming up to the table right across from Neito looking like someone’s just shot his pet.

“Guilty as charged,” Kamakiri says from somewhere to the left, sounding like he’s got his mouth stuffed again.

“What- fucking all of them? I was looking forward to those!”

“Could’ve just gotten up and eaten them while they were still there. First come, first serve baby.”

“I was saving that for dinner! How could you eat all- how does that even happen?”

“With my mouth, Juzo.”

Neito, slurping peacefully on his juice box falls back from the table a bit when he senses the conversation taking a sharp, left turn into whiny argument territory. They truly are primitive beasts. All of them.

 

As semi-quiet as the common area had been for the past three hours, it is now twice as loud since everyone has left their designated corners and migrated to different parts of the room. The boys, starved and exhausted and sweaty from doing absolutely nothing, are camping out at the snack tables and shoving their faces. The girls, fully made up with not a hair out of place, are gathered around the middle table, giggling and joking around and generally just making the same amount of ruckus as before. Neito absentmindedly watches them, looking mostly at Tokage who is joking around boisterously and tries to keep his gaze clinically away from Shinsou’s girlfriend who is sticking mostly to Shiozaki.

He slurps away extra hard at his juice box and wonders if he can maybe get away with drinking another.

Yaoyorozu is cutting away at the tapes on one of the cake boxes with a knife with all the finesse of a toddler, insisting that she knows what she’s doing very loudly and very nervously while Yanagi very efficiently cuts open the other box in half the time and less the mess. Neito is very smug and very proud. Seriously, who doesn’t know how to open a cake box tape with a knife? Yanagi really showed her.

You wouldn’t know how to do that either, rational-Neito reminds him. Neito drowns him out with a particularly loud slurp.

“We should put the presents like so,” Komori is saying, gesturing her arms around in a way that tells Neito absolutely nothing. “And put the cakes in the middle. Looks good in the pictures.”

“Does it?” Tokage asks, tilting her head sideways to consider Komori’s proposition. Neito silently watches, lowering the straw from his mouth in mild disappointment when nothing more comes up. “Oh yeah, you’re right that’s cool. Mina-chan, help me bring them.”

“Alrightie!” Ashido exclaims, linking one arm through Tokage’s and the other through Komori’s and together, they skip off together to a table on the other side of the room. Neito isn’t sure if the pang of annoyance that suddenly churns in his gut has anything to do with the fact that Ashido is from 1-A and one of the worst offenders, or if it’s because Tokage is completely chill with her and he’s missed her company to some extent throughout the afternoon.

Maybe none. Maybe both. It’s not as if he wants to talk to her so badly, he’ll stalk up to the girls and say hi to her or something.

Well, whatever. Tetsutetsu practically lives in Kirishima’s room and Neito’s still cool with him. He’ll make his peace with Tokage hanging out with them, too. They’re barely even friends at this point and she’s been friends with those girls longer than she’s even acknowledged Neito’s general existence, so he supposes it’s alright. It’s not earth-shatteringly bad. Plus, he’s not even possessive over his friends; he doesn’t have many but he doesn’t stake claims. Probably. He’ll live. He’ll just say hi to her later. Or ask her why she put makeup on him. Hell, she’ll probably come up to him herself later.

What the fuck are you even talking about at this point, he asks himself and comes up with no answers. Sniffing once, he crushes the juice box in his palm and throws it in the trash-bag tied to the side of the snack table as a makeshift bin. Rubbing at his eye tiredly, he slides back into his previous place next to Awase before anyone even notices he was gone.

 

7:05pm

T-minus fifty-six minutes: The universe finally revokes its generosity and snatches away Neito’s false sense of security. In the middle of the room, the girls are decorating the cake table for the official cake-cutting. Neito is on his third juice box—lord does he need to use the bathroom even worse now he’s made a mistake—and listening to Awase rattle off nonsense facts about jellyfish that do not seem credible. All is well. And then Shinsou approaches the snack table from the left. Neito’s hard-earned afternoon streak of don’t-at-Shinsou-directly-he-has-a-girlfriend-you-will-cry-don’t-do-it is instantly shattered through no fault of his own. He, very stupidly and admittedly because he’d sort of pushed Shinsou’s general existence at this party to the back of his mind, looks up curiously to see who it is when he senses movement approaching and although, he instantly snaps his gaze back to the table, the damage is done. Arguably, it is made even worse by the fact that Shinsou looks a) like absolute sin and b) like he couldn’t care less about Neito.

 

All the thoughts, feelings and urges Neito had been bottling up the entire afternoon and thought he’d repressed enough to survive this party come bubbling back to the surface. It’s as if he hadn’t made any progress at all.

It’s honestly pathetic, Neito thinks, how fast both him and Awase freeze up and go silent—though, obviously for completely different reasons. Awase’s reaction, as evident from the way his fists suddenly clench and his jaw suddenly sets into a hard line, is the descent into sheer anger.

Neito’s is more: dear God, why, why, just stay by the wall, why are you doing this to me.

Shinsou reaches out and grabs one of the last cupcakes. Neito, who thought staring at the table would be safe, gets a glimpse of his large, pale hand curling around the snack and his throat feels a little dry.

Please, make him go away, please God, why, go away, shoo.

It’s hardly a fair reaction in terms of rationality. Shinsou has stayed by the wall, on the floor no less, for three whole hours with nothing to keep him company but his phone and the earbuds that he’s got wrapped around his hand at the moment. No one offered him anything—hell, everyone’s still pretending he doesn’t exist—he didn’t bother anybody and Neito had a fairly normal afternoon with non-Shinsou problems—didn’t even look at him once!—so to expect the other boy to just sit by the wall and not move the whole party isn’t exactly fair. Sitting on the floor couldn’t have been all that comfortable; if his ass fell asleep on that plush couch, Shinsou’s entire anal bone structure must’ve been rearranged by now.

God, they’re terrible fucking hosts what the fuck.

Feeling slightly bad but still irrationally praying for Shinsou to get away lest he do something stupid, Neito finishes his juice box and nervously chucks it into the bag-bin.

Shinsou, who evidently does not play by Neito’s rules and cannot read minds, does not move. Of course not.

Neito heaves a sigh.

“Awase,” he murmurs, half because he needs an excuse to escape and half because he can sense that Awase is about to fly off the handle and start something. “Can you come with me? I need to use the bathroom.”

Not a lie. He’s already doing well.

“Yeah, I need to go, too,” Awase grits out, fist still clenched and tone so angry, he makes peeing sound like a potential homicide event. Slightly concerned but taking it as a sign from the universe to dip nonetheless, Neito takes a leaf out of Ashido’s book, loops an arm around Awase’s and forcibly drags him from the table.

God, he’s being ridiculous. It’s not like he hasn’t talked to Shinsou before, so the urge to run away and escape seems silly no matter how he tries to hack it. Sure, he’s fallen over in front of him, and sure Shinsou’s a little sarcastic and had called him “kid” and sure he’s way too tall even though he isn’t that physically tall at all, and sure the last time they’d interacted Shinsou had probably made fun of him because he thinks Neito is a silly little jester boy and he has a girlfriend, so that makes things ten times more awkward and-

Okay, so running away from is a completely human response. God, how the fuck has Neito fucked up his chances with his several-month-long-crush this badly in the span of a week?

He wants to bash his head into a wall. This party needs to end stat, pronto, fucking hell. What has he done to deserve this?

 

7:13pm

 

T-minus forty-eight minutes: Choosing Awase as his bathroom partner turns out to be a mistake because he spends the entire time dunking on Shinsou so hard, Neito can practically hear his ancestors taking bullets for him. These dunks include, “why did he even fucking come? He made no effort to hang out with us? He thinks he’s above us, does he? He has some nerve! And then to come and eat our food? Unfuckingbelievable. I’m tellin’ ya, he’s a rotten ass apple. How the fuck did he get a girlfriend and all the great guys in our class are single? Jesus. I bet she doesn’t know how he is because who in their right mind would-”and on and on he goes.

 

Neito, praying any higher power for forgiveness who is listening, quietly does his business and does not interrupt Awase’s raging to point out that since they’re the hosts, they should’ve put an effort to hang out with Shinsou instead.

Also, the food is free to all. Someone could walk in right now, pop a doughnut in their mouth and run outside and they wouldn’t be held accountable.

But Neito is a biased party. Keeping his mouth shut is very wise.

 

The cake table is ready and set up by the time they make their way back. Vlad-sensei has also shown up in their absence, awkwardly holding a little polaroid camera in one hand and a phone in the other. Neito can sense that Awase is still mad as hell, but he obviously can’t rant about how much he hates Shinsou and his entire bloodline in public, so he’s put a plug on it. Thank god for that.

“There they are! I told you my son wouldn’t just leave the party!” Tokage chirps, ignoring Awase and bounding up to Neito to smack kisses on both his cheeks as soon as he nears the table where everyone is gathered. As usual, she gives him zero time to react or process.

Someone who sounds suspiciously like Honenuki clears their throat loudly. It is followed immediately by a fainting smacking sound.

“Ow-!” definitely Honenuki.

Neito, thrown as always by the whirlwind that she is, and trying to prevent all the blood in his body from rushing to his face, awkwardly pats her on the shoulder. He’s not sure what it is about her attention that pleases him so much but he’s not opposed to the warm feeling it fills his chest with.

Neito 1, Ashido 0.

The warmth almost drowns out the immediate anxiety he feels when he realises that Tokage is doing this, and consequently putting him on the spot, in front of all these people. In front of Shinsou, who probably doesn’t care, but still.

Well, whatever.

Tokage grabs him by the arm and drags him to the middle of the…is it appropriate to call them a crowd? “Where’d you go? We almost started without you!”

“Bathroom,” he says, trying to keep his voice level and casual. He’s not going to embarrass himself in front of everyone. Especially not during Kendou and Shiozaki’s big moment.

“Right, right! Of course, you did! Good thing you’re here now!”

“Yeah, I would’ve smacked the hell out of him if he missed it,” says Kendou.

“Yeah, good thing,” Neito parrots, a pang of annoyance hitting him point blank in the chest when all the girls laugh, including the ones in 1-A. He doesn’t mind his friends in 1-B giggling at his expense but 1-A? Who the fuck allowed them? Getting too comfortable slandering him in his own household.

Tokage lets go of his arm once he’s situated in the crowd, patting his head once before leaving to join the girls again. Neito doesn’t know if he’s relieved she’s gone or if he misses her already. Lord, this is stupid.

She’s pushed him into a spot between Rin and Kamakiri, which isn’t bad all things considered. Neito doesn’t try to move or complain and resolutely, absolutely does not move his head lest he catch even a hint of purple. He’s held it together, thus far. He can hold it together a little more.

 

7:25pm

 

T-minus thirty-six: Neito hasn’t been to many birthday parties, and definitely hasn’t had official ones for himself all that much, so nothing in his experience has adequately prepared him for how loudly everyone bellows the birthday song. They sing it twice, once for Kendou and once for Shiozaki. The cakes are cut, wishes made, hugs given, all that wholesome stuff. Briefly, there’s a weird little spectacle of Kendou taking some cream on the tip of her finger and randomly deciding to chase Tetsutetsu and Tokage around the room who run away from her shrieking. It’s very telling that Tokage’s yelling is playful and Tetsutetsu seems genuinely horrified. Neito laughs with the rest of them until Kendou manages to smear cream on both their cheeks, abandons them as her victims and turns on him instead. He considers running but doesn’t because the thought of running and potentially tripping in front of Shinsou for the second time in the same week doesn’t sound appealing.

