Midoriya is convinced that the world wants him chilly and half naked in the infirmary. After the third time he's failed in tying his gown with his dumb, gauzed up hand, he gives up and lets the strings hang loose down his back. As long as he doesn't move around too much, he shouldn't have a problem. He glares at his arms: the right one in a cast up to his elbow, the left only heavily gauzed up. His left foot was wrapped up; miraculously not broken completely, but enough of an injury to get three Sanrio stickers from Recovery Girl's stash.

With his current status, he wasn't going anywhere. He sits in his cot, and the light above him flickers, and he winces.

Maybe something to do with the storm? Midoriya thinks, rubbing one eye. The light has been faulty since they got here, and he's only noticed that because there is nothing else to notice in this room. The rain was pouring outside the windows. The light above Midoriya's bed was the only one that seemed to have faulty wiring. Shinsou hasn't said a word to him yet.

One cot over, Shinsou is lying down on his cot, his long-standing scowl smoothed out to a simple frown as he stares at the ceiling, and Midoriya can guess a couple factors to his attitude right now. One is that the pillows Recovery Girl keeps in the infirmary are old and flatter than crepes, so they're basically useless. Another reason, Midoriya suspects, is that Shinsou is blaming himself for landing them in the UA infirmary.

The room feels a lot larger and quieter when it's just them. Midoriya wonders if Aizawa still has them training outside. Recovery Girl had left maybe a half hour ago after patching them up, saying she had to pick up a delivery of medical supplies.

"Keep an eye on each other, I'll be back soon," she instructed. Then she had turned to Shinsou and said, "Make sure he doesn't do anything stupid. We need to keep an eye on that concussion. If you have any concerns, just consult the Izuku Midoriya Protocol." There was a gleam of mirth behind her visor. She pointed at her desk, where Midoriya knows all she keeps in there is extra gauze, paperclips, and an absurd amount of expired candles.

If Midoriya hadn't been utterly exhausted, wiped out, wrung out like a rag on a rainy day, he would've laughed. He tried to muster a smile. Did she expect him to down a jar of melatonins, put on whale noises, and enter a dangerous concussive sleep as soon as she left? Then he saw Shinsou's face; his sullen expression that turned into a clenched jaw and a nod, like a new burden had fallen on his shoulders.

Now they've been alone together for almost–45 minutes, Midoriya notes, checking the clock on the wall, and the only sound was the rain pattering against the glass. It's lightened up marginally since they were out there in Replica City, in the storm. Or maybe this is just what the rain actually looks like from the outside. He takes a deep breath, letting the air expand his bruised ribs until they hurt, and, realizing that an audible sigh could be taken as passive aggressive, holds it and awkwardly releases softly.

Midoriya feels his body relaxing, wanting to disappear under the thin bed sheets and sleep, and he shakes his head. It's not his first concussion on the concussion rodeo. His head throbs like someone's playing ping pong with his brain in there, and he's sure if he actually lays down he might feel nauseous, and that stupid light is not helping but he's not gonna get up, and Shinsou has a broken foot, so Midoriya isn't going to ask him to get up and walk to the light switch. He can just power through until Recovery Girl comes back. He closes his eyes, and that darkness is peaceful.

"Midoriya."

Midoriya's eyes fly open. He sits up, not realizing how much his body had slumped. He rights himself and hits his cast on the bedside railing. "Ow–What?"

Shinsou is craning his head up to look at him. His wild hair is tamed and dry from the rain, pressed against his forehead. One eyebrow is hidden under a bandage. "You're not allowed to sleep."

"Right. Sorry."

Shinsou stares at him for a couple moments before he begins to haul himself up. He knocks a pillow to the floor, and pays it no mind. He drapes an arm around his waist like he's holding himself together. His breath is kind of ragged as he asks, "How are you feeling?"

Midoriya does the least minimal effort to convey a shrug. "My head still kinda hurts, but I'm fine. How about you?"

Shinsou waves a hand. "Oh you know, just fine." He lifts his casted leg up. "Failed the training mission, got hit by a cannonball, nearly killed you by accident." He drops his leg back on the bed and then winces, exhaling like it was a personal offense. "Shit. Sorry."

Midoriya can only offer a meek, "It's okay."

