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It’s Izuku’s fault that it happens. He wouldn’t blame anyone other than himself for it, anyway. He should’ve been more careful, more observant, when he approached Todoroki from behind during survival training—he should’ve noticed that Kacchan was charging at Todoroki from the front while Izuku came up from behind to tell him that he’d managed to capture Iida’s team with Jirou’s help.
But he wasn’t, and he didn’t, so it’s entirely Izuku’s fault that he’s in the way when Todoroki’s left side ignites and he swings his arm backwards, readying himself for Kacchan’s attack. Izuku realizes too late, doesn’t have enough time to completely jump out of Todoroki’s line of fire before it burns him.
Izuku yelps, flinging himself away from Todoroki’s attack. At the sound, Todoroki abruptly puts out his fire and whips around, his eyes widening as he sees Izuku lying on the ground, the sleeve of his hero costume burnt away and the skin underneath red, bubbling. The air is sweltering. Izuku quickly tucks his arm up against his chest, clenching his teeth together and nodding back towards Kacchan, trying to get Todoroki to refocus.
But Todoroki continues to stare at Izuku, and Izuku can’t call his expression anything other than horrified.
Kacchan’s team ends up winning the survival exercise.
—
That night, the burn is nothing but a memory or a phantom pain, having been healed away with a kiss from Recovery Girl.
But when Todoroki doesn’t show up to dinner in the common room, Izuku knows not to blow the fact off as if it’s nothing. The look on Todoroki’s face when he’d seen what had happened to Izuku is seared into Izuku’s memory far more vividly than the sight of his own injury, or even the pain of it.
So, after he’s finished eating, he excuses himself from the table and hurries away, despite the curious looks from his friends in his wake. Surely, he thinks, they can piece it all together themselves.
On his trip up to Todoroki’s room—which mostly consists of an elevator ride—Izuku plans what he’ll say. Mostly, he wants to see how Todoroki is doing and to apologize for getting in the way during training.
After the elevator door slides open, Izuku pads down the hallway to Todoroki’s dorm room door. He knocks softly on the door with his knuckles, and then he drops his hand back to his side and worries his bottom lip between his teeth while he waits.
The door clicks and then Todoroki pulls it open, staring at Izuku for a moment before he says, “Midoriya.”
Izuku fiddles with the bottom hem of his t-shirt. “Hey, Todoroki-kun,” he greets, noticing how Todoroki’s line of sight flickers down to Izuku’s arm that had been burnt. “Are you… Are you doing okay? I just noticed how you didn’t come down to dinner, and you seemed—well, you looked pretty… you looked kind of scared during training, when…” he trails off to nothing, the rest of the words he’d planned to say dying on his tongue when he meets eyes with Todoroki again. He looks so sad.
The corner of Todoroki’s mouth twitches. “I didn’t expect you to check on me,” he says. Izuku opens his mouth to respond, but Todoroki keeps speaking, “Though, I suppose I should have. It’s a very you thing to do.”
Todoroki gestures for Izuku to follow him into his room, and then he closes the door behind them. “I was going to visit you earlier, at the infirmary,” he says, lifting a hand to scratch at the back of his neck, “but Recovery Girl said there was no need, since you’d be out before dinner.”
“Why didn’t you come to dinner?” Izuku inquires, accompanied by a slight curious tilt of his head.
Todoroki blinks, like he hadn’t expected the question. “Wasn’t hungry,” he says simply.
“Oh.” Izuku breathes. “Are you sure?”
For some reason, Todoroki lets out an amused huff. “Midoriya, you…” He sighs and sits on the ground by his low table. “You have a tendency to pry.”
Izuku gapes, and then stammers, “I’m—I’m sorry… I just… I—”
“It’s fine,” Todoroki interrupts, and he pats the top of the table across from him, signalling for Izuku to sit. “I don’t mind.”
Slightly perplexed, Izuku takes a seat across from Todoroki. He drums his fingers on the table, and Todoroki looks down at his hands.
“I’m glad that your burn healed all the way,” he comments, laying his own hands on the table and splaying his fingers. “I feel awful about that. It shouldn’t have happened.”
“It’s my fault,” Izuku replies immediately. “I should’ve noticed—”
“I fail to see how it’s your fault in any way,” Todoroki interrupts. His gaze drops to the table. “I need to be able to… control it better. I can’t… I can’t hurt people who trust me—people who I trust.”
Izuku itches to insist that he’s the one at fault, but Todoroki’s mouth is pulled into a crooked line and his splayed hands on the table curl into fists, so he resists his urge to speak up.
“I can’t turn out like him,” Todoroki murmurs, and he looks up to meet Izuku’s wide eyes with his own sad ones. “I can’t hurt people like that, like he does.”
“‘He’—Your father?”
