typo ( k.bakugou , t.shouto )

• four •

I NEARLY BUMPED into about five strangers on the way to the restaurant. If it hadn't been for my two roommates— also my childhood friends (but we'll talk about that another day) — watching over me like a five year old, I would have probably knocked people over. The freckled boy led the way with a child like enthusiasm, taking long , rushed steps ( hypocritical of me— I know ) while Shouto guided my shoulders.

The restaurant was easily ten minutes away in walking distance. It was convenient , since we lived in the urban district. Izuku focused on the colorful streets as Shouto more so worried about the buzzing crowds. Both males led the way, and me? I had my nose buried in my phone , re-reading and re-typing my apology for what was about the ten thousandth time.

Just say the truth, and don't overthink about it! I took Izuku's advice to heart, I really did. But I couldn't help thinking my apology seemed too half-assed , or too formal. The buzzing storm of anxiety inducing thoughts clogged my mind, leading me to delete the whole paragraph and start again.

I followed the same pattern for most of the way, up until I felt a tap on my shoulder. I raised a finger , almost shoving it on Shouto's face, as I read my apology one last time.

Damn, that's long. But it spoke what was on my mind in best accuracy. It was a bit clumsy, but it wasn't perfect and neat like those PR apologies youtubers made nowadays, so it was good enough for me. With not much of a second thought, I attached the two screenshots to my Twitter, and pressed the "post" icon.