Archive of Our Own ^beta

“My arms are gonna fall off,” Kamiki whined, rolling her shoulders.

“Is that meant as an offense?” Seiji asked, clearly taking offense.

“I wish Sano would take it easy on us once in a while,” Kamiki said, ignoring him. “These back to back drills are killing me.”

“Aren’t we normally facing each other?” Camie asked airly.

Shiketsu’s second year hero course trudged in a haphazard line back to the dormitories in the din of night. The sun had long since gone down and the mandatory evening training that had been enforced had wrapped up for the night. Leaving in its wake a handful of groaning, beat up students. They shuffled on dragging footsteps, all aimed for their bedrooms where they could pass out and forget about their aches and pains until the next day.

“Quit your whinging,” Seiji spat. “You’re showcasing the Shiketsu hero course in an inferior light.”

“I just wish they were voluntary,” Kamiki kept whining.

“We work as a unit,” Mora said from behind them. “We all succeed or none of us succeed, thats how Shiketsu operates.”

“Stop making sense.” Kamiki threw back her head and wailed into the night.

“Oh back to back I get it,” Camie said.

“I wish you wouldn’t open your mouth,” Seiji said.

He ignored the way Mora glared at him, but could feel it all the same. It was followed with a quick tap to the back of his head as a warning.

Anyone else and Seiji would have a slew of choice words for them. He had gotten into the bad habit of following his class rep’s guidance and shut his trap.

It was later than it should have been when they made their way to the dormitory’s steps. Mora had insisted that as a class they all clean up together. If not he would have stayed behind, inciting guilt of a select few who would also stay behind, leaving anyone who would walk away rendered as a grade A jerk. Seiji often didn’t mind being seen that way, knowing that those beneath him would be envious of his position and would paint him as such.

He was always one of the few that volunteered to stay. Guilt free. Even if it meant passing out a few minutes later than intended.

It was only right.

Seiji was looking forward to a scalding hot shower where he could scrub every last inch of grime free of his skin. Especially from underneath his nails. His hair still stank of sweat and if he slept in it wet it would be a pain in the morning, but it was a price worth paying. His pillow was sorely calling his name and he knew he’d have to move quickly to get in the shower first. Before Mora. The class rep notoriously, and justifiably, took a long time.

A small piece of Seiji told him to give Mora that time. A quiet streak of respect outweighed the stubborn desire to keep his concession to himself. That a few more minutes of consciousness was worth the price of kindness directed towards Mora.

He could dawdle and pretend like it wasn’t.

“Mora!”

Half the class turned collectively, the rest ignoring the situation which didn’t concern them. Seiji sat in the former.

A girl, hair pulled back into a scruffy ponytail, came running up from the shadows. Long arms swung back and forth and a curled monkey tail swayed with every step. Machi was a first year in the support class that had been annoyingly hanging around her superiors, thinking she could speak so informally around the group that so thoroughly out classed her.

Well not the entire group.

It had sprung a few months ago when the class was on an outing, not necessarily planned as a group, but it so happened to come out that way. The first year support class was out on their own, a gaggle of girls that Seiji didn’t recognize out of uniform, nor did he care too, but they recognized the hero class. Machi recognized Mora. He was unmistakable.

She had commented on his shirt. Some painfully kiddie show Seiji had never heard of. But it was enough to spark a conversation between them and then Machi and her horde followed them around for the rest of the day.

Taking up Mora’s attention.

After that she had turned into a nuisance. Constantly buzzing around, constantly pestering and annoying. Always showing up with a smile and some other gossip from the media wells made for children. Mora encouraged it, reciprocating and actually engaging.

Seiji didn’t approve.

The sight of her that late at night outside of her dorm annoyed Seiji on a visceral level. There was no reason for her to be out so late, she wasn’t just happening by. She was running up to the hero dorm from a bench by the path, which meant she had been deliberately waiting. For how long, Seiji didn’t know, but given how late they had worked, it had probably been a while.

Machi seemed breathless and smiling as she trotted up to the group.

“Machi,” Mora said, turning to give her his full attention. “What are you doing out so late?”

The question of the hour.

Machi fidgeted. She was a full foot shorter than Mora and looked up at him with a sparkling, wide-eyed amazement. Words clung in the back of her throat as she looked up at him, smiling, and not coming up with something to say.

From the top of the stairs, holding the door open, Seiji sneered.

“I was wondering if you had a moment to talk?” she finally managed.

Mora paused. He looked over his shoulder, at the retreating class that slipped into the soft glow of the dorm. Seiji hoped his disapproving frown was apparent.

“Sure,” Mora said and Seiji’s frown deepened.

For all the respect Mora had earned, Seiji still could not fathom why Mora insisted on his immature interests. Even so much to chat about them so late at night.

Seiji turned into the dorm. If Mora was forfeiting the time Seiji was so graciously going to give him, he’d just have to hit the showers first.

____

Mora was late to class. In the two years since starting Shiketsu, Mora had always been the first in the classroom. There had been a time when Seiji struggled and put in the effort to beat the rep to his seat, but every time he entered, there was Mora, cleaning up and readying the room for the day’s lesson.

It was just one more thing to admire and Seiji had long since stopped considering it a competition. Especially when Mora made it seem so effortless.

But that morning, Mora was suspiciously absent.

It was made all the weirder when Camie walked in yawn first and Mora’s seat was still empty. He still came in before class started, not sheepish in the least, and as if nothing was out of the norm.

“Woah, hey rep, late night?” Camie asked, leaning over the back of her chair.

Mora paused at the door, giving her a blank look, before making his way to his seat.

“Good morning to you too, Camie,” he said.

She didn’t turn around, her eyes suspiciously on Mora, waiting intently on something and smiling in that vapid vacant way of hers. She wasn’t the only one. There were a handful of the class that were seemingly interested in Mora’s change of routine. Kamiki crossed the room and leaned against Mora’s desk. Even with the blank facade of her face, she still had a curious rapt expression to her body language that hinted at something Mora wasn’t sharing.

Mora spared her a glance but otherwise went about his business. He pulled out his class notebook and the economics text they were supposed to be reading, ignoring the increasing amount of eyes looking his way.

“If you engage in frivolous distractions, then you will continue to slack, Mora,” Seiji commented. “I didn’t think you’d be one to sleep in.”

Mora spared Seiji a look, brows raised high in amusement. He snorted once, the hair on his face fluttering, before turning back to his desk.

“I didn’t sleep in,” he commented.

Camie scooched her chair closer to hear more.

“Speaking of frivolous distractions,” Kamiki said. “Heard a cute little first year came by last night.”

“Machi,” Mora said simply. “She did.”

Seiji had a lot to disagree with that. The first year was hardly pleasing, with her unkempt hair and her gangly limbs. A near constant goofy smile and too large ears. She looked more like a puppet than a person. Little wonder her interests lay in cartoons and her motivations didn’t go beyond middling.

“So?” Camie asked.

Mora took a deep breath in. He rearranged his papers, tapping them neatly against the desk, not looking up at all. He almost seemed bashful, that under all those layers of hair there might be a blush.

