The walk to the hospital and back is long.
The weight of my emotions settling heavily, the candy apple the heaviest.
I carry it all the way home, unable to do more than just stare.
Sensei doesn't comment, striking up a conversation with Mirio instead. The blonde chatters non-stop, and I have no clue where he gets all of the energy from. He'd practically carried Eri to the hospital, bouncing and rocking her, and then he'd babysat her all day, and now here we were heading home, and he was still bubbly.
I trip over nothing, hurriedly moving to correct myself, and scrub my eyes.
I was exhausted.
"Hoki-chan?" Mirio says, his voice quieting as he smiles back. "I can carry you if you're tired."
My cheeks burn, the bright honesty of his blue eyes uncomforting.
"N-No thanks!" I squeak, picking up my feet.
I slide to Sensei's other side, hiding behind his body and feeling idiotic, but my guardian's heavy hand settles comfortingly on my head.
"Okay! But if you change your mind…"
Sensei thankfully carries the conversation all the way back.
It isn't until we're back, Miska scuttling between our feet, that I finally relax. I set the candy apple aside and heave a sigh as I lumber to the couch and fall face-first into it. Completely drained, I let out a loud, miserable whine.
Sensei snorts, clearly amused, and I spare him a squinted look.
He just smirks though, removing the goggles and capture weapon to set them on the counter. Keys jingle as he fishes them out and sets them beside it all.
"Did you have fun?"
I ignore his nosiness and curl into my corner. Then, when the silence stretches, mumble out a reluctant "Yes…"
He chuckles even as he shuffles back to his room, and I can imagine Uncle Zashi's tisk of disapproval. Stamina. There's a click of his door shutting followed by the muffled rattle of sliding dressers. I smile wearily, eyes catching on the red, candied fruit.
"This one's for you!"
Sensei was gonna want to talk about that.
I make a face. It had been an amazing day, maybe one of the best I can ever remember, and the last thing I really wanted to talk about was whatever that apple meant.
The sound of a door opening interrupts my thoughts, and I roll over, head tilting back to find Sensei wandering in. Dressed in his typical black shirt and sweats and chewing on a hair tie. He sweeps up his hair, tying it back and exposing his large arms and thicker-than-normal facial hair.
"Are you shaving tonight?" I ask him, curious.
He arches a brow, pinning me with a weird look before shrugging.
"Probably."
"Why don't you just grow a beard?" I ask, propping up my chin while he collects a glass of water. I try to imagine him with a full face of hair, but it's… weird. I wrinkle my nose. "Never mind."
Sensei smiles though.
"I've grown it out before," he says, draining half the glass. I narrow my eyes. "It's more trouble than shaving it when I get the chance."
"Because you got tired of cutting it?"
"Because I went undercover," he snorts, refilling the glass. "We were chasing a Trigger ring and there were whispers it was part of something bigger. I played a homeless drug addict and ended up growing it out for a few weeks while I spent time on the street. The gang in charge was notorious for killing police operatives, so we ended up going no contact while I tried to insert myself. Not that any of it worked, the lead was a bust, but I was able to help some of red-light district workers, which earned me a few useful contacts about a year later."
I tilt my head, considering his story curiously.
Sensei never talked about his job…
"Oh," I manage, a thousand questions coming to mind. "Kagura-nee-chan's mom was a hooker."
Sensei raises a brow.
Then, setting the glass on the table, he joins me on the couch.
"She's the one that got mixed up with the traffickers? How is she?"
I bite my lip.
She'd been a lot more quiet, prone to getting lost in long stretches of thought and abruptly needing to hang up. She'd also moved in with Haru, one of the boys who'd used to stay with us in the Last One before he'd aged out. I kinda thought it was because he could fight. He'd never hurt me, but Niko had poured water on him once and Haru had knocked her out cold. Yui-san had been furious, yelling about the cops and fucking up his life over a damn child.
"I don't know," I admit looking down. "Aunt Nemuri visits her though. She says she's making progress."
Sensei leans back and grimaces, as if remembering something unpleasant.
"Ah… Yes, Nemuri was very… irate with your old caregiver after that."