 

Hence why he ends up with a blob of cream on the tip of his nose, which Kendou completely forbids him from taking off for the birthday pictures that Vlad-sensei is so generously taking. In the end, he wounds up looking like a baby jackass anyway. Maybe he just should’ve run from her.

Still, somewhere deep in his heart, he’s pleased. Very pleased, even though the non-1-B girls laughed at his expense, and even though he is aware that 1-A Ashido stares at him like he’s a specimen to be put in a museum when she thinks he isn’t looking. Fuck that. He’s still happy. Ish. Sort of. Not that he’d admit it.

Now, if only this Shinsou thing would go away, Neito would be completely Gucci.

 

That night, Neito takes more pictures than he ever has before. He takes normal ones and then he gets bullied into taking silly ones, and even though he has no clue how to be silly, he still tries. He’s never had friends that have roped him into this sort of thing, so while the entire thing is ridiculous and foreign, Neito feels the remnants of his good mood surface at least a little. He takes a picture with Tokage, one with Kendou, one with Rin, Awase and Tetsutetsu one with the whole class and one alone, for which, Kendou puts more cake cream on his cheeks.

(“If only we had birthday hats,” she sighs wistfully while fucking his face up and Neito is suddenly glad they didn’t have the foresight for that.)

 

Resolutely, he ignores Shinsou and his girlfriend and doesn’t look away from his friends. Not when Shinsou’s girlfriend takes a picture with Shiozaki. Not when she insists on taking a picture with Shinsou alone. Not when he catches a glimpse of purple out of the corner of his eye for any reason. Not when—

Fuck. Fuck it. Fuck it all.

Neito keeps his head down, moulds his face into a smile and keeps looking at his friends.

 

7:36pm

T-minus twenty-five: Somewhere in the middle of the picture-taking session, Tsuburaba, whose eyes haven’t quite lost their wild shine since the Todoroki incident, puts his foot down about getting shunned with the boys for the rest of the night and begs for some entertainment. “They’re boring, I refuse to go back, do something fun with us,” are his exact words, to which the boys have no comeback because they’ve spent the entire afternoon boring each other and themselves. The girls, though reluctant, let the boys stay because Tsuburaba is nothing but not annoyingly persuasive. Neito has cleaned the cream off his cheeks, much to Kendou’s dismay who thought he looked rather cute, and has settled down on the floor in the girl’s section of the party. All the boys, very hyperaware of their boringness, do their walk of shame and are in the process of settling down here and there. Vlad-sensei hands out slices of cake and the dinner boxes Lunch-Rush has specifically prepared for the party—bless his little heart—and Neito’s starved stomach does the hula. At some point, his Shinsou senses perceive the other boy plopping down on the couch right literally directly in front of Neito. Neito, damned to look at Shinsou’s pant legs if he even remotely looks up and absolutely adamant on not looking at Shinsou’s face, finds interesting things to scrutinise in his rice and fish.

 

“So, what can we do for you, oh sagely king of wanting to be entertained by your personal jesters?” Komori asks sarcastically once everyone’s found a corner to lounge in. Neito’s ended up with Tokage on one side and the common area window on the other, which is a reasonably good position to be in. All he has to do is not tilt his head up too much and he’ll be fine.

“Anything will be better than the shit I went through today,” Tsuburaba moans dramatically through a mouthful of rice, reclined against the wall. Neito reads a hidden Todoroki Shouto somewhere in there, but he might be insane. “Literally give me anything.”

“Jesus, you guys broke him.”

No, Todoroki Shouto did. But he doesn’t say it.

“Not on purpose,” Rin says, sounding genuinely apologetic. “There’s only so much we can talk about for that long a time.”

“Yeah, and what did you guys do that was so fun?” Honenuki says, immediately on the defensive. A bold move considering Tokage immediately scoffs; fucker loses before he even starts playing the game.

“We played party games because that’s what you do at parties dumbass. Aren’t boys meant to have more fun than girls or something? Why are you all so boring and dull?”

The girls ooh and Neito, who doesn’t have experience with this sort of thing but knows Tokage has just dunked on the entire male human race, minds his business and focuses on finishing his dinner so he can eat cake. He likes cake.

“Bet we can beat you at any game!” Honenuki says, raising himself up on his knees to get in Tokage’s face and consequently digging his own grave. You’d think one of these days he’d actually learn.

“Try it!” Komori chirps, gleefully rubbing her hands together and preparing to thrive on the chaos. Neito minds his business, knowing this will end in tears.

“God, please let’s play a game,” says Tsuburaba, broken fundamentally. “Anything will do.”

 

7:39pm

T-minus twenty-two minutes: A grand total of three minutes is wasted on deciding what game the girls will decimate Honenuki and his ancestors at. Board games are suggested and then discarded, Rin says no to Monopoly because that ruins lives and friendships, and it is at Ashido’s suggestion that a simple round of dare or dare is selected; a water bottle will be spun in the middle of a circle and the person on the end of the cap will be given a dare by the person on the bottom half of the bottle. The end goal is apparently seeing whether the boys or girls can come up with the spiciest dares. Neito’s not sure how truth or dare works exactly, let alone dare or dare but he doesn’t think it sounds legal. Or real.

 

Settling into one gigantic circle is one of the most hellish parts of setting up the game, and if the apparent, very vocally spoken rule wasn’t that everyone was obligated to play, Neito would politely excuse himself. He doesn’t though, he stays where he is and Shinsou doesn’t move from the couch he is currently sitting on by himself, so his current situation doesn’t improve. He’s not that daunted by silly teenager games though, so he’s not too bothered about that at least. Well, that and he can’t afford to be too bothered, at least externally, because he’d rather die than look like a pussy in front of anyone from 1-A.

And so, he bravely eats his rice and keeps his head down. No one fucks with him that much. What’s the worst that could happen, really?

 

The first four dares are fine, go by quicker than Neito thinks they would and are honestly kind of silly. Tokage dares Kendou to sing some song Neito’s never heard, Kamakiri dares Pony to do as many push-ups as she can in a minute, Komori dares Ashido to do a tiny ballet routine—which she isn’t bad at, what the hell—and Fukidashi dares Tetsutetsu to play a recorder with his nose which Yaoyorozu so generously creates for him. The whole thing is so hysterically funny that even Neito laughs out loud, grateful that the noise is drowned out by everyone else’s more boisterous cackles.

Starting on his slice of his cake, Neito is no longer starved or thirsty, nor does he have to go to the bathroom so his mood is generally pretty uplifted. He’s not happy by any means, since Shinsou is literally right there and he has a front row seat to his socked feet and cuffed up jean legs if he so desires to look, but he…

Well, he’s not happy but he’s not feeling entirely shitty. Lulled into a semi-effective false sense of security and all that.

 

And ironically, or maybe infuriatingly or whatever is the word, the one that ruins this temporary sense of peace and calm…is Honenuki. Again.

 

7:45pm

T-minus sixteen minutes: Perhaps it would be unfair to say that Honenuki snatches the rug of general human functioning from under Neito’s feet of his own accord. No, maybe Neito should choose to blame the water bottle and the physics of its spinning or however that works, because the first thing that goes wrong is that its cap lands on Neito and its end lands on Honenuki and they’re sitting so far apart that that should logistically be impossible but somehow it happens. Neito isn’t even aware it happens, engrossed in his cake and obsessed with how good it is, until people scream “Monoma!” and scare the hell out of him. Honenuki looks baffled at first and then stares down at the bottle like it’s made him the happiest man alive and Neito is suddenly ten times more on his guard than he usually would’ve been if the bottle had landed on literally anyone else. His guard only puts up an iron wall when Honenuki’s only vocal reaction is “Ah! Yay! I prepared a special dare on the off-chance I’d be picked!”

 

“Do some dumb shit and I swear I’ll gut you like a fish,” Komori warns. Neito, sensing that he’s going to lose all of his appetite in a few more minutes, shoves a huge chunk of cake into his mouth and bites down on it.

Please god, just let me survive this party in one piece. Please. Please. Please.

“Well,” Honenuki drawls, leaning back to recline against Shishida and looking extremely pleased with himself. “I will arguably say beforehand that my dare will be the spiciest. What was that you were saying about the boys being boring? Yeah?” he looks like he’s contemplating and Neito, tense and sadly rapidly losing interest in really good cake, puts the plate down on the floor in front of him and continues to beg and pray.

“I’ll begin only if you’re ready to take back that obviously, false slanderous statement.”

“Oh, just fucking get on with it,” Tokage snaps, throwing…something at his head that Neito can’t really identify. It narrowly misses him anyway so he supposes it doesn’t matter.

Honenuki, looking very pleased with himself, sits back up and claps his hands together…

Please, please god. Be something easy. I can do easy.

and utters the words that change the general course of Neito’s life from that point on. Not that he has any way of knowing it at the time but still.

“Monoma-san,” he says mock seriously, pointing at Neito who is sitting very still to avoid jostling his racing heart and warily looking back at the other boy—breaking eye-contact at this point would be weakness. He hadn’t thought, when this dumb game began, that he’d even be in this stupid, teenage position but here he is. The universe just doesn’t like him at all.

To avoid choking, he manages to swallow the remainder of the cake still in his mouth and prays to any higher power that might be listening.

Honenuki grins. “I dare you to choose one person of your liking and give them a kiss on the lips!”

Silence. Deafening silence.

It seems, for a moment, that the entire universe has had the sounds of nature sucked out of it.

Neito stares stupidly and tries to comprehend the words that have come out of Honenuki’s mouth as the world simultaneously freezes and tilts off its axis all at once.

Kiss? Honenuki wants him to do what? Kiss a person? On the lips? He wants Neito to pick a person and kiss? Kiss them on the lips? But he’s never kissed anyone on the lips. He’s gotten kissed on the cheek by a boy when he was little, but that didn’t lead to anything good and that’s not a thought he needs to be having abort, okay that’s gone but he’s never kissed anyone, kissing is gross and wet probably, why on earth would he choose anyone to kiss-

And just as quickly as everyone had been stupefied into silence, the room goes up in uproar before Neito has said a word, a chorus of oohs and holy shit Honenukis and that’s something I’d like to see (fuck you Ashido – rational-Neito) and there’s definitely Tokage’s shrill have you lost your damn mind but Neito hears nearly none of it with how his head has suddenly been submerged under water. He’s still looking at Honenuki though—not breaking eye-contact is crucial—but evidently, he feels as if he’s been struck dumb, like the other boy’s words were a physical force that knocked half of his speech-comprehension out of him.

“Holy shit, can you do that?”

“Do it, do it, do it!” Tsuburaba is chanting, crawling over Kamakiri to get to a higher vantage point.

“I think we really should…ask Monoma-,”

“Absolutely fucking not!”

“Do it, do it, do it!”

“And you girls call us boring? Look at how you’re acting!”

Do it, do it, do it!

Neito only briefly understands the intent behind this ridiculousness when Honenuki, in the midst of defending his obviously genius choice of a dare, discreetly flicks his head over in Tokage’s general direction like he’s trying to tell Neito something.

Like he’s trying to encourage Neito to kiss her. Like he’s telling him it’s okay, I got you, go for it.