It was bad luck, really. The weather had been perfect all day until clouds had rolled in in the afternoon, as class switched to practical training. The sky cracked open and the night poured in, rain drops like the small meteors, hitting like rocks against skin and uniform. It rendered the training ground like a slick death trap, visibility low as rain poured like it had a personal grudge.

In any other scenario, Shinsou throwing his binding cloth out to Midoriya to swing on would be good. A viable strategy, as Midoriya proposed, daydreaming about various scenarios and team ups he and Shinsou could have. If Midoriya was already in the air, it could be done to quickly redirect his momentum. Vice versa for Shinsou, if they could try it again.

Throw in a heavy rain and a cannonball and of course things would crash.

Crash, like he did on the ground. Midoriya can't help but curl his lips at that. A chuckle bubbles in his chest but it might hurt to release it from his ribs, so he doesn't. Maybe it does slip out; Shinsou's giving him a weird look. He should say something.

"I'm glad neither of us died." What Midoriya meant was seriously injured, but the signal got crossed from his brain to his mouth. He brushes the side of his head, tucking hair behind his ear. His headache pounds like a heartbeat, unwilling to let him forget. He pushes the words forward. "I kind of don't remember a lot."

What he remembers is the binding cloth taut in his hands before going slack, and the plummet of his heart along with his body. He thinks he got lost in the air, the only distinction from the rain and the air was the slick, hard ground.

That memory is definitely placed in the top ten Things that Would Haunt Him, which includes things like the time Kacchan was kidnapped, the time that he was suffocated by the Sludge Villain, and the time he had accidentally spit out expired milk on Ochako when she was having a bad day. It's definitely a contender.

Shinsou stares at him. Maybe even mugs a little. It's hard to tell. "That might be the concussion,"

he says, crumbling something up in his hand. It sounds plasticy. Shinsou drops it in his lap, and Midoriya recognizes it as the strawberry candy wrapping. When did he get one? Where was Midoriya's? "You landed on the pavement."

"Yeah."

That intense scrutinizing disappears. Shinsou must find hospital sheets interesting, picking lint off them. He smacks his lips. "I found you facedown near a storm drain."

Midoriya's throat closes a little, and yeah, of course he remembers coughing up a bit of water in his flashes of consciousness. "Okay, that's pretty bad," Midoriya blinks a couple of times, dragging

his eyes away to study the curtain divider across the room.

He tries to remember more. He can catch snippets like a flash of lightning behind his eyes. The roar of the rain muffled anything else out. The rough scaping of gravel against his face. A sudden weightlessness. No. Like someone was picking him up. "Did you find me?"

"Yeah. I got there maybe five to ten seconds after you fell."

Shinsou's right foot is in a garish orange cast, because Recovery Girl wants people to be aware of their mistakes. He got only one sticker–Bad Badtz-Maru. "You fell off the building?"

"I jumped. Absolutely ate it on the landing. Rain." Shinsou takes one of the sad flat pillows and punches the sides and does not look at him. Hound Dog could have a field day.

Midoriya rests his cast arm in his lap, picking at the wraps and the grooves with his other hand. "How are your sides?"

"Tender." Shinsou's hands go to his left side, fingers grazing on the loose hospital gown that, when pressed against his body, only emphasizes how small he looks. But Midoriya knows he's got muscle. He's seen it in the gym, and in the locker rooms, and on days when they're both in the common room kitchen where Midoriya is just innocently getting a protein shake while Shinsou stretches to reach a bowl in the cabinet, and his shirt rides up.

Midoriya blinks a couple of times. Many times. What the hell was that?

Shinsou has muscle. Right. Glad that was clarified, brain. Midoriya's thought spiral goes unnoticed by Shinsou, who says, "Cannons are a stupid tactic, by the way."

There's a pause and Midoriya scrambles to add on. "It–Momo likes cannons."

"I figured. They're fucking over the top. Why doesn't she make a gun if she wants to shoot something?"

"That's way too lethal."

"And cannons aren't?" Shinsou smacks his hand on the cot like a child, and Midoriya bites back a laugh he didn't realize was bubbling up again. "Cannons aren't lethal? Yeah, it only just grazed my fucking ribs. Barely even felt a thing!"

