Chapter Text
It rained yesterday, and Izuku knows that if he makes the mistake of accidentally stepping into any of the puddles checkering the pavement and soiling his decrepit shoes - one of them already with a hole near the bridge of his left foot - then he will surely have a breakdown right here in the middle of the street.
Not a breakdown simply due to the misfortune of having ill-made shoes, but because today he is particularly on edge and he knows that his nerves will collapse after only the slightest hint of any more stress. He is performing tonight, that’s the issue. And although he’s practiced and his bandmates reassure him that he is perfect in every possible way and the crowd will fawn over him the moment he opens his mouth it’s not as if Izuku can rewire his brain into believing that everything will turn out alright. It takes more from him than the average person to be confident that everything just won’t completely go to hell and he’ll manage to actually succeed in whatever endeavor he is pursuing. It’s not his fault that his brain won’t stop worrying, it’s just… a characteristic hazard, if you will.
He had to work a double shift two nights ago to make up for the one that he would miss this evening and then last night his boss guilted him into staying after hours to help Pyun in the back, so Izuku’s energy meter is already lower than he hoped. And on top of that, he had to get up extra early to clean his work uniform to wear today. The clothing isn’t the best, but it’s the nicest he has right now and tonight is very important since Izuku is being spotlighted in front of an audience he doesn’t know at all as well as the owner of the restaurant who will be actively judging his talent.
So, you can say he’s a little stressed.
He’s walking to Honeydrop right now to practice with the band one last time before tonight. They will have their regular performance and Izuku will have a “special appearance”, as Yaoyorozu put it, towards the middle when Mr. Yamada will be present and watching. And to wrap a silk ribbon around this whole package of sweat and shivers, they are performing the song Izuku wrote for them about a week back, which they all genuinely seem to enjoy - sans Bakugou - but it acts as the finishing touch to Izuku’s mind map of how everything can go completely sideways. And so he tries his best not to actively think about it as he walks. There are lots of pedestrians out today going about their business without any mind to him and Izuku occupies his mind with games of observance. How many mustaches he can spot in a single minute, the brightest color found on a rich woman’s outfit, who appears to be in the biggest rush. Simple distractions make for the best ones.
He makes it to Honeydrop, passing through the back door with ease. Liqiu greets him like always with her nickname for him, which he has learned means “little rabbit”, and tells him to come back before opening so she can feed him some of whatever dinner they’re preparing for the evening. She reminds him of his mother in a homey way, kind and hardworking. Izuku takes a bite out of a roll she slipped him as he walks through the kitchen doors and out onto the dining floor.
Up on stage Yaoyorozu is walking back and forth with a clipboard in hand, pointing up towards the stage rafters and yelling out something he can’t quite hear properly. Upon walking closer he sees Sero off to the side pulling on ropes to shift the curtains inward towards the center light. Izuku hums in realization that they must have switched out the curtains, the red he met first now swapped for a royal blue. He thinks the change is nice.
While that is happening, Kaminari and Bakugou are looking over a score and arguing about something or the other and Todoroki is sat focused at his piano, a somber tune drizzled over the pearly black of the grand. Despite the anxieties of the day and what he dreads coming later, seeing them all lifts Izuku’s spirits up just a bit, enough that he thinks maybe this all will turn out just fine, maybe he should have more faith in himself.
And then Bakugou opens his bitch mouth.
“What the f*ck are you wearing?” he spits, glaring over to Izuku from up on stage. Izuku glances down at his outfit, definitely not the nicest clothing but it’s not like he hasn’t worn this before to their practices. Taking another bite out of his roll, Izuku continues up to the base of the stage and shrugs.
“What I always wear,” he responds. “What’s wrong with it?”
Bakugou stares at him in such a way that Izuku may have believed he just insulted his mother instead of defending his clothing choice. He shoves the score papers into Kaminari’s hands, tromping over to the edge of the stage and crouching down so he can make a show of looking Izuku over.
