Chapter Text
The shop looks different in the daylight, when Shouto isn’t running away from his father in a blind panic after accidentally getting outed.
It’s small, a two-story shop nestled in between a bright record shop and a book shop. The shop front is tinted glass, and someone’s used some kind of marker to draw designs on each panel like a frame. He knows from Izuku and Bakugo that each person who works there has drawn on one window a piece. He recognizes the dark sky and the emerald green lightning striking down from above in Izuku’s comic style on the far left window, and Bakugo’s illustrative style in the spiky, bright explosions that frame the far right window.
The other two are a bit of a mystery to him. The window to the left side of the door has cats lounging in each corner, each one in the middle of a lazy stretch. The calico in the bottom right is playing with a ball of yellow yarn. The window to the right side of the door looks darker-toned, with black tentacles grasping out from the corners of the window, lined in a deep, heavy indigo. It makes him think of something horror-story inspired.
Shouto shifts from foot to foot nervously. He’s not sure if the owner will remember him; it’s been a few years since he was last here. He’s not even sure if he wants the owner to remember him. It was… somewhat embarrassing to have to hide in a shop from his own father, to rely on a stranger to save him.
It’s different now, though. He’d like to thank him properly. And he does actually want to buy something, even if he does only want the piercing because his older sister is trying to persuade him to show up to family dinners, and he knows a piercing or two will make his father uncomfortable.
He pulls out his phone, stepping aside so he’s not blocking the door.
Shouto stares at his phone for another second, indignation rising. He is not a coward. He shoves open the door, stalking inside. Bakugo is sitting at the front counter, brow raised.
“Wow, good work. You made it inside,” he says, clapping his hands together sarcastically.
He rolls his eyes. “Shut up.” Shouto heads up to the counter, leaning against it. He glances around. The shop is small, with two tattoo stations and two back rooms that he assumes are for piercings. “... Is the owner here?” he asks hesitantly.
“Nah. He’ll be in later. He’s next door right now. Why?” Bakugo narrows his eyes, frowning at him.
“Just wondering,” he says absently. “You have a piercer?” he asks.
“Yeah. Oi! Eyebags!” he shouts.
“Are you seriously shouting in front of customers?” a voice drawls from the back. A tall, lanky man comes out of the back, stretching his arms above his head, and Shouto’s mouth goes bone dry.
The man is taller than Shouto by a small margin, enough that he would have to tilt his head up to make eye contact. He’s all long, lean limbs, and his pale skin is marked in tattoos. His left arm has some kind of grim reaper, and his right has a myriad of small tattoos that Shouto doesn’t have time to see in detail before his attention is drawn to the exposed section of his stomach as he stretches.
His black shirt is tight and a little bit too short, so it rides up to just above his navel. His navel that has an amethyst gem pierced dangling from it. His hips are decorated with more ink, red flowers curving along the left side of his hip and down into the band of his jeans, mirroring a set of white flowers that do the same on the right side.
Shouto wonders vaguely how far down they go.
It takes a herculean effort to pull his eyes up from the man’s tight black jeans back to his face, and when he does, he almost turns around and leaves the shop entirely because his face just… isn’t fair.
There’s an inherent allure to his face, a strong jaw and sharp cheekbones, full lips that are pierced in two places on the lower lips with two black rings. His ears are pierced, too, with two intricate pieces that look like black dragons weaving through his ears. His hair is a darker purple, effortlessly messy and falling in all different directions.
His eyes are a pale lavender color, lined with a dark black liner, and he sees why Bakugo calls him “eyebags.” He does look exceedingly tired, with dark circles under his eyes. His eyes are focused directly on Shouto, one pierced eyebrow raised.
Shouto realizes he’s been staring for–probably way too long.
“Hello,” he says hoarsely.
Bakugo makes an exaggerated gagging noise. “I’m gonna go in the back to eat. You two figure yourselves out. Yell if someone wants ink.”
“Will do,” the man replies, not looking away from Shouto. He walks over to the front counter, his steps measured, even, and graceful in a way that almost looks like a prowl. “What are you here for?” he asks, cocking his head to the side. It gives Shouto a clear view of a lightning tattoo crackling down the side of his neck into his shirt collar. It looks like Izuku’s work.