“She confessed,” he said, soft and rumbling.

There was a swell from the classroom and more heads turned around. A quiet wave of interest that touched most of the class, some of which managed to mind their own business.

Seiji wanted to be one of those who couldn't care less, but he kept his eyes on Mora. A long moment of frustrated confusion passed, wondering what the intruding first year had confessed to, before he realized it was an admission of love. One of those soap opera dramatics that his sisters enjoyed that Seiji simply could not see the appeal for.

The rest of the class seemed to care.

Mora was far more in tune with these things than Seiji was. As class rep, as a leader, he was able to read people plainly. He had always been able to see through Seiji’s frustrations and work accordingly with and around them.

He would have handled Machi with ease.

“I hope you let her down easily,” Seiji remarked anyways.

Mora glanced out of the corner of his eye, giving Seiji the barest of regards.

“Actually. . .” he said.

Another raucous came from the class and Camie slapped her hands down on Mora’s desk. There was no mistaking the way Mora bowed his head. He was definitely blushing.

Seiji slowly, murderously, turned his head in abject shock. Never had he thought that Mora, his class rep, who had proven himself time and time again to be the most mature out of all of them, would stoop to such repugnant distracting indulgences that are high school romances.

“No way!” Camie said.

“I never would have thought, rep,” Kamiki said.

“How’d it go?” Camie asked.

Mora fidgeted. It was odd on him, his body far too big for the motions of picking dust from an already immaculate desk.

“She told me she liked me,” Mora said, quiet and sheepish. “And asked to have a relationship.”

“And you said yes?” Camie leaned on her elbows, cupping her chin in her hands.

“I didn’t see why not,” Mora said.

Kamiki’s head tilted to the side.

“Thats an odd way to phrase it,” she said. “Do you like her?”

“Well enough,” Mora said. “She’s nice. We get along.”

Kamiki tilted her head in the other direction, looking almost with pity down at Mora.

“Well if thats enough for you,” she said.

The drama of the moment was beginning to dissipate and the class was turning back to their own conversations, only a few still paying attention.

“I was walking Machi to her class,” Mora said. “Thats why I was late.”

“Oh my god thats so cute!” Camie squealed.

“Why?”

The word dropped from Seiji before he could think about it. His brows furrowed tight until a small ache pinched between them. He could feel the harsh downturn of his lips. Mora regarded him again.

“. . . because that's what you do,” he said as if it were obvious.

That didn’t seem like reason enough. To exchange all priorities and morals just because someone wanted him to. It didn’t seem right, not to Seiji. There was something slanted and off about the whole thing. Not just being late to class just because he had a girlfriend now.

The mere fact that Mora agreed to such an affair.

It was wrong.

A rebuttal explaining just that sat inexplicably on Seiji’s tongue and he took a breath in to let Mora know his immediate opinions, when their homeroom teacher entered. Mora’s attention snapped to the front again, gone from anything Seiji had to say.

Seiji spared Mora one last frown and settled into stewing in his own thoughts.

_____

Mora didn't join them for lunch.

Seiji stood amid the cafeteria swirl, the ebb and flow of students getting food, finding friends, sitting down. He gripped the edges of his tray and stared through the large floor to ceiling windows that displayed a quaint outdoor courtyard. It was manicured in the most utilitarian way possible. Devoid of flowers with strict rigid walking paths and a few scattered trees.

Machi led Mora down one of the concrete paths, into the shade of an older oak.

Seiji's fingernails dug into the plastic.

"You coming?"

Seiji whipped his head to see Camie waiting on him. She had lagged behind from the rest of the class and stared expectantly at her stalled classmate.

"Or you could just stand there like a loser," she said with a small smile.

Seiji scowled, but he moved. He marched past Camie, his tray clutched close to his chest.

"What? No come back?" she asked with bubbling laughter.

"I am not a loser!" Seiji snapped.

"You keep telling yourself that," Kamiki said.

Seiji disregarded them all and took a seat at the far end of the table.

Most of their class ate together, give or take a few students who had gone off to do their own thing or had extra curriculars they wanted to finish. It was an effort that had been first initiated from their class rep. Shiketsu put a precedence on collaboration, working as a unit. The team over the individual. Seiji was fully intent on focusing on himself and only himself, on his priorities and morals that more than definitely clashed with the group, but he'd been invited. Mora had insisted, politely, but still an insistence. Seiji has no real reason to turn down a social fostering of their supposed team and eating with his classmates had soon become routine.

He hadn't anticipated that the founder would turn out to be such a hypocrite.

"Can they give us a break with the exams already?" Kamiki complained. "We have enough to do as it is."

"You whine too much," someone else said.

"Did you hear about the new physics teacher?" someone said down the table. "I heard they were a ranking hero, top 20, but were disgraced for some scandal."

"Hey, can I borrow that book you mentioned before?"

"Do you remember what our homework was supposed to be?"

It all washed over Seiji in a cacophony of white noise, voices blurred together in innocuous conversation. Idle blather that meant nothing and wasn't worth his attention.

His focus had become singular. Almost obsessive.

Seiji watched as Machi took Mora by the hand and led him off the path. They walked over the grass, trampling it in a blatant disregard for the order and flow of the walk ways. Machi's skirt flared as she whumped to the ground, seating herself among the roots of the tree. She pat the ground next to herself, smiling up at Mora expectantly. Dutifully, he sat at her side in the dirt.

Seiji's fist tightened around his spoon.

They weren't exactly sitting side by side, not exactly across from each other, but somewhere in between. Mora balanced his tray on his knee while Machi, predictably, left hers on the ground where insects could get at her food. She talked a mile a minute, her mouth constantly moving, and Seiji wondered bitterly if she was even letting Mora get a word in edgewise. From the way she stopped, cocked her head, paused with rapt attention, she must have, but Seiji ignored those moments.

Machi said something and she burst out laughing at her own joke. Seiji could practically hear her braying, even through the glass, even over the din of the cafeteria. Whatever banal nonsense she had to say couldn't have been that funny.

But Mora bowed his head. His shoulders shook with obvious giggles. He placed a hand over where his mouth would be.

Seiji ground the butt of his spoon into the tabletop and felt the metal bend.

Machi seemed to remember the sole purpose of the hour and finally focused on her bug laden lunch. She sat side saddle, one hand resting on the earth, and took a bite of her food. Her eyes perked up and she turned to Mora. She tapped him on the shoulder to gain his attention, which hadn't strayed far.

Far away from his class though. From his duties and responsibilities. From the people who needed him.

Machi tucked her feet under her, scooped up another spoonful of whatever glop they fed the support students, and held it out towards Mora. She cupped her hand under the spoon to catch any stray liquids.

Seiji scoffed in disapproval.

Mora was stringent on what he ate, given his quirk. Every part of his diet was balanced, as any meal for the hero hopefuls were. He ate dry food that didn't flake or anything that could be consumed through a straw. Cleanliness was a priority to Mora and he kept his mane as tangle and mess free as he possibly could. Seiji had taken careful note of those particular habits. There was no way he'd eat a lesser meal of such consistency off another person's germ filled double dipping spoon.

