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The looming final exams are becoming a menace in more ways than one. Almost all of your spare time has been dedicated to studying, training or sleep in the last three weeks. The challenges your teachers will issue in realtime are less worrisome to you as a second-year than the ones that come on paper, now that you think you know what they’ll be like. They’ll focus more on problem-solving and working on the fly; beyond making sure you’re as physically prepared as possible, you know your time is better spent studying for the written exams and making sure you’re rested.
… which makes it all the more infuriating that you can’t sleep.
The last couple of nights in particular have been rough, but at least last night you’d managed to get a few hours of good rest. Tonight it’s been a fruitless endeavor, and the weariness settles down to your very bones as you shut the door of your dormitory behind you as quietly as possible, stepping out into the faintly humid night air with a mug of tea clutched securely in your hand. Sitting on one of the steps leading up to the entryway, you heave an exhausted sigh as you settle down, lifting your mug to your lips and inhaling the sweet, herbaceous scent of chamomile and honey.
Heights Alliance is peaceful at night. It is the one blessing attached to being up so far into the wee hours: the solitude is truly tranquil out here on the front steps, with little but the humming of the streetlights and the rhythmless chirping of crickets to distract you. With the light pollution from campus and the surrounding area, you can’t see the stars as well, but the moon hangs full and only a little hazy above the treeline, dampening the orange glow from the always-on walkway lighting. Sipping carefully at the hot liquid in your mug, you tip your head back and close your eyes, pulling slow even breaths through your nose to try to lull yourself into some kind of meditative state. If you could just relax, force your body to slow down …
You’re not certain how long you’ve been sitting like that when you hear the telltale crunch-and-slide of someone’s footfalls up the walking path to the building, eyes snapping open to see who else could possibly be up at this hour. It takes a moment for you to refocus, tired eyes struggling to make out the figure from this distance in the dark. It isn’t until he passes directly under one of the lights lining the pathway inside the gate that you can clearly make it out as your classmate, Shinsou Hitoshi, very clearly out past curfew. His hands are jammed in his pockets, eyes low but ahead of him, lost in thought. You’ve watched him for so long -- since that first Sports Festival, naturally, but particularly after he joined the Hero Course -- that it’s a posture you recognize almost as much as you recognize your own tells, and while you’re no stranger to his dark circles, you would never have called seeing him here, now.
It makes your heart swell to aching to cross paths with him alone in daylight, but the lack of sleep and the stillness of the night makes it worse. You’d tried, you really had, to simply be content with a collegial relationship with the boy who didn’t join the program to make friends, but somehow that had twisted itself into the kind of friendship he had been avoiding so adamantly. … and then, on your part at least, it had gotten worse. He's clever, straightforward, and although he's certainly reserved, he’s been a remarkable support in the last year. In hindsight, it seems natural that it would have evolved on its own, out of control. You can’t help your feelings, but you do keep them buried, certain that he’s not at all interested in you.
Rather than call out to him, you choose to wait it out, sipping idly at your tea. He doesn’t appear to notice you as he draws closer to the front steps, hidden as you are near one of the columns. You’re not actually trying to scare him, but with his face tucked penseively into the top folds of his capture weapon, he won’t notice you at all if you don’t say something. Swallowing the tea in your mouth, you manage a smile as his foot hits the second step.
“Someone’s breaking curfew,” you singsong from your perch in the shadow of the dorm, watching his shoulders hitch slightly. His hands remain in his pockets as he turns, and you lift one hand from your mug to wave good-naturedly at him when he registers your presence and inclines his head to glower directly at you.
“Someone should speak for themselves,” Shinsou mocks, although there’s no venom in it. “Should you be out here?”
“Ah, but I’m still on the front steps! I’m not out anywhere,” you reason, pointing at the remaining stairs that lead to the footpath he’s just taken through the courtyard. “Can’t get in trouble for breaking curfew if I never left, can I?”
You hear him chuckle before he changes direction, walking across the steps to sit next to you and finally removing his hands from his pockets. “I think your Hero Law scores have gone to your head. You’re drunk with power.” The backhanded praise and the grin that lingers on his face makes the heat creep into yours, and you take a long sip of hot tea to cover it.
“If only!” It’s a wistful sigh, head tipping back dramatically as you roll your eyes. “Unfortunately, I’m mostly drunk on lack of sleep.”
“Which is why you’re sitting on the steps at two in the morning,” Shinsou guesses, and you confirm the assumption with a slight shrug, turning your mug around in your hands.
“I’ve tried everything else, so I thought fresh air might help.” You nudge him with your shoulder, jostling him only slightly in his seat next to you. “Now, why are you sitting on the steps at two in the morning?”
He leans in conspiratorially, and you find yourself leaning too, before you can stop yourself. “Because some creepy woman lurking in the shadows startled me.” Your face falls.
“Shinsou,” you scold, and he cracks a smile, rubbing at the back of his neck. “Seriously, you were already gone when I got out here and you’re only just getting back. Where did you go?” A thought occurs to you, a mild tightness in your chest, and you risk asking the question in the form of a joke. “Did you get a secret girlfriend when none of us were looking?”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” he murmurs, averting his gaze and dropping his hand so both of his elbows rest on his knees. There are a few beats of silence between you.
“... secret boyfriend?”
