Shoto sat on the low couch beside his mother, her presence a steady, gentle warmth beside him. Fuyumi bustled around the kitchen while Natsuo leaned against the windowsill, sipping from a mug that read #1 Brother, a gift from her that he never had the heart to throw away.
It was a rare quiet afternoon—the kind that made him feel like a boy again.
“Are you and your roommate doing alright?” Rei asked softly, glancing over at him. “You mentioned he just got a promotion?”
Shoto nodded, resting his forearms on his knees. “Yeah. He’s been working hard. Still forgets to bring an umbrella when it rains.”
Fuyumi snorted gently. “You always remind him though, don’t you?”
“I try,” Shoto replied, not thinking much of it. “Or I leave one by the door in case he forgets.”
Rei smiled knowingly, exchanging a brief glance with Fuyumi. There was a beat of silence, and then Natsuo spoke up with that teasing edge he always had when he was about to hit a nerve.
“So how long have you been in love with him?”
Shoto blinked.
The silence was loud.
“I’m not,” he said flatly, more out of reflex than certainty.
Fuyumi chuckled and sat beside him, nudging his arm. “You just lit up like a lantern when we asked about him. You talk about him more than your own career lately.”
“And you actually listen when he talks,” Natsuo added. “When we tell you stuff, you just nod and stare into space.”
“I do not.”
“You do,” Rei said, her voice light but honest. “But when you mention him, your whole expression changes. There’s a softness to it. We’ve noticed.”
Shoto stared down at his hands, quiet for a long moment. The truth of their words settled in slowly, like melting ice. He thought of the mornings when he made extra coffee because he knew his friend would forget breakfast. The evenings they spent sitting on the balcony in silence, just existing in the same space. The way his chest tightened when the other man laughed at someone else's joke.
How he stayed up just to hear the door open and know he made it home safe.
“Oh,” Shoto finally said.
Fuyumi smiled, patting his hand.
“It’s not a bad thing, Shoto,” his mother said gently. “You just needed a mirror to see it.”
——
The lock turned with a clumsy rattle, metal scraping metal. Shoto was already halfway to the front door by the time it creaked open.
His roommate had gone out to drink with a few of their UA friends, leaving with a smile -Shoto wasn’t a fan of drinking, so he had stayed home.
Then he appeared—hair slightly mussed, cheeks flushed a deep red that bloomed down his neck. The cold air from the hallway rushed in behind him, mixing with the faint scent of alcohol, sweat, and something citrusy.
His friend swayed in place, one hand gripping the doorframe as if it were the only thing holding him upright. His jacket hung off one shoulder, his shirt untucked, belt loose. His eyes scanned the room slowly, unfocused, before finally landing on Shoto with a lazy grin that came and went like a flicker of dying light.
Shoto didn’t speak. He just moved forward, quiet, steady. He caught him by the arm when he stumbled over his own boots, guiding him inside without a word. The door clicked shut behind them.
The man’s body was warm—too warm. His skin radiated heat that had nothing to do with his quirk. Shoto could feel it pulsing under his fingertips as he helped shrug the jacket off. It hit the floor with a soft thud.
He leaned into Shoto’s side briefly, just long enough to make his heart falter, then pulled away with a wobbling step toward the living room.
His friend fumbled at the hem of his shirt like he couldn’t decide whether he was taking it off or trying to fix it. Then, he gave up and collapsed onto the couch like a felled tree, limbs sprawled carelessly.
Shoto exhaled quietly, long and slow. His hands curled into fists at his sides.
He picked up the discarded jacket, draped it over the back of the couch, and then crouched down in front of him. Gently, he reached out, pushing the hair from his forehead, fingers brushing skin that was too soft, too familiar.