Chapter Text
“I knew you were a dumbass, but I didn’t think you were an idiot ,” Bakugou whispers harshly, aggressively scrubbing at the pot in his hands.
“It’s hard to take you seriously when you’re wearing hot pink gloves,” Shouto quips. Back in the dining room, he can hear you laughing with Midoriya and Uraraka, a small smile curling on his lips. Why he volunteered to wash dishes with Bakugou when he could be out there making you laugh himself is beyond him.
“I don’t fuck with dry skin.” Bakugou thrusts the cleaned pot into his hands with a grunt. “And why the hell would you offer to cook? You can’t cook for shit.”
“I can learn.”
The laugh that the number two pro lets out isn’t at all reassuring. It’s accompanied by a rare, amused shake of his head.
“Alright, half n’ half. Keep tellin’ yourself that.” Then, he drops his voice uncharacteristically low, leaning in a little. “Listen, since I know all the lessons in the world can’t help you make Mapo Tofu, I can send you an idiot-proof recipe for one of her favourites.”
He’s a little taken aback by the offer, and honestly? A little suspicious. “That’d be great, actually. But, uh…how do you know what she likes?”
“She didn’t tell you? We used to hook up.”
Shouto almost drops the pot he’s drying, and Bakugou continues washing dishes as if he hadn’t just admitted to… being with you. His mouth opens and closes stupidly as he tries to formulate a response.
He’s saved from this conversation by you, smiling softly as you reach around him to deposit three empty wine glasses by the sink.
“I think I’m going to head home for the night,” you tell them, swaying lightly on your feet as you linger by his side. Shouto places a hand on the small of your back to steady you, the warmth from the wine and the easygoing atmosphere bleeding through the material of your dress and meeting his palm.
“Would you like me to call you a cab?”
“Midoriya already called one for us,” you hum, snaking your arm around his waist and leaning into his side. “Apparently my place is on the way to yours?”
It’s not.
“Okay,” Shouto nods, flicking the water off his hands before tossing the dish towel onto the counter. “Let’s say our goodbyes and get downstairs then.”
__________
When the cab rolls up to the curb, Shouto immediately pulls the door open for you. You turn around to hug Midoriya and Uraraka before shuffling inside (who both shoot him a thumbs up when your back is turned, because if there’s anything he’s learned over the years, it’s that those two together are about as subtle as a gun.)
The cab ride is mostly quiet. You’re staring at the window, humming along to the Taylor Swift song playing on the radio, and Shouto’s mind is running a mile a minute. He doesn’t even realize that his knee is bouncing until you rest your hand on it, effectively stilling him.
His heart flips in his chest and he holds his breath. The touch is mostly innocent, but when did you scoot halfway into the middle seat? His muscles tense, but he lacks the willpower to reject your touch.
Because then you’re looking at him, and his breath catches. You’re softly illuminated by the passing streetlights and neon signs, and as embarrassing as it is, he can’t look away. You’re pretty. Everyone knows this, and Shouto’s known this for a while now. You’re kind and smart and you have a smile that makes people swoon.
But then you’re closing the distance between the two of you, and just as his lips are about to meet yours, every the one thought he’d been trying to avoid is suddenly pushed back to the forefront of his mind.
So he redirects, pressing his lips to your cheek instead, and pretending not to notice the disappointed look on your face.
__________
Shouto doesn’t like hospitals. Doesn’t like the harsh fluorescents or the smell of isopropyl alcohol. He doesn’t particularly enjoy the feel of the stiff plastic chairs, or the underlying melancholy that lies within its walls. He spent a fair amount of time in the hospital back during the…
Well, he didn’t really like to think of that time.
After serving 10 years in a max security prison, Touya had been moved to a villain rehabilitation center. The facility that he’d been in for the past year reminds Shouto of a hospital. Though the lights are a little softer, the feeling remains. He tried not to let it show how uncomfortable it made him.
But Sunday is visitation day, and Shouto’s never missed a single one since his brother had earned the privilege.
Even if it’s a bad day, his family (minus his father, as was Touya’s single condition to allow visitation) makes the effort to have at least one of them there. Even if they just spend the hour sitting across from each other in silence. In fact, no one had spoken a word during the first seven visits. It worked fine, considering loaded silence was the Todoroki’s second language.
Obviously it’s not easy for any of them, but they’re all trying. They’re not losing him again.
