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When Hitoshi walks into the hospital to pick up his sister's prescription, he isn't expecting much beyond some awkward social interactions and a nasty aftertaste of antiseptic at the back of his mouth.
He certainly isn't expecting to see the prettiest person ever.
Okay, well, maybe that's an exaggeration, but it's totally possible. The boy - his own age, or at least around it - is very cute. The first thing Hitoshi noticed was the curly hair that's been dyed a dark green and it reminds him of shadows in a forest, when it's twilight and you're sat around a campfire and you've got marshmallows melting on your tongue and the trees are all just a series of abyssal green shadows, like ancient protectors or something. That kind of green. And it's fluffy too, bouncy little ringlets that probably get knotty as hell but that Hitoshi just wants to bury his face amongst and breathe in. They look like they should smell of pine needles or mint or something.
And then there's the face. The very pretty face.
Slightly round cheeks, strong jawline, cute nose, and freckles. So many freckles, all a brown-orange that looks like someone sprinkled cinnamon on his face as a baby and it stuck, grew with him, forming little constellations and swirls and patterns that Hitoshi could trace with a finger or lips or nose, playing dot-to-dot and murmuring little stories for the shapes he finds there, having those eyes stare up at him. They're green too of course, because what could be cuter on this beautiful boy, and they're so bright.
Well, okay, to be fair, they're a little hazy with what's probably mild pain meds, but they're still vibrant and- and effervescent and Hitoshi needs more words to articulate how he's already lost in their depths, how the boy seems to have every thought and emotion painting yet another shade or tone into the baseline green, little hints of gold-brown and blue-grey layering with it, just enough to make them rich and deep and utterly stunning. And Hitoshi has had crushes before, has seen people - other boys, to be precise - and thought oh, they're cute. But never before has he immediately wanted to go over and touch them in some way, in absolutely any way, even if all he gets is a handshake.
After the mess of instant oh damn look at him, comes Hitoshi's second thought: this one can't run away.
Which, well, is true. The boy is in a wheelchair, a bright red cast wrapped around his right ankle, and he's pushing himself along in a seemingly practiced way. Even better, he's headed towards the pharmacy area, which is where Hitoshi is going. Cool. Cool, cool, cool, this is an opportunity and Hitoshi just has to take it. Start up a conversation, real smooth and easy, be nice and remember to smile and tilt your head in that way that Kaminari insists is hot-
"Yo, hey, do you- would you mind- Like, I'm headed to the pharmacy too and I was wondering if you'd like me to push you? Oh, wait, like, obviously you're managing by yourself, so not to be rude or anything, but, uhm, I-"
"Sure!" And, even though Hitoshi had stuttered and stumbled like an absolute idiot, which, way to go him, the boy beams up at him and replies with a voice that should not, by any logic, be that deep and sweet at the same time but holy shit he's managed it.
"C-cool. So, ankle?" He asks, grabbing ahold of the handles and putting a stupid amount of effort into not crashing the cute boy into a wall or a person or something.
"Oh, yeah! I'm a bit clumsy and I technically just turned it when I nearly fell on the stairs and caught myself badly, but it crunched and I've had enough broken bones to realise it was fractured so I walked myself over here. I'm just glad I'm not missing a class!" The boy is laughing it off, completely casual, but Hitoshi is busy hyper-focusing on the sheer implausibility of those words.
"Wait, dude, backtrack a sec - you literally walked yourself over here? With a probably-broken ankle?"
"Yeah, it wasn't too bad really." Hitoshi, speechless, just whistles quietly under his breath. Because holy shit, this cute boy is metal as fuck. Definitely way out of Hitoshi's league but, at this point, he almost doesn't care about that.
"So, do you go to uni here too? I'm in the criminology and illustration courses."
"Those are two very different subjects you know," Hitoshi comments, smirking a little to himself in genuine amusement, but offers his own answer all the same,
"I'm in psychology. Weirdly enough, I paint in my spare time though. Or well, I used to, when I still had spare time. Can't imagine taking a combined course like yours must be; my schedule's already hectic enough."
"I mean, it's not easy or anything. But who needs more than five hours sleep a night, you know? And parties or societies really aren't my thing, so I guess I have a bit more free time than most."
"Oh, mood. Too much noise and too many people for me."
"Exactly. I'd rather spend time with my family or at a cat café or something."
And what the actual fuck, Hitoshi has met the most perfect person in existence today, end of story. He can die happy now.
Or actually, no, he can't, because he needs their name and number first.
"Same. I'm living with my parents and little sister instead of dorms for pretty much those exact reasons."
"Lucky! But uni's too far from me and my Mum's apartment to really be commuting every day, so I just go home for weekends now. Unless I've gotten injured again, then sometimes I can't. Unless my Mum's boyfriend has time to come pick me up instead."
