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“Nervous?” Shouta asks after a full 120 seconds of your leg bouncing without stopping.
“Huh?! Oh, oh, I’m sorry!” You scramble to a halt, arm resting on your leg to keep it in place. “I didn’t even notice I was doing it.”
“Doesn’t mean you have to stop now. But if you wanna talk about it, I heard that helps.”
“Oh, uh, I don’t wanna … I don’t wanna annoy anyone,” you mutter, eyes flickering from left to right.
“Do you wanna hear my story then?” He asks, not because it’s something he likes sharing, but you’re cute and what’s the alternative? Staring at the wall until he gets called in.
“Oh, if you… if you don’t mind?”
He huffs out a breath. “Well, apparently it’s not healthy to break a bone every single week.”
“Oh!” Your eyes grow huge. “Every single week? Wait, is it the same bone.”
“No,” he snorts softly, “At least then I’d have a better story. I’m a pro Hero, I just happen to get into fights.”
“And what’s your Hero Name? Fragile Bone?”
It takes him a second to recognize the joke, snorting loudly when he does. You’re snappy, now that the anxiety fades.
“No, it’s uh… Eraser Head.” He waits a second for you to recognize him, the star-struckness to hit. But it doesn’t. Instead, you cock your head to the side and eye him thoroughly.
“Interesting,” you say, “I remember an Interview you were forced to give a few years back. Uh, I think there was a streaker at the Sports Festival?”
He laughs. “Good Memory. Yeah, that was one of our students. He didn’t have his Quirk under Control back then.”
“And you’ve got a broken bone now? Or is this just a check-up?”
“Bloodwork.”
“Yikes,” you pull a face, “me too. It’s the worst.”
“It is,” he agrees, dares to ask before he can lose his courage again. “Want me to hold your hand through the process?”
And it’s smooth, smoother than he’s ever been able to - maybe the absence of his friends does benefit his ability to flirt - and he might even get his hopes up for a second there - until your face falls.
“That’s really tempting, you know, but I… uh… my hands are hurting. That’s why I’m here, you know, to figure out why they’re hurting like this. So hand-holding is kinda a no-go.”
“Oh, I understand,” the dejection must be audible in his voice because you reach out for him, though you don’t take hold.
“But if you want,” you offer, voice a little breathless, “you could… uh… put your hand on my shoulder? It might look weird, but-”
“I’ve seen weirder things,” he offers and your smile lights up the room.
-
“Oh, I didn’t know you were coming in together,” Doc Oc greets him and for a moment he is paralyzed, frozen between two different emotions. Surprise, because Doc OC’s obviously familiar with you and he’s got the worst memory when it comes to names. Embarrassment, because it’s usually not the best thing if a Doctor remembers you by name, let alone this one.
“Ah,” you smile, “We met in the waiting room. Bloodwork, you now. It’s easier if it’s done together.”
“That I can agree with. Now, who wants to go first?”
-x-
“Now, I believe you owe me something,” Recovery Girl announces one afternoon, a big smile cutting into her wrinkly face. “What’s her name?”
“Huh?” Shouta had been busy reading through this week's assignment, deciphering the texts. Denki’s Handwriting almost requires a PHD in decoding.
“Doc Oc and I have been friends for quite some time. One would call us even… very close… if you know what I mean. He said you brought in lovely company.”
“Oh, uh, yeah, I guess…” He can’t help but blush at her tone. Too much information.
“Well, are you going to ask her out? You cannot count this as your first date, surely? A fancy Dinner is a must.”
“A fancy Dinner is a must for whom?” Hizashi’s leaning around the door and Shouta groans. Of all people to overhear this.
“Shouta’s girlfriend.”
“Shouta has a girlfriend? Shouta, my man, why didn’t you tell me? Don’t you love me anymore? Your best friend?”
He crawls further into his sleeping bag, closing his eyes. Those assignments can wait, if he can fall in to a coma first, he-
-x-
“So?” Rumi leans against your Desk. “Did he call you?”
“Not yet,” you’re chewing on your lower lip, “But he’s probably busy.”
“Busy my ass,” she snorts angrily. “You’re a catch. If he doesn’t get a groove on you’re gone. He should know that.”