Midoriya lets the fleeting mirth out by turning his head away from Shinsou, smiling against his shoulder. "You should ask her about it sometime," he says, stretching his arms. The pain is pinpricks until he pushes his shoulder back and something pops, some dent in his plastic packaging body bending back out. A streak of pain flashes behind his eyes, and a groan slips out. "God, I'm

tired of this." He tries to press a hand to his face, but his stupid cast is in the way. He ends up looking like a cat trying to himself, pushing his arm into his face and over his head.

He turns back and Shinsou is looking at him, an inquisitive look on his face. Shinsou's eyes trace over his body, and Midoriya squirms.

Finally, Shinsou says, "So, you don't actually enjoy this."

There's a pause. Midoriya says, "Well, no," the same time that Shinsou blurts out, "Shit, sorry. I didn't mean to say that."

Midoriya shuts his mouth. Shinsou does the same, his eyes showing just a little worry. "Was that a joke?" Midoriya asks cautiously.

Equally as cautious, Shinsou lets each word out of his mouth like a step in a landmine-riddled field. "Sort of. I just thought—you seem to get injured a lot last year. Or in general. I didn't think you minded?" Even aloof Shinsou seems a little apprehensive with his words.

Midoriya shakes his head. "I don't have any sort of special healing factor or numbness from the pain. With my quirk–I got hurt a lot at first. Badly. I'm only human, after all."

"Right. That was dumb of me to assume." Shinsou's eyes keep flickering to Midoriya's cast. "And you're right handed."

"Huh?"

"I just was wondering. About your right arm. The one you wear the brace on all the time."

"Oh, yeah. It's—because of my quirk," Midoriya lifts it up. "Last year, using it gave me a lot of damage until I learned how to control it. The brace helps with the—uh, consequences of that learning." Midoriya's brain stalls, feeling exhausted and a bit embarrassed at this testament of his earlier failures, his stepping stones to get to where he is now. He picks at the cast. "It's fine, mostly. I learned to write with my left, though, just to make things easier. Or just in case I stop using it at all. Haha."

It was not a haha moment. Shinsou eyebrows are drawn together, possibly concerned. He nods, staring intently at his arm now. "And the– Izuku Midoriya Protocol?" He makes the quotation marks.

Midoriya tries not to roll his eyes, but there they roll. "Okay, that is probably not serious. Recovery Girl likes to be dramatic. I was her number one patient, for a while."

"I'm not surprised. They should put your picture up here or something."

"Then it would look like I died," Midoriya snorts. "But come in here enough times and Recovery Girl will tell you all about the injuries she's had to kiss over the years. It's crazy."

A smile sneaks at the corner of Shinsou's mouth. "Maybe I'll ask for a holepunch card first."

Midoriya feels fluttery all of a second. "Yeah. Though I think I'm plenty overdue for my own card. I'll ask her about that next time."

Shinsou lets out an exhale, crossing his good leg in. He looks away, studying the rain. "Right," he

says, his voice a little less light than it was a second ago. "We are never trying that move again."

Midoriya can't help but sit up straight. "Wait, really? Why?"

Shinsou clenches his fist, resting on the bed railing. "Are you serious? You saw how it turned out this time, right?"

Midoriya leans towards Shinsou, one hand on the railing. "I mean—yeah, but it just felt—I feel like it could work, given more training. It was our first time." He feels a little like a kid playing tee ball, trying to beg the other kid to throw the ball again. I'll get it this time, I swear!

"So special," Shinsou deadpans. His eyes are like a dull blade now, just sharp enough to threaten a cut. Midoriya avoids a slice. Shinsou crosses his arms. "Do I really have to go through the ' it's not you, it's me' thing?"

Midoriya doesn't remember much about landing, but he remembers everything before the fall. He remembers darting through buildings and over rooftops, leaping forward into a freefall when he spotted, squinting through the rain, a bundle of purple and black on a higher rooftop. The shout that erupted from his lungs. The cloth that met his hands only seconds later, and how his body swung with it, curling around the building in a perfect arc.

It was perfect.

"Maybe I'm not meant to work in a team." Shinsou's voice is clear. It rings like hateful bells in his ears, and Midoriya winces.

That's a lie, because Midoriya's studied Shinsou. He's seen Shinsou work with Kaminari and Kirishima and Tsuyu, with Kouda and Tokoyami and various other combinations of their classmates. Shinsou usually utilizes a hit and run style, or works entirely from the shadows, his presence unknown until his opponents are already ensnared. It's a little like Eraserhead, and a lot like his own style. Shinsou is coming into his own. He's tricky. He's versatile. He can work in teams.

