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There’s a knock out of nowhere on Izuku’s door, interrupting the studying that he’s been at since the early hours of the morning. (Izuku isn’t sure how much time has passed him by, but when the person knocks again, he assumes it must be well past lunchtime.)
“Just a moment!” he calls out, grateful for the distraction. It’s well-timed, because he’s been through two and a half iced coffees—with another waiting on his desk—and his dorm room is littered with crumpled up papers and post-it notes. He could certainly use the break. Izuku isn’t exactly certain who or what he had been expecting, but Todoroki stands there, red-faced and bundled in Izuku’s All Might sweatshirt. (He hadn’t even noticed it was missing.)
“Can I come in?”
Izuku stammers, taken aback by Shouto’s disheveled appearance. Nonetheless, he says, “I mean, of course you can come in. Don’t—don’t take this the wrong way, Todoroki-kun, but did something happen?”
Todoroki’s mouth hangs slightly ajar as he pauses, shaking his head. He’s lying. Of course he’s lying, but Izuku knows far better than to push. He just shifts the textbooks on his bed over, pats the quilt, and settles back in his earlier position, legs crossed.
“You can talk if you want,” offers Izuku, and you don’t have to, though , hangs in the air, unsaid. In the meantime, though, he turns his attention back to the notebook in front of him. Of course his attention isn’t fully there—he’s aware of Todoroki, how stiff he is and how his hands shake slightly, mirroring Izuku’s. Unlike Izuku, though, it isn’t from overcaffeination.
He does try to study, honestly, he does, but it grows increasingly difficult when he’s so completely aware that something is off with Todoroki. And just as he’s about to give up his efforts to study in favor of playing on his phone, Todoroki speaks up.
“Ikeda and I are done,” he manages, quiet and miserable.
Izuku sucks in a quiet, shocked breath. Todoroki has been dating Ikeda since they were sixteen—over two years ago. Izuku has heard about him on several occasions, even seen his blurry figure during FaceTimes with Todoroki. During breaks, Todoroki divides his time between seeing his mother and siblings, and Ikeda and his family. To say that a breakup is unprecedented is an understatement.
“Oh, god,” he breathes. “Do you. Did you want to talk about it? Or would you rather I—” He’s at a loss for words; comforting Todoroki usually comes easy to him, but he’s also never seen Todoroki quite this distraught.
Todoroki sniffs, rubbing into his eyes with the heels of his hands to stall the tears. He isn’t quite crying yet, but his voice wobbles, on the precipice.
“He got an internship,” says Todoroki, eyes carefully trained on his lap. “He got—it’s in America. New York. He told me,” he pauses, takes a shuddery breath, and continues. “He doesn’t want to be tied down when he’s so far away.”
It’s all so matter-of-fact. As Todoroki speaks, Izuku pays careful attention. His words are heavy and laced with desolation, and they just don’t make sense . Izuku rests a hand on Todoroki’s knee, tentative, and sighs, “I’m so sorry, Todoroki-kun. Really.”
Todoroki gives a wet laugh, more of a puff of breath, actually. “We were only 18,” he says. “ God , what’s the likelihood we would have ended up together, you know?”
It’s low, but Izuku doesn’t dare say so.
“I loved him. Love him,” Todoroki says. “I don’t know what went wrong.”
Izuku is quick to assure, “You didn’t do anything at all. Honest.”
“It was foolish of me to think we had a future.”
“It isn’t foolish; it’s a human emotion.”
Izuku isn’t the best at comforting. He mainly feels as if he’s repeating the same few mantras—it’s reasonable to be sad, I’m so sorry, it isn’t your fault—over and over again until Todoroki begins to feel even remotely okay.
“I’m sorry I came here,” Todoroki says, sudden and small. “I didn’t mean to—put this on you.”
Izuku sucks in a quiet breath, and the clammy hand that still rests on Todoroki’s knee rubs in small, reassuring circles.
