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Well, it certainly doesn't take an expert to know that they're bad at this.
Well—granted, it's only been a month. And yet at the same time, it's been a whole month. But their hands still fumble and fingers still bump into wrists and knuckles and cold metal legs of the cafeteria table they hide their small sign of intimacy under, even though there's really no reason for them to do so—given how both old-fashioned newspapers and glossy tabloids alike are currently exploding with briefings of the blossoming (it takes Izuku all his strength not to burst out laughing at that one) relationship between pro heroes Eraserhead and Present Mic, there's really no leeway present for Aizawa-sensei to reprimand them for interlacing their fingers together, no matter how clumsy it is.
Not to mention that Shouto's seen him hide his hand under the table, too—although it doesn't really seem like hiding whenever those two do it. It just seems...casual. There's a mutual understanding between Aizawa and Hizashi about when to hold on, when to let go, when Hizashi should plant his hands palm-down on either side of Aizawa and lean in for a quick kiss, when Aizawa should ideally stand still and push back for said kiss.
It's an adult thing, Shouto decides. Him and Izuku and Tenya—they're all teens caught up in loud arguments, petty fistfights, clumsy flirting, and the sheer high that comes from simply being an adolescent—knowing more than you're supposed to yet never being able to know enough at the same time.
So what if the League of Villains taught them how to launch their quirks at a moment's notice and dodge slashing blades within a hairline? They still barely know how to lean in to steal a peck from the other without it resulting in a head-on collision.
They're hand-hiding in the cafeteria once more as all of this floats by in Shouto's head, although he's fairly certain the others have their heads up in the same strain of clouds as well, given that Tenya is blissfully (or anxiously?) unaware of a small glob of rice sticking to his chin—what the hell, how on earth can a square-chinned, broad-shouldered, rigidly austere boy-man be so damn cute? He was supposed to be hot, if anything—and that Izuku's journal is carelessly splayed open, a few inches of leatherbound spine grazing the edge of a lunch tray as the muscles in his neck pull taut and he bites his lip (and what the hell, how on earth can a baby-faced, frazzle-haired, large-eyed, chronically nervous mumbler be so hot? It seems there are many unspoken rules in this universe that Shouto has yet to uncover).
And Shouto has the guilty pleasure of being sandwiched right in the middle of the two, one hand gripped a little too rigidly by Tenya and another gripped a bit too loosely by Izuku. In the end, however, the most prominent thing he can remember about said moment is that both hands are slick with sweat. And he can also feel the two's pulses hammering away behind their wrists.
(He can feel his, truly, jackhammering inside his own head as well).
And then Izuku extends a free arm rightwards, wrapped in scars and emanating warmth as it progresses past Shouto, grazes past him for a small second that seems like an eternity, and finds its place on Tenya's shoulder, to tell him that, "Iida-kun, you've got something right there," and Shouto's jackhammer proceeds splits his skull so far open that his entire body floats out of it.
The second Tenya releases his hand and restores the bloodflow to it, however, Shouto is somewhat back, peering through eyes that don't seem like his own as Tenya swipes away at the rice with a napkin, then continues watching as his eyes go wide for a second, some sort of realization flashing before him as Izuku unlaces his fingers from Shouto's other hand in shock, asking what's wrong, and Tenya can only begin slicing the air in agitation, struggling to come up with a response, face flushed a light shade of pink, when Shouto quickly realizes what it is, seeing his hands—both of his hands—boxed around his rectangular body and quickly clips in with a quiet, "It's okay."
The pink transforms into beet red as Tenya clears his throat.
"It was by accident—if you would be fine with me, ah—holding your hand again, then I'd gladly—"
Izuku cuts in this time, with a laugh that Shouto can only bring himself to describe as yellow, as wildflowers, as a warm summer day at the beach with hints of salt spray—and Shouto can pratically feel himself steaming. He's a hormone-addled kettle at boiling point with no one there to cut off the heat, as oh god, oh god—Izuku stifles as much of the laughter as he can with a palm pressed to his teeth. Has he always had dimples?
He's barely able to know nowadays, given he never smiles anymore. Given he realizes what he's doing half a minute or so in and bashfully cuts off in a broken wheeze and bends over the table, bends over Shouto, and actually stays there this time, a freckled elbow gently pressed where Shouto's tie is and wisps of green tickling Shouto's nose as he seriously considers activating his left side to cool himself down, then seriously reconsidering it as he imagines half of the lunchroom turning into human popsicles due to his negligence.
No, he decides, the only thing he wants to freeze now is time.
