"Are you alright?" Shinso asked, looking at me intently while sipping his drink.
I sighed, the whiskey burning a welcome trail down my throat. "I'm fine," I said, a bit hoarsely.
Shinso gave me that cherished cat look of his, the one that always seemed to see right through me. He shook his head. "No, you're not. Bakugo violated your space, got all touchy-feely, and you're 'ok' with it? Bullshit, Izuku."
I sighed, looking down at my hands. The image of Bakugo's furious, probing gaze flashed in my mind, the heat of his presence too close for comfort. I hated that he still had that effect on me.
Shinso set his glass down with a soft clink and walked towards me. He gently lifted my chin, forcing me to meet his violet eyes. "Head up, kitten. Don't want that pretty face to get wrinkles, eh?" He flashed that stupid, endearing grin, the one that made me feel… lighter.
My face flushed, and I turned away, muttering, "Idiot…"
He chuckled, the sound warm and grounding. He really did remind me of some pampered, perceptive feline. Eri loved cats, and I had caught myself comparing Shinso to her favorite plush toy more than once.
I sighed again, the weight of the night pressing on me. The encounter with Bakugo, the constant pressure of managing the business, the always-present paranoia… it was exhausting. Tonight, for the first time in a long time, I had hesitated, frozen. The memory of being Deku had resurfaced, the kid who could never do anything right. I was a goddamn mafia leader for crying out loud.
Shinso leaned closer, his gaze searching my face. "You're beautiful, Izuku," he mumbled, so softly I almost didn't hear it. Then, he kissed my ear, sending a jolt of unexpected heat through me.
"S-Shinso…" I whispered, my voice betraying my unease. He was too close, the situation too intimate. I pushed him away, a sharp, almost panicked movement. Business and feelings couldn't mix, wouldn't mix. I couldn't afford that kind of vulnerability.
"No, we can't," I said, my voice sterner than I intended.
He hummed, a low sound of understanding… or maybe disappointment. "Sorry," he mumbled, stepping back.
A tense silence filled the room. I busied myself with shuffling papers I didn't need to shuffle.
"Why don't you like being touched…?" he asked softly, the question laced with genuine curiosity.
I froze. That question hadn't been asked of me since… since the incident. There was a reason I hated heroes, a secret I had buried deep, sharing it only with Stars and Stripes. It was the reason I had fled Japan at fifteen and hadn't returned for years. The memories, the fear, the helplessness… it was too much.
My breathing quickened, the room started to spin, and a wave of nausea washed over me. The walls started closing in.
Shinso must have noticed my distress because he gently grabbed my hand, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on my skin. "You're ok, Izuku. Just breathe. In and out." His voice was calm, a steady anchor in the storm raging inside me.
After a few minutes, my breathing slowed, and the dizziness subsided. I sat down heavily on the edge of my desk, my heart still pounding in my chest.
Shinso moved closer, standing between my legs, his hands stroking my hair and back in a comforting rhythm. "Want to talk about it…?" he whispered, his voice thick with concern.
I hesitated, the words caught in my throat. "I… maybe…" I whispered back.