Third person pov

Hoshi has done his research. He's google searched. He's Web MD-ed. He even read through an article on the Mayo Clinic site because yes, it's that serious. His thirty collective minutes of digging around on the internet had brought him to one, very solemn conclusion. One he had no fucking clue what to do with.

He has spontaneously developed some form of malignant cancer.

Now hold your horses before you go calling him out; I know what you're thinking. Hoshi, what the fuck do you mean you spontaneously developed a form of malignant cancer? That's not possible! Uh huh, yeah, that's what Hoshi thought too before going into a full-blown scholarly dive into Google. He even clicked to page two, which has hasn't had to do since that one time he almost overdosed on Advil. The world works in mysterious ways apparently, and one of those ways is Hoshi getting an aggressive case of stomach cancer.

He feels sick and can hardly eat, and at first he thinks it's the brain damage, but he hasn't had any headaches to indicate as such and hasn't since the whole accident bullshit. There's a pit in his stomach that seems to have opened up, and he finds himself aching and struggling to breathe some days. His fellow dance students have never paid him much mind. He'd much older than they are and functionally quirkless to boot, but even they've seemed relatively concerned by the way he drags himself into the studio day after day like he's bordering on becoming a corpse. Hoshi feels like he just got Texas Smashed right in the face by god himself.

He wonders if this is what it would feel like to get beat up by the Mafia version of Big Bird from Sesame Street. There's this tugging in his chest that makes him feel nauseous, and Hoshi honest to god feels like he's been hit with a baseball bat all over. He's felt his fair share of pain and has gone through his fair share of hardships in life, yeah! He's a stoner with no talents, his parents abandoned him when they realized what in fresh hot hell had really happened to him, and now he's wading through his college courses whilst pursuing a dream that's not going to amount to anything despite what a blow to the bank dance classes are. All that... it hurts, but not like this. Not like his newfound stomach cancer.

Even his professors are worried. He's falling behind in the few classes he can really afford to take. Dancing isn't going to get him anywhere, so he's been trying to make a career for himself somehow on the side whilst keeping the hobby up for his own sake. His teachers are understanding and they're proud, and it makes Hoshi feel good. But now he's beginning to fail, too tired, too aching to do anything well anymore. He can hardly listen to their lectures, let alone process the coursework given. And now he can hardly dance-- the one thing he actually feels good at.

He's sort of an idiot. No, scratch that, he is an idiot. He's spacy and shotguns beers for fun, has no concept of time management, and has the overall common sense of a pear. He'd been trying to get back on his feet as best he can but it's just not working! It hasn't been working for the past couple years, and now of course he's going to fucking die or something. That's just his life, isn't it? Disappointment and questionable near-death experiences. 

There is only one solution to this issue. Because he is Dummy-with-a-capital-D broke and in massive financial debt, he's left with limited options and limited time. He's never really valued his life tons anyway, he guesses. Like, dancing is fun and so is the whole college thing, but if he's going to die anyway he may as well go out with a bang. He hasn't gone to a party this big in a while, but he's hoping he can drink the pain away. If he can reach blackout-- which isn't easy for a guy like him-- maybe his drunk self will be able to power through the pile of homework he's got sitting in his ramen box of a one-room apartment later. 

If he doesn't pass out on the street naked before then or something. Maybe he should set a reminder on his phone... no, last time he did that he got confused and ended up in a breakdancing competition with that homeless guy who stole his right shoe. The guy still has it to this day. Wears it on his belt like it's a buckle or something.

"Bro, are you good?" A voice to his right asks, drawing him from his haze. Hoshi glances over to see a stranger with bloodshot eyes squinting at him which is like, rad he guesses. Music pulses around them, and someone brought a bubble machine that has successfully filled the air with sparkly orbs that are decidedly not helping his trip. Is this like an Alice in Wonderland moment? Hoshi should really get a snapchat. He swears to god he'd be famous.