Mora leaned forward and the spoon disappeared past his hair.

Seiji's eyes widened. His spoon bent.

Naturally, the mess left residue on Mora's face and Machi was quick to rudely point it out. Mora, stalwart as always, didn't bother to seem embarrassed and went for a napkin. Machi was quicker on the draw, leaning forward once again to pat the mess away.

She smiled soft and sweet.

"I don't know what he sees in her," Seiji said.

Next to him, Kamiki and Camie's interrupted conversation cut short. Kamiki leaned forward to see around Seiji at what had captured his rapt attention. Camie leaned forward on her elbows.

"You need a hobby," she said.

_____

Seiji didn’t want to be there. Anywhere else would have been better. Chained upside down getting bled out in a slaughterhouse, maybe. Admitting to his father that he had failed the provincial license exam.

Anywhere.

He had been conned by camaraderie and habit to follow Camie to the local shopping mall. Not that he needed anything, but it had turned into a weekend ritual. Getting out of his dorm to stretch his legs and step away from his studies for an hour or two. Bond with his so-called team and the heroes he would probably be working with in the future. He had to admit, it did have its benefits.

Why would he need to bond with a support student?

Machi had tagged along with the second year class. Yes, Inasa had become a mainstay on those little outings, but he was skilled enough to mingle with his superiors. Machi hadn’t earned that right. She had leeched on, hanging in their wake by Mora’s arm.

Seiji lagged behind the group, standing once again alone in a crowd, glaring at the parasite that had infested his social sphere.

She hung off her boyfriend. A hand on his arm, slipping hers into his, too close. Showing off their supposed relationship in a disgusting display. This imposter first year milled among Seiji’s friends that he had worked so hard to foster, like it was effortless. Like it wasn’t hard.

She occupied the space Seiji had struggled to find.

He stormed to catch up to the crowd.

He didn’t want to be there.

Camie was busy pointing out the latest overpriced fashion displayed in the window. Kamiki couldn’t care less, but she looked anyways. Inasa had disappeared and reappeared with Endeavour merch, catching up on the fandom he had dropped and picked up again, the number one hero bigger than ever.

Seiji was focused on the back of Machi’s head, storming without thinking towards her.

Something caught her eye. She perked up, her whole body jolting, and a wide grin dawning on her face. She grabbed Mora by the arm, snatched him, and dragged him over to what had gained her attention. Mora clearly stumbled to keep up, ripped forcibly of his own path.

Seiji power walked through the crowd to see what it was that enamored her so.

It was a children’s store. Brightly colored toys adorned the window with boxes of puzzles and games made for three year olds. Machi practically pressed her face against the glass, pointing out a plush from the science fiction series that Mora was obsessed with. A mass manufactured thing with bulbous eyes and matted fur.

“Cute,” she cooed.

“Cheap garbage,” Seiji commented.

Mora whipped his head to glare at him.

“Shishikura,” he chastised as a warning.

It was the first time Mora had looked at him all trip and even under the angered circumstances, a small trill of victory palpated Seiji’s heart.

“It is a little,” Machi laughed. She tapped the glass again. “I can already see the seam coming undone.”

“Did you want it?” Mora asked, turning his back on Seiji.

Seiji glared up at Mora. There was no conceivable reason to even entertain the idea of wasting money on such trash. Machi even agreed.

Seiji opened up his mouth to make a completely justified and compelling argument when Machi cut him off.

“No,” she laughed. “I got one just like it back in my room. Unless you want it.”

Seiji’s head jerked back to Mora. He paused. He was actually considering it! That was somehow worse, that he would put this garbage on display in his room just because she bought it for him.

Mora pondered the toy for a moment then looked down at the intruder.

“I’m alright, thank you,” he said. “You should save your money.”

Seiji breathed a sigh of relief and it came out in a huff, fluttering his bangs. Content with his answer, Machi lead Mora away from the display, heading happily back to the group, and leaving a completely disregarded Seiji behind. He curled his hands into fists, glaring at them, before rushing to catch up.

Seiji managed to stay within his little school of fish, keeping in the middle between his classmates and arguably friends. His vision could have bored holes through the back of Mora’s head and he watched the class rep shiver a little at the subconscious awareness of the attention.

They were headed on their way back to the dorms shortly before dinner, having wasted the entirety of the afternoon. A frivolous experience that did nothing for Seiji’s betterment and only infuriated him. He was fully intent on marching to his room and spending the rest of the evening hiding there, wanting nothing more than to speed away from the group, but Machi had some how enraptured them.

“And we have a very specific course that focuses solely on hero statistics,” she was explaining. “What sort of things make a popular hero versus a more obscure one. How to exploit those traits and boost more heroes up.”

“Geez,” Camie said. “That makes it all sound like a game.”

“It kind of is,” Machi kept going. “Its never about whether a hero is good or bad at their job but instead what their optics are. Like the more human a hero looks, the better they are to do in the ranks. Sorry Nagamasa.”

She smiled pitifully up at him, standing stalwart at her side.

“Thats alright,” he said.

“Thats ridiculous.”

Eyes went to Seiji, skulking in the back, a permanent frown etched on to his face. Machi’s smile dropped at an her confused expression, Seiji found his opening.

“What you are insinuating here is that the performance of a hero does not matter and what instead matters is a series of machinations that have nothing to do with hero work dictates whether they get accommodations or not?” he spat.

“Thats not what I–” Machi started to say.

“It ridiculous and frankly insulting to all the hard work and diligence heroes put into upholding society,” Seiji said with a sneer. “There is absolutely no point other than to misconstrue and restrain the back bone of what feeds you support people in the first place.”

Seiji could see an almost comical frown come over Machi’s hurt face, but more importantly, the way Mora bristled. His shoulders tensed and he was seconds from coming to his girlfriend’s defense.

Good. Seiji wanted that confrontation. To have Mora finally notice him and everything he was pointing out. That she was wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. And that Mora was wrong for having chosen her.

It never came to a head.

Kamiki threw a heavy arm over his shoulder, practically driving Seiji into the earth and dragging him uncomfortably against her body.

“Oh don’t listen to him,” she said. “Shishikura is just like that.”

Seiji’s fingers bent into claws and he had every murderous intention to go off on his classmate.

“You get used to it,” Mora said.

A lance of utter betrayal struck through Seiji. He stared wide eyed and offended up at Mora, who had calmed down. The chilled cool of his eyes, the class rep that he was, spared Seiji a long look before turning forward again. Machi was sated, giving Seiji a smile, and stepping into time with Mora’s long stride.

Seiji didn’t want her to get used to him.

He didn’t want her around long enough for that.

_____

Order had been disrupted. Classes were the same, training was the same, the status quo was all the same, but everything was wrong. The carefully constructed life that Seiji had built around himself was skewed. One little detail added to his perfect balance threw the whole ecosystem out of whack.

Because of her.