He moves, as if to stand, with a great sigh. “Okay, I’m going inside --”
“I’m joking!” You’re whisper-shouting, to avoid calling attention to either of you, tugging on his sleeve. “I’m sorry, Shinsou, please. I know, it’s none of my business. I’m sorry I asked.”
The movement stops, and he settles on the step next to you, reaching over to take your mug right out of your hand. You’re so startled that you don’t stop him, watching him lift it slightly. “If that’s what you think, maybe you’re drunk on whatever is in here, not power. When would I have even had the time?” He reaches behind the both of you to set it down as your fingers slip from his sleeve, the dull clink of ceramic against concrete surprisingly loud in the quiet of the night.
“It’s just tea,” you grouse, but you make no move to reclaim it. The brush of his arm against you is comfort enough to replace its warmth -- that and the relief that he isn’t off seeing someone, not that you have any right to feel that way. “Anyway, I’m entitled to be a little worried when my friends wander home so late.”
“Your friends come home after midnight that often?” Shinsou’s tone is light; he knows he’s caught you out. He’ll make you say it, though, because that’s always his game.
“No,” you sigh. “You’re the first. Still ...”
There’s another lull where he says nothing, considering you as you look out into the empty courtyard. Your brows are furrowed, like you’re thinking much too hard about something. Maybe it’s the late -- early? -- hour, but he seems emboldened slightly by your aversion to looking at him.
“Still …?” He presses. “Why would you worry about me?”
Your breath hitches a little when you draw a breath to respond, cutting your eyes over to him briefly as you choose your words. His dark circles are more pronounced here in the shadows, and maybe it’s the way the fiber of his capture weapon looks like spun silver at night, but it brings up a flood of concern you haven’t voiced since he was accepted to the hero program at the start of the year.
“You worked so hard to get here,” you say, words slow and deliberate. You’re concentrating so hard on being careful that you fail to notice how he stops breathing. “I think you might have worked harder than anyone else I know. Saying it out loud sounds stupid, I guess, but I worry about how you handle it all.” One breath and you’re rambling, mind racing with the effort to dance around what you want to say: that you care for him, that you’re always cheering him on, but how much he worries you. “You deserve to be here, Shinsou. You deserve to become a hero, and you’re -- you’re my friend, and sometimes I worry that if you’re not taking care of yourself --”
It happens so quickly you’re not quite sure how he’s done it, but you’re silenced by the assertive tug of fingers beneath your chin, pulling you to face him. Then all you can feel is his lips on yours, the scent of cedar and something faintly minty overwhelming you, and even the crickets seem to stop. All you can process is the fact that oh, he’s kissing you. Shinsou Hitoshi just kissed you.
You feel as if you might implode. It’s soft, and warm, but unpracticed -- somehow, though, it’s everything you’d imagined it would be, the gentle pressure of his mouth on yours. You didn’t think he’d be the type to really go for it on the first try like others you’ve kissed who were all teeth and tongue right out of the gate, and a private part of you is gratified to be right, a shiver working its way down your spine as he adjusts his fingers against your jaw.
He pulls away carefully, but the warmth in your chest spurs you on, looping your fingers in the capture weapon draped around his neck to pull him in again, lean in further. You feel him sigh against you, a soft exhale through his nose, and can’t help the twitch of your lips into a smile against his. You hold him there a few long seconds more before you pull away, realizing how warm your face is now that he’s not so close.
“Finally,” Shinsou breathes, his voice close to a whisper. “Took you long enough.” Your jaw drops immediately, hand still curled in the fabric draped along his shoulders.
“Me?” You say, loud enough to actually get him to shush you quietly, reaching up to grab your hand where it rests against his capture weapon in an attempt to distract you, calm you down. It works, if only because the feel of his fingers wrapped around yours sends something akin to electricity rocketing up your arm. You take a breath, release it in a huff, before lowering your voice. “What about you, Mr. I’m Not Here to Make Friends, and Therefore Not Date People?”
The man in question quirks a brow, the ghost of a smile on his lips. “I don’t believe I ever said that last part.”
“Does one not kind of preclude the other?”
“I suppose that depends on your point of view,” he laughs, “but we can argue semantics in a few hours if you’re really that hung up on it.”
“Shinsou!” It’s more of a hiss than anything, trying to regulate your volume as he lets go of your hand, reaching behind you for your long-forgotten mug and standing up at last. You’re pouting up at him when he offers you the other, his grin only a little smug as you take it and allow him to pull you up. He uses the momentum to pull you into just one more kiss, little more than a brief peck against your lips, a way to silence your argument for now. You let him, breathing deeply as he pulls away.
“It’s late. Just sleep on it,” he offers, “and if you still feel that strongly about it in the morning, let me walk you to class so you can yell at me some more.”
That sly bastard. You smile in spite of yourself, watching him as he pulls you up the stairs, closer to the door. Once inside, he keeps hold of your hand as you deposit your mug in the sink -- you can deal with the whining about leaving things there in the morning -- parting ways with you only when you need to split up and head to your respective sides of the building, barely-there whispers of goodnight and seriously, go to bed the last of your affectionate gestures for the moment. The full weight of what’s occurred on the front steps hits you as the elevator doors close, leaning against the interior wall and looking at yourself in the reflection of the metal.The smile stuck on your face widens a little, giddy with the knowledge that he likes you back.
Suddenly, a peaceful few hours’ sleep doesn’t seem so difficult.