“What’s wrong is that you look like a third-rate waitstaff when you’re singing in a first-rate restaurant. It’s perfectly fine when you dress like sh*t during practice, but there’s no way you’re gonna embarrass me on stage looking like the help.”
Izuku feels his face flush in shame. He knows that he isn’t dressed like everyone else here but it’s not like he has much of a choice. He had wanted to go out and buy a new shirt last week to at least have something presentable but rent comes first and in the end he couldn’t afford something like that until his next paycheck maybe. Of all the people here, Bakugou should be the one to understand his circ*mstances, but Bakugou is also so narcissistic that his empathy is practically nonexistent. If anything, he probably feeds off Izuku falling short of what other people are able to have. It builds up his ego in a cruel sort of way.
Yaoyorozu’s voice cuts short at their conversation and even Kaminari and Sero are paying more attention to them now. Only Todoroki is the one who continues what he’s doing, the room still washed over in fluttering piano.
Izuku stands his ground, looking Bakugou straight in the eye as he speaks. “This is as good as you’re gonna get. Sorry if I don’t meet your standards.” He finishes off the roll Liqiu gave him and walks over to the stairs side-stage where the piano is. The dismissal must have hit a sore spot on Bakugou’s ego since the moment Izuku steps onto the dark floorboards, he has his shirt front yanked on and is practically nose to nose with the drummer and his seething rage.
“No one is gonna care about your sh*tty voice when you’re too poor to afford decent clothing, so unless you can manage to look like you aren’t making pocket change wages I’m not letting you even step foot on this goddamn f*cking stage.”
Izuku’s embarrassment from earlier disappears and now he feels only anger at being so mistreated in front of people who he considers to be his friends now. Of all the stress today has already brought, the last thing he needs is his classist bandmate reminding him how little he has compared to everyone else, how he’s holding them all back. As if Izuku doesn’t already know that.
He grabs the wrist of Bakugou’s hand fisted in his shirt collar and squeezes it, not enough to hurt but enough to threaten, but this only makes Bakugou pull on him a little harder. The easy thing about Bakugou is how predictable he is, and Izuku knows how to keep a level head in things like this.
“Let go of me.”
Bakugou scoffs. “What makes you think I’m gonna listen to anything you say? Huh?” He shakes Izuku by the collar to make a point of holding tight and Izuku feels his composure beginning to crack. He grew up under the teachings of his mother who said to never cause trouble and keep things peaceful when able to, but he is also friends with Ochako. She always says that actions speak louder than words, and for once, he thinks her advice may come in handy.
Before he has the chance to do anything rash which he would probably regret later, Izuku watches the smug grin on Bakugou’s face flip over to surprise as a well-manicured hand is placed on his shoulder and Yaoyorozu shoots him a look that even Izuku wants to recoil from.
“I’d suggest you think very hard,” she says, even and composed, “on whether you want to continue the harassment of someone under my management, Bakugou. You know I don’t play favorites.”
Izuku’s hand drops back down to his side as he glances between the two. Yaoyorozu doesn’t falter even with all of Bakugou’s attention now on her and Izuku feels like he’s witnessing some sort of shift in reality when the pressure on his shirt collar loosens up. Bakugou huffs, shoving him away before fishing out a pack of cigarettes from his vest pocket and a light. “Fine, I won’t beat the sh*t out of deku, but you can’t deny that Yamada would rather shoot himself in the foot than have trash up on his stage. There’s a reason why the rest of us all shop at Temari besides the fact that we can. ” He lights his cigarette, swallowing down a long drag before going back to his drums to sit down.
No one speaks up for a terribly long, horrendously awkward moment where no sound but the crackle of lit tobacco peppers the air. Izuku’s shame from earlier rears its ugly head again. Not only is he unable to meet the dress requirements of the place he is trying to get a position at, but his fight with Bakugou made things more awkward than they should have been. Not that he could do much about that but the guilt still remains. Fortunately for him, Yaoyorozu seems to know exactly how to levitate tense situations.