“You’re my best friend,” he tells Todoroki, as if he doesn’t already know that. “You can always talk to me, you know that.” (Todoroki knows that too, surely.)
Todoroki sniffles, pressing the heels of his hands against his eyes once more, and nods, just listening.
“You’re mine, too.”
There’s a pond not far from campus that’s not safe to swim in but still beautiful, and while Izuku often heads there alone to clear his mind, having company to join him is far more appealing. He and Todoroki had gone after dinner, stopping only to grab a fleece blanket to lie on the ground underneath them. They’d carefully followed the dirt path, lit by the glow of two cellphones and the stars just beginning to show above them.
“Everything is happening so fast,” Todoroki confides, breaking the quiet between the two of them. Cicadas sing and bullfrogs croak, unseen, but neither Izuku nor Todoroki speak until that moment.
Izuku doesn’t have to ask twice to understand what Todoroki means; they graduate from UA in two weeks’ time, after which they’ll be thrust into the real world. Todoroki is still reeling from his breakup—anger has passed by, for the most part, but sadness lingers—and the stresses of exams run rampant. Both Todoroki and Izuku wear exhaustion in their heavy shoulders and the twin bags under their eyes.
“Are you nervous?”
Todoroki pauses, and when Izuku spares a glance in his direction, he watches Todoroki’s adam’s apple bob as he contemplates the question.
“Not the most nervous I’ve ever been—there are other worse times—but up there.”
“I think that that’s…understandable, at the very least. Everything is changing, or about to change,” Izuku reasons. He pauses, lets a beat of silence pass, and stretches his legs out on the blanket in front of them. Tension is palpable; Todoroki’s shoulders are stiff, and his energy is simply nervous.
“You know,” Izuku continues, “you’re really resilient, Todoroki-kun. I can’t even begin to imagine what it’s like, but I’m certain that you’ll be okay. In time.”
Todoroki nods, shifting so that his head rests against Izuku’s shoulder—it’s almost as if the effort that he’s required to extend in order to keep his head up is too great—and sighs, quiet.
“I wish there was a way to pause time.”
“I know.”
“I feel like I’m being…left behind while everybody moves forward.”
Todoroki’s voice catches on nothing and he leans over, just to the left, until his cheek is pressed against Izuku’s shoulder. It’s a tiny gesture, but Izuku relaxes at the contact, snaking an arm around his friend’s shoulder. He’s careful to pace his breathing so that Todoroki can match it, even and calm. It’s rather atmospheric down by the lake, sky blanketed in dark blue. It’s far from silent, what with the bullfrogs croaking and splashing in the water. The trees rustle in the breeze and Izuku sighs, squeezing Todoroki ever so slightly. How the time had passed so quickly is beyond him. How they’re going to graduate in less than a month’s time is definitely beyond him. The hammering in his chest, the cold sweat he’s beginning to break into—this is all new territory. It’s somewhat astonishing how a night like this can bring two people so close, but Izuku isn’t certain he’s felt this close to Todoroki—at least, not in the same peaceful sense—ever.
“Thank you,” he breathes, almost silent. “Thanks for coming with me, Todoroki-kun.”
Todoroki hums his approval, and Izuku lets his eyelids fall shut, listening to Todoroki’s quiet puffs of breath.
“I think we’re going to be just fine,” he decides aloud, voice the most confident it’s been all night.
Izuku had gone into the graduation ceremony with the expectation that it would proceed like a wave. That is, it would grow and grow, fed by tearful speeches and tearful songs, until it became too large and broke, overwhelming and loud and scary.
Instead, graduation passes like ripples. Izuku’s eyes dutifully scan the paper program as they work down the list. He receives his diploma following a series of handshakes, doesn’t trip, and regroups alongside Iida, Todoroki, and Uraraka, albeit with a tiny lump in his throat.
