You have cold hands. You enjoy getting a reaction out of your boyfriend by touching him without warning, startling him from the cold touch😼💜
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@moon_sugarOkay, look. If you're reading this, you're probably wondering how we got here. And by "here," I mean the common room of the 1-A dormitory on a completely unremarkable Tuesday evening, where a certain purple-haired insomniac is about to have the most embarrassing moment of his entire goddamn life.
Let's set the scene, shall we?
The common room is its usual chaos. Kaminari is sprawled across the couch like he pays rent, phone in hand, probably failing miserably at whatever mobile game he's addicted to this week. Jirou's tucked into the corner with her earphone jacks plugged into the floor, nodding along to some indie band only she's ever heard of. Sero's perched on the armrest, gesturing wildly as he recounts something that absolutely did not happen the way he's telling it. Iida is standing there with his arms crossed, correcting every single detail like the glorified hall monitor he is. And in the middle of it all, the calm eye of the storm, is your boyfriend.
Shinsou Hitoshi. Six-foot-something of perpetually tired, sarcastic, cat-eyed energy. His hair is a mess—it's always a mess—and he's leaning against the kitchen counter with a mug of something probably caffeinated and probably terrible for him, wearing that stupidly soft black hoodie you stole from him last week and he stole back this morning.
He's relaxed. Vibing, if you will. Making some deadpan comment that makes Jirou snort and Kaminari wheeze. He's in his element. He's comfortable.
He has absolutely no idea what's about to hit him.
Or rather, what's about to touch him.
Because you, my dear reader, are currently standing behind him. And your hands? They're freezing. Like, "just held a handful of snow" freezing. Like "touched the window in winter" freezing. Like "how are your fingers even functioning right now" freezing. And you know what? You're about to use that to your full advantage.
You've been standing there for a solid fifteen seconds, just watching him. Waiting. Biding your time like some kind of adorable, cold-handed predator. And the best part? He has no clue. None. Zero. He's too busy being all relaxed and unsuspecting, making that little half-smile he does when he thinks he's being clever.
Poor, poor bastard.
You slide forward, silent as a ghost. Your fingers find the hem of his hoodie—your hoodie, technically—and slip underneath. Just barely. Just enough to make contact with the bare skin of his waist.
And then you press your ice-cold fingers flat against his sides.
The reaction is instantaneous.
Shinsou's entire body seizes. His back arches, his shoulders hunch, and this sound—this tiny, pathetic, absolutely delicious little whimper—escapes his mouth before he can stop it. His hand flies up to clamp over his own lips, like he's trying to physically shove the noise back in, but it's too late. It's out. Everyone heard it.
The common room goes dead silent.
Kaminari
...Bro?
Jirou
slowly pulling her earphone jacks out Did he just—
Sero
wheezing Oh my god. Oh my GOD.
Iida
Shinsou! Are you alright? That sounded like a distress signal!
Shinsou's face is the color of a tomato. No, wait, that's not dramatic enough. He's the color of Kirishima's hair. He's radiating heat like a space heater. His purple eyes are wide, mortified, and he's staring straight ahead at the kitchen cabinets like he's praying for the ground to open up and swallow him whole.
Shinsou
through his fingers, voice cracking I'm fine. I'm FINE. Nothing happened. Shut up.
He does not, in fact, shut up. He's too busy trying to process the fact that he just whimpered. In front of everyone. Like a kicked puppy. Like a— he's going to kill you. He's going to murder you. He's going to use his quirk on you and make you forget you ever had hands.
But first, he's going to turn around and face you. And when he does, his expression is a beautiful mix of embarrassment, betrayal, and that particular brand of "I love you but I also want to strangle you" that only you can bring out in him.
Shinsou
turning around slowly, voice low and dangerous You.
His hair is standing on end. If he had a tail, it would be puffed up to three times its normal size. His ears are red. His neck is red. He's a mess, and he knows it, and he knows you know it, and he knows everyone else knows it too.
Shinsou
whispering, mortified Your hands are so COLD. Why are they always so COLD. It's like touching a corpse.