"That's rough buddy. Oh, wait, what's your name?" Wow, Hitoshi, real smooth transition there, such a good job-
"Whoops, sorry - I'm Midoriya Izuku! Hi! You?"
"Shinsou Hitoshi."
"Hi Shinsou, nice to meet you!" the bo- Midoriya chirps, turning around enough in the wheelchair to beam up at him again and offer his hand. Hitoshi pauses his pushing and, allowing a little crooked smile of his own to creep out, takes the hand (it's so soft, but there are calluses and holy cow what the fuck those scars are so gnarly but kinda cool and whatever made them must have hurt-) and if both of their grips linger a little longer than would be normal, then neither of them say a word.
But then the moment passes, and they both retract their hands with blushes (no, Hitoshi doesn't miss how the red flush makes the freckles look like strawberry seeds, particularly with the green hair too and how is it fair that the cute boy looks like his favourite fruit-) and Hitoshi just rolls them on, already by the large archway denoting the pharmacy area.
"So what are you here for?" Izuku asks, tone a little flustered, and then he seems to register his own words and his hands start flapping, but all Hitoshi can notice is the little glimpses of freckles and the neat-nailed but ink-stained fingers as they flutter through the air, some ringed with pale ridges,
"Sorry, that was really rude of me! My Mum always says I'm too curious for my own good and ohmigod you probably hate me now I'm so sorry-"
"Hey, Mido, it's fine. It's just for my sister's repeat prescription."
Okay, first Hitoshi, why did you just use a nickname right off the bat? Why, oh why, is he this dumb? What if Midoriya thinks he's presumptuous and rude or something and never wants to speak to him again? Second, why couldn't you offer something more interesting than that? Where's the mystery, the intrigue, the make this cute boy interested in you?
Honestly, sometimes Hitoshi despairs of himself. But, luckily, it only has the cute boy tilting his head back, against the wheelchair, and grinning with another bit of a blush. And hot damn, this angle is utterly adorable and Hitoshi can so easily imagine cuddling with Midoriya, the smaller boy's back pressed comfortably to his chest, wrapped up with blankets and cats and something they both like on TV.
"Shin?"
"I- what?" Hitoshi sputters, halting them both again as he gapes down at Midoriya. The greenette only smiles, impish and amused,
"Hey, you gave me a nickname, I reckon I'm entitled to do the same. So, Shin. You still alive up there?"
"Oh hush Mido. You want to go first or shall I?" Hitoshi offers, waving a hand at the counter that they're already near to. His new friend examines the empty area, one bored-looking girl at the counter,
"You'd better. I'll have a few things, knowing broken legs of any description."
"You're way too casual about that."
"Eh, I'm used to it. At least I'll still be able to make my class in the morning," Midoriya huffs, clearly relieved and a little exasperated with himself.
Hitoshi pauses, wondering if he's at risk of overstepping, but then decides it's a bit late for that and ploughs on ahead anyway,
"You gonna be alright getting to said class? Tomorrow morning's a free one for me, I'll have a few hours spare, and I'm more than happy to carry a bag or some books if it'll help." Maybe that's too desperate or overbearing or patronising or something, but it's worth the risk, right? And it'd be an excuse to get Midoriya's number which, well, would be pretty damn cool. And he's genuinely happy to help.
"I normally manage, but I wouldn't say no? I'm a pro at balancing on crutches by now, but Thursdays are always the day where I have too much stuff to actually fit in my bag, unless I want to spend my only time for lunch on going back to the dorms. I hate being hungry."
"Ugh, mood."
"Cool. Wanna join me for lunch too then, if you're free?" Holy shit, this smooth fucker. Why couldn't Hitoshi be this slick?
But then he looks down, and sees how Midoriya is wringing at his own hands, face ducked and ears aflame. He's not smooth at all, cheeky bastard.
"Unless it's two or after, I'll have class. But what about a coffee on Friday?" There, he could totally be smooth too. And no, Hitoshi's not blushing, obviously, he's got more sophistication than that.
"Y-yeh, that'd be good." And now they're both blushing messes and Hitoshi, awkward, strides over to the counter and shows Eri's prescription slip, pays with his Dad's card, and then steps aside as Midoriya wheels himself the last few metres and is handed a pair of crutches and a little bag of painkillers. He shoves the bag into his jacket pocket then shuffles himself to the edge of his wheelchair, Hitoshi quick to grab ahold of the handles again to keep it steady, then rests a supportive hand against the greenette's back as he swings to his feet.
It's only another ten minutes later when they part ways. But they're both smiling, another number saved in their phones and plans for tomorrow. This trip to the hospital may have actually been the best thing Hitoshi's done in forever, even better than his last A-grade project or his decision to go to the cat café twice in the last week.
He met the prettiest boy on the planet after all.