So he ends up trying to busy himself by surveying the remnants of their lunch in front of them, and sees just how out of place it seems: the bowl with the stray spring onion and small chunk of pork is over on Tenya's side of the table, the stringy noodles of soba limping out of the bowl on Izuku's side, and the dish of deep brown still emanating the strong smell of beef—lies in front of Shouto. He knows why they all strayed from their normal meals—to give them to each other, of course, but in the end, cowardice and teenage anxiety prevail, and Shouto defeatedly ends up spooning steaming nikujaga into his mouth as Izuku sucks in strands of cold soba, eyebrows knit together as he flushes deep pink, and Tenya dutifully dips his chopsticks into his katsudon, eyes clamped shut as if he doesn't want to face the fact that he's failed (or perhaps it's because he doesn't want to face the fact that Shouto's having beef stew that could have been his).
It's when he gets to the edge of Izuku's lunch tray that he accidentally finds out. His handwriting is scratchy yet strangely legible—and before he knows it, Shouto's brain ends up processing the entire thing and he finds himself reading the strangest set of bullet points he's ever encountered—strange even for Izuku Midoriya.
- grip hand—its been the most effective thing so far—but make your palms stop sweating every time you take hold
...What.
- compliment them! although theres not much you can do for outfits—we're all wearing the same uniforms—face maybe?
- no. no face. that's just creepy.
- and the only person it would make sense to compliment on hair would be kirishima.
- i'll come back to this one later
- stop sweating when you try to smile and wave to them as they walk into class.
- just stop sweating in general. get some deodorant and—
"Todo—Todoroki-kun—!"
Izuku's voice goes up an octave as he slides back over to his original seating and slams the book shut, and Shouto is suddenly aware of how Izuku smells faintly of peaches mixed with sweat, so instead of apologizing, he just dumbly states, "Perfume?"
Izuku swallows and looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. "Mom's," he mutters, absolutely miserable. "Didn't have time to find any deodorant."
Shouto runs his fingers through his hair, feeling just as mortified. "Midoriya, I'm so sorry—"
Izuku blinks in confusion. "For the deodorant?"
"I, ah—assume Todoroki-kun means for intruding on your private property!" Tenya interrupts. "Which..." he adjusts his glasses. "I must apologize for too, since I may have...ahem. Happened to glance at too for a brief moment," he finishes weakly. "And comprehend."
Silence.
Izuku takes a deep breath to steady himself. "Okay..." He cups his red face in between his hands until it turns into a tamer shade of pink. "Okay." He shakes his head. "It's okay," he assents, looking up and giving the two of them a flimsy smile that's twitching slightly at either corner. "How, uh...how far did you get?"
"Er, I recall there was a bullet point about kissing—"
"WHAT?!"
Izuku slides off the edge of his seat and clumsily falls into a heap on the floor, only to scramble back up just as abruptly and clamber onto the bench, hands trembling as he waves them through the air. "I..." he murmurs weakly, choking on the air. "I..." Shouto can't hear the rest.
Kissing.
It's one of those words to Shouto. Those kinds of words that are obviously in your vocabulary, yet always seem foreign whenever they're uttered. It's sits up atop, sidled right next to father and family, and freedom and friendship used to be up there, but nowadays they sit on a lower tier of familiarity to him—and it's all because of them.
Kissing.
He's had a dream about it before, an entire month ago, just before the confessions came pouring out of each of them and the hand-hiding rituals commenced, blanket over his head, starlight streaming in through a window, seeing hazy, stitched together mirages of embracing Izuku and Tenya, hands sliding around their shoulders, just leaning in and giving them all he has—and perhaps it isn't much, but he'll gladly give it all away—their lips feel vaguely, pleasantly warm and then his alarm butts in, buzzing and waking him up, and he tells himself he forgot all about it because that's all that dreams are—disposable reels of your subconscious flickering in your mind, no hidden messages or desires in them no matter what Mina argues are in them—and he tells himself if he wants to forget it, then he will forget it.
He never forgets it.
"Todoroki. Todoroki-kun."
Tenya and Izuku both place a hand on him on either shoulder—he tenses up but then calms down at the thought of the human-popsicle cafeteria again. He needs to focus. He needs to stay centered.
But damn, if anyone could make Shouto have a hard time with that, it's these two, without a doubt.
