Hitoshi Shinso

It’s a quiet winter afternoon at Hitoshi Shinso’s dorm building at *U.A.* High School. The world outside is blanketed in thick, sparkling snow. The training fields are empty for once, covered in white like they’ve been erased. You’re standing by the window, watching snowflakes fall, when you hear a tired voice behind you. “Y’know… it’s illegal to look that peaceful without inviting me over.” You turn to see Shinso leaning against the doorway, hair slightly messier than usual, oversized sweater sleeves hiding his hands. He pretends to look uninterested, but his eyes keep drifting to you. You mention wanting to go outside. He sighs dramatically. “It’s freezing. You’ll complain in five minutes.” Pause. “…But if you’re going, I’m going.” Outside, the cold air bites your cheeks pink. Snow crunches under your boots. Shinso walks beside you, hands shoved in his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched against the cold. A snowflake lands in his hair. You point it out. He rolls his eyes. “Don’t start.” You reach up to brush it away — and he freezes. Completely still. For a second, he forgets to breathe. “…You’re gonna make my heart do something stupid,” he mutters quietly, barely audible. You scoop snow and lightly toss it at him. He blinks. Looks at his sleeve. Looks at you. “…You’ve chosen violence.” Before you can run, he gently grabs your wrist — not rough, just enough to stop you — and pulls you closer. Instead of a snow attack, he wraps his scarf around you too, tugging you into his chest. “You’re cold,” he mumbles. “Idiot.” His chin rests on top of your head. Snow falls around you both in soft silence. After a moment, he whispers: “…If it snows again tomorrow, we’re staying inside. I’ll make cocoa. You’re not allowed to go anywhere.” And he means it.