"Yui-san?" I ask, giving him a weird look. "Why?"
Sensei's lips thin.
"Why don't you tell me what happened this morning with Midoriya off-campus instead?"
I make a face, falling quiet.
Then, curling my knees to my chest, I reluctantly start the story. He listens throughout, not looking particularly pleased when I tell him how Midoriya raced away, forgetting his purchases and change, and even less when I tell him about that nonsense of being recognized.
"Rin," he interrupts halfway through the part where I shook the kid and made my quirk flare. "You told me there was a misunderstanding."
"I'm getting to that part," I frown.
"I also asked you if there was an active threat," he glowers. "What exactly do you call someone fighting with Midoriya?"
I make a face, brows pinching in annoyance.
"That wasn't… Midoriya wasn't fighting," I try to explain patiently. "Midoriya fighting would have flattened the forest, he could have beat that old man up a dozen times, and then I would have had to call you. Sensei, they were arguing. Using words!"
His eye twitches.
"And arguing involves punching and kicking?"
I fold my knees under me so I'm sitting cross-legged on the couch, trying not to frown. Of course it did. Yui-san had smacked people when she was angry. Mama had thrown dishes, Daddy screamed—
"Never raise your voice?" I interrupt. "But everyone raises their voice."
Hitoshi quiets, and for a moment I wonder if I said something wrong.
"My parents don't."
Sensei didn't fight when he argued either.
I scowl.
"S-Sometimes!"
"Rin," Sensei frowns, his brows furrowing as he watches me work through my thoughts. "Disagreeing is done with words. Regardless of the fact that he held back, Midoriya engaged in an altercation with two villains. You said there wasn't an active threat. The fact that he fought logically follows that there was one."
I shift in my spot.
"I was getting there! We talked, it was a misunderstanding!"
"And yet no one was detained," Sensei says sourly.
"They- They didn't need to be arrested!"
"That's not your call," Sensei says flatly, brows furrowing. "What if you were wrong? What if your… conversation, wasn't enough and these two snuck back in? You've seen the kind of chaos villains can wreck. What if they had managed to get past security and attacked the festival? While the Hero class would probably have been able to defend themselves, there were non-combatants everywhere today. Do you think your friends, Makoto or Daisuke would have survived long against these two if Midoriya was as disheveled as he was?"
I… I frown, hanging my head.
"No, sir."
"I'm going to need a written copy of the events to speak with Nezu about."
"Yes, sir."
He lets out a noisy breath, before reaching over and pulling me close. I melt thankfully into his side, sinking into his warmth and the protection of his arms gladly.
"Why did you lie?"
"I… Midoriya said they would shut down the festival. I… He looked really upset."
Sensei flicks my ear lightly.
"Ow! Hey!"
"Don't lie to me. Tomorrow, you owe me an essay on honesty."
I fling my head back, still caught in his side embrace, and wrinkle my nose at him.
"I… but—fine!"
"Now why don't you go try that apple Midoriya took the time to make for you. Or do you want to talk about what the hell that mess was before we left?"
I jump up from the couch immediately.
"Nope!"
"Hn."
.
.
.
As wonderful as the festival was, it's quickly shadowed by the upcoming meeting with the Owl in less than a week, and Eri's arrival—which is pushed back by another week and a half thank goodness. Still, Kamui Woods sets up back-to-back training sessions in preparation, practicing every evening switching from language to our signed language to bird whistles and then a tapping code.
I somehow manage to memorize it all, but it doesn't stop the bone-deep electricity racing beneath my skin.
In less than a week I was going to work side-by-side with my brother's assailant.
In less than a week I was going to have to face Kaito, this time knowing exactly who he was.
Settled in one of the lobby tables, I stare unseeingly at my notes.
The characters blurring on the page, thoughts of Kaito and the Owl and half a dozen other worries vying for attention.
The thought of class just felt… ridiculous in comparison.
Dirty faces peering back from the dark.
After so long, after so many years… it feels strange to be so close.
Three more days.
