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Shouta stood staring at the frankly unreasonable selection of snack foods, already annoyed. He knew everything about Izuku; his favorite color, his favorite animal, his birthday, his friends, the name of every school he ever attended, his ring size for every finger . He knew it all by heart, he had it memorized, sorted alphabetically in his notes, written in a cipher based on Izuku’s childhood home’s address.
Now, in the grocery store Izuku frequented, two blocks away from his disgusting little apartment on their first official date (Shouta had wanted so desperately to invite the other man to dinner, to a movie, a play, something deserving . He knew better; he settled for a movie night on the man’s thrift store couch, after they both got off work), Shouta realized he’d made one critical oversight: he had no clue what snacks Izuku liked.
He knew what Izuku had in his pantry, of course, but he also knew that Izuku never bought snacks. He didn’t have the money for it; on the awful salary he received for his immaculate work as an analyst, he hardly made rent each month, and he rarely ate three meals a day. Snacks were pretty much only present in his home when there was some sort of function at his office, and since he was invariably forced to clean up after everyone else, he got to take home their paltry leftovers. That didn’t mean he preferred those foods. It was just all he had available. His Izuku, living off other people’s scraps. It made him angry. It made his blood boil, his face heating with a flush as he entertained the idea of picking off every one of his vile coworkers.
Shouta clenched his fists and was brought back to the present by the pop of the chip bag in his hands exploding. He looked down, his clothes now coated in crumbs and barbecue seasoning. He folded the open end of the bag carefully and set it at the bottom of his basket, to pay for and dispose of later. He scanned the aisle once more, considering this gap in his knowledge.
izuku liked crunchy foods; he always toasted his bread when he made sandwiches, and on the few occasions he bought himself treats, he always included some kind of candy bark. Ever since he was a child, he’d always been the type to crunch down on his lollipops. Shouta picked out two chip flavors, spicy pepper and plain salt, and then reached for a bag of chocolate-covered nuts as well.
Izuku had left him to the snack aisle while he picked out ice cream. Izuku did not have the money for both of these things; he’d insisted on paying anyway. As thanks, he’d said, for helping him with the police. Shouta didn’t consider it a favor; a quirkist police officer had tried to blame Izuku for getting attacked on the street, and almost arrested him for “disturbing the peace” before Shouta finally stepped in.
Izuku thought Shouta had simply made sure his report of the mugger’s appearance had been properly received. The mugger was never caught, nor was his body ever found, and the officer had been out of a job by the end of the week.
Shouta approached the freezer aisle silently, peering around the corner to watch Izuku scan the prices carefully. His expression was tight, and he was obviously worried about being embarrassed when his card inevitably declined. Shouta turned around and walked back to the snack aisle. He turned around once more and walked loudly, feet striking the ugly tile, and when he entered the freezer aisle again, Izuku turned toward him with a smile, holding two pints of ice cream.
“Eraserhead! I wasn’t sure which you’d like, do you have a preference?” Izuku held them both out, one of plain chocolate, the other a vanilla-raspberry swirl. Shouta smiled at him and reached past the other man to pull out a carton of high-quality lemon sorbet, Izuku’s favorite.
“How about this one?”
Izuku’s smile tightened slightly, but he just nodded, putting his own selections back. They walked side by side up to the register, and Shouta was careful to enter the queue first. By the time they were up front, Shouta already had his card out, and he stepped forward to pay before Izuku had a chance to object. He glanced over, smiling slightly.
“I know you wanted to pay,” he said in a placating tone, “but you’re the one hosting. It’s only fair.” Izuku’s shoulders sagged slightly in relief, and Shouta congratulated himself on a job well done.
They stepped out into the fading daylight, each holding one bag, and Izuku began to lead him to his apartment like he didn’t already know the way. They turned the first corner, and to Shouta’s further annoyance, they ran into one of Izuku’s aquaintances.
Ren Nariaki, a former coworker of Izuku’s. They recognized each other instantly, and the next second, Ren was right up in Izuku’s face, sneering up at him.
Ren Nariaki was a former coworker because he’d been so unbelievably foul to Izuku over his quirk status that even the company’s helpless HR department had to fire him. The company that put up with all manner of mistreatment at the very least had to draw the line at publicly issued death threats , if only to save face. It had temporarily relieved Izuku of workplace harassment, but Ren obviously considered his unemployment to be entirely Izuku’s fault.
This was not entirely fair to Izuku; Shouta was the one who kept making sure nowhere else would hire him. Not that he was going to loop Ren in on that little tidbit.
Ren was shockingly sober, waddling up to Izuku, huffing and puffing as he jabbed a finger into Izuku’s chest. This was not the first time this had happened; Ren lived only one block from Izuku, and they often crossed paths on one of Ren’s many daily trips to the store for junk food or alcohol. His threats and curses were inconsequential drivel that Shouta easily tuned out, and Izuku just stared blankly at some point behind the man’s head as he waited for the tirade to end. For someone so quick to put himself down, even Izuku seemed content to ignore this idiot’s poignant criticisms. Shouta let himself glance down just long enough to take note of Ren’s hand, his right pointer finger twisting up in the fabric of Izuku’s shirt.
