Work Text:
It starts with a pen.
No, that’s not quite right.
It starts with lunch.
But that isn’t exactly correct, either.
It starts with Shouta Aizawa, newly admitted to the heroics course, and a complete and total outcast. He doesn’t blame anyone but himself for it; he’s never been good with people, has no idea how to break through the initial awkwardness of joining a class mid-year, and in such a dramatic fashion. A few of his classmates had tried at first - they’d greeted him pleasantly enough, asked the questions you ask when you’re trying to get to know a stranger. But his lack of social graces combined with an inherent shyness kept his answers short, to the point, and final, and before long even the most well-meaning of the others gave up.
Except for one.
“Good morning, Aizawa!” Yamada says, too brightly for this early in the day. Shouta glances at him out of the corner of his eye, just for the briefest of moments. Yamada’s smile, wide and cheerful, is hard to look at without blushing, though Shouta isn’t quite sure why that’s the case. Today is the forty-seventh time Yamada has greeted him, once for each day he’s been a part of his class. Shouta ought to be used to it by now.
“Morning,” Shouta responds, for the twenty-third time. It had taken a full month to answer Yamada with anything more than a nod, half out of nervousness and half just to see how long Yamada would keep trying. But like a rock in a river, Shouta had slowly worn down, after twenty-five cheerful good-mornings. Apparently he’s not made of stone after all.
It takes thirty-eight invitations before Shouta sits with Yamada at lunch, but just one meal together for Yamada to win over Shouta completely. He’s not like the other students, he doesn’t wait awkwardly for Shouta to fill the silences, or ask the same boring questions Shouta’s answered so many times already. He talks about all kinds of things, current events and his own varied interests, and even when Shouta has no idea what he’s talking about he still wants to hear everything Yamada has to say, because Yamada makes it interesting. And Yamada always pauses just at the right moment when Shouta has an observation or a question, always listens intently, like every word out of Shouta’s mouth is vital information. After their first lunch together, every time Yamada invited Shouta to sit with him, Shouta says yes.
Twelve lunches after that first lunch (Yamada stopped inviting him after lunch seven, instead just sitting himself down next to Shouta, like his presence was assumed) Yamada’s ordinary conversation is preempted by a startled, “Aizawa, where’s your food?”
“I forgot my money,” Shouta has to admit, too embarrassed to explain how he’d overslept and run out the door without his wallet.
“Oh, that sucks, man.” Yamada frowns, looking down at his own meal. “Hey, can you watch my stuff for a second?” Shouta nods, though Yamada is already walking away, probably to talk to someone else, someone friendlier than Shouta. Shouta can’t blame him, though he thinks he ought to have taken his lunch.
But Yamada comes back just a few minutes later, with another full tray of food in his hands. “Here,” he says, sliding it over to Shouta, who can only blink at it.
“Why…” He’s too shocked to finish the thought. If he’d had a hundred guesses about where Yamada had gone, ‘to buy Shouta food’ would’t even have come close to being one of them.
“You gotta eat, dude!” Yamada smiles at him, starting in on his own tray. “We’ve got training this afternoon!”
They do. Shouta hadn’t been looking forward to it, not on an empty stomach. But that was his problem, not Yamada’s. “I’ll pay you back,” he says, weakly.
Yamada shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. What’s a lunch between friends?”
Friends.
Yamada starts talking about their upcoming training, like nothing momentous had happened, and Shouta supposes that, for him, nothing had. But the world is changed for Shouta, like a lens coming into focus. Friends.
Is that all it takes? Thirteen lunches, fifty good-mornings (seventy-six, if you count Shouta’s), and four hundred yen? Yamada interrupts his frantic thoughts by laughing at his own joke, hard enough that he chokes on his drink, and Shouta thinks it probably took a lot less than that, even if he didn’t realize it.
He leaves the money on Yamada’s desk the next morning, waiting for him when he arrives. Yamada pockets it with a smile and a little eye-roll, like Shouta is the ridiculous one.
“Hey, Aizawa,” he whispers later, during their last class of the day. “Wanna go to the arcade tomorrow?” He’s asked before, six times. There’s a hopeful expression on his face, in spite of Shouta’s probable seventh refusal. But it’s different this time, now that they’re friends. This time, Shouta says-
“Sure.”
