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‘ midoriya. ‘ shouto’s voice is soft, but intense, as always. he had a blunt way of speaking that didn’t give much away as to whether he was starting a serious conversation or a light hearted one. his gaze is intense as well, multicolored eyes fixed on his friend and not wavering. he was still learning the art of friendship, of engaging with kids the same age as him, and sometimes the subtleties got missed.
‘ you look tired. are you feeling alright ? are you running a temperature ? ‘ fuyumi had encouraged him to check up on his friends, to ask how they were doing. what she didn’t encourage him to do was to reach over and feel midoriya’s forehead with his hand, rather abruptly. he knew midoriya tended to neglect taking care of himself, so he’s trying to take some initiative.
‘ you feel warm as well. would you like me to use my ice to cool you down ? or i could ask momo to help me make you some soup. ‘
the murmured approach of your name shouldn’t surprise you as considerably as it does and, perhaps if you were within your right state of mind, not ached with a crawling migraine and an itch in the back of your throat, it probably also wouldn't have.
“ todoroki-kun? ah, did you… did you need something? ” your expression is pinched, the twist of your body greets his position near you, closer than he ordinarily is which is something that deepens the resting confusion on your face. it isn’t that todoroki-kun’s presence around you is something atypical— more often than not, you think, despite his initial frigid demeanor, something akin to a gravitational pull (or your kindred awkward spirits, that fumbling desire for friendship, if you were to think hard enough) puts the pair of you in a close, comfortable orbit.
it is, however, the methodical rapid questioning, more requests than you usually heard from him, that catches your attention, the whiplash of it forces an exhaustion that seeps into your focus— enough that you hardly have time to wonder his motives before the flat of his palm (cold, cool, a refreshing impression that you almost lean into) presses to your forehead.
but then— reality is like a car crash into you, stings like embarrassment, as it startles you, almost teetering off the edge of the common room’s couch to lean back, baffled at the display of todoroki-kun’s move that your words are a rush and a yelp all the same, “ w-wait, todoroki-kun! you don’t have to do that, i’m-i’m okay! i promise, just a little tired, i think. yeah, tired, you don’t have to… i mean, it would be silly to waste time like that on me! ”
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1. fyodor dostoyevsky; notes from the underground, white nights, the dream of a ridiculous man, and selections from the house of the dead 2. sylvia plath 3. sanober khan; a thousand flamingoes 4. sor juana inés de la cruz (tr. judith thurman); she satisfies a fear with the rhetoric tears 5. juansen dizon; i am the architect of my own destruction 6. unknown 7. jane austen; sense and sensibility 8. mary shelley; frankenstein
gaze narrows , jaw set firmly as hands are shoved within the confines of his pockets . he meanders closer , leaning forwards with a snarl . " haaaaa? the fuck do you think you're lookin' at , nerd? " something about the boy's shy gaze sets off a ticking time bomb within him, ire steadily raising higher and higher still until he grabs at deku's collar, dragging him closer .
" listen, deku. if you're gonna be all might's protegé or whatever, then ya better fuckin' act like it. use that damn brain of yours, ya got it?! "
it’s worthless to be aware of kacchan’s movements— the quick position of his body that places it near your own, the iron-grip tangled in your collar, puts you on edge, still makes you flinch, ( as if you’re fourteen again, his blasts phantom stings against your shoulders ) and you can’t help the twist of your head away from the proximity of him, in a rapid and habitual motion that makes your brain spin. “ wait! k–kacchan, can you please— “ your yelp is lost in the midst of his indignation, the seething tone isn’t anything new, of course, but neither is the hot flash of embarrassment you settle into like a second skin.
“ i’m trying! it’s just… “ your hands bat uselessly at his grip, an attempt at freedom but even your struggle is a weak, futile effort against something bigger, stronger, better than you. “ i’m trying as hard as i can, y-you know! it’s not like— it’s not like i’m failing on purpose! “
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takamaki-san is quick, a dizzy flurry of movement that you can’t quite catch before she snatches your notebook from your desk. hero analysis for the future!, number #12 hangs from her hands, a dangerous grip that wrinkles the pages and smudges fresh ink from your perspective. “ takamaki-san, you can’t just pick up things, you know! “ you’re more than knowledgeable about takamaki-san’s snoopy personality, a tendency that has left your dorm room messier than before, your all might figures askew before she leaves, but this‒‒ well, this is just too far!
she might be speedy in her curiosity, and far too quiet as well, but at least your agility allows you the same support, and the space between your heights doesn’t deter you either. you make sure the capture of your notebook is swift, and a decided victory in your favor, before you fall back into your chair with a muted thud. ( and if you sent a brisk glare over the curve of your shoulder, hopefully, it’s gone before she has the chance to see it. )
it makes sense that takamaki-san’s comment comes to you belatedly, spoken in between your frantic hands smoothing the pages and checking the condition despite only seconds out of your possession, but it still leaves you reeling, a spark of mortification lights down your spine and the force of it curls your head down in embarrassment. “ takamaki-san, please don’t insult my writing… also, d-don’t go looking at it! “
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oh, he’s doing it again, almost unintelligible this time in his pursuit to— to berate you, apparently, or something. ( you’re never confident in what he wants and, since you’re so fond of the aspect of breathing, you don’t question if he knows either. ) your head swivels one way and then the other, calm in your observation to make sure that yes, his talking ( screaming, yelling, whatever words better encapsulates his routine disposition ) is directed to you. even your intonation is one of appeasement. “ oh, y-yeah, that makes sense, kacchan… i’m not sure why i didn’t— didn’t think of that before. “ a giant, hissy feral cat, that’s what kacchan reminds you of.
( your body parts fit perfectly where they are, so you don’t mention that out loud either. )
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