He just doesn't want to work with Midoriya. His heart sinks, like it was swept away in the rain and lies at the bottom of a storm drain. He knows this by the way Shinsou avoids him, how he will only carry conversations politely until it fizzles out awkwardly. Midoriya can feel when Shinsou is looking at him across the room, and he just wants to know why Shinsou feels the need to keep an eye on him, to maintain his distance.

Kaminari's even rubbed it in his face a couple of times, asking what he thinks about Shinsou with a sly grin. Midoriya thought it was clear how he felt. He wanted to be friends! His face burns at the memory when he said that to Kaminari, remembers how Shinsou seemed to avoid him even more after that. It was too much like middle school, and he knows Kaminari doesn't mean to be intentionally cruel.

He had thought that maybe they were breaking ground, getting closer with this training day. But he was wrong.

He squeezes his fists. "I know we could make it work," he states. "Why don't you wanna try?" He doesn't mean to plead, but his frustration slips out anyway.

Shinsou doesn't look him in the eyes, only glaring at Midoriya's arms. Then he turns his hands upwards on his hospital sheet and says, "If I keep messing up and getting people hurt, there's no guarantee I'll stay in the hero course."

Midoriya has a dozen soothing words on his tongue about fear and danger and throwing yourself into things wholeheartedly, and he swallows them before they overflow and overassume. He's seen Shinsou attempt more dangerous stunts, take harder falls and get back up. What makes this any different? "Right," he says. "So we'll keep injuries to a minimum and get it right next time. Like how we're taught."

Shinsou just stares at him, his expression pressed between disbelief and total, utter acceptance. Then his eyebrows draw together, and he takes a deep breath.

Intuitively, from years of experience, Midoriya braces himself.

"I know," Shinsou says slowly, propping one arm on his leg, resting his head in his hand. "This is part of the process. Falling and getting up and failing again. Running until you throw up. I get it. I know you're always fine with everything, but I can't just—" He breaks off, taking a short breath. He looks down at his lap, and sighs. "We're at different levels. I can't—take your trust if I know I'm going to let you down. I dragged you down today."

Midoriya lets the words sink in, pulling his tense shoulders down. After a couple moments, he winds up again.

"You really don't give yourself enough credit." Midoriya states, turning his body completely to face Shinsou. Shinsou looks surprised. "You're so strong, and you think so fast on your feet it looks like instinct. Like an animal! Your quirk is literally one of the best things I've ever seen. You can do things no one else can do. You shouldn't compare your progress against others, because we're all starting at different places, but you should acknowledge how good you are now." He sits back and bites back the rest of the praise he wants to spill. Don't be too strong now.

His brain races like a train, so many things he could say, and his mental conductor changes tracks. "Last year—I didn't know how to use my quirk at all. Aizawa wanted to expel me if I couldn't prove I could use it without killing myself, and I barely made it. But he gave me a chance and the resources to get better. He doesn't waste time on people who can't succeed. You don't drag anyone down. That's impossible."

When did Midoriya's left hand start clenching the hand rail? He releases it.

Shinsou is silent, his gaze intense as he searches Midoriya's face. There's that feeling again, an ache in his chest like a dull alarm when Shinsou looks at him. Midoriya stares at Shinsou's hair instead. It's not an unfamiliar task. It's the first thing he noticed about Shinsou—it makes him stand out in a crowd, almost impossible not to notice. Like the first time he confronted their class, declaring that he was going to take one of their seats and enter the hero course.

The brain conductor jumps tracks again, before Midoriya can even control it. "You have nothing to prove, by the way," Midoriya blurts out. "I mean, no one's gonna kick you out. If you were worried about that. I think we'd all riot, Aizawa included." He knocks his cast against the hand rail, focusing on the point that plaster meets metal.

Midoriya expects mockery. He expects Shinsou to say something to brush all of this off, or to simply stay silent and pretend it never happened. When he can't take it anymore, he looks up.

Shinsou's covering his mouth, stunned. Something Midoriya learns: Shinsou's ears turn red when he's embarrassed. "You are unbelievable." The words are a little muddled, but Midoriya hears it fine.

"Well, believe me."