Yamada lights up. “Really?? Awesome!! Do you like DDR? I can teach you if you haven’t tried, I’m like, semi-professional, I swear-”
“Hey Yamada,” the student on the other side of Hizashi, Hayao Fujita, interrupts, sending a bolt of irritation through Shouta. “Can I borrow a pen?”
“Yeah, but you gotta give it back,” Yamada says, handing over the one he’d been using. “it’s my last one!”
“Sure, yeah,” Fujita promises, turning back to his work. Shouta knows it’s a lie. Since Shouta joined the class, Fujita has borrowed fourteen pens from Yamada, and returned exactly zero. And sure enough, as soon as the bell rings, he’s out of his desk and gone, and Yamada’s pen with him. Shouta is annoyed, almost annoyed enough to say something, especially when he sees Yamada’s forlorn expression. But then Yamada shrugs, his usual smile finding its way back to his face as he makes idle conversation at Shouta and packs up his bag.
It’s not so easy for Shouta to let go. The problem of the pen won’t let him be, even on the walk home. Yamada won’t have a pen tomorrow. Someone has taken advantage of his kind nature, his inability to say no. Yamada, who’s been knocked halfway across the practice yard and come up grinning, was upset, however briefly, and Shouta doesn’t know how to fix it, just that it’s something he wants - needs to do. After all, Yamada is his friend, isn’t he?
There’s a stationary store on Shouta’s street, and he finds himself walking inside without even thinking about it. There are aisles of pens in there, hundreds and hundreds of them, every price and color, and Shouta is overwhelmed for a moment. His first instinct is to grab a pack of the cheap black pens he uses himself, but he pauses, hand hovering over the display. Yamada likes colors; his sneakers are blue with green laces, his bag is a shocking shade of red. He’d probably prefer something more interesting. He grabs a set of rainbow colors with black ink, and heads to the register before he can talk himself out of it.
He doesn’t realize his mistake until he’s back in his own room. How is he going to give these to Yamada? What’s he going to do, walk up to him and say I noticed people keep stealing your pens and you’re too nice to stop them? Or maybe try and hang on to these for more than five minutes? Or best of all here, thanks for being my only friend. He can’t say any of that. He can barely string four words together when he talks to Yamada. But if he gives him the pens, he’s going to have to talk and explain and he can’t do it. He just can’t.
But if handing Yamada the gift is impossible, keeping the pens is also not an option. He wants Yamada to have them, to like them. Yamada is the only person who smiles at him some days, and Shouta wants to give him something back for that. Even if it’s something as small and ridiculous as a set of cheap pens.
He walks to school more quickly than usual the next morning, brain still working overtime trying to figure out what to do. But when he arrives in the classroom, a solution presents itself: he’s the first one there. He can drop the pens on Yamada’s desk and say nothing more about it. No one will think they came from Shouta. People rarely think of Shouta at all.
Decision made, he leaves the pens carefully centered on Yamada’s desk, then hurries back into the hallway, just in time to see some of his classmates approach. They don’t seem to notice him, and soon enough the classroom is half full, and Yamada will be there any moment.
Shouta hovers in the doorway, debating whether or not to go back in. He wants, very much, to see Yamada’s reaction to his present. But what if his expression gives him away? Then he’ll have to explain not only the pens, but the subterfuge, and how can he do that? What is there to say?
The choice is made for him when a voice behind him chirps, “Good morning, Aizawa!”
Shouta jumps a little, startled out of his thoughts, looking straight into Yamada’s bright grin. “Morning,” he says, by reflex now, for the twenty-fifth time.
“Were you waiting out here for a reason?” Yamada asks.
“Just… trying to think if I forgot something,” Shouta mutters. It’s a lame excuse, but it seems to be good enough for Yamada.
“Was it the math homework?” he suggests, walking into the classroom. Shouta follows him absently, not really listening, just waiting for him to see what waits on his desk. “Because we might have time to-”
He freezes when he sees the pens, walking the last few steps over to his seat and peering down at them like he’s confused. There’s a blue sticky note with his name on it attached to them - Shouta hadn’t wanted there to be any misunderstanding about who they belonged to - and Yamada lifts it up and peers at it, like there might be some secret written on there he’s missing. “Hey, who left these on my desk?” he calls out to the room.
The other students look up at his words, curious, but no one has any answers. Yamada drops into his seat, picking up the package at last, ripping into the cellophane and letting the pens drop into a colorful pile. He picks up a purple one, clicking it open and then grinning so wide it ought to look ridiculous.