Her stance shifts so that she can regard Izuku now, eyeing him over with something more akin to consideration rather than disapproval. He stills. The glass-like clicking of her heels passes over the cigarette song as she steps around him, humming little notes to herself while Izuku stands at attention and prays that if she is to strike him down she will do so mercifully. When she completes a full orbit she stops across from Izuku and smiles.
“Do you own any silk, Midoriya?” she asks.
The first answer which pops in his head is ‘ are you f*cking kidding me?’ But seeing as that would not be the best response in this situation, he instead says: “No, not that I know of?” Yaoyorozu’s eyes light up in the same way they did when the both of them were eating marzipan fruits, vibrant and full. She claps her hands together once and spins around to face the rest of the band watching this whole ordeal taking place.
“As executive manager of the Prussian Blues, I believe it would be in all of our best interest to freshen up our style for tonight's performance. My treat. So, grab your things, boys, we’re taking a shopping trip to Temari!”
With a flash of a smile in Izuku’s direction, she walks off to the side stage, presumably to the back office to grab her purse or what not. The quiet does not stay for very long as Sero and Kaminari begin chatting with each other in an excited manner with a conversation too fast for Izuku to follow properly. Still taken aback at the rush this morning has had to offer him, Izuku feels his heartbeat relaxing into a come down. But now he has the issue of figuring out where the hell they’re heading to now.
Movement in the corner of his vision catches his attention and Izuku turns to see Todoroki standing down on the dining floor below, looking up at him and nodding to the kitchen.
“Are you coming?” he asks.
Izuku hops down from the stage and they begin making their way out of the building, their bandmates not far behind. Izuku takes these sparing moments to collect his thoughts and reign in some of the adrenaline still sticking under his skin. Todoroki looks unfazed despite what a raucous morning it’s been so far but his placidness brings Izuku ease in a way that he isn’t sure anyone else could. They wave goodbye to Liqiu and wait for the others out in the alleyway - the late spring sun casts gold out onto the weather-stained brick walls.
“So,” Izuku starts, not disliking their quiet but feeling like he should say something anyways. “What exactly is Temari anyways? A tailor brand or something?”
“It’s a clothing store,” Todoroki replies. “Maybe a couple blocks up from here. I don’t see what the fuss is about shopping there.”
“And Yaoyorozu is offering to pay for a shopping trip? Does she do that often?”
“Not often but sometimes. Her family owns the Yù Yuè cigar company and practically half this city, so she has no issue buying clothing. If anything she enjoys it.”
Izuku may not have enough wealth to be familiar with popular clothing stores in the bourgeoise quarters of the city, but even he knows the infamous Yù Yuè cigars. There’s the central factory for the company on the outskirts of the city which makes up for a large percentage of the local jobs and economy, so people around here are never unfamiliar with their cigars. The fact that Yaoyorozu may be considered an heiress to such a minted empire makes Izuku question why the hell she’s managing a jazz band instead of the thousands of workers under her family’s name. First Todoroki and now her, both of them children to heavy names and neither of them filling their role. Izuku wonders if he was born into a life like theirs, would he make a similar choice?
Todoroki was right that Temari wasn’t very far away.
Not bothering to call a cab, the six of them walk down a few blocks along an avenue submerged in shops saved for the elite. Honeydrop is on the wealthier side of the city but Izuku only bothers to travel there and then back into his familiar side of life. He’s never really had reason to travel this far into an area which doesn’t quite suit his finances, so he clings to their cluster and prays that he isn’t noticed by the other passersby who can sniff out empty pockets like bloodhounds.
Kaminari and Sero try their best to make the situation as light as possible, covering the fact that they are all out right now and not practicing because of Izuku and not merely for leisure. They joke about picking out snake skin pants and obnoxious orange vests and taking advantage of Yaoyorozu’s cigar money to usurp the world of high fashion. She laughs at all this and plots with them which makes Izuku feel just a bit lighter.
