#plusocha

ME, BANGING ON THE LOV’S DOOR: BRING OUT THE OTHER TODOROKI BITCH

     is everyone in the department of heroics this loud?

     shouta ducks his way out of the classroom, shoulders hunched, letting his hair curtain his face. (god, he’s glad it’s finally grown out enough that it can do that -- cutting it off in middle school was a mistake.) being transferred to the hero course is a culmination of his dreams, it’s what he’s worked for, and he’s grateful for it every day.

     but hell if it isn’t a headache. 

     he can still hear that yamada kid’s quirk-enhanced babble from down the hall, and he hastens away from it, eyes down, glad to get away from the classroom during the lunch hour. yamada keeps trying to get him to sit with his group at lunch, but after several hours in a classroom with the rest of them, shouta needs some space. so he’s headed towards one of the quieter corners of campus; there’s a secluded spot outside with a nice, shady tree he likes to sit under while he eats. 

Well, it’s one of the less self-destructive quirks she could have gotten, at least.

HE’S  NERVOUS,   ADMITTEDLY.    ain’t  no  rhyme  or  reason  to  it.    be  a  little  easier  if  there  were  anything  out  the  window  to  stare  at  past  the  pass  and  go  and  pass  and  go  of  pillar  after  pillar,   accompanied  only  by  the  occasional  orange  light  washing  over  his  face  every  few  stops.    it’s  a  torturous  kind  of  stagnancy.    why  the  hell  did  i  choose  the  window  seat?

the  rest  of  the  subway  is  otherwise  abuzz  with  life  around  them,   although  it  resonates  much  more  like  tv  static   ;   that  kind  of  white  noise  that  just  starts  to  sort  of  blur  into  the  background  after  the  first  few  minutes  you’re  submerged  in  it,   leaving  him  entirely  exposed  to  the  almond  -  haired  beauty  at  his  side,   their  arms  linked  loosely,   his  knuckle  daring  to  idly  run  over  the  lining  of  her  sweater.    she’s  long  since  fallen  asleep,   cheek  pressed  into  his  arm  warmly    ---    a  candied  sight  for  sore  eyes  had  he  not  been  wanting  to  chew  his  own  foot  off  for  its  nervous  habit  of  wagging  so  incessantly  in  his  lap.    how  she  hasn’t  woken  up  yet  is  a  little  beyond  him,   but  he  ain’t  about  to  complain.    only  fair  when  her  company  has  taken  the  initiative  to  ensnare  himself  in  this  butt   -   fucking  silence.    not  like  he  gave  her  much  choice.

so  when  the  automated  lady’s  voice  finally  comes  over  the  speakers  to  alert  them  of  their  destination,  it’s  a  blessing  in  sexy,   sexy  monotonous  tones,   the  tension  anchoring  his  gut  immediately  lifting  as  he  does.    he’s  careful  to  mind  her  head  upon  doing  so,   fingers  slipping  down  into  her  own  and  giving  them  little  squeeze  to  bring  her  back  into  the  world  of  the  living.