Ren’s tangent today essentially boiled down to a lecture on all the ways Izuku deserved to die, which was honestly quite unimaginative, but Shouta supposed he shouldn’t expect much. He caught Izuku’s eye and glanced between him and Ren with his eyebrows raised, and watched in delight as the man pressed his lips together to keep from smiling. Ren apparently chose this moment to gain consciousness, like a toddler experiencing its first thought, and grabbed a handful of Izuku’s shirt.
“ Are you laughing at me, you fucking freak?!” In his anger, Ren had to stand up on his toes to get closer to Izuku’s face. Shouta snickered behind his hand, which prompted Izuku to break out into a grin, which made Ren angry enough to step back just far enough to bend nearly in half and shout at Izuku with all the force his sallow body could muster. His entire head was flushed bright red like a malformed cherry tomato, and Shouta clamped a hand entirely over his mouth. He let himself laugh, albeit silently, and he could see Izuku bite the inside of his own cheek as he squeezed his eyes shut.
The man eventually tired himself out, and by the time he turned with a huff to stalk back into the apartment building beside them, Shouta’s sides were aching with the effort it took not to burst out laughing. The moment the lobby door swung shut, Izuku gave in completely, clutching his stomach and giggling loudly.
Shouta planted a hand on the man’s shoulder, tugging him further up the street as Izuku laughed, the sound like sweet music.
“ He- Shouta, ohmygod- He was steaming ,” Izuku gritted out, gasping for air as he laughed. He certainly had been steaming; for someone so fixated on quirks, Ren Nariaki was equipped with an incredibly useless emitter quirk that could raise and lower his body temperature based on his emotions, but only within the range of about eight degrees Celsius.
Just enough for him to steam ever so slightly in the cool evening air, apparently. Shouta allowed himself a sincere chuckle; his control over his emotions was impeccable, but seeing Izuku so happy, even in such a frustrating situation, made him want to join in. As they approached Izuku’s apartment, they were walking arm in arm, Izuku regaling him with the story of how he and Ren first met, and how Ren embarrassed himself at a company function. Shouta knew all of it already, but it was funny all over again to hear it from Izuku, and they were both snickering as he fumbled for his apartment key.
In the light atmosphere they’d found themselves in, Izuku almost forgot to be embarrassed of his apartment. Almost. It was dingy, and small, with only a few, grimy windows that only barely opened, and a radiator that rattled so loudly, they wouldn’t be able to hear any of the movies if they kept it on. Shouta knew this. He didn’t care; they could spend the evening in a jail cell, and he’d enjoy every second if he was with Izuku.
The other man didn’t know this, and his laughter was strangled by his apologies as they passed through the pathetic foyer, into the sorry excuse for a living room. Izuku had a television, and it never worked, so they set their grocery bags on the creaking coffee table and Izuku sheepishly settled on the couch with his laptop. It was the nicest thing in the entire apartment, mainly because his company gave it to him when he was hired. It was the shittiest model they had in the office, and the nicest one Izuku had ever owned.
Shouta dropped himself onto the couch and leaned in to help Izuku pick out a movie, and soon they were smushed together, Izuku intently watching some old animated movie, Shouta intently watching Izuku. They picked up their snacks halfway through the second one; Izuku ate out of both chip flavors Shouta had picked, which he was grateful for, and managed to eat half of the ice cream on his own before he realized Shouta had only been tilting the carton toward himself to act like he was taking bites. Shouta liked lemon sorbet plenty, but he liked watching Izuku eat it more, and he said as much when Izuku asked why he hadn’t taken any.
The flush on his face was much nicer to see up close.
They watched movie after movie, well into the night. Neither of them had work tomorrow, so Shouta saw no harm in drawing Izuku into his side, letting the younger man rest his head on his shoulder. For months, he’d watched Izuku, carefully planning their chance encounters, learning about him, watching his incredible mind go unappreciated by everyone around him. He’d dreamed about this, about having him, and now he had it. Had Izuku.
Shouta wondered about making a joke about this, carrying Izuku to his bed on the first date. He knew Izuku was exhausted; the week had been hard on him, as it always was, and he laid him down gently. If the man woke up, he’d be mortified, falling asleep on the couch and forcing his guest to tuck him in.
Shouta brushed his curls off his forehead and sat beside his futon, basking in his presence, enjoying the feeling of a silent promise in the air.
Izuku would wake up to his laptop plugged into its charger, the snacks neatly put away in his barren pantry and refrigerator, and a friendly note explaining that Shouta would be back the next evening to pick him up, and would he please wear something comfortable, since they would just be having dinner at Shouta’s house.
Shouta walked home slowly that night, enjoying the evening breeze, making sure he wouldn’t have to take too strange of a route to his house to avoid passing Ren Nariaki’s apartment building. It would be covered in police tape by the time they made the drive back to Shouta’s, not that he would have anything to do with it.
Shouta smiled to himself, whistling a tune as he arrived home. Today was excellent; tomorrow would be even better.
Unless your name was Ren Nariaki, probably.