Sorry.

Chapter 23

Third person pov

Hoshi Kansai. Quirkless stoner of a dance student who liked to drink, party, and generally act like an idiot all around. He was a sad little virgin whose only companions were Hamilton, Heathers, and Dear Evan Hansen, along with a plethora of other Broadway hits he usually liked to belt out whenever he deemed it appropriate. Not the brightest crayon in the box, but not the dullest. Things often times flew over his head. Like the fact that he'd run into his soulmate on the street, and that his soulmate was the Number One Hero, Endeavor. It really just didn't click in his big boy brain that he'd crashed headfirst into his destined other.

Being away from your soulmate was hard. Once you met their eyes, there was no going back. Hoshi was experiencing that without knowing what the sensations were. He'd feel this aching all over his body. Like this reflex begging to go off and touch something, only there was nothing to touch. At first Hoshi thought he was just horny. Which was right and wrong. It didn't matter how much gay porn he watched or how many times he rubbed one out. The feeling of being pulled towards something by in invisible force remained. That left only one explanation. The only plausible one he and his friendless self could think of.

Cancer.

That had to be it! Weird clenching in his gut? Cancer. Crying himself to sleep at night despite being pretty content with his life at the moment? Cancer. Wanting something, but not knowing what that something was? It was fucking cancer! There was a tumor-- probably in his brain-- messing with his senses. It was driving him nuts. How was he supposed to live his best life whilst his body was in the middle of betraying him? He was going to crack his own skull open, reach in, and take the tumor out himself at this rate. He just wanted it to go away! This shit was keeping him up at night and raining on his parade. He wanted to get a total of four hours each night and attend countless raves, all while running the risk of overdosing on some miscellaneous drug! 

Today during class, he'd been miserable. Anyone who sent even so much as a mere glance in his direction was struck by his appearance. Dancing was cutthroat, and not a lot of his classmates were friendly towards him for competitive purposes, but even a few of them had asked if he was alright. He looked that bad. Like death on two feet. He'd even heard someone whisper 'mood', and that was saying something considering the person who'd whispered it was the eighty year old homeless woman who begged for money outside their studio.

Across from the building Hoshi was exiting, Endeavor stood. He was in casual clothing. A large jacket, a ball-cap pulled low over his face, and a pair of jeans to go with the boots he was wearing. His flames were off, but he still got a few suspicious glances nonetheless. He was the Number One Hero, after all. He stayed inconspicuous enough not to draw a crowd, and that's what really mattered. He had to meet his soulmate. For real, this time. He'd been going crazy this past week. It was like an itch he couldn't quite scratch. He'd tried to convince himself he didn't need it, he wasn't gay, and none of this was real, but it had slapped him upside the head about five minutes after he'd decided all of that bullshit that it wasn't going to fly. He'd met Hoshi's eyes. They'd bumped shoulders. It was too late for both of them now.

Hoshi should've appeared vaguely horrid in Endeavor's eyes. The younger man had bags under his eyes and unnaturally pale skin, yet still looked absolutely adorable. It was the first time Endeavor had seen him in person since that day on the street, and his breath was immediately stolen from him. His heart rate increased, a vast amount of heat rose to his cheeks despite his attempts to push it down and away, and what was worse, his jaw dropped. It was all reflex. Everything was tingling, and he was totally taken. He didn't care if Hoshi was a small individual who wanted to dance and quite possibly-- and Endeavor prayed this wasn't the case-- sing.