It doesn’t though. Not to Shouta, anyway. He sits down quietly, not wanting to distract Yamada, who’s lining up the pens in rainbow order in the corner of his desk and looking so pleased Shouta flushes with warmth. He did well, he made Yamada happy. Yamada doesn’t know it was him, but that’s all right. Actually, it’s better. He wouldn’t know how to deal with Yamada thanking him or anything, and this way he can savor his reaction, the way he’s still fidgeting with the pens, rolling them back in forth across his desk.
The rest of their class files in eventually, including Fujita, who makes it into his seat just as the teacher walks into the room. “Hey Yamada,” he huffs, “can I use one of your pens?”
Shouta holds his breath. He hadn’t considered this, but of course Yamada is going to say yes, and it’s awful. It shouldn’t be awful. It’s a pen, a pen, there’s no reason for Shouta to feel like his heart will rip out the second Yamada gives it away, it’s ridiculous-
“Sorry!” Yamada shrugs, grinning bashfully and sweeping all the pens but one into his bag. “They were a gift!”
Shouta flushes with triumph, like he’s won the Sports Festival all over again. He crosses his arms over his desk and lowers his head like he’s napping, hoping no one noticed the smug expression he can’t wipe off his face.
That’s how it begins.
———
Shouta never intends to make a habit of it. But the next time he’s waiting in line at a convenience store, a display of pins shaped like music notes catches his eye. Yamada would love those, he thinks idly to himself. Then, more seriously, I could get them for him.
Three pins are added to Shouta’s purchases, and end up on Yamada’s desk the next day, lined up neatly on another blue sticky-note bearing Yamada’s name. Shouta stays in his seat this time - it would be too suspicious if he were waiting in the hall again - but it’s hard to sit still. His whole body feels like it’s vibrating with energy, like he has to let it out or he’ll shake apart. But he pulls himself together when he sees the bright flash of Yamada’s hair in the doorway, tipping his head forward and pretending he’s fascinated by the top of his desk.
Shouta watches carefully from behind his hair as Yamada enters the room and immediately locks eyes on the blue paper. He’s at his desk in an instant, running a finger almost bashfully over one of the pins.
“Did you see who put these on my desk?” He asks Shouta, who shakes his head, heart in his throat. It’s not technically a lie, he couldn’t exactly see himself, but it feels like one. Still, Yamada’s expression is so delighted, Shouta can’t regret it.
Yamada holds the pins up to his bag, moving them here and there like he’s arranging paintings in a museum before he finds some configuration that satisfies him. When he’s done, he holds his handiwork up for Shouta to see. “Don’t they look awesome??”
“Sure,” Shouta says, trying not to sound too interested. It’s difficult, because in his opinion they do look awesome, and the smile on Yamada’s face looks even better, because he put it there. Shouta did that. It’s a good feeling, even better than the last time, because Yamada had needed the pens, but this gift is useless, impractical, and Yamada likes it anyway.
It becomes a habit.
The success of the pin experiment emboldens Shouta. Though he’s never been interested in trinkets for himself, he can’t seem to help buying things he thinks Hizashi would like. (Yamada becomes Hizashi during their sixth trip to the arcade, after he spends the last of his money winning Shouta the cat plush he’d been coveting from one of the prize games.) He tries not to do it too often, but it’s almost addictive, seeing Hizashi’s face light up when he finds something new on his desk.
And that’s the thing, it would be easy to stop if Hizashi didn’t always look so happy when Shouta leaves him something. Shouta knows he’d end it if Hizashi ever looked irritated or bored. But he never does - no matter what Shouta gives him, candy, or stickers with random English phrases, even a cheerful-looking stuffed frog - Hizashi grins like it’s the best thing in the world.
He tries not to do it too often, but it’s difficult. There’s something addictive about Hizashi’s smile, and being the one to put it on his face is even better. At least once a week Shouta gives in. That’s why, ninety-six mornings since he first left the pens for Hizashi, Shouta finds himself admiring his friend’s pleased (and still, somehow, surprised) face when he walks into the classroom to find a bar of blueberry-flavored chocolate on his desk.
“Blueberry is my favorite,” he admits, cheeks tinged pink, like he’s telling Shouta a secret.
I know, Shouta almost lets the words slip. It’s a close thing. To stop himself from saying anything else incriminating, he just shrugs.
