𝑯𝑬𝑨𝑹𝑻 / 𝑴𝑰𝑵𝑫

   the redhead is incessant enough to touch him without permission, shinso is alarmed but not enough to slink away before he can stop himself from ruining his dignity. despite being outright rude to him, he offers his extended hand in his time of need. of course, class A is full of aspiring heroes, he didn’t expect someone so buddy buddy with bakugo katsuki to look out for anyone but themselves. that’s on shinso for making judgements, telling himself he doesn’t appeal to vanity while working on his hair every morning as a ritual. the violet of his iris clashes with the deep red of kirishima’s when he comes closer into his bubble. interloping without hesitation like it’s his prerogative, but it’s not, it’s absolutely not. shinso doesn’t say anything anyways, turning his face away before the pink tinted skin flushes more to his dismay. “  whatever  —   ”  he mutters, removing his persona chords with a few clicks to the hardware,  “  let’s just go already. ”

“  you can’t guilt me into being your friend, and you don’t know how to take a damn hint. ”  shinso hadn’t even been listening, tuned out to the thump of her yapping against his sleep deprived skull. his shoulders tense slightly and fists gather in his pants pockets, she really had him on edge. even worse, the way she apologizes just for speaking her mind, and he did that. that’s what she gets for picking roses, careless of the thorns. it’s easier to think that way then to try and change. “  leave me alone if you don’t wanna be a bother. ”

“  and yooou look like ― what ?. . . a rat. ”

“  don’t worry about it, i still have legs. ”  maybe he’s a little past peeved, not at the injury but the cautious display of power. shinso doesn’t want him to hold back, he doesn’t want to be babied. miles behind his new classmates as he crawls tooth and nail to the starting line. his own impatience frustrates him, he’s made so much progress but it won’t be enough. “  you don’t need to be nice to me just cause you fucked up. i don’t care —  ”  that’s not really true, is it? clear enough when an acute jolt of pain strikes between throbbing tendons and air sucks sharply through his teeth. “  — shiiiit.  ”

“  it’s not like that for me,  ”  yes, it kind of is, shinso. nobody would play with him, nobody would speak to him. the child grows quiet in his isolation, ostracized but still fighting his way in. bitter about the battle for the same thing others are given freely, if not in excess. it’s a nerveless war and there isn’t an end. one problem transitions into another and life continues to be lived. shinso doesn’t turn to look up, another cue he has a feeling will be outright ignored. “  this isn’t kindergarten, you couldn’t know what it’s like to be hated —  ”  in three syllables he punctuates himself, already breathless and they’d barely begun talking. it doesn’t matter, they don’t matter. he wishes he could really convince himself that were true. “  what do you want ? ”

   “  izuuuu — you said you had no idea what i was talking about, ” obnoxious whining his given name, a creature lurking forward and above midoriya’s flushed face. “  — but since i’m so smart and i know everything, i think you told me a lie. ”  shinso acts as though he can glean anything that goes on in that computer brain, constantly outputting information like it’s his programmed action. in someway it is. shinso doesn’t think he’s as oblivious to the cue as he lets on, he just thinks he’s too nervous to act on his own, and he’s praying that he isn’t totally wrong about this. “  you do want permission, don’t you ? ”  a dark shadow highlights a heavy violet glare, voice dropping an octave to emphasize, “  has no one ever kissed you, izuku ?  ”

violet glower sweeps to the elaborate display of carmine and retired hero references. brows pinch slick with sweat after a long bout of laborious training, the compliment tastes bitter and feels vainglorious. shinso isn’t anything next to him and this guy knows it, his scowl maligns as he looks away to make his disinterest in being teased clear.  “  aizawa-sensei is my mentor,  ”  he grumbles apathetically.

  “  you forgot - ? ”   shinso questions, sour face twisting incredulously at the implication that kirishima was fighting him without thinking. the tangent is interrupted by the pain erupting in his likely dislocated shoulder. shinso winces against his careless façade and his grip around his bicep tightens to keep himself still. “  shit — fuck. it’s fine — whatever.  ”  irritated profanity's sifts through his grit teeth.