The front display of Temari looks just like every other building they’ve passed in the street. It’s name is carved out like gold plating at the front of the store, reflecting the sun and wrapping itself up in spun gold. It’s simple, if unassuming, and this is Izuku’s first judgement gone terribly wrong.
They walk into the shop front and are all immediately greeted by a man in a checkered red vest with a middle part that Izuku thinks looks like a child’s bowl cut. He smiles to himself at the thought. The greeter welcomes them in with a warm smile and spouting off something about a new shipment of European shoes up on the second floor but he isn’t paid much mind to as they all file in. His eyes widen when he sees Izuku and gives him a top to bottom glance before moving on back to his position at the door. He knows - as does everyone else in a five mile radius - that Izuku doesn’t belong here.
The inner part of the store looks similar to a hotel lobby, but not in the ruddy, restful sort of way. There are two floors connected by a pair of staircases in the back middle of the room’s center which curve up left and right, immaculate blue carpet covering the scales of their winding backs. There is an elevator off to the right - Izuku has never stepped foot in one - and nearly all other space is overwhelmed by clothing and shoes and jewelry cases and attendants roaming about to aid their rich customers.
Izuku feels like he’s swallowed something very, very cold.
“Well!” Yaoyorozu claps her hands together, spinning on her heels to face them all at the front of their pack. Her eyes flit to Izuku. “Where should we start first? I for one normally begin with shoes and then build my ensemble from there but perhaps we should do your shirt first since that is what the audience will most focus on.” She looks to the others. “Boys you’re free to go as you please but remember we’re on a time limit.”
“I’m coming with you, Yaomomo!” Kaminari says, linking his arm with hers. “I need a new brassiere and you gotta help me pick one out.”
They begin walking off as Yaoyorozu turns her head and motions for him to follow along, so Izuku trails behind them like a small child with their parents as they walk over to the back of the first floor. The store is large enough that it takes them a minute to reach an area with topiaries of hung blouses and dresses and patterned shirts, a long case of jewelry off to the right, racks of coats off to the left. Everything flourishing, bright, and undeniably expensive. Kaminari pulls away from Yaoyorozu and begins browsing a collection of brassieres, all softly colored and silky looking. Izuku regards the flimsy looking fabric when a thought pops into his head and he goes to stand beside Kaminari.
“Do you always get your brassieres from here?”
Kaminari looks over to him with brows raised at first but then his usual, electric smile returns. “Yeah, usually. This place sells this make that has more top lacing which I like. Most other ones are too loose with flimsy clips or don’t tighten the full chest.” He lifts up one of the hung brassieres and turns it to the back to show criss-cross lacing traveling up the full back of the garment. Most of the other ones displayed are just clips at the back, which doesn’t seem practical for trying to flatten your chest.
“My friend Kirishima has the same problem,” Izulu tells him and watches Kaminari’s eyes light up. “He says that stores never carry any that make his chest flat enough, so he makes his own and sells some to people who can’t afford the store prices.”
“He makes them? That’s amazing! You think I can put in an order to him?”
Kaminari is a very lively person already, but nonetheless this level of enthusiasm makes Izuku glad that he brought the topic up. “Oh, yeah, of course! Maybe I can introduce you?”
“We should all go out for drinks sometime so I can meet him,” Kaminari says, eyeing some of the other brassieres. “Believe it or not I don’t get to meet many trans people. There are too many straight-laced bars in this city that we have to settle for.”
Izuku smiles at that, knowing exactly what he means. Before Mina opened up her bar - although it’s more along the lines of a speakeasy - there wasn’t really a place for people like Izuku to meet up at. They all still went out to bars and had fun, but it is a different experience when there is a spot that is made for people who share your sort of life. Izuku feels a rush of energy at the idea of bringing along the Prussian Blues to Mina’s and introducing them all to his friends there. Ochako has already been harping on him to bring them by, so this may all work out for the best.