“Another gift from your secret admirer?” A voice coos from behind them. It’s Kayama, who drapes herself over Hizashi’s shoulders and pokes idly at the candy. It doesn’t bother Shouta as much as it might if it were one of their other classmates. She and Tensei Iida sit with them at lunch sometimes, and they’ve all hung out at Hizashi’s house a few times. Shouta supposes they’re friends now too, though they’ve never said it outright like Hizashi did.
“It’s not like that,” Hizashi says, blushing even harder and sliding the chocolate out of her reach.
She rolls her eyes. “Uhh, how many gifts have they left on your desk since this started?”
“Fifteen.” Hizashi answers without missing a beat, and Shouta’s heart knocks against his ribs because that’s exactly right, exactly.
Kayama and Tensei exchange a look. “Fifteen,” she repeats. “You like them all?”
“Yeah!” Hizashi says, like it’s obvious. “They’re great!”
“So they must know you pretty well, to get you fifteen gifts you like,” Tensei prompts. “They must be paying a lot of attention.”
Impossibly, Hizashi turns an even darker shade of red. If this conversation goes on much longer, Shouta may have to take him to Recovery Girl. “That doesn’t mean they… you know… that they like me. They could just be friendly and shy.”
“Do you want them to like you?” Kayama grins, like she’s won the argument, and Hizashi buries his face in his hands. “Well?”
Unable to restrain himself, Shouta leans forward, desperate to hear Hizashi’s answer. Fate isn’t on his side though, and their teacher walks into the classroom before Hizashi can say anything else.
The question lingers at the edge of Shouta’s mind all day. Is that what he is? A secret admirer? He’s been telling himself all along that he’s acting out of friendship, but maybe that’s not quite true. He and Tensei are friends, but he doesn’t feel his heart skip a beat when Tensei laughs. He likes Kayama well enough, but it wouldn’t occur to him to buy her favorite candy just to make her eyes light up.
“You never answered Kayama, earlier,” Shouta says at the end of the day, as they’re packing up their bags, though he’s not sure Hizashi will remember what he’s referring to. But from the way Hizashi starts fiddling with his notebook, he definitely does.
“I guess that’s because I don’t really have an answer,” he admits. “I don’t know what I did to deserve someone being so nice to me.”
“You’re nice to everybody,” Shouta says, eyes locked on his books. “Why shouldn’t somebody be nice to you?”
“Yeah,” Hizashi brings a hand up to the back of his neck. “I guess that could be it. Just… it would be, nice, I guess, if it were… like Kayama said.”
“You like them,” Shouta breathes, shocked and, irrationally, jealous of himself.
“Not because they buy me things!” Hizashi holds his hands up, like he needs to ward off the suggestion. “Just… they’re so thoughtful, and like Tensei said, they seem to know me so well. And it’s… nice. I didn’t think anybody cared that much, I guess.”
I care that much, Shouta wants to say.
“It doesn’t really matter though,” Hizashi goes on. “They’ll probably get bored sooner or later.”
“Not likely.” The words slip out before Shouta can stop them. Hizashi glances up, surprised, and Shouta says, hurriedly, “Not if they’ve been at it this long.”
“Yeah, maybe you’re right.” Hizashi smiles a little, but it’s worried around the edges. He looks nervous. It makes Shouta want to give him things until he’s happy again.
That answers that then, he supposes. He’s definitely Hizashi’s secret admirer.
———
Shouta tries to put the thought out of his mind. What does it matter if his feelings for Hizashi are slightly beyond friendship? Hizashi doesn’t like him like that, would be disappointed to find out his secret admirer was just Shouta all along. But it’s hard not to imagine confessing, to pretend, just to himself, that Hizashi might not mind, might still-
He even finds his mind wandering during their hero training. He’d stop it if he could - he needs all his focus to win at the best of times, and today he doesn’t much like his sparring partner, Seiya Matsuda. Not only does his mutation quirk mean Shouta’s own quirk will be useless, Matsuda is big, over seven feet tall, with sturdy scales and a tail he wields like a club. Probably because he likes hitting his classmates a little too much, Shouta thinks, as he dodges another blow.
Matsuda is slow, relying too much on the brute force at the expense of his maneuverability, and Shouta thinks he could probably win if he had his binding cloth. But he’s not quite good enough yet to use it in actual hand to hand. A few more months, maybe. To the side of them, Hizashi’s fight is finishing up. Though his opponent had almost succeeded in trapping him in one of her bubbles, Hizashi looks to be the victor, from what Shouta can see out of the corner of his eye as he spins into a kick.