Training had been exactly as it was, as it had always been. Grueling, punishing, but rewarding all the same. Pushing the class to its very limits which would pale in a fraction to the real world. On grudging, bruised bodies, they cleaned up the area after Sano had long since left.

And like every night, Machi waited outside the grounds for Mora.

It was past lights out. Seiji sat in the common room, in the dark, still dressed in his athletic uniform, still stinking of grime and sweat. He was practically burrowed into the couch cushions, arms harshly folded across his chest, staring across the room to the dormitory entrance.

Waiting.

Seiji couldn’t quite explain it, his fixation with hating this first year. The twisting pit in his stomach when he saw her smiling face intruding into spaces that didn’t belong to her. It spurred an irrational sort of irritability in Seiji that he hadn’t felt since the provincial license exam, putting her on the same level as those ego driven UA kids.

Seiji drummed his fingers on his arm, staring at the door, and came to the conclusion that it wasn’t Machi that he had a problem with.

It was Mora.

She may have burst into their little bubble with wrecking ball like efficiency but it was Mora who had agreed to the whole thing. Who had bucked against what he was supposed to, who was dragging his own and the hero course’s reputation through the mud. It wasn’t ire at Machi that Seiji felt but at Mora’s bad choices.

The wood in the door creaked as it was moved and Mora was backlit by the pathway lights outside. He wasn’t particularly upbeat or downtrodden, simply normal and typical Mora as he always was. No less different than he had been just a week ago.

He close the door quietly and went to walk up the stairs. At the sight of Seiji, he jolted in place, sucking in a harsh breath of air and clutching his chest.

“Shit,” he whispered. “Shishikura. What are you doing?”

Seiji drummed his fingers again.

“Questioning your poor decision making,” he said flatly.

Mora’s arm dropped limp at his side. He gave Seiji a flat glare.

“I don’t have time for this,” he said.

“But you have time for that?” Seiji said, jerking his head to the door.

“You should be in bed, Shishikura.”

“So should you.”

That got Mora to stop. To turn. To finally look at Seiji with all the intent to hear him out. And regardless of how it was going to be taken in, Seiji was glad to finally have his full attention.

“What is your problem?” he asked.

"My problem," Seiji said, rising to his feet. "Is that I find it distasteful to watch you make a complete fool of yourself."

"Excuse me?" Mora rumbled. Even in the dark, Seiji could see the furrowed pinch of his brow.

"You're completely demeaning your station, as an upper classman, as a class representative, as a licensed hero," Seiji said. "By associating yourself with such. . . lesser quality."

"Lesser quality!?" Mora's voice cracked. It almost sounded like a laugh.

"You think so yourself, it's apparent," Seiji said. "You've no respect for yourself and frankly I've lost all respect for you."

Mora seemed taken aback by that. He physically recoiled, a slight tilt, a small jolt, but there none the less. His eyes widened enough that Seiji could see both of them.

"It's shameful," Seiji spat. "Cavorting around with a underclassman as you are."

"Shishikura," Mora said as a warning, low and dark.

"You said as much," Seiji said, fluttering his hand in Mora's direction. "You 'didn't see why not' or agreed to this arrangement just because she's 'nice.'" Seiji spoke with heavy air quotes, his fingers jerking sharply with every word. "Did you just say yes because 'that's what you're supposed to do?'"

Mora stalked closer. Seiji could hear the shift of hair, see his large silhouette grow and move in the dark. Seiji could hear his own heart thudding molten hot in his ears, he could hear the little voice in the back of his mind that told him to back down. The one he often ignored.

"And you know I'm right." Seiji plowed ahead. "You have no argument, because you know I'm right. You let her control your schedule, drag you from place to place, because you have no impetus, no opinion on this farce of a relationship you've created."

Mora's shadow blotted out the rest of the light, or it could have been the blinders brought on by Seiji's self righteousness.

"Tell me I'm wrong," Seiji said.

Mora said nothing. He stood on the other side of the couch, stock still save for the slithering whips of hair.

Seiji breathed in deep and slow and he stood up a little straighter.

"She's not good enough for you."

Seiji felt the hit before he could see it. What felt like a brick wall smacking him hard across the face. Hair that soft had no right hitting that hard. A strong swipe that caught Seiji off guard and sent him reeling a few steps. Seiji found his balance, hand on his cheek, and stared, struck and offended.

There was something raw and animalistic in the blow. From Mora's wide eyes, Seiji could see he was just as surprised that he threw it. A crystalline moment where neither of them breathed, empty of thought in the aftermath of a pure visceral reaction.

Seiji moved first.

He had no words, nothing to say, just the same primal need to retaliate that Mora had given him. He scrambled over the back of the couch and lunged at Mora, no real rhythm or form, just scrappy flailing with the intent to hit. He managed to push Mora, send him backwards, and just kept coming. Mora regained the upper hand and shoved Seiji back, but it wasn't enough to stop the raw adrenaline.

They clumsily scuffled, exchanging haphazard graceless blows. Unbecoming grunts of exertion filled the quiet space. Seiji was shoved into a side table and a lamp was knocked to the floor. He could hear voices of other students come to see what the commotion was.

They didn't matter.

Mora shouted, a bellowing sound meant to intimidate. It worked. He shoved his whole weight into Seiji and knocked him to the ground. The wind was knocked from Seiji and the world went dark as Mora dropped to his knees, braced himself, and drew his arm back. Seiji screeched and it was cut off by a sucker punch to the eye.

Seiji's head lolled. He couldn't quite remember what they were fighting about, but the engagement was enough. The anger and blind rage that connected them in that moment. A frequency that they were both tuned into. It wasn't punishment or defense.

It just was.

He blinked up at Mora, arm pulling back to hit again, face skewed into an out of control expression that Seiji had never seen on him. A dramatic emotion that only Seiji could draw out.

Seiji moved on pure instinct. A protective measure he'd had since he was little. His arm bubbled and dissolved and rose from his body. Mora was too close to react in time as an oversized finger gently molded him. His great body disappearing between the folds and rounding off into a neat lump of hair and flesh.

Seiji lay on his back, staring at the empty void where Mora had just been, and heard the dull thud of a meatball hitting the ground. His chest puffed, trying to catch his breath.

Logic and reason slowly built as they came back to his forebrain. The murmurs of the gathering crowd, the painful swell that began to set into his eye, the familiar sensation of his literal phantom limb. Reality came crashing in.

Not wanting to face what he'd done, Seiji scrambled to his feet, stumbling on all fours as socked feet slid across the floor. He dashed up the stairs, pushing past his classmates and ignoring their questions. He let go of his grip on Mora, his mind far too reeling to focus, and sprinted to his bedroom door.

"Shishikura!" Mora shouted behind him.

Seiji ran into his room and slammed the door.

_____

No one told. Seiji wasn’t sure why, maybe they were waiting on Mora or himself to say something, but they didn’t. Maybe there was a quiet agreement among everyone who saw that night that the squabble that it wasn’t their place to share. Maybe it was none of their business.