After a couple moments, Shinsou lowers his hand, his cheeks carrying no sign of a blush. Midoriya finds himself questioning why he's disappointed. "Why are you so—adamant about this?"

"Do you want me to repeat myself? I want to try again, with you. I'm not afraid. Are you?"

"I'm not." Shinsou shakes his head. "I'm not. I'm just—you are so scary and motivating at the same time. It's intense."

If Midoriya had a dollar for every time he's been told that, he'd own all the All Might merch in the world. "Just promise to not drop me next time."

"You're dumb," Shinsou says faintly. "Really, really dumb."

It's at this moment that Midoriya's concussion decides to take a mallet to his brain right now. Pain pulsates through his head like a rave, and he bites back a groan, turning his head down.

He just wants to understand Shinsou. But maybe it was Shinsou who didn't understand him. Midoriya, who talks too fast and mumbles when he takes notes, who gets injured so much that people assume he's okay with it, who goes on impassioned speeches about people who can barely stand to be in a room with him.

He closes his eyes. He is dumb. That must be why Shinsou doesn't like him. "Who says I don't like you?"

Midoriya freezes. He didn't mean to say that out loud. Crap. Did he even say that part out loud? "I didn't mean to say that out loud. I—it's okay. I don't care if you dislike me. I won't bring it up again."

"That's not the issue. I don't—dislike you." A pause. "Really, not at all. I—can't believe you didn't pick up on this." He hears the sound of the cot creaking. "I—I didn't want you to get hurt. I—"

Midoriya chooses that time to try and open his eyes, and the light in the room feels overwhelming, pressing on his eyeballs like they're gonna scoop them out. Then the lights flicker, and it makes him feel worse.

"Are you okay?" Shinsou sounds worried.

His eyelids wouldn't be a bad thing to look at forever. He takes a deep breath, pressing his hands to his face. "Yeah, my head just—hurts."

"That light isn't helping at all, is it?"

Midoriya makes a sound agreeing to that. He thinks. He's fine! He'll just wait for Recovery Girl to fix it when she comes back.

"She's been gone for a while. I have no clue when she's coming back, Midoriya."

Another mind-to-mouth mess up. Midoriya focuses on massaging his eyes and trying to clear his head to avoid the pounding headache. He takes deep breaths, even when his ribs disagree.

As the headache wanes, he barely registers the sound of plaster hitting the floor, or the faint creak of a hospital cot. Then he feels his cot slightly shake as new weight is put on it.

He peeks out of one eye. "What are you doing?"

Shinsou has hobbled himself over to Midoriya's bed. He hauls himself up, to Midoriya's alarm. "Scoot over."

"Shinsou?" Modoriya tries to lean over to give Shinsou as much room as he can as the other boy climbs on. Shinsou throws a leg over Midoriya's waist. Midoriya is panicking, both eye open now. "Uh, do you mind telling me what you're doing—"

"Listen," Shinsou says, crouching over Midoriya's lap. His gaze is even more intense this close up, and it's awful for Midoriya's head and even worse for his heart. "I don't hate you, Midoriya. Just let me help."

"What? H-how?" His voice is getting higher. He can only hold his arms against his chest to avoid touching Shinsou.

Shinsou points up. "I'm gonna fix your light. It's probably not screwed in all the way."

"Right!" Midoriya's hands clasp over his mouth as he leans back as much as he can. "Right! The light! Thank you, Shinsou!"

He can't really name the expressions that flit across Shinsou's face, but it finally settles into something curious, and maybe even a little hopeful. He tilts his head. "What did you think I was gonna do?"

All his trains crash, all the tracks mixed up, broken and re-welded onto each other. "You just climbed onto me—what was I supposed to assume?"

Then Shinsou grins, his hand moving to rest on Midoriya's chest just briefly, and if Midoriya didn't die out there in the rain, then he's going to die here, in this hospital cot. And not even his favorite one. "Don't get cute with me."

"I'm—you—you're the one being cute," he mutters pathetically, looking away. His face is burning and it's so unfair that Shinsou is front and center to witness it. "My brain isn't working anymore. That's what a concussion does."

Shinsou mutters something under his breath, and it might be Kaminari's name, or he might be talking about the ceiling wiring. "Right. Well, stop thinking so hard. I know that's new to you," He moves to stand up, and Midoriya peeks just to avert his gaze from the gown.