Oh, Jesus H Christ.

Neito had known Honenuki hadn’t entirely let the thing with him and Tokage go but had he known it would come back to bite him in the ass like this, he would’ve murdered Honenuki long before.

Because see, he doesn’t want to kiss Tokage at all. There is nothing in the world that appeals to him less than that prospect. He likes her, he really does even though how fast their friendship is moving sort of freaks him out. But he doesn’t want to kiss her, not even to save his own ass or escape this situation. He doesn’t want to kiss anyone in this damn room, not one person except—

Okay, not that thought, abort, abort, say something, anything, come on, come on.

“I don’t know why you’re acting like it’s the end of the world. We’re all friends, and surely there must be someone…” Honenuki wiggles his eyebrows and Neito is very glad he’d had the foresight to swallow his cake beforehand because he definitely would’ve choked. “…that Monoma-kun wants to kiss!”

“And if he doesn’t?” Tokage sounds absolutely freaked. And mad. An odd combination; Neito feels her completely.

“Oh no, he definitely does!”

Does? Does what? Want to kiss someone in this room?

“Oh, and you know this how?”

“We’re bros, I know everything!”

A brave, bold sweeping statement.

Well it’s not as if he’s wrong technically—about Neito wanting to kiss someone in the room, not the “bros” thing, seriously what is that?—but that doesn’t make this any less infuriating and annoying. Honenuki must think he’s invincible because Neito is going to gut him for this later, on god, and Honenuki thinks he won’t.

Come on, come on, say something, anything will do.

“Ha,” is what his vocal cords bust forth, which are now completely moving on autopilot and sheer will-power because Neito is not mentally present and refuses to be so for this. Really, he isn’t even sure he’s said anything until everyone stops trying to talk over each other and turns their full attention to him. He can sense Tokage staring at him in his peripheral vision next to him, and he thinks she might look concerned or whatever but he doesn’t look too hard. He’s already nauseous and annoyed enough as it is without the reminder that the people in this class think they need to worry about him and defend his honour like he’s a child.

He discreetly clears his throat and keeps his gaze levelled at Honenuki, trying to very blatantly ignore the fact that Shinsou and people from 1-A are seeing all of this go down from a really great vantage point, which makes this ten times more embarrassing and god, he really should’ve fucking stayed in bed today. He can’t even begin to grasp the rumours those heathens are going to spread about him, they already think he’s completely mental—

But that’s not the point right now. The point right now is that Neito has been in a lot of awkward, put-on-the-spot situations before, seriously that’s how he grew up, so this is nothing. He’s probably got this if he can ignore the nausea crawling up his throat because everyone’s looking at him.

Honenuki needs to die.

“Hey, you really don’t have to do anything you don’t want to, okay? It’s just a stupid game,” Tokage says softly when he can’t bring himself to say something for a few more seconds, loud enough that he hears her but probably not so loud that everyone else does. The sentiment comforts him but it’s not what he needs to survive this situation because he’s still looking at Honenuki who is smugly staring back.

Go ahead, he seems to be saying with his eyes. Kiss her, why don’t you?

And god, does he hate smug bastards. They get him right in the petty.

It’s this sense of growing pettiness and disbelief at Honenuki’s audacity, paired with the blind panic that is tearing a hole open in his sternum that Neito lets drive him from that point-forward. Auto-pilot has mostly never failed him before this.

“It’s okay, Setsu,” he says without looking at her and is surprised at how level his voice comes out. You can’t even really tell he wants to crash through the window beside him and run and never stop. “I wasn’t silent because I was upset about the dare. I was silent because I couldn’t comprehend the magnitude of Honenuki’s…impudence.”

Oh, so auto-pilot has chosen his arrogant, rich-boy, took-years-of-theatre-and-ballet-lessons persona. Alright, then. If that’s how it’s going to be, then who’s he to do anything but let it consume him for self-care purposes?

Everyone else breaks out into peals of laughter, presumably at what he’s said, and it makes his anxiety subside and get worse at the same time. It’s very jarring.

“He said impudence-,”

“Wait, what does impudence mean?”

“Oh, he’s good,” Ashido says, clapping her hands together gleefully and Neito is almost annoyed enough to break character and cry, but doesn’t. He can deal with that later. Probably.

“That’s our Monoma-kun,” Awase says, sounding equal parts proud and equal parts concerned. Or something. Whatever, Neito isn’t here to read people’s emotions. He’s here to get himself out of his situation without giving up his first kiss in the middle of a primitive, teenage birthday party.

And wouldn’t that be some shit?

Just the idea of it makes Neito jelly in the legs.

“Well, Monoma-san,” Honenuki says in a fake-pompous voice, still leaning back against Shishida and still looking smug as hell like Neito won’t annihilate him while crying at the same time. “I do believe this is only a game. Surely, my dare isn’t quite as impudent, as you said.”

Neito, who isn’t used to other people playing along with his dumb theatrical games, is instantly thrown off but recovers quickly. He’s talked himself out of worse pickles. This is child’s play.

Anxiety clogs his ears and cuts off at least sixty percent of his hearing. He laughs to compensate that loss, consciously keeping an edge of mocking disbelief to the sound, and when auto-pilot requires him to get to his feet dramatically, he does. He even throws out an arm and lord, he has no idea what he’s doing but he knows it looks great and just as insane as he usually has people believe he is.

“It’s not your game that’s the problem,” he laughs, holding his lips in a pout and internally freaking out so hard, it’s a small miracle he’s not shaking like a leaf. “It’s the fact that you brought me down to your plebian level. Surely, you would know I don’t kiss just anyone.”

Honenuki barks with laughter, as does everyone else like Neito’s just told a really funny joke. His throat feels cold with nausea, but he stays on his feet and keeps a smile on his face that he hopes looks mischievous and cool and not watery and shaky.

“Fuck the game, keep doing this!” Tsuburaba says and Komori laughs.

“Look, Tsubu-chan found his entertainment jesters!”

Neito’s head feels like it’s stuffed with cotton wool, but he keeps looking at Honenuki who looks like he’s having the time of his life. Good; at least one of them is.

“Well, this pleb thinks, and this might just be conjecture,” he clicks his tongue and pretends to be deep in thought. “Well, I think your high and mighty self is scared of a little, harmless peck.”

Half the room oohs and Honenuki grins.

Neito’s systems screech to a halt momentarily before starting back up, ten times more frenzied than before. Well, what the fuck does he say to that? How does he recover? How does he counter the truth?

Think, think, think.

The only solution that he can sort of see is a) giving up, swallowing his pride and kissing Tokage and risk Honenuki thinking he was right, which is not ideal, b) running out without another word and risking everyone treating him like he’s fragile and losing his mind—more so than they already have been this week which would be a fucking nightmare or c) giving himself up completely to auto-pilot, which means risking saying some real dumb shit, but at least he wouldn’t be taking this bullshit lying down. God, all he wanted was to eat some cake which is now sitting at his feet, ignored.

“Scared? Of a little kiss? You wish,” he says without thinking and with no conscious idea as to where he’s going to take this. Honenuki raises his eyebrows but he’s still smiling. Neito’s dumb internal system takes that as a challenge, as rational-Neito screams and begs him to reconsider. “Sure, you’re not projecting?”

Everyone laughs as Neito wonders: what the fuck?! What the fuck does that even mean?!

Honenuki looks at him for a second before he just falls back and laughs with everyone else.

“Man, only you’d make a spectacle out of a fucking smooch dare,” he says breathlessly, wiping non-existent laughter tears from his eyes. Neito risks a glance down at Tokage while he’s busy doing that and sees her looking up at him with something like fondness and mild concern in her eyes. He grins drily at her and hopes she can’t see the panic in his eyes, since she has a track-record of being weirdly good at that. He doesn’t need someone defending him or offering him copouts. Not right now.

If he can’t get himself out of this frankly stupid situation, then he’s truly lost it and he doesn’t want to have that realisation right now.

He looks back down at Tokage and discreetly shakes his head just in case.

“Look at you two, making my birthday party your own personal playground,” Kendou comments sarcastically, and for a second, Neito thinks she might whack them both but she looks amused enough so he figures it’s fine.

Honenuki shakes his head, still laughing.

“If he hadn’t tested me when I was perfectly fine minding my own business…,” Neito trails off, putting a hand to his forehead in what he hopes is a dramatic gesture but probably just looks like he’s trying to alleviate a bad headache. The longer this conversation draws out, the more he’s running out of retorts and his anxiety meter predicts that he’s maybe two minutes away from dry heaving in front of everyone.

In front of Shinsou, who is still sitting there, watching this go down in silence.

Oh god. The impending dry heave moves up to maybe t-minus thirty seconds.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Kendou-san,” Honenuki says mockingly; if standing in one place wasn’t the only way Neito was keeping an anxiety attack at bay, he thinks he might’ve flown across the room and started throttling him. “I merely gave him a dare. I didn’t think he would be so terrified of a simple, friendly kiss.”

“Bitch said “merely””, Kamakiri snorts, right at the same time as Rin starts a “Guys, maybe we should just drop this now-,” that gets promptly drowned out because no one likes Rin when he talks sense.

Neito scoffs and lowers his hand.

“It’s not that I’m terrified, it’s that kissing just anyone is not something many people do. As if you’d kiss anyone in this room if someone asked you to,” he needs to wrap this up and leave this room. His ears are starting to feel really hot and he can feel himself resorting to lame, junior high comebacks.

Honenuki laughs. “I would, actually. Little friendly pecks don’t terrify me like they seem to terrify you, your highness.”

Thrown again, Neito stares at him for a second and racks his auto-pilot arsenal for something, anything. Dry-heave is impending in like ten more seconds. He needs to leave. Maybe he should just run and worry about the consequences later.

His brain grasps for straws. “My, my, your insistence on wanting me to kiss someone is a little concerning. Wanna see it so badly, do you? I didn’t take you for a voyeur.”

Now, Honenuki looks thrown as the room erupts into laughter. The only people Neito can see who aren’t primitively enjoying his social demise are Rin, Shiozaki—who honestly looks horrified—Shoda, Shishida, Yaoyorozu and Kendou. He doesn’t dare look down at Tokage. Sneaking a glance at Shinsou is unthinkable. What kind of expression is he wearing, right now he wonders. Boredom? Disinterest? Or is he laughing at his expense, too? Is he smiling in his little, odd way?

“He’s excellent!” Ashido exclaims as Neito tamps down a cough when the nausea rises up his throat.

“That’s our Monoma-kun!”

Neito swallows, watching with some degree of satisfaction when Honenuki doesn’t immediately reply, choosing to laugh instead. A part of him, the rational buried part that usually gets knocked aside from all the anxiety, knows that he doesn’t even need to be having this argument. No one would hold it against him if he just flat-out refused the dare, rather everyone would vehemently defend him, Honenuki would get whacked and the game would move on—if it even can at this point; Neito hopes he hasn’t ruined it for everyone.

Yet, he stands where he is and holds his ground. It’s stupid. He’s so stupid. He does this every time; he stays in situations long enough that they turn so sour so as to murk him out of existence temporarily, purely because of his gigantic ego, and then wonders why his anxiety is so bad.

“Ugh. You know what? Fine, but blame the bottle for ending up on us. I have no interest in wanting to see you kiss anybody,” is what Honenuki defensively counters with, and Neito is suddenly so surprised and relieved—having been gearing up to think of another retort—that he can’t quite conceal it.