It only steals his attention for a moment, but that’s long enough for Matsuda. He breaks through Shouta’s defenses, landing a hard hit on Shouta’s chest and knocking him off his feet. His back hits the ground - he’s out. He lays there for a moment, angry with himself for the preventable loss, when a sudden burst of pain blooms against his side. The shock of it rolls him over, forcing him up to his knees. Matsuda smirks at him, tail poised to strike again.
“What are you doing?” Hizashi calls from the sideline, incensed. “He was down, why did you hit him?”
“Shut it, Yamada,” Matsuda snaps. “Some of us know how to do more than scream our brains out in a fight.”
“The fight was over.” Hizashi storms forward until they’re toe-to-toe, craning his neck upwards so he can scowl in Matsuda’s face. “Excessive force isn’t heroic.”
“What the fuck do you know about heroic, you loud idiot,” Matsuda says, looking over his shoulder to make sure their teacher is busy with one of the other matches. “You really think you’ll be a hero someday? You? Are the villains gonna laugh themselves into submission? Are you gonna talk them to death?” Before Hizashi can answer, Matsuda lashes out, shoving him hard enough that he catches air.
Shouta’s on his feet by the time Hizashi hits the dirt, determined to put Matsuda on his ass, but Hizashi’s hand around his ankle freezes him in his tracks. “Don’t,” he coughs, trying to catch his breath. The fall must have knocked the wind out of him. It’s tempting to pull out of his grip and wipe the smirk off Matsuda's ugly face, but Hizashi shakes his head. “It’s not worth it. Don’t.”
It’s absolutely worth it to Shouta, who can see tears gathering at the corners of Hizashi’s eyes. There’s nothing he’d like better than to shove the words back down Matsuda’s throat. But Hizashi is silently pleading with him, eyes wide and serious, and the last thing Shouta wants to do is make things worse. So instead he turns to Matsuda and says, “he could have tossed you across the entire field with a single word. The only reason you’re still standing is because he’s better than you.”
Matsuda takes a step forward, like he might try something, but Hizashi pushes himself to his feet beside Shouta, and whatever Matsuda sees in his expression, he clearly doesn’t like his odds against the two of them together. He walks away with a scoff.
Once he’s gone, Hizashi wilts into himself, running a hand through his hair to shake the dust out. “That could have gone better,” he says, more subdued than Shouta has ever heard him.
“You okay?” Shouta asks, looking him over. He doesn’t see any injuries, but something obviously isn’t right.
“Yeah of course.” Hizashi grins, but it doesn’t sit right on his face. His eyes look sad. “I just needed a minute. I’m fine.”
———
Hizashi isn’t fine.
He’s quiet over the next week; his smiles are more strained and less frequent. Shouta tries his best to distract him, but conversation has never been one of his skills, and without Hizashi to pick up the slack, their shared lunches soon lapse into silence. After the third day goes by without Hizashi laughing even once, Shouta decides that enough is enough.
He’ll get a present for Hizashi, Shouta thinks. Something really good. That’s always made him happy before, and it’s not like Shouta has anything else to try, anyway. So he takes his time after school, going from store to store, trying to find something he knows will put a smile on Hizashi’s face.
But he doesn’t find anything.
The comic shop has pins and hero charms, like always, and the stationary store has candy and stickers, but none of that is special. This will be the first thing Shouta’s left for Hizashi since he learned Hizashi liked him, or at least, liked whoever was leaving the gifts. He deserves more than stickers and cheap convenience store chocolate.
He’s still mulling over the problem the next day at lunch. Kayama and Tensei are there, so at least it isn’t silent, but even that isn’t enough to pull Hizashi out of his low spirits.
“Why so down, Yamada?” Tensei asks, knocking an elbow into Hizashi’s side. “You’ve been moping around for days. It’s unnerving.”
Hizashi shrugs. “I’m fine. Just one of those weeks.”
“Spill it.” Kayama orders, peering at Hizashi like she can read the answers off his face.
“It’s really nothing,” Hizashi sighs, pushing his tray out of the way and laying his head mournfully on the table. “Matsuda was being a dick, and there’s a concert I want to go to but I can’t afford tickets, and my headphones broke, and it’s just-” he closes his eyes. “It’s just not my week.”
“What concert?” Shouta asks.
“Crimson Petals,” Hizashi says, not opening his eyes. “They’re from America, this is their one concert in Japan, like, ever. And I’m gonna miss it.”