Shouto swallows. “Piercing,” he says.
The man smirks, looking faintly amused. “Figured that much. I’m the piercer.” He leans on the counter. “Unless you’re letting me pick what holes I put in you, you should probably tell me what you want pierced,” he says.
He stares. “What would you recommend?” he asks, intrigued. “... Also, what’s your name?”
“Shinsou,” he introduces. He drums his fingers on the counter, eyes scanning over Shouto like he’s cataloging him. “Have you ever been pierced before?”
“No,” he says.
“Ah. Virgin,” he mumbles. “That changes what I’d recommend. Let’s see…”
“I’m… not sure what that has to do with it,” Shouto says slowly, his face heating up.
Shinsou blinks, eyes slightly wide. “Piercing virgin. As in you’ve never been pierced before,” he clarifies.
“Oh,” Shouto says, covering his mouth. “Right.”
Shinsou coughs, clearing his throat. “You can never go wrong with lobes; it’s a great starter, and you can always build on it later,” he says, tapping his own ears. “Easiest to get jewelry for, too.”
“Do I have to do both?” he asks, frowning.
“Nope. You can do one at a time, or just one. You can even do more than one in one lobe. I’ll only do up to two for your first, though, until you know how well you sit for them and heal piercings,” he explains, holding up two fingers.
Shouto hums, thinking. “I’ll do two in this lobe, then,” he says, pointing at his right, unscarred side. He likes to draw attention away from it, so if he can make that side look more interesting, all the better.
Shinsou nods. “Sure thing. For both, that’ll be 3,050 for the first and 2,050 for the second, so it’ll be 6,000 yen for both. Sound good?”
“Sounds fine,” he agrees.
“Alright, I’ll get you pierced, let you pick out whatever jewelry you want, then ring you out for everything at the end,” he says, gesturing him to the back room. “Bakugo! Watch the front!” he calls.
Bakugo slouches back out, settling into the chair at the front.
Shinsou grabs a few forms, leading him to the back room. The room is small and smells vaguely of antiseptic, but somehow still… comfortable. The wall has a few helpful diagrams of ears and labeled piercings, as well as some band posters. What draws his eyes, though, is a series of carefully lined up vintage-style posters of cats eating ramen.
They’re probably the cutest thing he’s ever seen.
He wants them, and he’s not entirely sure how to ask where Shinsou got them without his desperation showing through in a way that will make him seem completely uncool.
“... got all that?” Shinsou asks, setting the form down on the table next to him, and oh, god, he’s been talking for several minutes while Shouto was staring at the cat posters.
“Yes,” he answers, leaning over to look at the form, hoping it’s self-explanatory. Luckily, it seems to be; it’s just a general consent form that Shinsou is going to punch holes in him, which is the goal of the evening, really. He casts around for a pen, and Shinsou holds one out to him. He signs the bottom quickly, offering it back.
“... Your ID,” he adds, amused.
“Right. Yes, because you asked for that as well,” Shouto says, quickly grabbing his wallet. He pulls out his ID, handing it over.
“Nervous?” Shinsou asks, looking over the ID.
“No,” he answers.
“Todoroki, hm?”
… He’s nervous now. Listening to Shinsou’s deep, rasping voice curl around his last name definitely made him nervous.
“Yes,” he answers.
Shinsou offers his ID back. “Shouto is a nice first name,” he muses.
Okay, that’s fine. Hearing his last name was a lot, but hearing his first name is–it’s fine.
He’s fine.
Shouto is fine.
“Thank you,” he says.
Shinsou smirks. “You’re welcome,” he replies. He steps over to a tool box, pulling open a drawer to take out a small display tray. “Here’s the starter jewelry options for lobes. You can pick any color gem, or any of the metals in a stud or a ring,” he says, holding out the tray for Shouto to look at.
Shouto steps forward, squinting as he looks it over. He glances up at Shinsou’s piercings, at the black dragon that winds through his ear.
“What do you wear when you’re not wearing that?” he asks, tilting his head.
Shinsou grins. “I have a ton of pieces like this one. A stretching cat, a fox that curls around the curve of my ear, a snake, and a few other pieces. I made some of them, bought some of them.”