Until—

“We’ll just call it a stalemate. It’s okay to be scared and not being able to do things, no one blames you. We’ll cancel the dare and move on.”

Neito stares at him, his ego taking such a blow that he feels his consciousness physically concave. Honenuki’s stupid eyes filled with mirth, the sentiment of ~Got you, asshole~ radiating off of them so blatantly that Neito’s rational side is almost sad he’s getting baited into this.

His petty, competitive side that is in charge of all his general social behaviour, however…

“You think I’m genuinely saying no because I can’t do it?”

Shut up, rational-Neito screams and gets jumped by the rest of Neito that is horrifically more impulsive.

“Ooh, it’s getting spicy,” Tsuburaba says, who is now holding onto Ashido as the two of them inhale the drama. Neito almost smacks him—would if he could move.

“Well, you’re saying no and making excuses because you’re scared, aren’t you? Scared of catching our plebian cooties. It’s completely okay to not want to do it,” Honenuki says mock-comfortingly and Neito almost hysterically laughs at how mad that makes him. “Poor little princely boy. It’s okay. Let’s cancel the dare, who’s turn is next?”

Kendou puts a chunk of cake in her mouth. “I honest to god have no fucking clue what’s happening anymore.”

Me neither, Neito thinks a little hysterically.

“Where’s the bottle?” Honenuki says, looking away and reaching for the water bottle; just really laying it thick on the bait. “Whose turn was it?”

“You think I can’t do it?” Neito ends up blurting out, and he inwardly cringes when his voice comes out a little high. The irony of the fact is not lost on him that no, he really can’t do it and he really should take this out that Honenuki is so sarcastically providing him with—but if he takes it, will he be Monoma Neito anymore? Or will be a pussy ass bitch who will end up indirectly admitting that something in this world scares him?

The answer is evident even when his legs feel like they’re losing feeling rapidly by the second.

Honenuki looks up at him, surprised though Neito can’t tell if it’s mocking or genuine. “I know you can’t. It’s okay.”

Some asshole oohs. Neito’s ears ring.

“Okay, cut it out this has gone on far-,”

“A false, sweeping assumption if I’ve ever heard one.”

Stop talking, stop talking, stop talking.

“You’ll prove me wrong, will you?” Honenuki drawls, eyes sparkling and Neito wants someone to murder him so he doesn’t have to get his hands dirty personally. Tokage happily would if he asks, but his ego doesn’t permit him that luxury; or even the very simple one of dropping this damn topic and leaving this damn room.

“I think I might have to,” is what he says instead, cringing so hard his body feels like it’s going to fold. “Can’t have your plebian self think you’ve done something—thinking I’m scared, the nerve.”

Please shut the fuck up.

“This pleb is sorry for making these assumptions,” Honenuki grins wide, like he’s the cat that’s gotten the cream. “Pick someone then.”

“Monoma,” Tokage says in a warning tone.

Neito ignores her, playing with the cuff of his shirt with a hand that’s barely shaking, which is nothing short of miraculous considering he’s internally well on his way to sobbing.

“Unbelievable that I have to lower myself to these…levels and catch plebian cooties just to defend my honour,” he says, swallowing what tastes ridiculously like bile. He’s gone and done it now. He’s made a stupid decision and for once, there’s no going back from it. Stupid idiot. Well done.

“Truly a tragedy,” Honenuki agrees, not sounding sorry.

“Monoma is actually really funny,” Ashido quips, as if Neito isn’t standing right there and the only thing that annoys him more than her comment is Tsuburaba immediately agreeing with a, “He is! He can be fun sometimes.”

Sometimes? Neito is hilarious always. Look! He’s being a clown right now!

“No better person to turn our birthdays into a circus,” Kendou mutters, like she’s read his mind.

Okay, this is not the point. If his sanity and thought-process can stop being pulled in ten different directions at once, that would be great. Especially now. Thanks. Okay.

Okay, where was he? He’s accidentally agreed to pick a person of his choice and kiss them on the mouth. Right, yeah very cool. Easy. Doable.

Stupid idiot.

Neito swallows.

Okay, so he has many options here if he completely excludes Shinsou which he definitely will. This situation is bad enough without factoring him in, so that is not something he’s doing. Okay. Now, that that’s out of the way.

Anxiety claws at his insides.

“Frankly, I don’t want to kiss any of you here. No offence,” he says, keeping his voice casual and level as he plays with his cuff and keeps his gaze at his own wrist. He’s already displaying much bravado; he thinks actually gazing at all his potential…options might actually kill him.

“We’re very offended,” Kaibara replies dryly.

“Yeah, how dare you not want to kiss our beautiful selves,” Honenuki laughs and Neito pulls at his cuff button nervously. He’s been in many emotionally exhausting situations throughout his years (read: his entire goddamn life) but he thinks this, this pretending not to be losing it while having to stay in his dramatic persona, this takes the cake.

He can’t even remember how he got here. He was just eating cake, for fuck’s sake.

“Gee, Honenuki-san,” he starts, letting his mind wing it as he mentally goes down the list of people he can potentially kiss and not throw up on the spot. None of the girls, that’s for sure. Especially the ones from 1-A. “If you wanted me to kiss you, you could’ve just said so. Didn’t have to go this route. Now you’ve put us both on the spot.”

The room goes silent for a second before it erupts.

Neito, who a) isn’t fully sure what he’s said and b) wishes he could spare the brain power to listen to Honenuki sputtering and everyone losing their minds, docks almost everyone off. Rin is a safe option, but he would take it too seriously. Tetsutetsu would never shut the hell up about it. Awase is…Awase, and Neito likes him but not enough to give up his first kiss to him. Kaibara, Kuroiro, Tsuburaba, Fukidashi, Shishida, Shoda and Bondo aren’t even on the list.

The most likely person is probably Kamakiri since he never makes things awkward, but his mouth is shaped all strange and he has literal blades coming out of his cheeks and Neito doesn’t want to deal with that. Maybe he should just swallow his pride and kiss Tokage. But then, Honenuki would never shut the fuck up about it.

Or, a part of suggests says that is so emotionally exhausted, it might as well not exist, maybe he really should just say no and dip; no one would judge him for it—

But they would think he’s weak and someone to be protected and advocated for, and leaving after talking so much shit and displaying such bravado…well, Neito’s ego can only take so many hits in one day.

And well, he wouldn’t want to be weak, would he?

He swallows thickly.

“Well, if you don’t hurry up and get on with it, I’ll begin to think you’re all talk Monoma-san,” Honenuki, who takes a little while to recover from Neito’s dunk, looks genuinely attacked this time and Neito stares down at his own feet and tries to reorient his breathing.

“He’s baiting ya,” Komori says breezily, as if Neito doesn’t know that.

Still, he scoffs and looks at her with what he hopes is a playful expression in his eyes. “He’s not smart enough to bait me into anything.”

The room erupts again and this time, Ashido and Tsuburaba have the audacity to actually clap a bit. Neito isn’t sure what he’s said but if it works, it works.

“How many times can Honenuki get murdered in one night?” someone wonders, and Honenuki’s consequent defensive reply leads to more ruckus.

“Guys, keep it down or Vlad-sensei’s gonna come break this up!” someone randomly says in the middle of it all.

“Oh shit, yeah.”

Neito takes a deep breath and steels himself. He’s talked too much shit. If he has to make himself supremely uncomfortable to protect his dignity, then so be it. Wouldn’t be the first time.

 

And then something wonderful happens.

Okay, so maybe the word to describe it isn’t wonderful but in Neito’s anxiety-addled, grasping-at-straws mind that is telling him to either escape or get it the fuck over with, it is a very welcome development.

See, Neito has been staring at his feet—particularly at the plate of cake—the whole time as he contemplates the risk assessment aspect of this very important kiss that he’s somehow agreed to because he’s an idiot. And while staring at his feet, he reaches the frankly helpless conclusion that it’s Tokage or no one. He trusts none of the boys in 1-B like that, and always runs a risk of giving himself away and them finding out that he likes…boys and that’s just not—

Well, it’s not something he’s willing to deal with.

Tokage is a great, safe option excluding Honenuki’s annoying nonsense because she’s been there for him more in two days than anyone else ever has, speaking emotionally. She’d likely be a good sport about it, if he was to pick her, and wouldn’t make it weird after. Hell, she’d even shut down Honenuki’s assumptions and then Neito would repress this memory and never think of this party ever again.

Mildly annoyed that Honenuki is getting what he wants after all, Neito is about to shift his gaze to Tokage who is still sitting on the floor, hoping to catch her eye and doubly hoping she’d understand—when in his peripheral vision, he sees a hand shaking to his left.

Or rather, someone flapping their hand around silently, the way people do when they’re trying to wordlessly get someone’s attention.

Someone else says something or the other—Neito frankly doesn’t have the time to process or listen when his life is ending—and the room descends into chaos that isn’t focused on him.

The hand continues awkwardly flapping.

Neito, confused and a little intrigued, turns his gaze to it fully and almost immediately regrets it when he realises who this, big pale hand is attached to. Or rather, over whose knee it’s currently flapping because he’d rather neck himself than move his gaze two centimeters up and risk looking Shinsou straight in the face. He’s not feeling put-together enough for that, he doesn’t think, and really, he doesn’t need to look anyway; Shinsou isn’t flapping it for him because realistically, why on earth would Shinsou be calling for his attention when the spotlight is already so aggressively on him—

And he’s looking right at Shinsou now, isn’t he? His eyes have moved without his consent, haven’t they?

God fucking dammit.

“Account for your sins!” someone exclaims, and everyone resolves into giggles. Which is good because now at least some of the attention is off Neito for the time-being; he has handled a lot of things today, but he doesn’t think he could handle an entire room gawking at him as he makes awkward eye-contact with Shinsou. Who knows what expressions are flitting across his face?

Shinsou, attractive as ever, is leaning back into the couch with some of his hair falling out of the ridiculous(ly cute) updo he styles it in. The way Neito finds him already staring back the second their eyes meet tells him that yes, that…hand-flapping, really was for him.

Neito’s internal systems completely fail as his heart starts thundering in his chest, half from anxiety and half from…whatever he feels when Shinsou does anything. All of today, all of his efforts, all of his running away—up in smoke because of one prolonged eye-contact. Ridiculous. Pathetic.

To be fair, Shinsou is looking back at him with an expression that Neito could never hope to understand, socially inept as he is, and the longer they look at each other, the more his—very purple, wow—eyes soften. Framed by his incessant dark circles, it almost makes him look…fluffy in a way that makes Neito want to melt into a puddle and stay there. In a good way. Maybe.

The tender-eye-contact-thing lasts maybe ten seconds, less if Neito’s being honest but the way Shinsou’s gaze sucks him in, enough that the sounds of the room actually fade away for a brief second—well, Neito could swear he stands there staring at him for a whole eternity.

He sees, and this is so dramatic and he’ll smite himself for it later but he’s only being dramatic because he hasn’t looked at the other boy properly in days and he’s not feeling very well right now—but yes, he sees, in Shinsou’s eyes, a lifetime’s worth of emotions, almost like a kaleidoscope of colour and feeling—of course, Neito has never been good at reading people but he thinks, and he may be wrong, he sees something akin to understanding there, like Shinsou’s just reached some sort of conclusion. Very, very soft and gentle understanding if the look in his eyes and the relaxed set of his mouth is anything to go by. It makes Neito’s entire body feel dry. He doesn’t feel like that makes sense but it’s the only way to describe it.