“That sucks, man.” Tensei frowns. “No way to get the money in time?”
Hizashi shakes his head. “The concert is next weekend. And normally I wouldn’t care so much, but I can’t even listen to my CDs without my headphones.” He shrugs. “It’s fine though.”
It’s not really. Shouta knows that much, can tell from Hizashi’s forced smile that he’s still upset. Not for long, though. Today has been very productive. Shouta knows how to fix everything now.
He rushes home after school, for once eager to get back to his empty apartment. He heads to his room the second he arrives, diving for the box under his bed where he keeps his money and dumping it all out on his desk to count. It’s a decent sum. Shouta’s allowance is generous, and the only things he buys for himself are school lunches and candy. His recent string of gifts for Hizashi have hardly been extravagant. He has enough for what he needs to do, he’s pretty sure.
The headphones are an easy problem to solve. Shouta simply walks into the closest music store and asks which pair is the best. The price doesn’t phase him; it’s not like he’s using the money for anything else, and the clerk assures him they’re good quality, and will last a long time.
The concert tickets are a little trickier. Shouta has to take the subway and two buses to get to the venue where they’ll be playing, and he barely makes it in time before the box office closes. Hizashi said he wanted tickets, so Shouta buys two, not sure who the second one is intended for. Briefly, he wonders if it might be himself, though he doesn’t think he’d have a very good time. He’s never been to a concert before, but they seem noisy and crowded, everything he hates. Still, he’d go if Hizashi asked him to.
He makes a final stop at the stationary store to buy a present box, just to make the gift a little more special, so it’s well after dark by the time he gets home. The apartment is dark and silent, still empty, and Shouta heats up some instant noodles while he plans his next move. He has the concert tickets. He has headphones. But those weren’t the only things Hizashi was upset about. This all started when Matsuda insulted him. When he said he wouldn’t be a good hero. And there’s nothing Shouta can buy that will fix that.
He considers the problem while he eats. Hizashi is brilliant and talented, and Matsuda doesn’t have the wit or skills to be even a moderately successful hero, in Shouta’s opinion. It makes no sense that Hizashi would have taken his spiteful, jealous words to heart. Still, he clearly had. So perhaps, Shouta thinks, he can balance the scales with his own words, better and more truthful ones.
It’s not his best idea. He knows that even as he puts pen to paper and tries to figure out what he’s going to write. It’s hard to explain himself clearly at the best of times, let alone when he’s trying to say something so important. Still, he thinks, as he remembers Hizashi stepping between him and Matsuda, he has to try. He wants to try.
It takes him five attempts, two candy breaks, and a broken pen before he’s finally satisfied. It’s not perfect - he knows he doesn’t have the skill to completely put his feelings for Hizashi into words - but it’s the best he can do, and hopefully good enough. He reads it through a final time before folding it into thirds.
Hizashi,
I think you’ll be a great hero someday. Not just because you have a powerful quirk. Also because you’re kind to everyone. You always make sure everything is fair, and that everyone is happy. I don’t smile very much, but it’s easier when you’re around. Hopefully this present makes you smile again too.
I guess I really am,
Your Secret Admirer
He shoves the letter and the other gifts into the bright yellow box and closes the lid. There. Whatever happens tomorrow, Hizashi will know that at least one person admires him. If the other presents don’t cheer him up, maybe that will.
———
Hizashi freezes in his tracks when he sees his desk the next morning. Shouta doesn’t even pretend not to watch him. Kayama and Tensei are there already, watching too. But Hizashi doesn’t seem to notice, too preoccupied with the yellow box and its clashing blue sticky-note. He lifts the lid slowly, then fumbles it as he stares at the box’s contents.
He picks the headphones up with trembling hands, turning them this way and that to admire them before gently setting them down on his desk. He sees the tickets next. A low sound escapes him when he realizes what they are, and Shouta can’t take his eyes away. A bomb could go off outside the building, and Shouta would keep staring at the way Hizashi was biting his lip just then.
He pulls out the letter last, unfolding it with a reverence the cheap notebook paper doesn’t deserve. He reads it slowly, and when he’s done, Shouta sees his eyes flick back up to the top of the paper to read it again. “I take it all back.” Hizashi’s voice sounds rough, raw with some emotion. “I definitely like them. No, I love them.”
Kayama raises a brow, even as she leans forward to inspect the gifts. “Because they finally dropped some real cash on you?”