"Bro, I'm running on straight weed, maple bacon vodka, four melatonin gummies too many, a Wendy's baked potato, and whatever the fuck's on this kebab." Hoshi admitted, raising the thing up for the other guy to see. He nodded in understanding. "I also have cancer, bro. Or I'm pregnant, but I'm like a virgin and I have a penis, which are two like, really big signs that pregnancy isn't the case."

"Damn. But like bro, that Jane chick..." The guy trailed off.

"That's what I said!" Hoshi threw his hands up with exasperation. The guy nodded, clapping a hand down on Hoshi's shoulder as though they were old friends.

"Want to go do a keg stand? I think it's straight wine but someone might've thrown some Fanta Orange in there. Plus if it is pregnancy, I bet this'll kill it bro." The guy seemed utterly convinced, and what did Hoshi really know about babies? If it was a baby it was like, pea sized. Though surely he would've drowned it with the sheer amount of inhibiting substances he'd already downed. What if he was just feeding it though? Making it stronger? Was that a thing? He swore he'd seen that in like, a marvel movie once.

"Bro." Hoshi handed the kebab to a random drunk girl passing and she immediately shoved it in her mouth without looking. Sorta dangerous, but you know. Hoshi nodded grimly and decided she could live her life however she wanted. "When and where?"

Alcohol probably isn't very good for his stomach, but you know what? Neither is cancer. He'll probably bite it before his liver ever gets the chance to be mad anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

Remember that one time when Endeavor thought he'd be fine and thought he may be able to like, possibly ignore the whole soulmate thing? Yeah, that happened. And he was super sure of it for about an hour before he realized that there was absolutely no way that was going to work in any capacity whatsoever. It's been about a week and he's searched relentlessly for his tiny soulmate to absolutely no avail. His heart feels like it's about to peel out of his chest and die like a fish on land right before his very eyes. And he wouldn't even be mad if it did, honestly. The sheer want is almost too much.

The yearning is unbearable. He's always found pride in the fact that he's never had to take a day off, but he'd thrown that out the window and taken Saturday for himself so he could lay in his bed and mope. Shades of oceanic blue flashed in his vision what felt like every two seconds, the memory of their rounded face and blue eyes glaring at him, taunting him in every imaginable way. Literally how was this fair? This felt illegal! 

Enji is a stoic man. Or was before like, eight days ago. He still likes to think he is, but his insides have turned to mush and he's definitely not as hard-headed as he used to be. There's a new form of self awareness burrowing into the pit of his stomach, the desire to be a better person worthy of his soulmate bringing forth every regret imaginable. Regret for what happened to his children, for what type of attitude he's adopted for himself, for the way he's handled just about anything that's ever needed handling in his entire life. He's a piece of shit! He'd thought any soulmate he got would be unworthy of him. Now he realizes it's them he's unworthy of, not the other way around. And damned if that isn't terrifying.

What's their favorite color and what do they like to do? Do they like music, movies, and what were those papers they had? What's their name? Their top ten best foods? Their preferred chip flavor? Were they a hero fan-- a fan of Endeavor, specifically? Were they into guys? Was Enji? No, that was a dumb question. Obviously Enji did if he wanted to know what their favorite shirt looked like. He wanted to hear their voice again. He could remember it so clearly, yet also couldn't at the same time. It was awful. This entire thing was awful.

"I'm having an existential crisis." Enji realized, sitting up very abruptly. His heart gave a pathetic little keening noise that made him feel like crying. Fine. Fine, fine, fine. He admitted it! Openly and very clearly! The whole soulmate thing was obviously real. He never expected he would've bought it, but it's not his fault his soulmate is perfect in every possible way. If he'd gotten someone uglier, someone a little more gangly, less soft looking with eyes not so large, perhaps he wouldn't be in this situation. But no. No, no, his soulmate had to come out looking like a small, curly-headed puppy. 