He feels parched; even more so when he realises that Shinsou initiated this—didn’t he!? Neito swears he did—by calling for his attention and oh god, now what the fuck does that mean?

He is not made to feel any better when Shinsou says, “It’s okay. You can if you want to,” in a low tone that makes his voice sound extra gravelly and lord, Neito’s progress has just completely been dunked to square one didn’t it?

Which frankly is the least of his worries at the moment, considering Shinsou has just spoken to him for the first time since Wednesday, quietly enough that his broken brain infers that the words were specifically for him, and Neito has no idea what the hell he means.

 

Neito doesn’t get the time to dwell on it for too long because it is right around then that everyone decides to pick on him again. The attention returning back to him solely sends a burst of paranoia down his spine and he immediately looks away from Shinsou to stare at his feet. Honestly everything was harrowing enough before; with this added layer of…bullshit, he thinks his perception and internal processes have snapped so fundamentally that he will never function again.

“Pick someone already! You’re stalling!”

Neito has nothing to say to Honenuki; he’s right, anyway.

“Are we even still playing the game? What happened?”

“There was a game?”

“Oh wait, yeah!”

“Holy shit, how long have we been doing this?”

He stares down at his socks, at the plate of cake lying completely ignored beside it, at Tokage’s thighs where she’s sitting cross legged next to it, and prepares to just say no.

He can’t do this. He thought he could, what with all the false bravado and shit talk he’s been dishing out for no reason instead of declining or asking for another dare like a normal person—wait, why hadn’t he done that?—but he’s dug himself into this big hole and the Shinsou thing has just completely rendered him useless and there’s absolutely nothing he can do.

He has to say no. He’ll be weaker and more pathetic for it, will hate himself definitely but it’s better than giving up his first kiss to some person he doesn’t like because his ego wouldn’t let him say no. Because he can’t give it up to the person he actually wants to.

“Just fucking pick someone!”

“Who will you choose!”

“I hope it’s me!”

Neito wrinkles his nose and almost tells Tsuburaba to shut the fuck up. He hopes Kendou and Shiozaki had fun because this party is going to be repressed so far down in his memory, he’ll have a hard time discerning whether he actually attended it.

“You know, you don’t have to,” Tokage softly reminds him again, soft enough that he knows it’s for his ears only. He doesn’t respond but he takes her advice to heart and looks up, mouth half open to tell Honenuki to stick it where the sun don’t shine, no one will judge him, they already think he’s fragile in some capacity anyway, let’s wrap up this shitty week in the same vein—

But then, in his periphery, he sees Shinsou’s leg, his pale hand resting on his knee—which is the same hand that had been gesturing to him moments before—and he falters.

And it is then that he fucks up.

Or rather, his autopilot systems fuck up because Neito is consciously about to decline, really. But what comes out of his mouth courtesy of a) his broken brain to mouth filter and b) his Shinsou brainrot that has consumed him completely (again) is:

“After giving it much thought, I’ve decided that kissing any of you from this class isn’t going to be spicy enough. Since that was, ah,” he adjusts his cuff and keeps speaking in a hollow, condescending tone that is level and completely calm. “Well, that was the point of this plebian game, wasn’t it?”

“What?” Tokage asks immediately, bewildered beyond belief.

What, Neito asks himself when the rest of his brain catches up to what he’s said, panic seizing his entire being. That was not the plan. Where exactly is he going with this? What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck—

“Oh?” Honenuki asks, grinning slowly but unsurely. Beside him, Rin is so white, he might as well be a ghost. “So, who have you decided to kiss?”

See, Neito’s had this problem since he was young, this “wants to say something but ends up saying something else completely riding on auto-pilot, impulse and not wanting to show weakness” thing. He’s developed it as a direct by-product of his parents’…parenting but also, and this isn’t confirmed and he can’t prove it, but he thinks it might have something to do with his quirk. It hits at the worst of times, this weird full-body surge that completely takes over him in difficult spots, not unlike actual possession, though the degree of its severity really depends on the severity of the situation. Hell, it’s sort of kicked in several times in this past, crappy week alone.

But it especially bonks him extra hard when his anxiety is so severe, the only thing holding him back from just crossing into the light is sheer willpower and some misplaced terror of appearing weak. Like now.

Most times, this mechanism is life-saving.

Today, Neito wishes he could shut himself down like a computer and never see the light of day again. He swallows and clenches his fists, trying not to nervously quiver.

“I’ve decided to kiss someone who isn’t in this class.”

“What?” Tokage asks, extremely warily.

What, Neito asks himself at the exact same time.

All of Kendou and Shiozaki’s female guests from support, business and general start murmuring and fidgeting immediately. Only Ashido and Yaoyorozu stay still, staring back at him in surprise; good, they know he’s never going to kiss them. Awesome. Not that he’s looking at them, anyway.

 

It’s okay. You can if you want to, Shinsou had said.

Neito would be a fool not to utilise it.

Wait, what exactly is he utilising again? His brain isn’t working.

 

Honenuki’s grin gives way to wary surprise, but it’s Awase who slowly asks, “What? Who?”

Rin is going to pass out.

“Monoma,” Tokage says warningly for the second time that evening.

Neito clears his throat and ignores her again knowing damn well where this is going after his brain finally catches up to the rest of him and not liking one bit of it (a lie; some deep part of him is very, very pleased at what’s to come which is dumb as hell). He wants to blame what he’s about to do all on the auto-pilot, convinced he would never do something stupid, but he would in fact do something this stupid, and he can’t deny that some awake, rational part of him is completely involved in the fuckshit that is about to come out of his mouth; his dumb conversations with Shinsou on Tuesday are a direct testament to that.

I’ll pay for your fruit-salad? My friends are inside, I’m waiting for them but I’m actually only here to talk to you? What the fuck was he thinking?

He takes a deep breath.

Rational-Neito finally dies an early death.

“The ladies don’t need to worry; I won’t be kissing them. Rest assured.”

The room immediately breaks out into mutters. Honenuki’s eyebrows shoot up to his hairline, but Neito doesn’t let anyone interrupt. If he’s going to dig his own grave, he would rather he do it without someone cutting him off.

“That being said,” at this point, he hooks both of his arms behind his back and moves slightly closer to the couch that Shinsou is sitting on. He keeps the expression on his face contemplative, just barely so, and looks at the spot Honenuki’s head. He also got public speaking lessons, okay? He’s utilising his useless education on his way to certain death.

But first, to get a certain thing out of the way; no auto-pilot stupidity would allow him to not touch on that.

God, he hates himself. He’s not even really all there.

“I have not chosen a male for this kiss because I have an inclination towards boys,” he almost feels bad blatantly lying and deceiving with such an even voice but whatever.

Halfway through the sentence, he realises he has absolutely no idea where to take the sentence he’s started aside from I have chosen him because I like him so much, I’m going to implode and die.

But well, he can’t say that, so he hands the reins to his winging-it-department and the shit that smoothly starts coming out of his mouth is borderline hysterical. If he wasn’t in the situation personally, he’d actually find it funny.

“Nor have I chosen him to make this dare extra spicy, although that would be an added factor. No, I have chosen him because there are people here, actually, that are holding hate and grudges in their hearts, some of it on my behalf. With this…,” Neito can’t find a good enough word so he skips over it, all casual like—and he does it so well, no one can tell that his throat has gone completely cold. He’s going to throw up.

Wow, if he could stop swinging between being completely conscious in this horrible decision and handing it to auto-pilot and logging off, that would be great. He can’t even tell if he thinks this is a bad idea or an epically incredible one. He can’t tell what’s going on in there at all. All he knows is that he’s going to puke everywhere.

“…with this kiss, if we may call it that, I hope to absolve the kissee,” is that a word? Fuck it. “Well, I hope to dissolve the person I have chosen…,” wait no.

To his left, he hears Shinsou suck some air up his nose in what is probably meant to be a laugh. Neito immediately goes extremely red and derails.

“I mean! I hope to dissolve at least my half of the grudge from the heart of the person…holding this grudge. I have no hate in my heart for the kissee, and I hope…,”

Everyone is staring at him. Neito internally screams.

What the fuck is he saying?

“Monoma,” Tokage says slowly.

He clears his throat and chances a look at Awase, who’s gone just as white as Rin and currently looks like he’s got a stick stuck in his throat. Neito wholeheartedly relates.

“Anyway,” he straightens up, thanking the universe again that his voice at least isn’t shaking because his internals sure are. He really really can’t blame this one on the auto-pilot. Even that mechanism doesn’t make him this stupid.

He sucks in a breath, and then he does the stupidest thing he’s ever done in a long time.

He smiles, in a casual smirky way that he hopes doesn’t look lecherous, and turns—not to Shinsou, but (and this is the part he hates the most) to Shinsou’s girlfriend who is sitting beside Shiozaki and who genuinely gapes at him when their eyes meet.

His heart pounds in his ears and the dry heave countdown starts up all over again.

She’s pretty he notes, in a blue dress that goes nicely with her long dark hair and big brown eyes. Neito, her polar opposite, suddenly feels doubly shit that Shinsou’s type seems to be everything he isn’t, but he’s gotten this far; if he fumbles it now because he’s constantly so fucking dramatic and sad about things, he might never forgive himself.

He inhales.

“May I borrow your boyfriend Shinsou-kun for one kiss?”

The room goes so deathly silent, you could probably hear a pin drop. Shinsou’s girlfriend—Neito should really learn her name—looks back at him like he’s asked her to swallow glass. Neito’s heart pounds.

 

Shit. Shit. Wait shit. Back up. Pause. She’s Shiozaki’s friend. Like, god-fearing Shiozaki. If she’s Shiozaki’s friend, then is she like her too; god-fearing, super religious, really conservative? And he’s fucking asked her to kiss her fucking boyfriend?

The rest of his faculties that he had casually side-lined suddenly catch up to all he’s said in the past few minutes and jerk back into motion like an old car kickstarting with wheezing noises. Wait a second.

Hold on, hold on.

Wait.

No, really wait. Wait, what has he been doing this whole time?

Pause.

The universe, selfishly, keeps going.

 

Neito is two steps away, from running out, locking himself in the first room that has a lockable door, crying and then dropping out of UA as the gravity of all the nonsense he’s said after being baited into it by Honenuki of all people hits him hard—when Shinsou’s girlfriend’s face crinkles…with laughter.

It’s a loud, tinkly noise and peal after peal comes out of her mouth as she looks back at him with her face all red, like he’s just told her the funniest joke. Neito, unsure of how he should be reacting to this situation and really relieved that he didn’t accidentally make her cry, wings it and starts slowly laughing with her.

“Oh my god,” she says through what Neito can only describe as hiccupping giggles, wiping actual tears from her eyes. But hey, at least she doesn’t look pissed or murderous, or worse, sad and uncomfortable on the verge of exorcising him or something. Frankly, she looks like she’s just been given the secret to the world’s answers—if the answers were really fucking funny.

He doesn’t know. He doesn’t do analogies.

“Oh my,” she wheezes, and this prompts Ashido and Tsuburaba into laughter, and from there it’s a crumbling, slippery slope. “That actually might be the most adventurous thing he’ll ever do.”