“What?” Hizashi looks up, shocked. “No! I mean - not that they’re not thoughtful, they’re super thoughtful and amazing gifts but - the letter.”
Shouta feels his jaw drop, sees matching expressions on Tensei and Kayama. “Yamada,” she says, disbelieving. “Those are the nicest headphones I’ve ever seen. And tickets to your favorite band, for their once in a lifetime visit to Japan. And you’re happy about a letter.” She reaches for it, but Hizashi yanks it back, close to his chest.
“Yeah, I am,” he says, firmly. “It’s the best thing in the box.”
“You don’t even know who it’s from,” she complains, crossing her arms.
“It doesn’t matter.” Hizashi shakes his head. “Whoever they are, no matter why they’re doing this, I…” The worlds trail off as Hizashi blushes.
“Well whoever it is, you must be pretty important to them,” Tensei says, smiling like he knows something the rest of them don’t.
“Yeah,” Hizashi says, and the flushed, pleased look on his face makes everything worth it for Shouta, every bit of trouble and every single yen. He knows his own expression must give him away, he can feel the foolish smile pulling at the corners of his mouth, but he can’t help it. Like he said in the letter, it’s too easy to smile with Hizashi around.
The first bell rings, ending the moment, but it doesn’t matter. Shouta knows he’ll be useless, unable to focus on anything for the remaining six hours and fifty-five minutes of the day, and from his dreamy, distracted expression, neither will Hizashi. Shouta lays his head on his arms, accepting his fate, and out of the corner of his eye he thinks he sees Tensei wink at him as he makes his way back to his desk.
———
Shouta trips over his feet when he arrives at the classroom the next morning, barely catching himself before he falls on his face. There’s a note already on Hizashi’s desk, a note Shouta didn’t put there. Shouta walks over slowly, not sure what he’ll do if Hizashi has another admirer. But a closer look at the paper makes things both better and worse.
Hizashi left this here. Shouta has borrowed his notes often enough to recognize his large, almost cute writing immediately. Hizashi left this, on one of his own yellow sticky-notes, apparently for his admirer to find.
I’ll be waiting behind the main building after school. Please come.
Shouta clutches the note so hard the paper dents around his fingers, and he smooths it out quickly against his desk. He should have expected this. He should have known Hizashi would want answers someday. It’s a miracle he let it go on as long as it has. And now…
Now Shouta has a choice to make. He could ignore the note. That would be the easiest thing to do, and maybe the smartest. Hizashi’s gone this long without suspecting, there’s no reason to think he’d ever find out the gifts came from Shouta. And yet, the thought of Hizashi, alone behind the school, waiting for someone that will never come, is so awful it makes Shouta feel sick.
He shoves the note in his pocket as the other students start to file in, no closer to knowing what to do. Hizashi arrives at his usual time, dropping into his seat and running his fingers over his empty desk, where the paper had been. But he doesn’t mention it, just greets Shouta cheerfully like he always does.
It’s not until the last bell rings that Shouta makes his decision. Hizashi packs his things up in record time, flashing a quick grin to Shouta before sprinting out the door, and he looks so hopeful that there’s no way Shouta can disappoint him.
He walks through the halls slowly, trying to put off the inevitable as long as he can. What’s Hizashi going to do when he finds out the person he’s waiting for is only Shouta? Will he be angry? Will he try to give everything back? What if he never wants to talk to Shouta again? At the last moment, Shouta thinks about turning back - it’s not too late - but he knows he can’t do it. Hizashi is waiting for him.
Hizashi doesn’t look surprised when he sees Shouta round the corner of the building, clutching the strap of his bag like a lifeline. He just stands there, waiting silently as Shouta walks over to him, until finally they’re face to face. Shouta hesitates, then reaches into his pocket to pull out the note, a little crumpled now, and shove it in Hizashi’s direction.
Hizashi takes it carefully, looking at it for a long moment before handing it back. “You left all that stuff on my desk?” The words are soft, more of a statement than a question, because the truth is obvious now.
Shouta looks down at the ground, then nods. “Yes.”
“You wrote me that letter?” Hizashi asks, like he’s just making sure.
“Yes.” There’s no point in denying it.
“You… you like me.” Shouta takes a moment before answering, debating the merits of a lie. He glances up while he considers, only to find Hizashi’s eyes have no anger in them, no disappointment. He looks like Shouta feels - nervous, out of his depth, and somewhere, deep down, hopeful. It pulls the truth out of him, just enough for him to nod. They stand there, frozen, probably only for a few seconds, but it feels like lifetimes before Hizashi blinks, nerves melting away into a smile so big Shouta wonders if it hurts him.