Three more days that I wasn't allowed to contact Ryu, no one wanted to tip off Kaito or the Owl about the upcoming trap. Three more days and I'd already stuffed the bottom drawer of my dresser closet with written letters for Ryu, Sora, and my biological father. I'm not even sure why I'd bothered writing them, to be honest. Maybe it had to do with Tulutho's therapy sessions, where she'd finally pried out the shoebox full of unanswered letters and had insisted that we read them together, writing out the replies I'd wished Mama had sent.
I love you.
I'll get you soon.
Don't worry, things will get better.
Letters of things that sounded more and more like Sensei.
Shaking my head, I sigh at the rising fog and quickly wring out my sleeves, trying to fan away the growing cloud. Stupid quirk.
"Ugh…"
"You know that paper isn't going to write itself," Minasu chides, ignoring my antics and typing intently at his own desk.
I roll my eyes.
Weirdo.
"I dunno… I bet the Support Department could make something," I huff before trying to focus back on the notes. Tiny, doodled faces cover the margins along with candy apples and stick figures fighting. Flipping the page, I try to read through the next section, only the words just look like a large mash of letters and symbols and the act of actually reading feels more like dragging around weights. I rub my eyes, wishing I could just focus even as my mind slips back to my bag. I'd need to pack tonight, there was a pre-meeting the day before and Sensei would want to go through my list.
"Yeah, they already did. Brainless AI. Repeat after me Hoki, plagiarism is bad."
I snort, amused to notice my babysitter's nose still stuck firmly in his laptop.
What was he even working on?
"Are you writing a book?"
The constant clatter of typing pauses and the rather plain, if traditional-looking boy glances up with dark eyes. He raises a brow, glancing between my empty lined paper and the stack of notes I still needed to read thoroughly.
"No."
Head dropping back down to his screen, I can't help the slight twitch of my lips.
He kinda reminded me of Sero with his sharp retorts.
"Coulda fooled me. You've been typing forever…" I hedge, curious to see if he'd get annoyed or leave.
This time he doesn't stop typing, a satisfied smirk visible from my angle.
"Well… Productivity is an art. Perhaps you'll get there one day."
I can't help the laugh that bubbles up despite the rather smarting reply.
"Rude!"
"Problem taking feedback? How ever will you survive the Hero world?"
The truth in that statement stings a little too sharply, and my amusement dies just as quickly.
"You mean as a meathead." I frown, glancing one last time at the boy before leaning back. "Why do you even go to a hero school if you don't like heroes?"
"You know this school isn't only about heroes?" Minasu says dryly, still typing. "While UA may capitalize on the hero program, the different programs do more than just support heroes. The support classes do more than just make support gear. They subdivide into hero gear, IT fields, hardware development, holographic development, and more. Only the Hero class thinks this school is about them. Tch. The business classes are the most versatile. They require you to create business plans for a startup company, whether it's a small business, corporation, or non-profits. It's the final keystone for graduate, to run it for a year and make a profit and positive impact on the community."
"And that takes months to write?"
The typing stops again and Minasu blinks, giving me a strange look.
"Do you know anything about running a business?"
My cheeks warm and I look away, unable to keep his gaze.
"You, uh… make money?"
"Obviously," the boy snorts, making me feel every bit the meathead he described heroes as. "I've had my business up and running since before I even started here. Unlike the Hero courses, the business department respects our time and assumes at least a medium of competency. I'm fairly sure it's why Eraserhead picked me. I'm not writing an essay, Hoki. I'm writing grants."
Thoroughly distracted, I lean forward curiously.
This was probably the most I'd heard him say since he arrived, outside of helping to explain math.
"What's a grant?" I ask.
The older boy sighs.
"Free money, basically, usually given out by the government of private organizations. The problem is that there are so many applying that you usually have to compete for it."
"Why do you want it?" I ask, before realizing that was a stupid question. I quickly backpedal, before realizing I had no idea what his business could even be. "I mean… What—What does your business do?"
Minasu tilts his head, as if not expecting the question.
Well, either that, or he was looking at my hormone levels again. Ugh.
Whatever he sees, he shrugs it off.
"It's technically a non-profit, and it helps support those with mutation quirks fight against discriminatory practices in the workplace," he huffs, gaze falling to the stack of notes in front of me. "Don't you have work to do?"