It’s hard for Izuku to wrap his head around the fact that they’re all going their separate ways for; he can’t dream of not gathering with all of them at lunch tables any longer. He can’t imagine cutting down on the late night walks with Todoroki, or attempting to study alongside Iida, only to give up in favor of chatting or, more recently, attempting to get a handle on his feelings towards Todoroki.
When Izuku’s heart catches in his throat, he tries to tell himself that it’s merely anxiety.
“If you don’t hold still, you’re going to get face mask in your hair,” Ashido chides Kaminari as they sit on the floor, knees pressed together.
“It’s cold ,” says Kaminari, face scrunching up in a pout.
“You’re not supposed to move your face that much, either!”
“Such a delicate art, face masks,” Kaminari teases, though with a pointed glance from Ashido, he drops his expression back to neutral, his face half-covered in a pink mask.
“You know,” says Izuku, turning to Todoroki as the conversation continues in the background, “I’m suddenly relieved that I didn’t agree to do the face masks.”
Todoroki breathes out a quiet puff of laughter, and Izuku shifts so that he leans into Todoroki’s side, slight but still comforting. It’s their second to last night in the UA dorms, and since most everybody will spend the following night packing up the remnants of their rooms, Iida had quickly thrown together a movie night in the common room.
Nobody’s watching the movie—or Izuku doesn’t think anybody is watching the movie. They’ve all congregated in the common room only to separate into little clusters. Yaoyorozu and Jirou are huddled under a blanket in one of the large arm chairs. Across the room, Uraraka sits with a large glass bowl of popcorn balanced on her cross legs, and Tsuyu is beside her, upside down, and occasionally letting her tongue dart out to grab a piece for herself.
Bakugou, Tokoyami, and Kirishima sit over a game of Monopoly—or rather, Tokoyami and Kirishima play, while Bakugou curses and accuses them of cheating, loudly .
“It’s for the best,” Todoroki decides, quiet.
The common room buzzes with laughter and activity, but Izuku is at best half-aware of the classmates surrounding them. Over the past few weeks, especially since Todoroki had shown up in Izuku’s dorm room to confide in him following his break-up, it’s always been them . He and Todoroki have spent the weeks leading up to graduation very careful not to mention it. They’re going their separate ways—close, but further than they’re used to. They’ve both elected to stay in Tokyo, which takes away a large part of the sting of separation, but Izuku has grown used to having Todoroki so close, always there for a midnight walk or a movie night, or even just to sit in each other’s presence.
Tokyo is big , and it’s overwhelming, and at such a young age, Izuku isn’t certain how he’s going to survive on his own. It’s silly, maybe, for him to think that he’s going to have a hard time on his own, since Heroes are among the strongest. Izuku doesn’t feel strong, though, and he certainly doesn’t feel ready to leave UA. So, rather than dwell on this or voice his growing anxieties to any of his friends, he simply huddles closer still to Todoroki, trying to find distraction and solace in the activity of the common room.
There’s something about suffering that really tends to bring people together. Izuku voices this from where he has flopped down on Todoroki’s half-constructed futon, exhausted from moving his best friend into his apartment.
“I don't want to put the furniture together,” Todoroki tells him. He slouches against the far wall.
“I don’t, either.” The cushion sits flat on the floor, surrounded by a halo of screws and tools. Sweat drips down the back of Izuku’s neck. Exhaustion becomes him.
Sighing, Izuku stretches out his legs in front of him; Todoroki’s new apartment is on the fourth floor of a complex well over one hundred years old, which boasts an impressive zero elevators and no air conditioning. This, coupled with the new summer heat, has made for a miserable day.
“You could—stay the night at mine, if you want,” Izuku offers, and then panics. “I mean. I know you just moved in, but since you have no furniture, you don’t really have any place to sleep, and—” Izuku cuts himself off, taking his chapped bottom lip between his front teeth and chewing it anxiously.
Todoroki pauses, nods his acceptance, and then slumps further against the wall.