“You made some of them?” Shouto asks, brows raising.
“I do some metalwork and jewelry-making in my spare time,” he answers. “I make custom pieces on commission, if you’re ever interested.”
Shouto blinks, brain resetting briefly as he imagines the strong, long-fingered hands that are holding the display tray carefully twisting small pieces of an art piece together. “... I will keep that in mind,” he murmurs, looking over the pieces on the tray. He taps a blue sapphire-colored stud. “I’ll do one of these,” he says, then taps a white diamond-like stud, “and one of these.”
Shinsou smirks. “Not this one?” he asks playfully, pointing at an amethyst stud that reminds him of Shinsou’s navel ring, of his hair, of his eyes–
Shouto feels his face flame. “No, I think these two are fine,” he says, looking away.
His laugh is deep and throaty, a chuckle that only lasts a few seconds. Shouto wants to live in it. “I was kidding,” he clarifies. “Go on, sit down.”
He obediently sits down on the piercing chair, his legs hanging off the edge, back straight, staring at Shinsou expectantly. Shinsou smiles at him–smirks at him, really, but Shouto is starting to think that’s his version of a smile, a half-tilted thing that radiates mischief whether he feels it or not–and steps forward into his space, setting a hand on his chest to press him back into the slightly reclined chair.
All of the breath leaves his lungs as he relaxes into the chair.
“Better,” he says. “You looked tense.” He leans down, lifting Shouto’s legs by his ankles to set them in the chair. Shouto doesn’t have the wherewithal to stop him, just letting Shinsou manhandle him into whatever position he decides is best.
Shinsou hums under his breath, stepping over to the sink in the room to wash his hands. He dries them off, then grabs a pair of black vinyl gloves, pulling them on with practiced ease.
He steps back over to Shouto’s right side, opening a small drawer to pull out what looks like a few needles, a marker, and the jewelry he chose. He grabs the marker, uncaps it, and then reaches up with his right hand, gently taking Shouto’s chin. His hand is searingly hot. It feels like a brand on his face, and he hears his breath hitch slightly.
Shinsou smiles at him again, that little smirk, glancing from his chin up to his eyes, then back down again before guiding his head to the side. Shouto swallows, feeling his fingers gently tuck a lock of hair behind his ear.
“I’m going to go ahead and mark two guides, and then you’ll tell me if you like the position,” he murmurs, voice impossibly close. He gently tugs at his earlobe, rubbing some kind of alcohol swab across the area before marking two spots with the cool felt-tip of the marker, then hums under his breath. “Looks even.” Shouto feels a puff of air across the side of his cheek that he thinks might be Shinsou’s breath, and he feels a curl of heat in his stomach, writhing mercilessly.
He is not going to embarrass himself over a piercing.
“Take a look,” Shinsou says, leaning back, picking up a handheld mirror to show him.
Shouto looks over at Shinsou, meeting his gaze. His eyes are amused, that little smirk curling at the edge of his lips, the lip ring twisted slightly. The ring doesn’t quite connect, ending in two spikes that twist past each other over the swell of his lower lip. He wonders if it would be sharp in a kiss. If it would get in the way.
A pink tongue slips across his lips, pushing the ring slightly to the side in its path, before vanishing. “Do you think it looks good?” Shinsou asks, his voice slightly rough.
“Yes,” Shouto replies automatically.
Shinsou huffs a laugh. “You haven’t looked at the mirror yet, Todoroki,” he says.
He flicks his gaze to the mirror. His face is slightly flushed, a gentle pink across the top of his cheekbones. Odd. He feels like he’s burning alive; he’d think he would look more affected. Otherwise, he looks almost bored. He glances at his ear, at the two neat marks equidistant from each other.
“They look fine,” he replies.
“Alright. We’ll go ahead and do the piercing now, then,” Shinsou says. He strips the package off of a hollow needle that looks much thicker and longer than Shouto was expecting, and he feels a slight swoop in his stomach, eyeing it. Shinsou smiles slightly. “Yes, it does hurt a little, but it’s not as bad as it looks. I have a feeling you’ll take it just fine,” he says, voice laced with confidence.