What the fuck does that mean, Neito thinks hysterically as he starts laughing—and regrets it when his laugh starts descending into the wild, untamed, psychotic version. Great, now almost everyone is giggling.

Well, except Awase. Probably. Neito can’t hear him in the chaos but he isn’t really looking at him so he can’t be sure. He would be more concerned if he was laughing at the prospect of Neito willingly choosing to land a kiss on his archenemy—wait does he even know who this girl’s boyfriend is?

Oh shit, wait.

“Oh my god, he’s great,” Ashido is crying, holding Tsuburaba. “I’ll never talk shit about him again.”

Neito’s eye, despite everything, twitches.

“Go ahead,” Shinsou’s girlfriend—seriously, what is her name—says, and all the girls except Shiozaki gasp and ooh for some reason. Shiozaki just looks dumbfounded. “You have my blessing. But don’t break him too much! I still need him!”

Neito—who is so high-strung and afraid of fucking this up that her statement doesn’t even hurt him (then, anyway)—risks a glance at Awase who is looking at him with a mix of confusion and horrified realisation dawning on his face. It would be funny if thinking about the consequences of what he’s about to do wasn’t so scary.

The best part? He doesn’t even know why he’s doing this. Even better? He has even less of a clue how he got here in the first place. He just remembers talking shit, being so anxious his body folded and now he is somehow here, and people are laughing.

Next to Awase, Honenuki looks like he’s swallowed something extremely bitter.

Neito gulps thickly, avoids looking down at Tokage because he cannot handle whatever expression she has on her face, he just knows he wouldn’t be able to, and turns to look at Shinsou. The man of the hour. The man himself.

He’s still sitting on the couch, leaning against the back and the expression in his eyes hasn’t changed at all. Still that soft understanding, though now—and Neito could absolutely be wrong—it’s mixed with some amusement.

His heart pounds. God, he’s so attractive.

“And you?” immediately he regrets speaking, because while his voice has stayed level and nice throughout this debacle, it chooses this moment to slip into breathless territory. This, of course, is made worse by the fact that Shinsou’s eyebrows and lips quirk up very subtly, like—and again, Neito could be very wrong—he’s encouraging him to go on.

 

It’s okay. You can if you want to.

 

“Do you consent to this kiss to…,” he sucks in a breath, fearing it’s going to fail him. “…to restore peace and resolve grudges? No hard feelings or anything if you don’t!”

Shinsou huffs in a burst of air through his nose, which Neito is now sure is something of a laugh. His anxiety shoots up and lessens at the same time. He’s made him laugh.

“Sure,” he says in his deep, drawly voice like he couldn’t care less but the expressions on his face are telling Neito something else entirely. Is he hallucinating? Probably not. “Whatever.”

 

Sure, whatever.

Okay. Okay.

Neito’s got this. Totally. He could not tell you if you paid him how he’s gotten to this exact moment, this here, with him dramatically walking the 0.5-foot distance to Shinsou who hasn’t moved an inch—but well, he’s here.

The worst part of it is that he doesn’t even know if he regrets it or not. He’ll worry about that after—and he knows he’ll regret it immensely, even if some sick, affection-deprived part of him is silently very pleased; because on the off-chance that he doesn’t actually manage to repress the memories of this horrific party, this is going to provide him enough anxiety-inducing material to last him a lifetime.

But then again. This opportunity is never going to come back again, so he might as well.

Right? Right?

Rational-Neito, dead, provides him no answers to make him feel better.

 

8:01pm

Neito has thought about kissing Shinsou a lot, particularly in the early stages of his crush. He’s obviously never kissed or been kissed before, so he doesn’t know how it goes exactly or how it even feels, but in his imagination, it goes well. Shinsou is kind and gentle and loving, and lets Neito take his time and all of that cheesy stuff. The Shinsou in front of him, however, sitting on the couch as Neito stands over him and tries to slow down his beating heart—well, in-real-life Shinsou is looking up at him with mirth in his eyes, along with that weird, fucked up understanding that Neito still hasn’t comprehended the meaning of. Their bodies are as far apart as they possibly can be, not to mention the entire audience that is watching them with bated breath (one of whom is Shinsou’s very amused, giggling girlfriend which is just plain weird), and there is not a single romantic thing that is evident in the situation. Neito inhales, having a hard time looking Shinsou in the face but not being able to look anywhere else and for the first time since this debacle starting, he realises that he really has no idea how kissing works.

 

Does he lean in? Will Shinsou lean in? Will they both lean in and meet each other halfway? Does he open his mouth? Closed sounds better. Honenuki kept saying peck, not a full makeout—Neito doesn’t know how to do that anyway, and that wouldn’t be fair to Shinsou’s girlfriend at all—but is he meant to…

Should he tilt his head a certain way or should he just go in for it? Has he ever seen kissing videos before? He can’t remember watching anything quite as degenerate as that, he’s not an animal, so this is just fantastic. Shinsou isn’t helping; he’s just sitting there, waiting for Neito to do something. But like, what the fuck is he meant to do?

Granted, it is his dare and he has chosen Shinsou for…peace-keeping (seriously, what the fuck was he thinking when he said that) so technically he should be initiating, but his systems have frozen and all he can do is look down on Shinsou and think very consciously about breathing because he fears he might stop.

This is, of course, made ten times more awkward when the only thought his broken brain supplies in lieu of help that he desperately begs for is give him a very quick play by play to the last time they interacted with each other at Ground Ten. Shinsou had made fun of him, according to some, called him fruit-salad and then spent the next two school-days not acknowledging his existence at all.

Neito falters.

It doesn’t make sense, after all that, for Shinsou so easily to have said it’s okay, you can if you want to (Neito isn’t even sure if he’s read it in the same way it was meant) and agree to kiss him or look at him the way he’s looking at him right now. Especially considering how much Neito had embarrassed himself in front of him the whole week. Doubly because Neito’s friend had landed him in detention duty for no reason. This shouldn’t be happening. What did Shinsou exactly mean by it’s okay, you can if you want to? Was he giving consent for Neito to choose him? Or did he mean something else? Is this just Shinsou making fun of him?

Wait a second, he needs to back up and—

Shinsou quirks his eyebrows up at him, the understanding in his eyes replaced with what Neito is reading as mild concern and an endless chasm of…patience? Patience, yeah. It makes him look so soft and approachable, as opposed to all the other times, that Neito’s nerves become less frazzled immediately.

Huh. That’s something to ponder for another day.

“Well,” he hears himself say even though he hasn’t really meant to say anything at all. He definitely also does not mean to stick out his right hand toward Shinsou, but he does anyway. Hail auto-pilot. “Here’s to rectifying the bad note on which we left off. I know you weren’t making fun of me that time, so let’s resolve this here.”

His entire body cringes because he definitely should’ve thought about that more, especially when he hears Awase let out this wheezing, wounded sound. Even more when he realises that the girls have not stopped giggling and the boys are deathly quiet.

Externally, however, he stays cool and impassive. Awesome.

He turns his head in Awase’s general direction, not quite looking at anyone because he can only do much to uphold his persona and whatever expressions all of the boys in his class are wearing are for sure going to fracture right through it.

He’s made it this far. He can’t cry now.

He takes a deep breath. “And here,” he says, hoping Awase knows he’s being addressed. Honestly, he probably does. “Here is to letting go of hatred and grudges. With my gesture of good-will, I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive…,” he tries to say Shinsou and finds that he can’t. Yay. “…forgive him.”

Shinsou does that thing again, when his breath whooshes out of him in what is meant to be a laugh and Neito’s heart melts as his eyes seek him out immediately—a strange feeling when it’s also thundering in his chest. He’s only a little relieved when Shinsou decides not to comment on his stupidity and wordlessly put his hand in Neito’s. All the progress, all the running away from him, all dissolved. Because of one stupid game and one even stupider decision.

Fuck Honenuki for this. Neito is going to annihilate him in training, this is—

The hand Shinsou puts in his, he absently notes, is the same one that he had briefly held on Monday when he’d fell. Goodness, their dynamic is a mess, can he back up and just please—

“This is going to be very awkward for you when I tell you that I was, in fact, kind of making fun of you.”

“Huh?” Neito says, shook by the hand-holding barely in the process of…processing the meaning of the sentence before Shinsou grins—toothily, and god, Neito can’t bring himself to regret any of this even though he knows he will—and then he tugs on Neito’s hand. It’s hard enough that Neito, skinny twig that he is, goes falling forward and everyone in the room straight-up gasps.

And it is then, with Neito not even having enough time to close his eyes properly, that Shinsou grabs his shoulder to steady him with his free-hand and kisses him full on the mouth—

And Neito experiences the biggest system shutdown he never has before.

 

The kiss is close-mouthed, surprisingly dry and lasts maybe five or six seconds in real-time. To Neito, however, it feels like an entire lifetime. He’s always heard of how intimate kissing can be, that when you meet the person that is yours to keep, you just know; there’s meant to be electricity, fireworks, tingles, all that stuff.

A burst of colours does go off behind Neito’s eyelids, but that has more to do with an anxiety response than some rom-com stuff. His throat closes up, embarrassingly so, nausea rises to the surface like a tidal wave and his hands, that have grabbed onto both of Shinsou’s shoulders at some point, clench into fists in the fabric of his shirt as he tries not to hurtle into a full shutdown.

It’s sad, actually very upsetting, that Neito is so stressed through the whole experience, he can’t even bring himself to enjoy it.

Toward the end of it, though, Shinsou tilts his head just slightly and slots their lips at a different angle and Neito—who will never admit to a very embarrassing, very tiny sound escaping him at that very moment—hasn’t even begun reeling from that when, just like that, the other boy pulls back.

Neito’s eyes shoot open immediately, his entire being suddenly very hyper-aware that he’s leaning over Shinsou with both hands bunched into his shirt, that Shinsous still got a hand curled loosely over his shoulder, that they’re both looking at each other—though Neito is staring blankly, and Shinsou’s got fifteen different emotions running through his eyes.

Neito does not have the brainpower to unpack all of them. But with the understanding and realisation he’s already sort of discerned (and maybe mislabelled), he thinks he sees one look flit briefly across Shinsou’s face—this one, Neito thinks, signifies that he’s just had some sort of revelation.

It makes him look beautiful.

As soon as that thought hits, he lets go of Shinsou’s shoulders as if he’s just been burned, lest he winds up doing what actually he wants to do, and that is: kiss him some more. He can’t do that. He can’t. He can’t, this is already—

Shinsou smiles softly at him and Neito’s heart completely swoops.

Vaguely, and he can’t be completely sure because of how the sound of his own heart is thundering in his ears and anxiety is clogging all of his available systems, he thinks he hears the room erupt into thunderous noise around him.

 

Neito has never given much thought to the concept of his first kiss, but he has thought about how it would be if he were to kiss Shinsou for the first time—an embarrassingly amount of times actually. It was never something that was attainable or achievable, so he’d filed it away with all those secret things he longed for but would never say.

But of all the possible scenarios he had thought up regarding this never-to-happen-first-kiss-with-Shinsou, none of them and absolutely none of them involved Ashido screaming “he did it for the peace! Give this man a peace prize!” at the top of her lungs at any point.