Mora didn’t tell. Seiji couldn’t figure that one out. It went against everything he knew about Mora. Mora was responsible, he owned up to his mistakes. He wouldn’t shy away from admitting to wrongdoing just because he might get in trouble.

So when their homeroom teacher asked Seiji how he got his black eye, he looked to Mora in question, wondering why he hadn’t said anything.

Seiji said it had come from late night trainings.

His eye was swollen and puffy and had sealed up. It was a shiny shade of purpled black. But it healed quick enough, not worth wasting a quirk to bring him back to normal.

A small part of him wanted to wear it. So Mora would have to see it. And remember what he’d done. It was petty, Seiji knew that much, but every time he saw Mora look over, a small concession of victory trilled in the back of his mind.

It was still hollow.

No one asked what the fight was about. At least no one asked Seiji. They just accepted that there had been a falling out between Seiji and his class rep and that they were avoiding each other for the time being.

Mora ate with Machi. It was easy to avoid him.

Seiji was hunched over his desk, the modern history of hero structure open before him, and he wasn’t absorbing a single word. He stared down at the text through one good eye and the blurry slit his healing one allowed him. The words were an incomprehensible smudge.

All he could see was the enraged expression Mora had worn.

Even in their most difficult of tasks, Mora was always a steady calm. Disappointed, exerting effort and strength, all of that was normal for him, but never that level of anger. Seiji felt a hollow sadness in his chest from it, but it wasn’t what rose to the surface.

Seiji couldn’t place the feeling. A perverse sense of pride. That out of everything that had been thrown at Mora it was him, telling the truth to his face, that got Mora to react so savagely.

Seiji closed the book, giving up on his studies. He rose to his feet, deciding what he needed was a stretch. Mindless exercise where he didn’t need to think.

He knew he wouldn’t be able to shut off his brain.

Seiji shuffled through the hallways of the dorm, head tilted down, taking in the way the carpet fibers hadn’t been vacuumed in the same direction. He heard footsteps coming, stood a little straighter, pretended for just a moment to be himself, until the duo of girls walked past him. They didn’t look his way, but he still had his image to uphold.

He found his way to the roof and was glad it was empty. The breeze felt good on his skin and the quiet chatter far away was enough. He shuffled across the concrete, only vaguely aware that he hadn’t put any shoes on. He leaned against the fence, pressing his head to the chainlink and looping his fingers through the holes. It rattled, shuddering a tinny song before settling again.

Shiketsu students milled about. A sparse crowd going from building to building. First year hero students leaving the training grounds, a group of three heading towards the infirmary, their injured friend hobbling along between the other two, arms wrapped around their shoulders. The girls that had been walking in the dorm stepped out, still speaking animatedly, and headed towards the library. A lone student meandered towards the cafeteria and picked up speed when they caught sight of their friends.

Seiji watched it all happen and felt the same detached indepence he had when he was in primary school. Before he had to work as a team.

He wasn’t going to call it loneliness.

At the school entrance, just beyond the fence that surrounded the campus, Seiji saw a familiar figure walk through the gate. Mora came in from the outside world. Machi at his side. Dressed in civilian clothes and no doubt coming in from a date.

Seiji’s fingers tightened around the chainlink.

“What a disgusting display,” he grumbled half heartedly.

He had come to the self aware conclusion that what he was feeling was irrational. The anger and ire that he had directed towards Machi was unwarranted. Well. Partially unwarranted.

Seiji couldn’t get around the pure and solid fact that she was lesser, inferior to him. To them. The more he dwelled on it, the more it stewed within him, that she was bad. That all her flaws needed to be highlighted. That she needed to be dropped down a peg, put in her place.

It wouldn’t do any good in any direction. Mora wasn’t going to break up with her. She wasn’t going to stop hanging around and being a nuisance. Briefly, Seiji wondered if Mora told her what had happened. He didn’t want that. He didn’t want Machi knowing anything about him.

She needed to be bad. For Seiji’s own peace of mind. For no reason other than that.

Seiji watched them as they walked towards the dorms, unaware of their audience. Mora stepped away to head inside, but Machi caught him by the sleeve. She tugged on it, saying something, reminding him of something, and ran into him.

And suddenly Seiji understood.

Machi wrapped her lanky arms around Mora’s body, long enough to circle around his girth and squeeze tight. She pressed the side of her face against his chest, wearing a broad smile, her cheek smooshed from the force of the hug. Mora listed back from the impact and slowly reciprocated. He raised his arms and let them rest on her back, encircling her into a ring of comfort.

And Seiji got it. He knew what he felt. The ugly twisting pain in the pit of his stomach, the physical reaction at the mere sight of her. His disgust and disdain for this person who clearly did and did not deserve it.

It was envy.

Seiji wanted what Machi had.

He wanted to be held like that. He wanted to be treated special, like he was unique and better and meant something. He wanted his own hand to be encapsulated, to hide in a broad chest where he couldn’t be seen. He wanted secrets and to make someone laugh and to have conversations no one else had. He wanted the alone time. He wanted the attention.

He wanted all that. From Mora.

Seiji’s fingers dug into the metal of the fence. They shook, shuddering the fence again. His eyes strained against the injury, wide and dry, and a shock of cold ran through his blood.

He stared down at Mora, no longer seeing the girl in his arms. He had grown so used to Mora’s attention, Mora speaking to him, standing at Mora’s side, that he hadn’t realized how comfortable he had gotten. How the respect he felt, how he looked up to Mora as a figure to not disappoint, how it had come not just from a place as his peer but from some place deeper.

Machi stepped back out of Mora’s arms and took him by the wrists. She guided his hands to her cheeks, having Mora hold her face like he was supposed to.

It should have been Seiji. He should have been the one that Mora held, the one that Mora looked at. He should have been the one Mora was supposed to do all those things for.

It should have been him.

It wasn’t fair.

Seiji stepped back from the fence. His hand was still clawed in the air. He was shaking. Trying to acclimate to the onslaught of feelings he was under. How he hadn’t recognized the one thing he wanted until it was taken away from him.

Seiji looked down at his feet, his skin cold on the concrete of the roof. He tried to work on automatic, to remember his limbs, but it felt as if they had all detached and dissipated into a cloud of so much flesh. Stiffly, he made his way back to the door, down the stairwell, back to the dorm room floor. At the base, he was hit with a thought, a memory of Mora, amused at some observation Seiji had made and pleased with him.

Seiji groaned and brought his fists to his eyes. He leaned against the wall, hating the realizations that were coming at him one at a time.

Behind closed eyes, he saw Mora’s face again. Enraged and focused only on Seiji, his fist pulled back.

Seiji slid down the wall and pressed his hands tighter. He pulled his knees up, whining petulantly, little noises he didn’t quite have control over. The more he pressed, the more he felt the strange warm relief of pain as he pushed his bruise.

It was too much to ask, to reconcile these new feelings. The same ones that had laid dormant for who knows how long. That he yearned. That he wanted. That it was all for Mora.

And that he couldn’t have him.

“Shishikura?”