"Next time," Shinsou says, reaching for the light. "I promise I won't drop you." Midoriya grins. "You mean it?"

The cot shifts, tilting more to one side. Shinsou was probably not tall enough to reach the ceiling completely. "Most likely."

"Very reassuring," he says, just as Shinsou's legs begin wobbling. Uh no. Midoriya feels alarms ring in his head.

"Shit, hold on, I almost got—"

Midoriya's hands flutter around Shinsou's legs, unsure of how to help. "Shinsou, I don't think—"

Shinsou buckles and falls. He just manages to avoid crushing Midoriya, his knees landing on either side of his body, hands slamming down next to his head. Midoriya tries his best to catch him, to cushion his fall. They land around his back. Shinsou's head lands against Midoriya's shoulder,

hard.

Midoriya pulls up his legs instinctively and they run into Shinsou's. With their cacophonic bodies crashing together, he's horribly reminded that both of them are only wearing thin hospital gowns over their underwear.

Shinsou pulls his head back and all Midoriya can see are his deep purple eyes, wide in concern. Only inches away. "Shit, are you okay—"

"Are you—"

The worst thing happens. Shinsou has one hand on Midoriya's shoulder and leans back just as Midoriya's tries to sit up, and their heads crash together and—

It's only a second, but it's enough. Midoriya feels his face go supernova, hotter than Todoroki's Flash Fire, than Kacchan's biggest explosion.

Shinsou backs up quickly, his hand caught in one of the strings of Midoriya's gown. Midoriya feels his shoulder and chest hit the cool air. He squeaks, and Shinsou wobbles until he has to sit on Midoriya's lap, unable to hold his weight. He's covering his mouth, eyes wide, cheeks crimson. Ears red.

The infirmary door slides open, and the voice is unmistakable. "You can place those boxes by my desk. Thank you so much for your help." There's a stilted pause as both enter the room and pause, staring the spectacle. Midoriya can't look.

"What—are you two doing?" Aizawa says first, disappointment already dripping from his words.

Not a second behind, Recovery Girl says, "What were you two boys getting up to while I was gone?"

Shinsou wobbles, finally leaning on his right leg, and Midoriya thinks he must put too much weight on his broken foot, because Shinsou hisses and says, quite loudly, "Fuck."

The incredibly pregnant pause in the room is tail-ended by Shinsou's realization. "Wait—"

Midoriya practically incinerates, arms crossing over his torso, face blazing hot like a wildfire. "We —he was just—kis—" He gives up on being nice and begins pushing Shinsou off of him, who scrambles to disentangle himself. Midoriya covers his face. Midoriya is still shirtless. "My head hurt and he was trying to help and and—can SOMEONE JUST TURN OFF THE LIGHTS?" He wails.

Shinsou falls off the bed, the sound of teenage mortification and plaster hitting the floor. "Ow." It's as ungraceful as a cat falling into a dumpster.

"Oh?" Recovery Girl reaches for the wall next to the door. The room is plunged into a soft darkness. "There's a light switch by the wall here, dear. And your beds should have a little button to page me when you need. Why didn't you ask before I left?"

"Oh," says Midoriya. "Oh," says the floor.

After their visitors leave, and Shinsou has been escorted, with no amount of pride left, back to his bed, the room is silent again, the darkness and rain a quiet reprieve.

Then:

"I didn't mean to do that," Shinsou whispers. Even in the dark, Midoriya can hear his thoughts fumble, unsure, embarrassed. "When I fell. I—Sorry."

In the safety of darkness, Midoriya licks his lips. He imagines that he still tastes the ghost of strawberry, artificial sweet. Something has cracked open in his chest, and now he's lying here on the cot, his heart exposed, sickly sweet. Everything before this makes sense but everything after is a gamble. "It's okay. It's fine." He's not sure if it's true.

He hears sheets rustle, Shinsou turning over. His voice is a little louder. "Would you...would you want to—" There's silence, in which Midoriya imagines the thoughts and words and fears racing in the other boys head, all the trains and their tracks overlapping, the conductor unsure of where to go.

Midoriya weighs the risk, and decides, fuck it. "We can try again." It feels loud enough to shatter everything.

Instead of a rejection, or silence, what he gets is: "I'd like that."