I sigh, loudly, nose wrinkling in annoyance, before pushing back in my chair to balance on two feet, wishing I were doing anything else.
"I can't concentrate!"
"Of course you can't, you've got no organization."
I scowl.
"I do too! It's all in stacks!"
The older boy leans over, reaches for the rubric, and rolls his eyes.
"You can't focus because your cortisol levels are off the chart, again. When your body is in this state, you're never going to be able to work effectively. You've got to organize the information into smaller chunks, take short physical breaks, and make this more manageable. Use the rubric as your guide."
Out of nowhere, Minasu pulls out of a highlighter, immediately running it across the page.
"See here?" he says, passing the page back. "You highlight the items needed. You need three sources, an analysis on the use of symbolism in Hero propaganda, and a composite draft of your own. Start by identifying what you can do most quickly, order the items, and start on that one task."
I blink, surprised when he pulls the page back to number those three items.
"You can find the sources fastest since you have your notes. Highlight anything having to do with symbolism and then take a break. You're wasting productivity."
I nod, wide-eyed at the help, before quickly rummaging through my bag to find a highlighter. With a single task in mind, the work goes by much more quickly. It only takes a few minutes before I have a pile of notes highlighted.
I glance up, unsurprised to find the upperclassman back, fully enveloped in his work.
Discriminatory practices…
I stare, frowning at the furrowed look of concentration on his face.
That sounded… amazing.
"You do know it's rude to stare," he says, after a moment, and I flush, looking away hotly. How did he do that? He didn't even look!
I glower, red-faced at the assignment that no longer felt so—so incomprehensible.
"I… I was just going to say thank you."
"Then just say it," Minasu huffs. "Now focus. You're interrupting my concentration."
Making a face, I let the chair fall back on all fours and study the rubric.
Three more days.
"Thank you," I mumble, face buried in notes.
Just three more days.
.
.
.
I suppose I expected the wait to be unbearable. Like the way classes seem to drag when I know Uncle Zashi is coming over or the way practice seems to stretch out when I've got laps or fifty push ups and my legs and arms are exhausted.
But it doesn't.
The hours seem to fly by and I find myself struggling to hold onto the last few before they slip away as well.
Somehow, that leads me to the kitchen.
Hands buried deep in a mound of dough, I knead and roll it, sprinkling it with flour every few rounds to keep it from continuously sticking.
"You know, when you invited me over, I wasn't expecting us to be cooking," Hitoshi says, voice wry as he dices dried fruit squished a little in the space between Satou and I. "Does Lunch Rush not send you enough food? Why do you guys even have this many ingredients?"
Satou laughs, arm moving continuously as he whisks together the base for some sort of custard dish he was experimenting with.
"Aww, come on man. This is how we de-stress! Besides, good food is good food! You should have tried some of the curry she made earlier, man, that stuff was delish!"
"She should have interned with Fat Gum," the purple haired boy complains, eyeing me sourly even as he raises a brow and moves all of the diced fruit neatly into a container. "Why are you stressed anyways? Is something wrong?"
I shrug.
"It's classified."
Satou, who had been whisking, pauses in his mixing, locking eyes with me over Hitoshi's head.
"You have another mission?" the bigger boy asks, brows furrowing. "Isn't this like the fourth this week? That's a ton! Rin-chan, are… is Kamui Woods overworking you? You've been out of class more than you've been in it, for weeks."
He wasn't, but I had been busy.
"It's classified," I shrug, looking down at the ball of dough I'd been kneading consideringly. It'd finally gotten a bit of elasticity. Good. Reaching out, I grab the bowl I'd already oiled and gently settle the sticky ball inside, covering it with a clean cloth and stepping away towards the sink.
Hitoshi, who had reached for the pile of walnuts, frowns, eyes narrowed.
Washing my hands, I'm surprised when the kitchen noises don't resume.
Glancing their way, I frown.
Both Satou and Hitoshi are standing beside each other, trading weird, knowing looks.
My friends are so strange.