He’s visiting with his sister and his niece today, and Touya’s decided that today he wanted to take a stroll (out in the gated, heavily guarded yard). Shouto hangs back as the four year old babbles about her day to her uncle, swinging their intertwined hands between them. Touya couldn’t look more disinterested, but makes sure to hum distracted “uh huh’s” whenever she glances up at him for a response.
Usually, Shouto tries to be more present (studies have shown that fostering stronger familial relationships are directly correlated to successful inmate rehabilitation rates) but he’s distracted.
He tries not to be, but it’s hard when you’ve been occupying every crevice of his mind since dinner yesterday night. He’s like the poor sap in every romantic song or movie ever created.
He’s pulled out of his head when Fuyumi announces she’s going to get everyone snacks from the vending machine, leaving Shouto with his niece and brother. The latter are sequestered at a sundrenched picnic table, playing rock-paper-scissors.
“Hey. What’s wrong with you?” His brother asks, after a moment. “You haven’t spewed any of your bullshit encouraging cliches since you’ve been here.”
Sometimes Shouto forgets that like the rest of his siblings, Touya could be horribly observational.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Shouto clarifies slowly. He doesn’t want to unload his silly worries onto his brother. He has enough to worry about in here. “I just— I have a lot on my mind.”
Touya smirks, and Shouto can’t help but feel like he’s walked into some sort of trap. “So this has nothin’ to do with you n’ the broad on the magazine?”
Shouto doesn’t say anything, but the surprise must be evident on his face because Touya just rolls his eyes. “It’s rehab, not the underside of a fuckin’ rock. We get the Arama here. She give you blue balls or something?”
His gaze narrows at the crude assumption, then he tilts his head towards Mai. “There are young ears present.”
He doesn’t say anything more, and Touya seems content to let the conversation die, shrugging indifferently as he picks at the chipped wood. Normally, Shouto would have been fine with leaving the conversation there, because last night was embarrassing as hell, but …who would Touya have to tell in this place?
So, after a moment, “But no, we didn’t– she wouldn’t– we’re just– ”
Touya chuckles, leaning forward on his elbows. “Okay, I’m gonna give you some advice.”
“Oh? And what makes you think I’m going to take advice from a convicted criminal?”
“I may be a criminal, but at least I’m not a virgin.”
“Oh my god,” Shouto groans, leaning back and rubbing his hands over his face. “I hate my life.”
“Maybe you’ll hate your life less if you get laid.”
“I can’t even kiss her,” he admits, surprising even himself as he says it. “I think she wanted me to, but I was thinking about how the last person she kissed was Bakugou, and he’s– he’s better than me at almost everything!”
“That’s probably true,” his brother agrees, to which Shouto sends him a flat look. “But that isn’t your fault.”
“Then whose is it?”
Touya’s gaze flickers to Mai, who is distracted by a blade of grass, but he still lowers his voice a little. “Probably our fuckstick of a father. The way he treated mom wasn’t exactly model behaviour.”
He frowns at that, crossing his arms over his chest. “Please don’t compare me to him.”
“Please, you’re too soft,” his brother scoffs. “But that’s a good thing, alright? You don’t wanna be like that asshole? Then don’t be a pussy and kiss your girl, man.”
“I’m not a–”
His phone rings in his pocket, and for once, Shouto thanks the pro hero privilege that let him bring his phone in here. Across from him, Touya raises his brows when he glances at the screen, hesitating.
“Hey, Margot,” he starts, getting up and reaching for their Mai’s hand. “C’mon, let’s give Uncle Sho a minute to talk to his girlfriend. You ever smoke a cigarette before?”
“She’s not my girlfriend,” Shouto argues, hitting ‘accept call’ as they walk away. “And where the hell did you get a cigarette?! Don’t give her one!”
“Don’t give who what?”
“My brother,” Shouto sighs tiredly. “He’s trying to get a four year old addicted to nicotine.”
“...Is this a bad time? Should I call you back?”
“No, it’s fine,” he assures you. “Is everything okay?”
“I was just calling to let you know that my plans changed and I have to shoot tonight, so we have to take a raincheck on our cooking lesson.”
Shouto’s heart falls into his stomach. You’re canceling because he’s blown this already. Is this what it’s like to be friendzoned? Is he in the friendzone?
“So why don’t you come by the studio tonight instead?” You suggest. “I’ll have some time between scenes, and we can go out for soba after.”
Well, he can’t say no to soba, can he?
(And he could never say no to you.)