Soulmates were supposed to make you stronger, happier, better in every way. He could see how that could be the case. The idea of having that blue tiny person by his side was indefinitely appealing. They didn't necessarily have to get too close, right? Not romantically or even really as friends. They just had to be with one another vicinity wise. Endeavor could do that. It's not like he wanted to pick them up or ask them a million questions or anything relatively close to that. At all. He's like, not that type of guy.

Would being with them stabilize his mood? Make him steadier? All eyes were on him now that he was Number One, and he realized the emotion-levelling may not be a bad thing. 

His phone gave a shrill shriek before he could delve further into his decidedly homosexual thoughts, and he blindly slapped at the mattress before he found the device, grimacing as he brought it up to his ear. Enji's chest gave a creak that he viciously attempted to stab back to no avail whatsoever.

"Endeavor-san, I've got news." The eager voice of one of his agency's top intelligence officers made him perk up a little, his posture straightening into something more hopeful without him realizing. "If you check your email, I've sent several possible files that could match the identity of the mystery man you ran into. Though, only a few had criminal records. You said this was for a case, yes?"

"Yeah, for a case." Enji noted distractedly, ripping his laptop into his lap and aggressively closing the obscene amount of google tabs he'd had open, all of them relating to soulmates, love, and anger management classes. Plus the Youtube one that was set to a Lana Del Rey playlist, but he wouldn't talk about that. "And they're all relevant to the area?" 

"Yep. There's a college nearby so there's a good chance he's a student or teacher there. Especially if he seemed to have a fair amount of papers despite being dressed so casually." The officer yawned. Enji should really learn his name sometime. "I didn't blindly assume, however, so don't worry. All bases were covered."

"Right." He pulled up his email, large fingers struggling on the trackpad as he fumbled to click on the one sent to him most recently. He really needed to invest in one of those 'wireless' mouses that he'd seen Natsuo use on a few occasions. He struggled to scroll for a moment before remembering the thing was touch screen and going with that instead. Images were placed on top of attached PDFs that were no doubt filled to the brim with information.

The first picture was definitely not his perfect little soulmate. Too tall, too old, too ugly. Some drug addict with gaunt cheeks and bags under his eyes that looked too dark to be normal. He was a sickly sort of pale not at all similar to the milky skin he'd seen on his soulmate, and the charges for aggravated assault he swiftly glimpsed at in the attached PDF didn't match the mental impression he'd gathered in the few moments he'd had with his small someone. He scrolled on with little hesitation, taking one look at the second photo before rolling his eyes and continuing.

This went on for a few moments. Everyone was either too old, too young, too tall, too pale, too dark to be his soulmate. Not the right blue, not the same face, eyes were too small. The email was long and packed with photographs of just about every shade of blue you could imagine, but none were that perfect shade. He could feel himself become more and more aggravated, his swipes becoming quicker as he scrolled impatiently down the line until-- wait, no, go back.

Endeavor felt like the world had shattered and then reformed itself into a new, better form. He could hardly believe it. It's not that he hadn't thought the other man was real. Of course he was. There was no other explanation for this-- it was just... he had a photo of him. And he looked just as perfect as the last Endeavor had seen him. Which seemed relatively impossible. No one was perfect. At least, no one until this very moment.

"Endeavor-san?" The intelligence officer who Endeavor was definitely giving a raise questioned. Endeavor felt breathless. Because staring back at him, standing in what looked like a dance studio, was undoubtedly his soulmate. That was him. This was him. He was real, and a living person, and now Endeavor knew his name. How to find him and everything! Enji couldn't look away.

"You've found him." Endeavor's voice came out a little lighter and more wispy than he'd meant it to. "H...Hoshi Kansai. Hoshi."

"The guy with thirteen public intoxication charges who got in trouble for driving a stolen car off a bridge?"

Endeavor's conscious mind snapped back like a rubber band.

"Off a what?"