“I think I know of a bar we can all go to. Lack of laces and good booze too. How about-”
“Midoriya, we have got to get you dressed.” Yaoyorozu approaches the both of them and tugs a bit on Izuku’s wrist, pulling him away from the brassieres. “There’s only so much time to spare - Kaminari, I like the peach color - and we’ve got to pick out a full outfit. Come on.”
Izuku sends a look to Kaminari that reads we’ll talk later and follows Yaoyorozu to the fitting rooms.
The next half hour is him spending all his time standing still as Yaoyorozu brings over button downs and blouses and trousers and skirts for him to hold up or try on. Izuku has never experienced anything like a shopping trip before. If he were to ever go out and buy clothing there wasn’t much of a debate on what he was supposed to get, always the most practical and least expensive clothes he could manage, so there was never an option of trying multiple things on and making a judgement based solely on how they look on himself. Although this may be foreign to him, Yaoyorozu seems to be having the time of her life.
“Here, try these on with the green top I handed you,” she says, handing him over a pair of straight leg black trousers that Izuku thinks may be made out of silk if anything because he has never felt something so soft. His curtained-off dressing room is flustered with fabric and hung garments. There’s clothing hanging on all available hooks, on the chair in the corner, over the top walls. She wants him to try on the entire store it seems.
“You think this one might be it?” he asks. They have to get back and practice at some point. Yaoyorozu smiles at him as if she knows what he’s thinking and empathises with his hurry.
“I think so. I’ll only be a moment to pick out a pair of shoes so you try that on and we’ll see how it all looks together, but I think I found your perfect ensemble.”
With that, she walks off to find him shoes and Izuku is left to put on whatever she has planned next for him. He puts on the pants first, they fit perfectly around his waist but may be just a little long for his legs. And then he examines the green shirt she brought him along with an armful of other clothing. He takes one look at all the buttons and folds and fabric and deflates. Who the hell designed nice clothes to be so complicated?
Shouto doesn’t find the appeal of shopping.
As he was growing up, all of his clothing was usually made by tailors his father hired specifically for the Todoroki family and he didn’t have much of a choice in deciding what he wanted to dress like. He had a reputation to uphold, after all. So he wanders the store aimlessly. He trails behind Sero for a little while before growing bored and then laps the second floor twice just people-watching before coming back down to the first where Kaminari and Bakugou are waiting in the seated area by the fitting rooms. Kaminari has a small checkered bag at his feet filled with clothes wrapped in paper and Bakugou seems to have gotten nothing.
“I think Yaomomo is almost done,” Kaminari says as he sits down beside the both of them. “Midoriya has been swapped in and out of so many things I couldn’t keep track. I think we’re here more for Yaomomo than for him.”
Shouto hums to show that he’s listening but makes no comment. He knows about Yaoyorozu’s love of clothes buying, and he also knows that she enjoys it even more when it is for another person. She is kind like that.
People filter in and out of the changing rooms with attendants trailing behind them rushing off to find different sizes or colors. He’s never quite paid attention to the people who work at the stores he shops at, or the workers in his own home if he thinks about it. He considers them now. They all wear the same tucked up socks which cover the lower parts of their pants and keep them clean and out of the way when working - Midoriya wore something similar when Shouto first met him that night he was drunk in the restaurant. They look tired.
“Hey, can one of you help me button this up?”
Shouto removes his attention from the workers and to the dressing room directly across from where he, Kaminari, and Bakugou are waiting. Midoriya has his head poked out the side of the dressing curtain. Shouto glances around to see if Yaoyorozu is back yet to help him out but feels a slap on his back that jolts him forward in his seat. He twists and sees Kaminari leaning further back in his chair, one foot propped on his knee in a picture of perfect relaxation.
“You go help him out, Icy. I’m tired from shopping.”