Todoroki nods.
They’re silent, for a moment. Izuku gathers his thoughts.
“I don’t think there’s any possibility of you becoming like your father,” Izuku says quietly, and he chews on the inside of his cheek before speaking again, “You are so fundamentally different than him, Todoroki… You have too much compassion to become similar to what he is. The fact that you feel so much remorse for… for an accident just proves that, I think.”
Todoroki swallows thickly, “I’m so scared, Midoriya, that I won’t be able to be seen as anything other than him.”
Izuku furrows his eyebrows. “What do you mean?”
He sighs. “No matter what I do, or who I am, everyone is just going to think that I’m my father, or that I’m trying to be like him,” he stops, takes a breath, but Izuku can tell he isn’t done talking. “Because who wouldn’t want to be? He’s the second strongest hero. I should—” his speech breaks, “I should aspire to be like him.”
“You shouldn’t,” Izuku says. “He’s powerful—of course he is. But he… is nothing to aspire to.”
Todoroki nods shallowly in agreement. “I know,” he says. “But there’s nothing I can do to get away—to get out of his shadow. Deep down, I think I’ll always be Endeavor’s masterpiece.” He spits the last words with a scorn that Izuku can feel radiating off of him.
But Izuku disagrees. “Deep down,” he corrects, “Deep down, you’re Todoroki Shouto. You’re not your father’s property, and you’re nothing like him. I hate to hear you talk like you are. He’s ruthless, and cruel, and inconsiderate, and selfish. And you, Todoroki, despite all that you’ve been through, you’re kind and generous…” Izuku trails off when he feels a small splash on his hand resting on the table. He realizes that he’s crying, then. “Oh,” he says, lifting his hands to wipe at his own cheeks. “Oh, I’m—I’m sorry. I don’t know why I…”
Todoroki’s gaze holds steady on Izuku as he continues to wipe away his tears with the heels of his palms. “You’re very kind to me, Midoriya,” he comments. “Why?”
Izuku sniffles and takes his hands away from his face. “You deserve it,” he replies, “You really deserve it, Todoroki.”
“I don’t…” Todoroki hesitates. “I don’t know what to say.”
“You don’t have to say anything,” Izuku assures.
And so, for awhile, they’re quiet—save for Izuku’s occasional sniffles. But it’s comforting, in a way, to just sit here together, Izuku thinks. To just be in each other’s presence, to calm down and let thoughts swim.
Eventually, Shouto asks quietly, as if not to break the atmosphere, “Can I see your hand?” He nods to Izuku’s scarred hand, and without hesitation, Izuku reaches across the table and offers it to him.
Todoroki takes Izuku’s hand in both of his own, Izuku’s palm downwards and Todoroki’s palms upwards. He then slides Izuku’s hand so that his palm presses to that of Todoroki’s right hand, and with his left, he carefully begins to trace the scars with the pads of his fingers.
Izuku watches, almost mystified.
“You did this for me,” Todoroki remembers, not lifting his gaze from Izuku’s hand.
Izuku hums his affirmation.
“How reckless,” he comments softly, eyes flickering up to meet Izuku’s. There’s a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.
“It was worth it,” Izuku blurts, mouth dry.
The smile tugs a little harder at Todoroki’s lips, but then it falls and he says, “Midoriya, do you know why I picked my given name as my hero name?”
Izuku shakes his head. Todoroki is still tracing the scars on his hand.
“I was hopeful that people would see me for me,” he says, “Not just for my family name. Not just for my father.” Todoroki withdraws his left hand, but then adjusts his right hand so that he can slot his fingers between Izuku’s. “But even if people, or if the media thinks that I’m like my father, I know that you won’t. That matters—it means a lot to me.”
Izuku sucks in a sharp breath. “Shouto,” he says, quiet. “Do you want me to call you Shouto?”
“If you would like to.”
“I would—I would like to,” Izuku stumbles over his words. The tips of his ears feel hot, and his cheeks, and down his neck. “You could call me Izuku, too?” he suggests, sheepish.
Todoroki smiles at him in response, close-lipped, soft, and gentle. “Sure, Izuku,” he says, like he’s trying it out.
Izuku offers him a wobbly smile in return, then looks at their hands still intertwined over the table. He squeezes Todoroki’s hand lightly, and says, “Shouto,” he stops; the name feels foreign but welcome on his tongue. Then, “You aren’t your father in the slightest. You’re you, and you’re going to be an amazing hero, regardless of any expectations put on you.”
Todoroki exhales shakily before bringing Izuku’s hand in his own up to his mouth. He presses his lips to the scar that runs across the back of Izuku’s hand, letting his eyes flutter closed.
“Izuku,” he says once he’s let their hands fall back to the table. “Thank you.”