Seiji’s head whipped up at the voice, instantly knowing who it was. That same lance of icy chill shot through him, a shock up his spine, igniting his fight or flight response. Mora stood in the hallway, in his casual clothes making him seem more human, more tangible somehow. Concern was obvious, even from behind layers of hair.

Seeing Seiji, pathetic and crumpled, at the base of the stairs. At his lowest point.

“Are you okay?” Mora asked.

No.

Seiji didn’t have an answer for him. He instead scrambled to his feet and dashed in the opposite direction as fast as he possibly could. Before Mora could catch him or call out for him or say anything at all. Before he could notice and recognize the exact same things Seiji had. He practically tripped down the hall, finding his bedroom, where he could hide but wasn’t quite safe.

He locked his door and scrambled up onto his bed, backing as far into the corner as he possibly could and making himself small.

He stared at the door and the world on the other side.

_____

Mora was seated with the underclassman. He sat at a table with Machi and her classmates, looking large and out of place. A clear head taller and squeezed between significantly smaller first years. A clearly awkward setting for him, but as always, he looked unperturbed about his situation. Calmly accepting where he was at all times like he was meant to be there.

Seiji watched. He couldn’t help it.

Ever since his little revelation, Seiji had been oscillating between two modes: trying his best not to look at Mora and blatantly staring. It hurt to look at him. It hurt not to.

Seiji had begun to pick up on things. Little details that he already knew. The way Mora cocked his head when he was contemplating something. The way he fidgeted with hair that tucked under his collar. The sheer amount of exertion he exhibited when extending his hair. The cool calm after he drew it back again. Like waves crashing on the beach and retreating back into still waters.

The warmth radiation off his body when Seiji stood near. How much bigger he was than Seiji. The blue in his eyes when they made eye contact.

All of it Seiji had taken careful consideration of before, but he now understood why.

He slowly turned his eyes to the ground, feeling like a deflated version of himself. He didn’t want to be seen that way. Like some kicked dog to be pitied. He glanced quickly to where the rest of his class sat and knew he’d spend the lunch hour staring at Mora if he sat there. He turned to find some place quiet to eat, glancing up one more time.

Mora had noticed him.

Seiji whirled around, managing to catch Mora rising out of his seat, before he focused just ahead. He felt his face heat from being caught, his fingers tight around his tray in embarrassment and frustration. He stomped away as quickly as he could, all but bursting through the cafeteria doors into the empty hallway.

The doors didn’t shut behind him.

“Shishikura,” Mora said.

Seiji kept walking.

“Shishikura, wait.”

Seiji stopped. Feet coming to a crawl before he calmly set one down next to the other. Head still tilted downwards, grip still tight around his tray, shoulders hiked high. He was so used to doing as Mora said, following his lead, it was effortless to do it again.

But he didn’t turn around. It hurt too much to look.

He stood in silence and waited, feeling Mora’s presence behind him.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “For hitting you.”

Seiji’s jaw clenched and he ground his teeth, his mouth pressed into a fine line. He could feel every muscle in his body tense up, constrict and curl in petulant irritation.

He didn’t want to hear Mora’s soft spoken apology, his steady calm and control over every situation. Over Seiji. He didn’t want Mora to be reaching out to mend some bridge. Not when Seiji was so tumultuous, so duplicitous, so unworthy of that friendship.

Mora was quiet, clearly waiting. Waiting for forgiveness from Seiji, which he did. Or a reciprocated apology for the things he said, which Seiji wasn’t sure he was sorry for. Or for Seiji to just turn around.

“Shishikura,” Mora said, shuffling a step closer, trying to coax some kind of reaction.

“I have nothing to say to you,” Seiji said.

He didn’t want to look. He couldn’t help it.

He glanced briefly over his shoulder and saw the way Mora’s shoulders slumped. A clear disappointment. He still stood, still waiting on Seiji.

Seiji instead walked away to find some miserable place to hide. Leaving Mora alone in the hall.

_____

Seiji ostracized himself. The importance and priorities of Shiketsu went unheeded. The camaraderie that had been built up over time, the way Seiji had integrated himself with his peers, gone. His avoidance of Mora had become far more important.

He stopped eating with them. He stopped going out with them. He didn’t collaborate in class unless he had to. He trained by himself as much as he could.

Seiji kept his distance.

Sometimes, in the afternoon, he would look out the window and see them. Ants marching in a clump as they left for the campus exit. He still received the invite, Kamiki or Camie still asked him to come along, but Seiji said no by way of not answering the question.

From his place on high, he could still see Machi walking with them, taking up the space he had abandoned. She got along well enough with his peers. She smiled and laughed and wasn’t something that people ‘got used to.’

It wasn’t Machi’s fault. Seiji couldn’t stay mad at her anymore. Recognizing the source of his problem only took away the bile he felt for her. All the little things he had picked apart, from her appearance to her station to her likes, still ran rampant and irrational through Seiji, but he couldn’t muster up the energy to be angry. Regardless if it was true or a lie, it just didn’t matter any more.

Just before they left, Mora had stopped. He had begun to turn. Seiji let his curtain drop and went back to his homework.

Class and training were the hardest. Seiji was in the thick of it, surrounded by his classmates in all directions. He could keep his head down, he could stay quiet, but in the end he still had to participate if he wanted to achieve anything resembling his goals. Despite his current distresses, he had to keep moving forward.

There would always be problems.

They never felt this big before.

So far, Seiji had managed to run drills mostly by himself. Working on improving speed time and strength with the guidance of his teachers and nothing more than that. One evening training, he was presented with laps, arms disembodied and trailing behind him, seeing how quickly he could run and how fast he could get them to follow, how much distance could be between them before he lost control, before they became a problem.

It really was only a matter of time before someone tried to drag him in again.

“Hey Shishikura!”

Seiji almost kept running. He could have disappeared behind the next obstacle and simply not returned to sight until everyone was gone. The voice in the back of his head telling him how stupidly blatant he was acting.

He hoped everyone still believed it was because of the fight.

Reluctantly, Seiji stopped and looked over to the group of his classmates. About a quarter of them stood in an open area of the grounds, gathered in a clump. Kamiki was waving her hand over her head, beckoning him over.

“We’re running speed skirmish drills,” she said. “Come help!”

Another invitation. Seiji’s arms caught up with him and slowly reformed, molding neatly back into their preferred shape. Seiji looked over the group and saw that Mora was naturally there, probably the orchestrator of the drill. He waited, almost expectantly, to see if Seiji would finally consent.

Camie trotted by, seemingly in her own world. Seiji had no idea what it even was that she was doing, but he interrupted it all the same. He grabbed her by the arm and marched deeper into the grounds, dragging her back where no one could see.

“Yo hey!” she protested, stumbling backwards. “Whats the deal?”

“Run drills with me,” he grumbled.

“Okie dokie.” Camie fell into step beside him, but he didn’t let up on her grip. “Are you going to stop being a weird loser now?”

“I am not being a weird loser!” Seiji shouted. He stopped short facing her, stamping his foot on the ground, and the grip on her arm tightened. Camie only smiled sweet and vacant.