Words are exchanged between Tenya and Izuku, and only at the end, when Izuku nods firmly and slips something hard and leathery into Shouto's hands, does he realize that he didn't catch a single word of what those two were saying. He had lost himself in tracing the lines of their profiles, their voices becoming ambience for him as his cheeks feel like millions of warm air bubbles are fizzing up inside of them—he later registers it as blushing, but for now, he's still a kettle on the stove, and the wired coil underneath him has never been so relentless.
"—So I've decided I don't want to hide anything from you two anymore," Izuku finishes, even though it's only now that Shouto's begun listening. He stares down at the object in his hands, slowly lifting away the clasp at the side before he realizes what he's doing.
"Your—journal."
"Our journal," Izuku corrects him. "Here—you can finish what you started," he says, grabbing the journal momentarily, letting their hands brush again, before he begins sifting through the pages. "It's only fair. If—" He frowns. "If I could just find it—"
"Ah! Allow me!" Tenya intercepts and Izuku hands it over to him, confused.
"There's no page numbers. How would you know where to—"
"Here," Tenya pauses and presses his index finger near the right hand corner of the page, revealing a small, rectangular face scratched in near the binding out of graphite, suspiciously resembling the very boy who was pointing to it, accompanied by a smaller one, more circular with half of the hair hastily shaded in, the other part left blank.
Izuku blinks. "...Oh." It comes out as a squeak. He presses his lips together. "That's how."
Tenya clears his throat and nods as their faces both color. "You've managed to capture our likenesses quite well, actually."
"I actually look better on here," Shouto adds. That ends up coaxing a smile out of Izuku as he sets the journal back into Shouto's lap, and he finds the word.
It's one of those words.
Kissing.
- ive always thought about kissing but im not sure if there's some sort of stage we have to pass before we can do that
Shouto's heartbeat quickens.
- or maybe not, considering that tsu and ochako kissed the minute they asked each other out to celebrate
- maybe it's just me who worries about these kinds of things? who would ever want to kiss me?
Tenya pauses and slaps his hand on the page, appalled. "Midoriya-kun—"
"Wait," Shouto interrupts, although his own heart is aching slightly at that last string of words. "Finish it first."
- ill ask them. one day, maybe. but the atmosphere has to be perfect.
- a sunrise? no—sunset!
- the beach.
- an ice cream parlor.
- a concert—no. no. too noisy.
- i want to see every inch of their faces.
- slide in slowly
- feel the weight of their bodies balance out mine
- give them all i have
- (not much but—
I'd gladly give it all away.
The words seem to fly off the pages now, reconstructing his dream in front of him. In a huge, faulty leap of logic, he decides that if he can freeze the wall clock hanging across from him at the other end of the cafeteria, time will finally freeze and this moment would be his forever.
Luckily, Tenya and Izuku both grab his hands before he can make a fool of himself and give him a reason Aizawa-sensei actually can take advantage of—and Tenya clears his throat.
"Midoriya-kun—Todoroki-kun—perhaps it's just my line of thinking, but I don't believe there's any sort of level progression required for us to advance to other acts of intimacy."
Izuku's mouth parts open slightly, and his eyes glow suddenly as if he's undergone a revelation. "Then—" He furrows his eyebrows in concentration, frowning. "Then—"
And then stretches, he stretches his entire torso out across the table, his knees on the bench, as he places each of his hands on one of their shoulders, leans in, closes his eyes, and kisses Tenya Iida right on the lips as both of them pinken up to their ears and Tenya—hesitantly at first, and then slowly melting into the uniform pressed in front of him, cards a hand through Izuku's hair before pulling away, his glasses incredibly askew and dangling diagonally across the bridge of his nose as he uncharacteristically doesn't even bother to reposition them.
And now it's his turn, Shouto realizes, heart thumping as Izuku turns to look at him and Tenya swiftly readjusts his glasses, flushing and flustered as he hears Mina and Denki shout from a table across from them in unison, "Yeah! Go get it, dude!"
He does get it. He really does.
It's no sunset, it's no beach or parlor, but the rays of afternoon sun slanting in through the windows allows him the perfect view. He can see every inch of their faces. He can slide in slowly. He can absentmindedly lean in against Tenya as Izuku leans in against Shouto, sandwiched between the two as he feels the weight of their bodies balance out his—
He can lean in, feel the lined texturing of his lips, card a hand through his hair like Tenya did as Tenya slowly begins to lean in and brush his own hands through Shouto's hair and press his own lips against Shouto's cheek—and just like that, in between two ties, four inexperienced hands, and three racing heartbeats, kissing is suddenly beginning to climb down the ranks of unfamiliarity.
And perhaps both beef stew and katsudon are just on par with his cold soba. Maybe even better.