Kaminari winks at him. Shouto raises a brow but gets up anyways. A wink can mean many things in normal context, but when it comes to Kaminari, a gesture like that could have any and every connotation.
“Alright?” Shouto says, not even bothering to think any further on it. He approaches the dressing room and Midoriya pulls aside the curtain a bit for him to come in. Shouto has to admit that Yaoyorozu did an excellent job dressing him up, not that he would place bets that she couldn’t. Midoriya is fitted in black slacks and a green shirt that’s designed with some semblance to a qipao. A mosaic of flowers colors the fabric to disguise it as a painting from the high collar all the way down to the slits in the shirt at the thighs.
Little woven latches are sewn in starting at the collar and running down to one side, their dragonfly wing-shape the same juniper shade as all the rest. Yaoyorozu did an excellent job - Midoriya looks like the heir to a sizable fortune. Shouto sees what he needs help with, though. Clasps are lined up all down the back of the shirt and seem to be designed purposefully to require the aid of another person, normally an attendant would help with this. Midoriya wouldn’t know something like that, though.
“Turn around,” he says, and Midoriya faces the dressing room mirror. The mirror may be the only thing not covered in clothing - it seems like Yaoyorozu took her job seriously to find the most suitable outfit for tonight. She definitely isn’t one to slack off.
Shouto begins latching the buttons. He allows his eyes to wander over Midoriya’s back and shoulders, all of him covered in freckles and beauty marks and a small birthmark over the space between his neck and right shoulder which looks a lot like a map of Korea. He considers for a moment on whether he should point out his observation but decides to keep it to himself. It may come off the wrong way if he were to admit that he is openly staring at his bandmate’s naked back. So he decides on a topic change.
“Do you feel ready for tonight’s performance?” he asks.
Midoriya shrugs. “I think I am. With all the practices we’ve had, I know that we can perform well together, I just hope that I don’t do anything to screw it all up. Another sandbag can fall on me mid-performance for all I know. Things like that tend to happen.”
He laughs it off and Shouto is left wondering if he is sincere that he has near-fatal encounters often, but he doesn’t ask. He’ll spend enough time with Midoriya during practice to see if it’s true or not. The buttons at the back are small and covered in fabric, making it difficult for Shouto to easily fit them through the button holes. He’s only half way up the shirt by now.
“There is no way the audience won’t enjoy you,” he says, “even if a sandbag falls mid-performance and I won’t be there to pull you out of the way. Maybe Yaoyorozu can take over piano and I can be on sandbag duty.”
“Thanks for the offer, but it would be worse without you on stage. I’ve gotten used to your playing. It’d be a distraction if anything if you weren’t up there. The crowd may not notice but I would.”
Shouto’s hands falter for just a moment. He looks up from his work to watch Midoriya in the dressing mirror before them. He’s keeping a watchful eye on his socked feet rather than look at Shouto directly. With all his other bandmates and their… vibrant demeanors, he rather quite enjoys Midoriya’s timidness which shows itself every so often. He starts the buttons again.
“I sound like any other competent pianist. I bet you couldn’t pick out my playing from Yaomomo’s.”
“I bet I could.” Midoriya smirks. “I have a keen ear, Todoroki, and every person has their own style that they’re unaware of. It’s the same way I could pick you out in a crowd on Main street.”
“Give me an example then.”
“Of what?”
“Of how I play differently. I want to know what you pay attention to and what I can hide in the future.”
Buttons at the back of the neck. His fingers find the process familiar now.
“Well, it’s nothing significant or anything like that, just um…” Midoriya’s hands fidget with the hem of his shirt and pull at the fabric. “Well, when we move into a new time signature you change your breathing, like… you always inhale on the first note and it helps me track the new change. I don’t know, it’s just something silly that caught my attention. So there’s an example.”