He looks—well, his hair is pushed away from his forehead, the red and white mingled together, and the shorts he wears, a rare occurrence to begin with, are pushed up his thighs, exposing pale skin. Izuku scolds himself for admiring, for letting his gaze linger a little too long.
There has never been even a fragment of doubt in Izuku’s mind that he loves Todoroki, but only recently, only after soul-searching and sleepless nights and heart-to-hearts with Uraraka and Iida and his mother has Izuku begun to realize that maybe, just maybe, his feelings for Todoroki transcend platonic. Maybe.
Is it unreasonable to admire your best friend this much? Is it unusual for Izuku to ponder and ponder and ponder what it would feel like to intertwine their fingers, or how Todoroki would kiss him? More than that, it is unusual to long for togetherness, for making two plates of breakfast and two coffees in the morning, or to share body wash and go grocery shopping together?
Izuku is really, truly , giddy over the prospect of going grocery shopping together one day in the distant future. Grocery shopping. He has it so, so bad.
But Todoroki was only in a relationship a matter of months ago, and Izuku and Todoroki did just move into separate apartments (two blocks apart), so maybe it’s a little further off than Izuku is willing to admit.
Someday, maybe.
When they arrive back at Izuku’s apartment, which is certainly more put together than Todoroki’s, Izuku wonders just how he managed to leave out the fact that he hasn’t come across a couch yet. Or, anywhere to sleep other than his bed.
On the bright side, it means that his tiny living room looks large and open. On the other side, it means that Todoroki doesn’t have anywhere to sleep beside Izuku’s bed. That’s hardly a negative, though.
“I’m still working on the furniture situation,” he says, apologetic and rushed. “But, I have a bed, so there’s still somewhere to sleep.”
Todoroki doesn’t question him, either because he’s too exhausted to, or because—and Izuku really hopes this is the case—he truly does not mind, or even wants to, sleep in the same bed as Izuku. It’s beginning to get late, the streetlights newly flickering and college students beginning to crowd into the bars which line the street. Izuku and Todoroki stand in the tiny kitchen of Izuku’s tiny apartment, both exhausted but relieved to be done for the day.
“Do you mind if we just lie in bed, Midoriya?”
“Not at all!” Izuku doesn’t even need to explain where his bedroom is, because Todoroki has already visited two or three times. He walks through the kitchen like he knows it well, probably because he does.
“I didn’t bring any clothes,” says Todoroki before they enter the bedroom. “They’re all packed.”
“You can borrow pajamas, Todoroki-kun. I won’t even charge you,” Izuku teases. His dresser drawers are depleted and the laundry is in desperate need of being done. The pickings are slim, but there are certainly still enough pajamas for the both of them.
In the end, Todoroki winds up wearing a faded All Might t-shirt that belonged to Izuku even before their first year; as a result, the shirt rides up his hip bones and exposes pale, taut skin. Izuku sucks in a harsh breath and then sputters, balling up his loose shirt in his fist.
“Is—there something wrong, Midoriya?”
“No!” Izuku denies quickly. “No, no. Nothing at all,” he assures, weak laughter. “Are you hot, Todoroki-kun?” Is it warm in here? Izuku presses two fingers against each of his temples, attempting to ground himself.
“That’s not an issue for me,” Todoroki reminds him. He backs up until the bed brushes against of the backs of his knees and then sits, glancing up towards Izuku with his head tilted in curiosity. “Are you?”
“No,” Izuku lies, because it isn’t the temperature of the room , per-se, but because of the blush creeping up his cheeks. Izuku swallows hard, momentarily, and approaches the bed. This is normal. It’s fine. Best friends sleep in the same bed all the time . Best friends wherein one best friend is pining over the other—and is entirely unsure whether the other is aware of this—maybe not so much. Izuku pulls the covers back.
“I washed my sheets yesterday,” he says, fixating his gaze on a crack in the opposite wall. He still needs to call his landlord about that.
“That’s a relief,” Todoroki says on a breathy exhale, settling under the covers. He’s close. He’s very close. They touch at their shoulders, and Izuku’s blush only settles deeper into his cheeks.