The laughter, incoherent screaming and hooting was also never something Neito had thought to include in his fantasies and yet—

 

Shinsou looks at him for one more beat before carefully removing his hand from Neito’s shoulder, who immediately and very pathetically feels the loss of warmth and longs. Although he’s holding it together, very barely, he can feel a quiver pick up in one of his hands and his legs definitely feel like mush and he can’t quite remember how he got here but he’s just kissed Shinsou and everyone’s screaming about it and Awase is raging in the background and suddenly, as the sounds of the room hit him at once, it all becomes very overwhelming and he needs to leave, right now, now, now, now, before he loses the ability to think entirely and that is definitely his nausea returning, he’s going to puke

Y’all see that shit!” Tsubaraba screams, particularly loudly and it’s so startlingly high-volume that Neito backs away from Shinsou with a little bit of a gasp that sounds dramatic but that he really hasn’t produced on purpose. Shinsou is still looking at him and he can hear his girlfriend giggling hysterically in the background and oh god, what has he just done?

Well, well, well, if it isn’t the direct consequences of his poorly thought out actions.

He needs to leave. Right now. He never should’ve said yes, never should’ve gone along with Honenuki’s stupid game, or just…hell, just kissed someone else in class instead of fucking Shinsou who is…who is looking at him with mild concern and still that soft fucking look in his eye and it makes Neito choke up more than he already is because he’s misinterpreting that look for tenderness, he’s misinterpreted everything, oh god, this—

“Hey,” Shinsou says, furrowing his eyebrows in confusion and that is what spurs Neito into motion, the realisation that his persona, his stupid little façade, is finally starting to crack and oh god he’s tearing up and Shinsou can see.

Abruptly and admittedly very blindly, Neito turns on his heel and prepares to speed-walk away from the scene that has gotten ten times louder, though he has no idea why. He needs to get somewhere where he can get this…all of what he’s feeling out of his system, he needs to breathe and he needs to cry and he needs to think and he’s never fucked up like this in his life, he’s done so well, so so well since June, hasn’t even breathed on Shinsou wrong and now he’s gone and fucked it all up for his own selfishness and he—

 

He takes two steps, maybe three before he ends up putting his foot, sock and all, right into his abandoned plate of cake that had lain forgotten and bore witness to the whole fiasco from a direct vantage point. He actually only realises this fact hours after the fact when he’s in bed.

At the time that this happens, he doesn’t even process he’s stepped in anything at all.

It would be bad enough if he’d realised this fact as soon as his foot touched it because isn’t that humiliating as fuck; but he’s not functioning, he’s barely even breathing and so he somehow, even after stepping into something that he knows isn’t the floor, the need to get away is so strong that he attempts to keep walking.

And the thing is, that when you try and keep walking after you have stepped sock-deep in literal cream, it is very hard to keep your balance most times. So, sometimes, if you’re very unlucky and on top of that, do not know what you’re doing or where you’re going, you go hurtling forward.

In non-decorative terms, what Neito means is that you fucking fall over.

You know, for the second time in less than a week. Neito swiftly realises one thing as his brain only finally processes the fact that he is, actually, falling forward very fast when his nose is barely three inches away from the rough green carpet of the common area: this time there is no Shinsou who is going to catch him.

And forward he goes. And hard he hits his entire face against the floor.

 

The room goes extremely quiet before it goes absolutely ballistic.

Notes:

i apologise for nothing

i realised w this chapter that writing monoshin is actually rly difficult which makes me dread the next chapter bc it’s also got monoshin in it. Pain

kudos and comments keep me going, don't be shy, leave some if you'd like :)))) thank you so much for putting up with my sporadic update schedule. i appreciate you all so much

Chapter 14: kaleidoscopes from the future

Notes:

READ ME FOR CONTEXT!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! hello we take a bit of a detour from the main storyline today because i am tired of hurting monoma (for now) and i was so glad shinsou showed up in the s5 pv that i wanted to outline his emotions. i also realised we know next to nothing abt him in this fic lol. i love writing slowburns but im a slow writer and i want them to be happy and together and monomas anxiety gives me anxiety so i figured id get this out of my system to get back to writing that. initially i wanted this to be uploaded as a whole different fic as part of a "series" that could be read as standalone if wanted, but im putting it like this instead as part of the main fic

this little drabble takes place like,,, we're in september right now so this takes place late march ish the next year. so around 6 months from where we are at in the fic and IT GIVES MINOR BACKGROUND ON SHINSOU! and i made them smooch a lot because i just want them to be happy and i was depriving myself!

content warnings: babies in love, mild implication of some heavy petting

(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)

Chapter Text

Okay, so for the record, Hitoshi has kissed before. He kissed a girl in elementary school because they were getting fake married during recess for some reason—honestly, he was six and barely remembers what the hell that was all about. He doesn’t count that one, really.  

The kiss he actually counts as his first came in junior-high, when he first kissed Hinata Seiko behind the convenience store near his house. Or rather, when she kissed him.

She was one of the only people at school who didn’t look at him warily even though she was aware of what his quirk was. They got talking about some things because of a club Hitoshi wasn’t even really in—platonically, or so he thought—and then they started walking home from school together because Hinata asked if he wanted to and then they progressed to a bit of shy hand-holding because Hinata put hers in his and he didn’t know what to do. And then, when one day Hinata dragged him behind the store, away from prying eyes, and just…kissed him without a word, Hitoshi let her because he wasn’t entirely opposed.

It was…clumsy to say the least, dry as hell and made the rest of the walk back extremely silent. Hitoshi spent most of it trying to subtly rub the back of his head to alleviate the light throbbing that had come with banging his head into a wall. Hinata Seiko had, well, attacked him in a way—he lost his balance, and just ended up hitting his head while she hit his lips. It was kind of metal, actually.

She didn’t bring it up, maybe out of embarrassment at throwing him so hard, so Hitoshi didn’t acknowledge it either. They definitely did not acknowledge the fact that they hadn’t really spoken about whether they were in a relationship or not, not even when kissing behind the store became a daily thing.

By the end of two weeks since the first, the kissing had gotten stretched out to longer intervals of time and some tongue was getting involved. Initially sort of indifferent to the situation like he was to every single other situation in his life, Hitoshi started getting into it after a while. Hinata was nice, smelled like strawberries, ate lunch with him, was extremely funny and so, kissing her wasn’t the worst thing in the world. Things with her were going generally well and it was kind of refreshing to look at someone and not see thinly veiled apprehension staring back at him. Things were going so well, in fact, that to this day Hitoshi doesn’t know what happened with them. One day, a few months before graduation and almost a year after they’d started this little thing, Hinata just…stopped; stopped hanging out with him, sitting with him, kissing him, all that sort of stuff.

Hitoshi wouldn’t lie and say it didn’t hurt, to have someone pay that much attention to him and then stop without a single explanation. It did hurt when he allowed himself to think about it, which wasn’t often because Hitoshi never had energy to expend on stupid stuff like that. It hurt, and he felt almost rejected and couldn’t sleep well for weeks afterward, mulling it over and over in his head: what the hell had he done? He hadn’t said anything wrong, he knew that, because he never said much, content to let Hinata speak as much as she wanted. He hadn’t used his quirk on her or even really brought it up because he would rather die, hadn’t said anything unnecessary at all—so then, why…

If he’d had the mental capacity or emotional range to question her, maybe he’d have asked her what the deal was. But he never had the mental capacity or emotional range to question her or do much of anything else really, so he just…didn’t, afraid of what she might say to him. Perhaps, he thinks, if he’d liked her a little more than he did or thought she owed him anything, he actually might’ve found it in himself somewhere to. But she didn’t owe him a thing, and the internal feeling of rejection stemmed more from the fact that someone had dropped him on his ass randomly after being so nice to him for so long. It did not, as he found out very quickly, have anything to do with his feelings for Hinata Seiko—or lack, thereof.

And so, he didn’t. Ask, that is.

Hinata made no efforts to explain anything, either. And just like that, Hitoshi graduated junior-high the way he did most things—silently, alone and not drawing too much attention to himself.

 

So, yes, going back to the initial point, Hitoshi has kissed before. Copiously, even. If he might dare say, he thinks he’s gotten relatively good at it because of all the practice he did with Hinata Seiko. Kissing is alright, if done correctly. Kissing can even be fun.

But very early on in his relationship with Monoma, he realises that there is a drastic difference in what it feels like kissing him and what it felt like kissing Hinata Seiko.

Kissing Hinata Seiko had been mindless in a way, devoid of any feeling, something more routine than anything else—like something that had to happen, like something you’d do with a friend, a thing you both kind of casually enjoy.

Kissing Monoma feels like a revelation.

 

See, Hitoshi likes a lot of things. He likes cats, he likes bikes, he likes cats on bikes, he likes training with Aizawa-sensei, he likes the few friends he’s made in General Studies, he likes chocolate, he likes punk-rock bands, he likes stand-up comedy, he likes horror films, he likes…

Well, he likes a lot of things as many people do. Some things more than others.

But nothing compares to how much he likes kissing Monoma; the only thing he thinks he might like more is he how much he likes Monoma in general. Or maybe cats. He loves cats. And Monoma. And cats. He can’t choose, okay?

 

His entire relationship with Monoma is, in general, a fresh breath of air compared to his relationship (question mark?) with Hinata Seiko and his brief time with his sort-of-girlfriend-now-annoying-best-friend Junko Mei. Monoma doesn’t ask more of him than he is capable of giving. Monoma doesn’t force him to be more adventurous or more talkative or more…well more anything than he is. Monoma takes him, has taken him from day one, exactly as he is and has never once tried to change him or force him out of his comfort zone. Monoma has never looked at him like he’s scary, like he’s afraid Hitoshi will use his quirk on him either on purpose or by accident, has never looked intimidated by how he looks most days—apathetic and sleep-deprived. He used to be a bumbling mess around him at first, Hitoshi will never forget, but with the progression of their friendship and now…now in the middle of the relationship, well things are different. Monoma isn’t scared of him and it makes something strange thrum in Hitoshi’s chest.

Monoma likes Hitoshi because he is Hitoshi, and not in spite of it. Monoma likes him so much, so unconditionally, so…irrevocably that it throws Hitoshi sometimes.

What throws Hitoshi even more is that he likes Monoma in exactly the same way.

 

Hitoshi has never been very emotional, at least outwardly. Growing up with a father who is just as quiet as he is, and then going to school with the realisation that people are actually kind of scared to him has made him a chronic emotion-bottler. When he first started at UA, heavily weighed down with both Hinata and the hero course’s rejection but simultaneously feeling almost nothing at all, Hitoshi thought that maybe he just wasn’t built to feel things. Not that there was anything wrong with him, but he just…couldn’t. Feel like other people did, that is.

This sentiment was greatly strengthened when he started to notice his classmate Junko Mei’s interest in him immediately after starting at UA and felt absolute indifference, even when he started to find himself reciprocating—even when he started making more and more friends in General who didn’t think he was a supervillain in the body of a fifteen year old—even when Junko boisterously asked him out and he said yes because he didn’t know what else to say to her—even when Junko wanted him to do more than hole up in his room and pushed him into group activities he would rather die than be a part of but was too non-confrontational to say no to—even when he did enjoy spending time with her, even though her energy suffocated him sometimes, like he was staring right into the sun—even when she made him laugh—even when she stroked his hair that one time.

Hitoshi felt nothing. A bit pleased, maybe, somewhere deep inside. Amused at her jokes sometimes.

But generally? Nothing. If Junko noticed, she didn’t say much.