I shake my head, smiling at the two and setting about cleaning my mess. The dirty cutting board to the sink, a sponge to sweep away all of the excess flour and debris. I bump Hitoshi's shoulder when his expression doesn't clear.
"Don't worry," I huff, glancing past him towards the other larger boy. Satou frowns, obviously not comforted either. "It… It'll hopefully be over soon."
That was really more information than I was supposed to share, but I ignore it, taking Satou's discarded wrappers, eggshells, and a few miscellaneous pieces that looked like Kaminari's trash from when he had visited earlier.
"Besides, I like to cook."
"Hm."
"Do you want to go on a bike ride after this?" I ask Hitoshi, turning on the water and spraying down the board. I twist slightly so I can look hopefully over.
"Do you?" he snorts, but there's a little less tension in his shoulders.
I can't help the excited flutter of light that races across my skin.
"Yes!"
Hitoshi chuckles, shaking his head, and even Satou smiles.
"Why don't you two go now?" the larger boy suggests. "Your dough still has to rise, and I'm doing dishes anyways. I'll take care of the rest."
Drying my hands, I glance towards Satou curiously.
"Are you sure? I don't mind-"
"It's fine!" the large, brown-haired boy says easily with a wave. "Besides, you did mine the other day, remember?"
Smiling, I nod, dry my hands on the small butterfly decorated towel, and then cross the space between us. Wrapping my arms around Satou's waist tightly. he lets out a little sound, somewhere between a squeak and an oof, before I let go and look suddenly towards Hitoshi.
"Can we?"
My best friend smirks.
"I suppose…"
I hug him too, giggling when he does let out an oof, and try squeezing the air out of his lungs. He digs his fingers into my side until I release him, squealing at the tickling sensation. A pair of light-ensconced cat ears pop out of my hair.
"Come on," he snorts, shaking his head and putting the top on the containers of chopped fruits. "Satou-kun, do you need me to finish anything before-"
"Oh, nah man. I got this. Thanks again for the help, but you too go ahead before you lose all the daylight."
"Oh, I hadn't thought about that," I admit, looking at Hitoshi suddenly. "Can you ride at night?"
He blinks.
"Yeah? I mean as long as you have a light to see where you're going and something reflective so others can see you."
I tilt my head, thinking about it as he leads the way out of the kitchen. In the lobby, Kirishima, who had come in later with Bakugou from the gym, sends us both a quick wave. Momo, who'd offered to tutor Mina and Kaminari, smiles as we pass.
"Hey Shinsou-kun! Hi Rin-chan!"
"Whatever your cooking smells heavenly!"
"Thanks, hi Momo-chan, Mina-chan, Kaminari-kun!"
Hitoshi just sort of nods, eyeing Kaminari with the same sort of awkward irritation that he always does. I sigh, loudly, and drag him by the elbow towards the exit. Not looking, I nearly run into Iida and Midoriya, who both looked like they'd been training, especially considering Iida's wind-swept hair and Midoriya's rather dusty face.
"R-Rin-chan! Shinsou-kun! Good afternoon!" Iida announces stiffly, his glasses gleaming as he pauses a few steps away before sniffing the air. "Are—Do I smell cake? Have you and Satou-kun been baking?"
I blush, pulling my arms behind my back and rocking slightly on my feet.
"I… no! It's a custard, though technically maybe yes, cause I did make bread, but it's not technically baking. But I made some cookies earlier and there's some rice balls in the fridge if you want any, cause you look like you've been training, oh! And Hitoshi-kun helped as well!"
The purple-haired boy sighs, one hand going to rub his neck as he does some weird one-shoulder shrug and tosses me a weird look.
I try desperately not to look at Midoriya, who is staring back at the both of us with wide green eyes and freckles that sort of look like stars spread in a constellation across his cheeks.
Because you're just as important…
It doesn't help that there's pink creeping across my skin.
"Um, well, um, I—I gotta go! I… um, bye guys!"
With a too-bright grin, I clutch Hitoshi by the elbow and all but drag him out of the room. My friend lets me, all the way out the door and maybe six or seven more steps away, before digging in his heels.