You level your friend - and boss - with a glare. “I’ve been single for a year.”
“Which he doesn’t know,” she sings. “But on another note, have you’ve gotten the results from your bloodwork? You know we only need that so we can get started on your hands-free Desktop.”
“Why do you sound more excited about this than I am?”
“Because you’re afraid of change and I am not. Just think, your hands will finally get to rest!”
“Yay,” you wave them around half-heartedly when your phone pings.
Rumi’s already grabbing it from your desk, always faster than you. “Oh, it’s your guy.” She hands it back. “Not looking.”
“Thank you for respecting my privacy,” you joke and open the short text only to gasp.
“He’s asking me out.”
“Great, so he’s not an idiot. Confirm.”
“No, no, he’s asking me out for a date tonight. You know how bad my legs have been today, I can’t show up with a cane.
“Why not?”
“Because,” you drag out, “the last time I did that there was no second date.”
“And you think he’s that shallow?”
“I just don’t want to jinx it.”
“Fine,” she huffs, crossing her arms. “Tell him you can’t tonight because you’re working late. Ask him if he’s able to reschedule for tomorrow or Friday.”
You hesitate, but do as you’re told.
“And now,” she grabs your bag as soon as you put your phone down, “you get your cute ass home and rest. I want you as fit as you can be tomorrow so you can enjoy that date.”
“But work-”
“Work is like my ex - it will always wait for you.”
-x-
“Fuck,” Shouta groans, head on his arms. The pain is strong today.
“You… uh… you good?” He hears a familiar voice from the door. Shit, he forgot about training with Hitoshi.
“Fantastic,” he grinds through his teeth though he does not dare to lift his head. Lunch was decent, but he doesn’t want to taste it again.
“Do you need Recovery Girl?”
“No, I’m going to be fine. Can you get me my painkillers from my bag? I would, but moving-”
“Sure, sure.” He can hear rustling and then a pill is dropped into his outstretched palm.
Slowly, carefully, he drags his arm back to pop it into his mouth, swallows it dry. He’s got loads of practice.
“Give me twenty minutes and I’ll be right as rain.”
“Uh, if you say so.”
-
He’s got a black eye.
He’s got a black eye and a date in about thirty minutes and the painkillers are making him particularly loopy today.
Hitoshi wouldn’t have been able to hit him in the face if his reaction time hadn’t been so slow. He’s lucky no bone is broken.
Something tells him that it we better to reschedule, but wouldn’t that make him look disinterested when he’s not?
-
“Mew.”
Shouta turns to the sound, surprised to see a black cat looking up at him. There’s a hedge there, and he bends down to pet the animal.
“You’re loud, huh?” He comments on the purring, taking a seat on the ground when his knees turn a little wobbly. He really is getting older.
The cat disappears into the hedge and he holds out a hand, making little sounds to lure her back out.
Just as he can spot the green eyes blinking back at him, a banknote is dropped into his hand.
“Here,” a voice says, “It’s cold out.”
Shouta freezes, only to look up into your face.
“Uh,” he makes, suddenly envious of Kaminari when he cooks his brain.
“I didn’t mean-” you say just as he exclaims loudly: “There’s a cat.”
“Where?” You ask, peering into the hedge. “I love cats.”
-x-
“This was nice,” you tell him after Dinner, the episode with the Cat now something you can laugh about. “Would you like to do it again sometimes?”
“Yes,” he nods slowly, “I’m sorry if I was a little loopy today. I took… uh, I forgot to take a nap.”
“Ah,” you smile, “You’re getting old too? If I don’t get my usual lunch nap I’m not so nice to be around.”
Shouta laughs. “Somehow I find that hard to believe. You’re very nice to be around.”
“You think so?” You ask, heart skipping a beat when he nods.
“How are your hands?” He looks down at them, “Can I hold them? Or do they still hurt?”
“If you don’t squeeze them I should be fine,” you say, praying that it’s the truth.
It is a little uncomfortable, if you were to tell the truth, but he’s gentle and your heart blooms at the implications.
If only you could put this moment in a jar, keep it for all the days where it’s hard to get up.