She still hasn’t said much about their relationship, to be honest, months after they’ve been amicably broken up; they don’t talk about those few months in which they did barely anything differently than they do now as best friends. They didn’t even kiss. Not once.

They don’t talk about it much now. Hitoshi is infinitely glad because reminders of his past relationships are not something that he needs now that he has other things on his mind; like how much he likes kissing Monoma. Or how much Monoma makes him feel things he’s never felt before, things he didn’t even know he was capable of feeling.

 

Bursts of emotion that go crashing through his chest is the only way he can really describe it, the way his heart squeezes and the blood in his veins sings when he’s with the other boy. Monoma is…well he’s beautiful in a way Hitoshi isn’t and never will be, and no matter what, he’s never any less beautiful; even when he’s down or in a bad mood or anxious, hell, even when he’s doing his stupid, endearing 1-A shticks and pretending to be absolutely dramatic and insane—

God. He’s so fucking beautiful. Sometimes Hitoshi is scared of looking at him for too long because he’s afraid he’ll never be able to look away again.

The intensity of his feelings scares him sometimes, overwhelming him from the inside out until he feels like his heart is beating too fast. But it’s not the kind of overwhelmed that he felt when he was with Junko, like the sun was beaming too brightly in his eyes and the heat of it was searing through his body and he didn’t have anything to protect himself with.

No, if Junko was the sun, then Monoma is the moon. Hitoshi is no good with metaphors, but that is how he reasons it in his head.

Monoma, as insane and dramatic and loud as he is in public, is more subdued when it’s just the two of them together. He makes stupid, corny jokes and he says things that he looks like he immediately regrets because oh, no Shinsou-kun that is not what I meant to say at all, ignore that, let me start over, okay wait-

And god, it’s so fucking cute that Hitoshi can hardly be faulted for shutting him up with his mouth, and then they end up not talking at all for a bit, and well, no one’s complaining.

 

Hitoshi is still learning how to cope with feeling feelings and Monoma is still learning how to be more comfortable around him while managing his anxiety and his sexuality and his fears, and the two of them—well, Hitoshi thinks they’re fumbling around a bit but in the end, they’re here and they’re together and they’re patient with each other, and that’s what matters.

Hitoshi wants to say so much to Monoma sometimes. He wants to pour out reassurances and affection and emotion so Monoma knows how much he feels, but realistically, he knows he can’t. He just isn’t quite there yet and his words never come out the way he wants them to, as much as he wants them to, not even when he sees Monoma crumble a little right before his eyes. It hurts him in ways Hinata Seiko’s rejection never did, a kind of consuming hurt that startles him. Hurt at the fact that Monoma has suffered so much, is still suffering while bravely keeping face and a whole different public persona and Hitoshi can’t do a damn thing about it.

So, he does the only thing he thinks he can to let Monoma know he’s there, that he’s available, that Monoma doesn’t have to hide his anxiety away from him and that he likes Monoma to soul-crushing degrees just the way he is, like he has from almost the first time they exchanged words even though he hadn’t known it at the time, that he doesn’t expect Monoma to heal overnight and that he can be as…himself as he wants to be when they’re alone together—

Hitoshi pours his life and soul into his kisses and hopes he gets the message across.

 

Kissing Monoma makes him feel…drunk, in a sense. Kissing Hinata Seiko had been clinical in ways Hitoshi can’t explain. Kissing Monoma is intoxicating.

Even when it’s only a brief, stolen kiss in a deserted campus hallway during lunch, or a peck after he walks Monoma to his dorm after school, it exhilarates him; it exhilarates him much in the same way their first ever kiss had, when he’d been stuck at that dumbass party he didn’t want to be at. While that first kiss had been a realisation, these next ones are…Hitoshi doesn’t know what they are. But he’s happy. Thrilled. Exhilarated.

What exhilarates him even more is the way he has to lean down to kiss Monoma because he’s just a little bit shorter than him, and also the way Monoma looks up at him after. They’ve been together (and that word alone sends a childish thrill down Hitoshi’s spine) for a little over two months now, yet Monoma still blushes after every touch and every kiss. His pale cheeks flush prettily every single time without fail and his eyes take on this…expression that Hitoshi doesn’t know how to read but is addicted to. It makes them, and this might just be his imagination, but it makes them that much bluer and that much brighter and that much happier and Hitoshi can’t quite believe how much he feels but he can’t blame himself for it.

 

So exhilarating is the feeling of merely pecking Monoma on the lips—his pretty, pink lips, Jesus—that the first time they kiss in the privacy of Monoma’s bedroom, the first time they can kiss for longer than a second or two, Hitoshi is half scared he’s going to completely and permanently lose his mind.

He’s not quite sure how they end up kissing that day because really, he’d only gone there to catch up on hero course notes now that he’s transferring in for the next term. Monoma had oh so, helpfully offered his tutoring and help and existing notes and Hitoshi can’t refuse him for anything, plus he really did need the help, so he’d gone…

…and before they’d even gotten around to getting a single book out, he’d ended up on Monoma’s bed, leaning heavily against the headboard with Monoma perched in his lap and somehow, they were furiously making out like they’d never get a chance to again.

If Hitoshi had to pin down an origin of his sudden love for kissing Monoma anywhere and everywhere, he would probably name that specific time. If he had to get even more specific, he would pinpoint the noise that had escaped Monoma the first time Hitoshi had tentatively put his tongue in the other’s mouth—a noise that he is now obsessed with extracting from the depths of Monoma’s throat.

A noise that he is very successful in extracting every time they get a chance to really kiss. It makes him very, very smug. And smitten. It embarrasses Monoma but even his embarrassment is so endearing, it makes Hitoshi want to tease him into a puddle of flustered tears. It’s how their relationship had taken off—he still cringes at their fruit-salad debacle—and it’s how their relationship is progressing. Hitoshi has no complaints, and despite how much Monoma squirms and whines about you’re so mean, Shinsou-kun, he doesn’t have any complaints either.

 

They’ve never done anything more than really kissing because 1) neither of them is ready for that quite yet, really, they haven’t ever talked about that, with how fresh and violently emotional everything is and 2) because just the thought of it makes Hitoshi blush unnaturally hot in ways he didn’t know he was capable of. He’s afraid he might die if he entertains the thought for longer than a second.

He comes very close once. To dying that is, which he isn’t quite as bothered by as he should be because death by Monoma sounds great and a good way to go out. But one time, and they’re in Hitoshi’s room that time, somehow things progress in the rushed way they always do when they find time alone and Hitoshi finds himself kissing Monoma so hard, he can feel his teeth rattling.

But this time is different and they only realise that once they take a quick break from trying to suck each other’s faces off like boys parched. This time, as Hitoshi slowly realises once his brain starts coming back online, this time he’s hovering over Monoma—Monoma who’s ended up flat on his back in the middle of Hitoshi’s dorm bed.

Monoma…who is, quite literally, under Hitoshi and panting softly to catch his breath, looking so beautiful, Hitoshi’s breath audibly and embarrassingly hitches. As his already flushed cheeks slowly begin to redden more and more the longer they stare at each other, bewildered, Hitoshi can tell that Monoma is reaching some realisations himself.

“Oh,” is what Monoma says quietly after a while.

Hitoshi, who’s wrists are starting to hurt from propping himself up a safe distance away from the other boy but who is too scared to lower himself down on his forearms because then he’ll be closer, has no clue what to say so he grunts in response.

They don’t say much after that, too embarrassed to do anything but look at each other in embarrassment—on Hitoshi’s part, he’s trying very hard not to die where he is because Monoma looks incredible with his eyes wide and his cheeks pink, his blond hair spread out like a halo on Hitoshi’s pillow and lord, he’s still panting in that soft, quiet way. Hitoshi is hit with the sudden urge to gently take him apart and put him back together so fast, he almost falls over sideways.

Unable to cope with it, and frankly, with zero idea how to cope with it because he’s never felt anything like it, Hitoshi does the only thing he knows how to: he kisses Monoma hard on the mouth, pries his lips open with his tongue and hopes he’s communicating whatever he’s feeling as best as he can because he knows words would never be able to.

Judging by the way Monoma arches his entire body up into his and wraps his arms around Hitoshi’s neck to bring him closer, the same noise (trademarked) getting lost somewhere between their mouths, well—

Hitoshi thinks he’s pretty successful. Who says communication is hard?

A little too successful, apparently, because Monoma takes the next second to make an entirely different noise he’s never made before—before rutting on him and that is when Hitoshi’s sanity derails entirely.

That is also when Hitoshi probably actually dies. He has no evidence that the rest of his life onward from that point isn’t an elaborate fever-dream.

 

When Hitoshi logs back in, he finds himself on his back and staring stupidly at the ceiling; the button of his school pants is undone and the front of his underwear is wet in ways it hasn’t been since he first hit puberty and had no handle on his hormones.

There’s also the added weight of Monoma’s body sprawled across his entire left-side. That’s definitely there—

Monoma, who is struggling to catch his breath, and hugging Hitoshi across the middle like one would hold onto a lifeline. Or how a sinking man would hold onto a plank of wood from the wreck of the ship he was currently on that is now sinking in the background. Or something.

Metaphors are fucking hard. The point is, Monoma’s squeezing him hard to the point of what feels like desperation. Hitoshi, still unsure that he’s actually alive and has survived what they’ve just done, wordlessly squeezes him back without a word until Monoma’s breathing slows down.

And just like that, they’re content.

 

Content is the word that Hitoshi would use to define how he feels ever since he started dating (dating!) Monoma. He’s sleeping better than he was before for whatever reason, doesn’t feel quite as grouchy and has smiled more times in two months than he has in his life. He still has a hard time articulating what he feels, afraid of speaking lest his brain translate completely human sentences into sarcastic, fun-poking comments even when he doesn’t mean to say them at all. But Monoma doesn’t ask him to articulate, content to fill the silence with his endearing ramblings that make Hitoshi want to kiss him. He fills the silence in ways that is different from when Hinata Seiko used to fill the silences or when Junko speaks to him; Monoma doesn’t look at him pointedly in between sentences like he wants him to contribute. Monoma doesn’t ask anything of him at all.

Monoma lets him be how he is and likes him back so fiercely, it makes Hitoshi’s entire body hot with both endearment and embarrassment. Monoma doesn’t care that Hitoshi is a little bit of a lanky, awkward loser who is running into metaphorical walls while dealing with emotions he’s never felt, or let himself feel, before. Monoma doesn’t care that one of the only friends of his who knows about this relationship is in a state of stupefied disbelief at his general life choices. Monoma doesn’t care that Hitoshi likes to stay in and watch videos. Monoma watches them with him. Monoma looks at him like he can’t quite believe Hitoshi is a real person.

And Hitoshi, well. Hitoshi just sits there and takes it all in and feels.

And somehow, looking at the moon is ten times less excruciating than staring straight into the sun. And he’s glad.

Notes:

my heart is so full i hurt my own feelings

again this drabble takes place like 6 months after the events of the party we're currently at and we'll go back to it next ch and get that good angst. pls dont used to this fluff this is me, ah, throwing yall a bone and also as a thank you for supporting this fic :)

ppl keep asking if theyll end up together, so I hope this answered ur question (: im also betaing this late so ignore any typos im tired owo

thank you for 800 kudos and for all the appreciation you show me :( its so good and it keeps me going. thank you so much.

please leave kudos and comments if you'd like :) hail shinsou. my mcfucking baby