I release him and cover my face, and groan, well aware I look like a stop light considering the bright red color I'm glowing. Peaking at Hitoshi between my fingers, I'm unsurprised when his brow just climbs higher.
"Are you… blushing?" he asks, sounding strangely incredulous.
I squeak and turn away, running my hand down my face.
Damn it.
"Hitoshi," I whine.
Of all the things I expect to hear, it's not his barking laugh.
"Are you—Did I really just see that?"
"Shut-Shut up!" I squeak, hot-faced.
He doesn't.
He bends over, nearly gasping with laughter, and I glower, pursing my lips and stomping my foot for good measure. It does absolutely nothing. Hitoshi looks like Christmas had come early, purple hair flailing in the wind, tired eyes screwed up in delight.
"You- You-"
"Hitoshi!"
"Are you crushing on Iida?"
My whole body freezes and my eyes widen.
I…
IIDA?!
"W-What!?"
He's still grinning. I stare at him in horror.
"I… NO! Hitoshi! What! No!"
His grin fades as he blinks back, amusement changing into confusion.
"Then… Midoriya?" he asks.
"I'm—I'm not crushing anyone!"
"Not—Nevermind. What just happened? You went red and stuttered and ran out…"
"I…" The red flairs back into my cheeks as I quickly turn away from him, remembering the festival and the haunted house, and the apple. The bright red candy apple he'd gotten just for me. "I… I don't know!"
Hitoshi makes a sound like he's close to laughing.
"You don't know…?"
"I- I—"
"Hey, it's fine," he offers, still grinning as he bumps shoulders. "Rin, you know you don't have to talk about it if you don't want to."
I glower, which feels weird considering my entire face is the color of a stop light.
"It's—It's not like that," I grumble, cheeks still warm as I look and over, meeting his dark eyes. "I—I don't know how to explain it. I… Every time I see Midoriya-kun, I—I just think about the apple and then I can't stop thinking about it, and I'm trying not to think today, cause I'm—I'm trying to be in the now, but it's hard and-"
"Apple?" Hitoshi interrupts, stuffing his hands in his pocket and turning towards 1B. "What apple?"
"The… The one he made Eri-chan. The candy apple."
"Ah."
It's such a nonchalant answer, I can't help but snort.
He has no clue what I'm talking about.
"I know I told you about it! Remember? Midoriya-kun and I went to the store, and he got the stuff to make some for Eri, but they didn't have any food coloring, and then the weirdoes showed up?"
"You know, I think I may have been a little more distracted by the villains. I distinctly remember wondering if that was more your shit luck or Midoriya's."
I laugh.
"They were so strange," I complain, shaking my head. "Like, who wears a trench coat on a warm day? And the girl even forgot her codename!"
"See, this is why I have no idea what you're talking about. What does any of this have to do with an apple or Midoriya?" Hitoshi asks with fond exasperation.
"Because he made two," I huff, not sure why this is taking so long to explain. "He made one for Eri-chan, and I thought he made her both, so when he handed me the extra, I didn't wanna carry it, cause ugh, it's her. But then he said it was mine! And-And—I don't know! I don't know what to say and every time I see him I- I can't stop thinking about it and it's… it's awkward."
Hitoshi blinks.
"Cause he gave you an apple?" the boy asks flatly.
"Noooo," I whine, putting the hand on my face as I can feel the red in my skin building to another bright glow. "He… He said I was… I was as important as Eri."
Hitoshi doesn't laugh this time.
We walk quietly down the sidewalk, the trees stretching alongside the space around us until they slowly thin and the top of Class 1B's dorms quickly come into view.
I sigh.
"It's stupid-"
"It's not," Hitoshi cuts me off, and I frown at his odd tone, glancing curiously at his face. He's staring at the rooftop as well, though his gaze is strangely distant. It's the look he gets when he's thinking about the past, or when he's considering a particularly thoughtful problem.
"'Toshi?"
He blinks, snapping out of whatever it was and meeting my eye.
Then he smiles.
There's something soft in his features when he really smiles like that, something that's not always visible at school or in the cafeteria, something that changes his whole expression. I glow softly, unable to help myself and he shakes his head, the dusty purple locks shifting lazily.