“I mean you kinda are,” she said. “Its like when we first started and you didn’t want to hang out with anyone.”

Seiji scowled, looked away from her, and refused to acknowledge her accusation. He let go of her arm.

“Why are you being so weird?” she asked.

Seiji’s jaw jut out. He looked back in the direction he had come from, classmates hidden by the large pillars. Almost like an afterimage, he could still see Mora’s form.

“Is it cause Mora socked you in the face?” she asked.

Seiji’s jaw ground to the side.

“Why were you fighting in the first place?” she asked. “He won’t talk about it. But he is sorry you know.”

Seiji felt that horrid little pang tight in his chest. A continuous pain that he had grown used to that leapt whenever he looked at Mora, thought about Mora, heard Mora speaking. It sat behind his eyes, clogged the back of his throat, churned in the pit of his stomach. He flexed his fingers, slowly curling them.

“He mentions me?” Seiji asked before he could think about it.

“Oh yeah,” Camie said. She tilted her head, getting directly into his vision. “So you don’t need to be so weird anymore.”

Seiji’s lip curled in a sneer.

“I’m not being weird,” he repeated, but it held no truth.

Camie opened her mouth to say something and Seiji managed to draw out a familiar facade.

“Don’t just stand around with idle gossip,” he barked. “Create some illusions and I’ll try to hit them.”

Camie backed off, raising her hands before her.

“Whatever you say,” she sang, sparkles already crystalizing in the air.

Seiji’s arms bubbled, misformed, and moved to hit their targets. Already disappearing into his work.

_____

Seiji sat on a bench at the far end of campus. It was secluded behind two buildings that got a reasonable amount of shade in the afternoon, but in the middle of the day it was brightly lit. Head bowed, the sun warmed the back of his neck. A half eaten lunch sat on the bench next to him. He fumbled his fingers one over the other.

Finding reason was hard going, but Seiji steadily crawled towards it. The grueling bump in the road over his little crush had outworn its initial shock. The swirling agitation that muddled his thoughts became easier to see through.

He needed to come to terms. Silly little things like romantic dramas were just a distraction of the bigger goal. Separating himself from what was important, things like learning how to collaborate with his future peers, was only detracting from his future career. He had briefly turned into a representation of what he despised, a display of immaturity that was not befitting of the public eye.

Seiji fumbled one finger over the other and breathed in deep. He squared off his shoulders, once again trying to find the resolve to set aside his tumultuous feelings and regain focus.

He could do that.

A door creaked as it opened. Metal grinding to reveal the empty back hallway between classrooms. For that initial moment, Seiji forgot about control and focus and setting aside as Mora filled the door. His heart once again leapt behind his teeth and his hands clawed tight out of sheer reaction.

“You’re not going to run away again are you?” Mora asked.

Seiji scowled.

“I’m not running away!” he shouted.

“Uh huh,” Mora said. He stepped out onto the grass.

Seiji fidgeted, his fingers pressing tight together as Mora drew closer. He followed Mora with his eyes until he couldn’t any longer and looked away, feeling heat crawl up his face in a flush. For all his bravado and internal narrative of returning to the status quo, he wasn’t quite ready or practiced enough to do that.

Mora’s shadow touched his knees.

“Can I sit down?” he asked, motioning to the bench.

Seiji almost said no. He almost got up and walked away again. Slowly, he reached over and picked his half eaten lunch off the seat and on to his lap.

“Thank you,” Mora said.

That close, he could feel how much bigger Mora was than him. How his body mass dwarfed Seiji’s own. How much warmer he was under all those layers of hair. It must have been excruciating under the heat of the sun and a testament to Mora’s patience to put up with it.

At that proximity, it was all too easy to think of how nice it would be to disappear into that warmth.

Mora sat quietly for a long moment, probably waiting for Seiji to settle down again, but Seiji’s shoulders only rose higher, his head only ducked lower.

“Whats going on, Shishikura?” he asked.

Seiji ground his teeth.

“Nothing,” he said.

Mora sighed, loud and overdramatic. Seiji could see the way his head tilted, rolling back as he rolled his eyes.

“None of your business,” Seiji lied.

“Okay,” Mora said.

But he didn’t move. He didn’t leave.

Seiji didn’t have it in him to tell Mora to go. He wasn’t sure he wanted him to.

Mora shifted, whether he was uncomfortable or not was completely lost on Seiji. He leaned forward, folding his hands between his knees.

“I’m worried for you,” he said.

Seiji’s hands tightened.

“I want to help.”

“Because you’re supposed to?” Seiji spat. “Rep?”

The barb didn’t seem to touch Mora and he tilted his head in concession.

“I suppose that would be one way to look at it,” Mora said. “Is this really all because of Machi?”

Seiji bowed his head. He cast his eyes to the side, not wanting to see pity or worry or disappointment.

“I know you tend to get this thorn in your side when you make assumptions about people,” Mora said. “But she really is-”

“Its not her,” Seiji said.

“Oh.”

They sat in awkward silence and Seiji waited for Mora to figure him out. He almost wished it. Then he could move past the tightness of having to hold a secret, he could see Mora’s reaction, whether it be disgust or resignation, and just get over it. He wanted to shed the feeling like a second skin.

Right then, it didn’t feel like he could.

“Whatever it is,” Mora said. “We would like to help. We’re your friends, Shishikura. And we’re all worried about you.”

Seiji jolted as a gentle hand rested on his back. Just shy of his shoulder. Too close to be mere camaraderie, but still too far away to be anything deeper. A heavy comfort that Seiji wanted to sink into.

“I’m your friend,” Mora said.

Seiji closed his eyes and let everything else slip away. For just that moment he could pretend it wasn’t just friendship. That connection between them, what he had felt when Mora’s fist hit his face, that physical contact, wasn’t shallow platitudes. That they shared the relationship that Seiji wanted. That he could be selfish and covet the way Mora touched him.

“When you’re ready to talk about it,” Mora said, soft and quiet. “I’ll be here.”

A slow smile crept up Seiji’s face. He couldn’t control it, he didn’t want to. With Mora’s hand on his back, with him being so kind, it was all Seiji wanted in that moment. And he let himself have it.

He turned to look up at Mora, feeling even enough in his little delusion to see him. Blonde hair catching in the sun and the bit of blue that Seiji could see behind his locks. The scent of shampoo and too much clean. How if Seiji just moved his leg a little it would be pressed up against Mora’s. How all he had to do was lean in and he could be safe. Just for a little bit.

Mora’s eye widened and his hand jerked back from Seiji as if he had touched a hot stove. He reeled backwards, putting extra inches between them.

And the moment had passed.

Seiji still felt that even keel, that calmness. It felt like resolve. He searched Mora’s face, feeling comfort that he could be colleagues with him.

Friends.

He could be happy that Mora was happy. And he felt it. He meant it. It was true.

Seiji rose to his feet, carefully holding the remnants of his lunch between his hands. He turned to face Mora, still wide eyed on the bench and hand still in the air.

“I’m sorry about what I said,” he said, meaning it.