Izuku claps a hand over his forehead and his eyes, enveloping himself in darkness. Beside him, Todoroki’s breathing is even, comforting. He smells wonderful, familiar; he’s worn the same deodorant since Midoriya has known him.
“...Midoriya?”
Flustered, Izuku slots his fingers apart and peers out with wide eyes. “Sorry?”
“Is the light bothering you?”
“It’s not the light,” he says, and removes his hand from its position across the top half of his face.
Todoroki says, “I see,” and then, “is there something bothering you, though?” Unsaid, you seem tense hangs in the air.
“No,” Izuku chuckles, because it isn’t bothersome so much as it is all consuming and gnawing at him. For all that it is, for all that this crush is, it is far from bothersome. He revises, “I don’t know.”
“Okay, well—” Todoroki quiets, pulling the covers up to his chin. Outside the window to the left, the city is vibrant, alive, and bustling, silenced by the glass. The lights overhead have since been shut off, but neither of them are willing to get out of bed to draw the blinds, and so fragments of light stay in the room, staining the walls of Izuku’s bedroom.
Izuku...can’t sleep. It isn’t because of the light or the temperature, and he is plenty exhausted from the days’ events, but he shuffles and attempts to get comfortable on his back, his side, his stomach. One leg droops over th side of the mattress, brushes against the wood floor. Izuku gives a quiet sigh, miserable and restless. Given the tiny nature of his bedroom, his side of the bed is pushed against the window, so he can’t get out of bed to retrieve his sleep medication without waking Todoroki, who is certainly already asleep. The ceiling above creaks, Izuku’s upstairs neighbors awake late into the night, and he shuffles against the bedsheets, exhausted. He falls still.
“Midoriya?” Todoroki speaks into dark, voice croaky.
Suddenly, Izuku stills, lying on his back with his limbs splayed out over the side of the bed so that his fingertips brush against the floor. “I’m sorry, Todoroki-kun,” he rushes, caught and helpless. “I—can’t seem to sleep.”
Todoroki, then, shuffles to a sitting position, rubbing at his eyes with the palm of his hands. “Are you anxious?” he asks, voice soft in a way Izuku doesn’t quite know how to process. Izuku’s heart leaps in his chest, both with anxiety and love. His blood bubbles, carbonated in his veins.
“Just the same as earlier,” Izuku breathes, not entirely aware of himself. There’s something about being awake this late that just doesn’t seem real . The books on the shelves are not his own. The floor creaks with unfamiliarity. This bedroom is his, but it doesn’t quite seem his . Even so, he proceeds, “I’m sorry. I don’t want to keep you from sleep, of course. I can take a sleep aid.”
Useless, he babbles, words tumbling from his brain to his lips without thought. Izuku shifts until he lies on his side instead, facing Todoroki. And, if he were to reach his hand out, he might gently cup Todoroki’s jaw, might be able to rub his calloused thumb against the soft skin, might draw Todoroki close in a gentle kiss. Might . Izuku is getting all too ahead of himself.
“Todoroki-kun,” Izuku blurts with renewed urgency. “Have you been doing okay, since—” he breaks off, gesturing vaguely into the darkness. The room heats, heats, heat; Izuku squirms in the warmth, screwing his eyes shut.
Stoic, Todoroki says, “I’ve handled worse, certainly.”
“I suppose you have.”
“We have,” Todoroki says, “Both of us, Midoriya.”
Izuku stills, though only partially. His heart pounds and pounds, and his blood rushes through his veins, marathoning. His stomach leaps and his head swims, and he tries to keep still. Todoroki is there . He’s right there and impossibly gentle and loving and—Izuku loves him. Absolutely, of course he does.
Gentle, fleeting, Izuku feels a freezing hand at the nape of his neck and flinches back. It withdraws.
Hoarse, Todoroki apologizes, and Izuku makes a tiny, desperate grab for his hand.