-
“So?” Rumi leans over your desk, grinning wide. “Gimme the scoop.”
“We went out, it was amazing, I don’t know when I’m going to see him again.”
“That’s not the scoop, that’s a short summary. I want every detail. Also, what does it mean you don’t know when you-”
The ringtone of your phone cuts her off. You take a peak only to gasp.
“It’s him. He’s calling.”
“Well, pick up. I’ll come back as soon as you’re finished. And I want all the details.”
-
It’s hard to find time for another date.
Shouta works two fulltime jobs and you’re overwhelmed with just one.
But he calls or texts every day, sending you pics of cats whenever he’s out on patrol.
It’s nice, but it could be nicer.
When he asks what you’re doing and you’re in bed, pain holding you down, you cannot tell him the truth. Because he doesn’t know the truth. And telling him over the phone seems insensitive.
Sometimes he sounds pretty loopy when he calls and you wonder if he’s getting enough sleep. But when you ask him about it he evades the question so masterfully, that you only remember it hours after the call.
“I think I have to come clean,” you tell Rumi one day during lunch, your hands in thick compression gloves to combat the pain. “This season is hitting me hard and I cannot postpone our next date again just because I cannot go anywhere without a cane.”
“I’m sure it’s going to go well. From what you’ve told me about him he seems very nice.”
“Yeah,” you sigh,”so nice I don’t want to lose him.”
-x-
Of all the moments for a migraine to hit, this has to be the worst.
Okay, maybe the second worst, because he’s not currently fighting someone.
But he’s been pressing his temple against the fridge doors of this Konbini for half an hour now, clearly unsettling the other shoppers, and his painkillers are far, far away in his car’s glove compartment.
Every time he thinks he’s got it now, turning away from the coldness has his lunch rise up in his throat.
“Shouta?” A familiar voice asks and the ice seeps into his veins. It’s you.
“No, I’m not Shouta. You must mistake me for someone else.”
“You’re wearing a nametag. Backward, but you’re wearing it.”
He sighs. “Can you just pretend you’re not seeing me?”
“I could, but why?”
“This is embarrassing.”
“I mistook you for a homeless man, I think we’ve already reached top embarrassment.”
“I’m having a Migraine.”
“See,” he can hear the encouragement in your voice, knows exactly how your mouth curls at the words even if he cannot see it. “That’s very low on the embarrassment list. Do you need a painkiller?”
“Yeah, but they’re in my car.”
“What are you using.”
“I doubt you have that. You can only get it via prescription.”
Shouta names it, hears you chuckle.
“Oh, you bet I got that. One pill is enough, right?”
“Right.” He can hear rustling before a pill is pressed into his hands. He swallows it dry.
“It will take me a minute to come to my senses.”
“No worry at all. I can stay here with you.”
“You don’t have to.”
“Oh, but I want to. By the way… the Bloodwork… was that about your Migraine?”
“Yeah,” he swallows around the lump in his throat. “And other stuff.”
“Mhm.” Some more rustling.
“How did you get those pills by the way? You don’t work in a pharmacy, right?”
“Oh, no, I don’t deal drugs if that’s what you’re asking.” You laugh, but it tapes off awkwardly. “I… I suffer from chronic pain.”
“I’m sorry.”
You laugh again, but you don’t sound amused. “Yeah, me too.”
Silence settles between them. Slowly, the pain in his head eases into something manageable and he peels himself away from the cool glass to look at you.
You’re staring at the ground, a cane in your hands.
“I’m going to be pretty loopy for the rest of the day,” he tells you, lump in his throat, “But do you wanna grab a coffee after this?”
The surprise in your eyes tells you what he’d already assumed. You’re not used to people accepting your condition as something that just is.
“Might ask you some questions as soon as my head works properly again,” he adds like a threat, “but for now I’d just like to look at you. You’re really pretty.”
“You’re really loopy,” you giggle.
“Mhm, it’s going to get even worse, sugardrop.” His hand finds your elbow, careful to avoid your hands and you knock your head lightly against his shoulder.
You’re probably a weird-looking couple to the outside world, but he’s never cared much about that anyway.