Oh.
Shouto stares at him, heat crawling down his spine at his wording. He has a sudden desire to impress him, to do well, whatever that may look like. He nods, turning his head slightly so Shinsou can have access to his ear again.
“Thank you,” he murmurs, reaching out to steady his chin, tilting his head down slightly. “Alright, deep breath in for me.”
Shouto breathes in, filling his lungs. This close, he can smell something more than the antiseptic scent of the room; Shinsou smells like some combination of lavender and rosemary with something underneath, something spicy and something musky that his nose isn’t quite refined enough to understand.
“Deep breath out, now, Todoroki,” Shinsou says softly, lining up the needle.
Shouto exhales, and in one careful motion, he pierces the first one. It pinches, but it doesn’t hurt nearly as much as Shouto expects it to. Shinsou does something else, presumably fixing the stud in place, then leans back.
“Beautifully done. Would you like to look at it first, or do you want to go straight to the next one?” he asks.
“Straight to the next, please.” He would rather get them both done before he can think about it for too long.
“Very good,” he says with an approving little smile that does not make him feel warm all over.
Shinsou unwraps the next needle. “Deep breath in, Todoroki,” he says, flicking him a glance.
Shouto breathes in, focusing on his scent this time, focusing on the undertones of it. He thinks the spicy undertone might be clove; it reminds him of fall. The base tone is something woodsy, but he can’t quite place it. Cedar? He thinks it could be cedar.
“Out,” he says.
Shouto exhales, and Shinsou pierces the next hole. It hurts distinctly more; probably because it’s in the same lobe, or perhaps because he’s more focused on that part of his body. Either way, it’s definitely more pain than he expected after the first one. He closes his eyes, taking another slow breath to center himself while Shinsou finishes out the piercing. He doesn’t open his eyes, instead listening as he throws away the wrappers, as he takes off his gloves.
A warm hand gently grips his chin again. Shouto looks into his lavender eyes, blinking owlishly.
“There you are. Thought I’d lost you for a moment there,” he says, smiling slightly. “Feeling alright? Not dizzy or light-headed?”
He assesses, considering. “I’m fine,” he says. He’s felt worse before, plenty of times. Overall, the pain is minimal. It’s almost… reassuring, actually, because he’s fully in control of this pain, and it’s something that he’ll get something out of. He chose it, rather than having it chosen for him. He leans back slightly, feeling a pleased little smile curl at the edges of his lips.
Shinsou’s breath catches, and Shouto glances up at him, surprised to see his eyes focused on his lips. He controls his expression quickly, and Shinsou pulls his eyes back up, lifting a brow.
“Hm,” he murmurs under his breath, like he’s thinking about something. He turns around, grabbing something off of the shelf as he goes. “Come on, then. I’ll ring you out,” he says. He looks back over his shoulder, and Shouto has to drag his eyes up from the strip of skin exposed above the back of Shinsou’s jeans, the curling span of the back of his hip tattoos. The flowers extend to his back, disappearing into the waistband of his jeans here, too.
“Right,” Shouto says, standing up. He follows him obediently to the front of the shop.
Bakugo is leaning over someone in a chair, laying out a stencil, and doesn’t look up to acknowledge them.
Shinsou steps behind the counter, turning around to grab a bottle of a sprayable saline solution, setting it on the counter. “Do you have a saline solution similar to this at your house, Todoroki?” he asks, cocking his head.
“No,” he answers, looking it over.
“You’ll get this, too, then,” he says, clicking a few buttons on the register. “Wash your pillow cases often. Don’t use too much product in your hair, not that it looks like you do,” he says, his eyes following the length of his shaggy hair. He’s been growing it out lately. “Clean it with this solution and cotton swabs two times a day, three at most, with clean hands, and do not twist your piercings. Other than when you’re cleaning them, you won’t touch them,” he says flatly, eyes focused on his face. “Clear?”
Shouto swallows. “Crystal,” he says.
“Great. Your total is six thousand eight hundred n’ fifty yen,” he says.
Shouto quickly pulls out twelve one thousand yen bills, sliding them across the counter. “Keep the rest,” he mumbles.