“I KNEW IT!!!” Hizashi yells, all trace of stillness gone, practically vibrating with excitement.
“You did?” Shouta asks, startled and still not sure what’s going to happen.
Hizashi blushes. “Well - I hoped! I really really hoped!”
Shouta’s jaw drops. “You hoped… it was me?”
Hizashi nods, still smiling. “Yeah! I mean… You kinda glared at Fujita after he stole my pen? And then the next day there were pens on my desk and - I had a crush on you already, so I hoped they were from you. And then in the letter you called me Hizashi, and nobody else calls me that.” Hizashi pauses, then says in a softer voice, “No one’s ever done anything like that for me before.”
Shouta doesn’t know what to say, what he can say. He’d never imagined it going like this, never considered that Hizashi would want the gifts to be from him. That Hizashi had a crush on him was so unimaginable he’s still not entirely certain he heard him correctly. The silence stretches for a moment before Hizashi speaks again. “You didn’t have to buy me that expensive stuff though,” he says, with a little frown. “I liked you without it.”
Shouta ducks his head, knowing it does nothing to hide how red his face must be. “I wanted you to have it. You’re always so nice to everybody - to me. It makes me really - I like it when-” Shouta sighs, frustrated that he can’t just say what he’s thinking. “I’m not good with words, so…” he gestures vaguely, hoping Hizashi will understand.
From the way Hizashi’s blush darkens, Shouta thinks he probably does. “Can I… is there something I can give you, in exchange?”
“No - not in exchange.” Shouta shakes his head, hoping with all his heart that he’s not misunderstanding what Hizashi means. “But… if you wanted to…” He looks up, meeting Hizashi’s eyes and then, without thinking about it, dropping his gaze to his mouth.
Shouta looks away, burning with mortification, but Hizashi grins even wider. “Trust me, I want to. I really, really want to.” He leans forward, and Shouta tips his head up, heart stuttering, and their lips are pressed together before it occurs to Shouta to close his eyes.
After the kiss ends, it takes him a moment to open them again, and when he does he sees Hizashi smiling gently at him, like Shouta is something sweet and precious, not the awkward misfit that he is. Shouta has known Hizashi for a hundred and seventy-eight days and he’s never seen this expression on his face before, but he loves it, he loves it so much he leans forward and kisses Hizashi again.
“Let me take you out,” Hizashi murmurs, when they finally break apart. “That cat cafe you like - my treat.”
“Sure,” Shouta says, dazed and pretty sure he’d happily agree to whatever Hizashi suggested. “Yeah. Anything you want.”
———
Hizashi bursts into the teachers’ lounge with his usual enthusiasm, too cheerful, as always, for the earliness of the hour. It only takes him a moment to spot what’s on his desk: a latte and muffin from his favorite coffee shop that Shouta spent the entirety of his short break retrieving, along with the customary blue sticky-note. Hizashi could probably tell him what number it was; Shouta lost count a long time ago.
He walks over slowly, runs his fingers reverently over the scribbled words, brief but as effusive as Shouta can bring himself to be, then folds the note and tucks it safely in his pocket, to end up wherever Hizashi hides such things. “If people knew how sweet you were, they’d never let you live it down,” he whispers, leaning in close enough that Shouta could kiss him, if they weren’t in public. He almost does it anyway.
“You better keep it to yourself then.” It’s hard to maintain his composure when Hizashi looks at him like this, with so much affection. He can’t help smiling a little, and wouldn’t if he could.
Hizashi hums in acknowledgement, neither agreeing nor disagreeing. “You coming home on time tonight?” At Shouta’s nod, he brightens further. “Good. I’ll make you dinner.” He smiles at Shouta, and Shouta’s heart beats just a little harder, even though Hizashi has been smiling at him for fifteen years, four months, and seventeen days. As if he can hear it, Hizashi winks, and Shouta is weak to it, has been weak to Hizashi’s happiness since the first moment, day one. It makes him want to bury him in trinkets and sticky-notes and awkward, fumbling words of love.
“Sounds good,” he says, but what he means, has always meant, is anything, anything for you, and they both know it. “I’ll look forward to it.”
“Yeah.” Hizashi’s smile softens, and when he speaks, Shouta knows he’s not just talking about their dinner. “Me too."