Shouto doesn’t know whether to feel like a labrat or not. Most people may find it unsettling that they can be read like a cheap pamphlet, but Shouto doesn’t mind at all, really. If anything, there is a smudge of validation on the inside of his lip that comes from someone paying attention to you and meaning no harm.
“How can you notice things that subtle?” he asks.
“Because they’re you,” Midoriya replies, “um, and a singer has to pay lots of attention to their pianist for cues and all that. Just things I pick up on, I suppose.”
Shouto clasps the final button at the peak of the collar and admires his hard work. Yaoyorozu is amazing at most things, but when it comes to beauty and practicality, there is nothing on this earth which can hinder her.
“There you go,” he says, stepping away and watching Midoriya watch himself in the full mirror. He twists and sticks his arms out and purses his lips at what he sees. He seems conflicted about the vision on the mirror.
“I don’t know much about fashion,” Midoriya tells him, “so what do you think? I almost feel like I’m wearing a costume, you know?”
“It suits you.”
“You think?”
“I wouldn’t say so if I didn’t. You look handsome so don’t worry so much.”
Midoriya smiles and Shouto knows he said the right thing. He’s never been very good at getting people to like him, but with Midoriya it seems as if he doesn’t even have to put in any work, he just says what’s on his mind and the rest follows in suit. And it isn’t as if Shouto is one to lie. Midoriya does look handsome in the outfit Yaomomo picked out for him. He looks handsome in his regular clothes as well. Shouto admires the silk embroidery along the back and shoulders of the shirt Midoriya has on, all the curves and floral poems and shades of jade, the curls of his hair hiding the top of the collar. He outlines the curves of Midoriya’s shoulders and how broad they are compared to his, how they still look as such even in slimming clothing. He likes the look of them.
Shouto feels a hollowness build in his stomach, an almost reflection of nausea, and he feels like the dressing room is much too narrow now. All the hung clothing tightens the room to force him out and he obeys, turning himself to make for the door.
“I’ll… go wait outside with the oth-”
His words are cut short as the world slips out from under him after one misplaced step onto a silk scarf lain over the floor and he goes flailing backward. He has enough time to grab onto one of the hung clothes plastering the walls but even that goes down with him. Shouto’s back hits the wall behind him and the hardwood floor does very little to cushion his impact. If he had more fat on him then maybe the fall wouldn’t hurt him so much but now his tailbone aches.
He sits there for a moment, riding out the throbbing at the back of his head before opening his eyes to get himself up from this embarrassment, but when he looks he finds Midoriya kneeling right in front of him. He kneels in between Shouto’s legs with his hands braced on the wall and looking as if he’d seen a ghost. Shouto tenses and feels the clothing he tried to grab onto still furled up in his hand and after a quick glance downward, he finds that he had grabbed onto one of the slits in Midoriya’s shirt.
If he had the room to smack himself in the forehead, he would.
“I’m so sorry!” Midoriya reels back but doesn’t get far in their cramped space together. “I didn’t mean to land on you, are you hurt? Oh my god, let me just-”
“Midoriya, I brought dress shoes just in case but I think these heels would look-”
A flash of the store’s lighting blinds him for a moment until his vision can clear enough to see Yaoyorozu standing in the doorway with a couple pairs of shoes held up. He watches the exact moment her smile disappears and a plume of blush covers her cheeks as she looks down at them in their less than professional position.
“Sorry to interrupt!” She squeaks and slides the curtain back into place where it was before. Shouto catches Midoriya’s eye for a fraction of a second until he is scurrying out of the dressing room and yelling after Yaomomo that ‘it’s not what it looks like!’ , his words a river rapid of nervous explanation.
Shouto continues to sit there, now alone. He rubs his fingers together to remember the feeling of Midoriya’s silk shirt and raises himself up off the floor. The sickness in his stomach is fainter now, practically residual as he follows Midoriya out into the waiting area. He hopes he won’t get much backlash from Yaoyorozu about all this when she has time to tease her later on.