Mora didn’t respond. He didn’t move. He didn’t say anything.

Seiji nodded, looking down at his feet again, before remembering at the last minute that he was resolved. That he was going to be normal again. He raised his head, squared off his shoulders, and was who he was.

He headed back inside to get ready for class.

_____

Seiji was first to class and sat alone. He sat quietly with proper posture, hands clasped together on his desktop and waited. The day felt like a fresh and proper start. He could reintegrate, he could say yes to outings, he could rejoin his classmates– his friends at meals.

As if nothing happened.

The door opened and Kamiki stepped in, followed by the yawning maw of Camie. Kamiki paused and Camie walked directly into her back.

"You're here early," she said.

Seiji sat up a little straighter.

"Some of us believe in the importance of punctuality and then there are some who would prefer to be wasteful layabouts." He peered at Kamiki sourly to make his point.

Kamiki held still, her face blank and unreadable as always. She crossed the room, plonked her hand on Seiji's head, and ruffled his hair.

"He's back," she said.

Seiji swiped at her hand and couldn't land a hit before she danced away.

"Could you not!?" he snapped. He slapped his hand to his bangs and forcefully smoothed his hair.

The class filled in one by one, the conversational noise never raising higher than a quiet murmurs. Seiji half paid attention to the conversations around him, not engaging unless he was engaged with, but not turning anyone away.

And certainly not glancing at the door. Not every few seconds at least. Not expectant on anyone in particular to come walking in.

Seiji took a deep breath, reminding himself to set it aside.

Mora didn't come in last, but he was cutting it close. He trundled in with a polite good morning, more or less beelining to his seat.

Seiji decided he'd just have to get used to the leaping sensation in his chest.

"Hey rep," Camie said sleepily. She rested her chin on her desk, eyes closed, wearing a dopey smile. "How's Machi?"

"Good morning to you too," Mora said. "Not that I'm worth asking about."

"You're fine," Camie said, waving him off. "I like her better anyways."

Mora huffed and went to take his seat.

"She's. . ."

He paused, hand on the back of his chair, frozen mid motion. Seiji wasn't looking, at least not directly, so he wasn't sure, but it looked as if Mora might've glanced his way. Mora sat down.

"Well you'll hear anyways," he said. "We. . . figured we're better off as just friends."

Camie's eyes opened up. Kamiki paused in whatever conversation she was having to turn around.

"You broke up?" Camie asked.

"Yeah." Mora scratched at the back of his neck.

"Class rep Mora is a heartbreaker," Kamiki teased.

"I didn't break any. . . she took it pretty well," Mora said.

"You dumped her?" Camie lifted her head from the desk.

Mora shrugged.

"I think . . . she should be with someone who likes her more than I do," he said. "I don't think I see her as more than a friend. And that's not fair to her."

"Hmm," Kamiki said. "Better avoid her for a bit then."

Mora nodded in agreement while Camie sulked, thunking her chin to the desk again. Mora quietly glanced to the side, turning his head, and Seiji realized he had been staring.

He quickly faced forward again, suddenly interested in the order of pens on his desk. He straightened them out, the plastic clattering as they rolled over one another into their new configurations. He fidgeted and realigned perfectly stacked notebooks, the organization of his workspace becoming an instant priority.

Like magnets, he looked sidelong to Mora.

The rep was still looking at him. It was hard to tell and so very slight, but the upturn of his eye made it seem like he was almost. . .

Smiling?

Second year Shiketsu's homeroom teacher stepped into the room, demanding the students' full attention. Mora's focus stayed in Seiji for a single stalled beat before he looked ahead.

_____

Sweat gathered and dripped into Seiji's eyes, his hair clung damp to his brow. His throat was raw from sucking in air after hours of sheer exertion. Exhaustion draped over every last fiber of his body and he was looking forward to spending the weekend completely passed out.

Most of the class had already slunk back to the dorms, leaving behind a handful of students who wanted to find their limits. Seiji had found his maybe 15 minutes ago when the automatic lights switched off.

It was the hardest he had worked in days.

Rejuvenated with a new purpose and his head clear, able to focus again. With the very building itself calling curfew, the rest of the students worked on cleaning the grounds, following Shiketsu’s second year example. The one set by their rep.

Seiji’s arms felt like putty, having spent such a long time detached from his body. He was having a hard time reacclimating to being whole and manually carried armfuls of debris to the disposal. He slowly lowered broken rocks into the recycling chute where they would be reformed into new structures to simulate the real life experiences that speckled their future.

Seiji was a mess. He stank. He was falling asleep on his feet. After that day, he needed a long hot shower and to lay unmoving face first in his bed.

Goosebumps ran over his back as someone walked up behind him.

“You seem better,” Mora said.

Seiji turned in place to look up at his rep, face smoothed out into a cool expression.

“I’m exactly the same,” he said, smacking the dust off his hands. There was dirt under his fingernails.

“Hmm,” Mora mused.

Students began filing out of the grounds, leaving Seiji behind with Mora. He briskly walked on tired legs towards the exit, Mora falling into step beside him.

“So the issue has passed?” Mora asked.

“There was no issue,” Seiji said, chin tilted high.

“Uh huh,” Mora said and Seiji could hear the sarcasm dripping from his voice.

Seiji stalled, looking back to Mora as he clicked off the lights and sealed the heavy metal door shut. Waiting to walk side by side again.

“Anyways, I’m glad to see you’re doing better,” Mora said.

Seiji jut out his jaw, deliberately not looking at Mora, and ignored him.

“When you’re ready to talk about it, I’m ready to listen,” Mora said.

“Theres nothing to talk about,” Seiji said.

He could practically feel Mora smiling, could hear his humor in a little chuffed breath, halfway to laughter. Seiji wanted to keep his focus straight, wanted to continue to ignore him, but he looked anyways. Glaring daggers up at Mora and ignoring the little summersault in his chest.

Mora wasn’t in much better condition than Seiji. Hair was mussed in a variety of unnatural directions. His arms hung heavy and low at his sides, hair extended to almost his feet. Probably exhausted from being held up.

His attention fully on Seiji.

“There isn’t,” Seiji insisted.

Mora leaned in closer, conspiratorially.

“I don’t believe you,” he said, low and quiet.

Seiji didn’t shiver. He didn’t. He didn’t suck in a low breath and didn’t stiffen. And most certainly, definitely, did not blush.

Huffing, Seiji took long strides and picked up the pace, stomping in the direction of the dorms and getting away from Mora and his knowing eyes.

“Whenever you’re ready, Shishikura,” Mora called after him.

Seiji’s jaw worked back and forth as he ground his teeth. His hands curled into tight fists. He visibly shook.

And despite everything, he couldn’t quite hold back the smile. He bowed his head to hide it from the nobody who could see or was looking, pressing his lips tight in an effort to tamp it down. Pushing back the itching wave of joy that welled up inside him.

He took a deep breath, lifted his head, and regained control, speed walking away from Mora.

He’d duck into his room first. And wait a little.

He’d let Mora take the showers first and pretend like he wasn’t.