“No,” he tries. “Uh—I don’t mind you. I don’t mind your hand, you know. It’s just cold .” Instead, then, Izuku elects to intertwine their fingers, his clammy palm against Todoroki’s, ice cold.
Izuku is probably, at best, 85 percent sure that Todoroki wants to kiss him—or, at the very least, that Todoroki would be receptive to being kissed by him—but the other 15 percent, insistent, tells him to keep his head just where it is on the pillow, unmoving.
Todoroki rubs circles into the back of Izuku’s hands, comforting and soft and calm, and Izuku sighs, squeezing in return. Izuku is so, so many things; he’s determined, strong, and unrelenting. He’s reassuring and kind, and, at times, brave. As they lie together in bed, though, Izuku feels remarkably un- brave, and allows himself to drift into restless sleep rather than act on his impulse to lean ever so slightly forward into a kiss.
When Izuku wakes the following morning, squinting in the sunlight and pulling the comforter over his face, he becomes acutely aware that Todoroki is not in bed, either somewhere in the tiny apartment or already back home, and he heaves a quiet sigh, trying to force himself out of bed.
The creaks coming from down the hallway are either Todoroki’s or a neighbor’s, and the curiosity is just enough for Izuku to swing his legs over the side of the bed, trekking down the narrow hallway.
His curls hang over his eyes and his large pajama shirt slouches from his lean frame, the picture of a long night’s sleep, and he yawns as he approaches the kitchen, vision blurred as he walks the length to the fridge.
“Oh!” he squeaks in surprise when he bumps into— Todoroki . “I didn’t know you were, you know, here,” he explains, backing against the counter.
“I was just going to get a drink,” his friend explains, despite the apparent lack of a glass anywhere nearby. Izuku blinks.
“Did you sleep alright?” Izuku asks after a beat of silence. The kitchen is cramped and they stand close to each other, warm in the morning sun. Despite the shorts and light shirt he wears, Izuku feels himself heat up once more, up his necks and onto his chest.
“I did, thank you.” Todoroki rakes a hand through his hair, white and red mingled together, and keeps it there for a moment. “You still kind of tossed and turned; you look well-rested,” he observes, quiet. His voice is still croaky from sleep, and Izuku loves him so, so much.
Izuku thinks that maybe, just maybe, he’s ascended this plane of existence, but no. He just loves Todoroki. Loves him so.
There’s nothing spectacular about the way that Todoroki looks in the morning, at least not to any outsiders, but his hair sits in slight waves and his eyelids droop. He wears a singular striped sock and his own blue boxers, and Izuku’s pajama shirt is still stubbornly resting above his hip bones, and—
Izuku sucks in a sharp breath, stepping forward. If he was 85 percent sure last night, he is 90 this morning, and the way Todoroki softens when Izuku’s calloused fingers come up to rest on his shoulder is a wonderfully encouraging sign. Izuku sighs, stands still for a moment.
“Todoroki-kun…” he tries. “Can I—you. Could I kiss you..?”
In the space separating Todoroki from Izuku, a space which feels both monumental and insignificant all at once, Todoroki reaches a hand out, gentle, tentative, and rests it at Izuku’s hip.
Todoroki blinks slow—or, he closes his eyes—and leans slightly forward, fingertips pressing ever so slightly into Izuku’s hip bones.
Izuku is dizzy with love and fondness and warm as their lips connect, his head tilted at a slight angle. All he knows is Todoroki and the way that he leads the kiss.
When they pull away, breaths mingling together, Izuku’s chest glows and swells until all that he can do is lean in once more with valor, ever so slightly brave than he was before, and approximately nine times happier.
The kitchen is tiny and the apartment is tiny and the building is tiny, and the air is humid and unforgiving. There’s hardly enough space for them to stand together in the space between the counter and the island, but all that Izuku’s mind knows is Todoroki, Todoroki, Todoroki .
The rest is simply background noise.