Shinsou raises a brow. “Thanks,” he says, cashing out the extra to set aside in a tip box. Shouto quickly turns to leave, and Shinsou clears his throat, stopping him in his tracks.
“You’re not going to take my card?” he asks, amused.
Shouto turns back around, staring at him. “You have a card?” he asks vacantly.
Shinsou nods, tipping his head toward four sets of business cards. Bakugo, Izuku, Shinsou all have one, and the last one is for a Shouta Aizawa, who he assumes is the owner. He stares at them for a long moment. Shinsou leans over, plucking his purple card from the stand, flipping it over to the empty indigo back. He grabs a pen, scribbling a number on the space in the back, then slides it across the counter. “Here. My personal number. You’ll text me,” he says. It’s not a question.
Shouto nods, taking the card. He pulls out his phone, typing in the number immediately.
Shinsou’s lips split into a smirk as his phone makes a little meow noise in his back pocket.
“... I didn’t mean right this second. But I do appreciate enthusiasm,” he says with a throaty chuckle.
“Oh,” Shouto says, unable to tear his eyes away from Shinsou’s little smile, from the way he’s leaning against the counter, chin propped on his hand, his forearm flexed slightly in a way that draws his eye to the heart-shaped tattoo that looks like it’s filled with shattered glass.
The front door to the shop opens, and Shouto finally manages to tear his eyes away. He blinks, seeing the tall man with black hair that he originally came here for. He’s in the middle of twisting his hair back from his face, his strong arms patchily covered in various cat tattoos. He snaps an elastic into place, sighing. He looks over, gaze tired and bored as he looks over Shouto.
This must be Aizawa. Shouto’s memories of him are hazy, filled with panic from that night. He does remember the dark hair and the flat dark eyes, but Aizawa seems to have more tattoos.
Aizawa pauses, then his brow raises. “Huh. Didn’t expect to see you again,” he says, voice flat.
Shouto steps forward, immediately leaning forward into a formal bow. “I’m glad you remember. That makes this simpler,” he says quietly. “I wanted to thank you for what you did that day. I didn’t have the chance–” he starts
“Okay, stop,” Aizawa says, reaching out to grab his shoulder and push him back into a standing position. His other hand is at the back of his neck, and he looks distinctly awkward. “None of that.”
Shouto hesitates. “Should I have brought a gift?” he says uncertainly.
“Absolutely not,” he says, grimacing. “I didn’t–ugh. Look, it was just… a decent thing to do. I don’t need anything from you.”
Shouto shifts, looking away awkwardly. “Thank you, anyway, Aizawa,” he says quietly. “I know you don’t want the gratitude, but I’m inclined to provide it regardless.” He can’t leave without letting Aizawa know. “You saved my life that night,” he says softly.
Aizawa sighs heavily. “... Hate to hear that it was that bad,” he mumbles. “S’he out of your life for good, at least?”
Shouto looks away, shaking his head. “He’s… in it much less,” he murmurs. “And in more regulated ways. But no.”
He crosses his arms, nodding once, like he’s thinking. He flicks his gaze over to his ear, then over his shoulder. One brow raises at whatever he sees there. “... Shinsou got ahold of you, huh?” he asks.
His face warms. “Yes, sir,” he says quietly. Looking at him now, in the light of day, he doesn’t actually think that Aizawa is much older than he is, but he seems much more put together than Shouto feels, somehow more inherently adult.
Aizawa snorts. “Don’t call me that,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Especially where he can hear you.” He nods toward Shinsou.
Shouto tilts his head. “I don’t know what you mean,” he says.
He tilts his head back slightly, an odd grin splitting across his face. It makes him want to lean away. “I’m not gonna explain it if you don’t already know,” he says with a little snicker. “Ask Shinsou. Feel free to come back any time for other piercings though. Or if you need to hide out. Place is open for you.”
He inclines his head slightly. “Thank you. I appreciate it.”
“You might not,” he says with a little snort. “Go on,” he says, tilting his head toward the door. “See you later, I’m sure.”
Shouto steps outside, pulling out his phone as he goes. A text sits in his inbox, and he nearly fumbles his phone click over to it.