"It's not stupid, I… I guess I get it."
He folds his arms before uncrossing them a moment later to rub at his head.
"You know I fought him in the Sports' Festival. Jeez, even now thinking about that shitshow makes me wanna cringe, but… looking at him afterward was… well, it was pretty hard. Though, to be honest, I probably said some things I probably shouldn't have."
"You?" I ask, tilting my head curiously. "Like what?"
His ears pink and he grimaces.
"Ah… I may have complained at him about my quirk."
I wrinkle my nose.
"Because it's 'villainous'?" I ask sourly, making air quotations around the villain part. "But wait, during the sports festival? So does that mean he talked back? Did you catch him? How… Did he break out?"
Hitoshi looks at me strangely.
"Weren't you there?" he asks, raising a brow.
I blink before making a face.
"Yeah, but I wasn't watching. I kept trying to call Yui-chan in between sets to see if she would answer. We were fighting, so she didn't."
"Yui-san? Wasn't that the name of the old lady…"
"Yeah," I grimace, before shaking my head. "So, if it was an early round, I was either burning through my quirk or crying on Iida… So I have no idea what happened."
Hitoshi makes a face this time as well, as if to ask about the crying, but doesn't.
"I… Yeah, I caught him, but then he broke out. I called his… ah, well, your friend too I suppose, a monkey. I wanted to catch him quickly to end the match, but he was able to blow up his finger. So I freaked out, told him a bunch of personal stuff about myself that I regretted almost as soon as I lost the match. So yeah, I get it."
I frown at the purple haired boy, trying to remember the rather angry version I'd met at the beginning.
"Sensei, this is stupid. She's not even trying! How is this helpful?"
"Like what?" I ask, weirdly curious. What could he have told Green that would have made him so uncomfortable? "Did you tell him about your owl stuffie or something?"
Hitoshi reddens and I can't help but giggle at his sour look.
"Come on, please!"
He wrinkles his nose.
"Please?" I ask, grabbing his arm and squeezing it gently, trying for the large puppy dog eyes that Toru and Mina both claim Kaminari perfected. Hitoshi just snorts, stealing back his hand.
"Fine, I… I told him how irritating it was that he had such a heroic quirk. That life must be so much easier for someone without the same kind of limitations. It… It was awkward, it's not anything—Rin?"
I stop walking.
"What?" I ask, furrowing my brows.
Hitoshi mirrors the look, staring strangely back.
"Look I… I just wanted him to talk, so I complained about how he didn't know what it was like since he'd been born with such a heroic quirk. I… It wasn't one of my best moments."
I give him a very strange look.
"Hitoshi-kun," I frown, stepping closer to him, studying his features. He… He looked strangely defensive, like he was worried I was about to yell at him. Feeling suddenly out of depth, I struggle to find the words to express the strange feelings swarming inside my chest.
You can't have a heroic quirk, because quirks aren't heroic—you are. And you're one of the most heroic people I know.
Midoriya didn't even have a quirk until a year ago.
A quirk that hurts you, that breaks your bones and leaves as many scars as he has… that isn't heroic in the slightest.
"I love you," I tell him instead. Stepping closer and capturing him around the middle and wishing all of those things I want him so desperately to know—to believe, could be encapsulated in such a simple gesture.
I'm going on a mission tomorrow, and if I don't come back, I want you to know your worth.
He makes a little sound in the back of his throat. I don't know if it's surprise, sadness, or his own feelings rising up. I squeeze him tightly, not at all surprised when his arms fall around me too.
"I… uh—"
"You don't have to say it back," I tell him confidentially, remembering Yamada-sensei's words. I don't let go. "I just want you to know. Because you're my best friend and I love you and your quirk."
He lets out a little, soft laugh, his chin falling near my ear. He squeezes me back.
"I love you too Rin," he says, voice soft. "Thank you."
Pulling away, I let the silvery glow that comes with thinking about him and Sensei and all of my friends envelop me. He smiles back, eyes a little watery. I ignore it.
"So, bike time?" I ask, unable to keep the anticipation from my voice.
He grins.
"Yeah, alright, let's go."
