Archive of Our Own

Izuku wakes up to a normal day. He doesn’t have patrol today, and neither does Shouto, who had gotten home late last night so he’ll probably be asleep for a while longer. He sits up, stretching, and looks down at the tangled mess of hair on the pillow next to him. Shouto had grown his hair out in their third year of school, much to the chagrin of his father, and had kept it longer ever since. They’re twenty-five now, established heroes, living together, and it almost feels like a dream. A dangerous, sometimes scary, life threatening dream, but one he had wanted since he was little.

He takes this moment in the early morning sun, with groggy eyes and stiff joints, to look at the person lying next to him. He looks so relaxed like this, hair strands mixed together, breathing slowly, face soft and unwound. He’s been so tired lately, stress hiking his shoulders up into an uncomfortably straight line. Izuku can see the bags around his eyes, dark, almost bruise like, and he frowns. Shouto hasn’t been talking to him recently, not really. Not about stuff that matters. He keeps brushing him off when he tries to ask if he’s okay, or if anything’s wrong, or if he needs to talk about anything, ever. They’re together, and they’ve been together for almost seven years. Shouto’s a private person by nature, but Izuku makes it his duty to dig under all his layers and know everything there could possibly be to know about him. Knowing there’s something wrong and not being able to do anything about it because he doesn’t know what it is is driving him insane.

He runs a gentle hand through his hair, pauses when he tenses, and resumes the motion when he relaxes back into it.

He does have to get ready for the day sometime, though. He’d made plans with Uraraka a few weeks ago, and they kept getting put off by calls in for work from both of them. Today is a day he has to commit to, regardless of if he wants to stay in bed all day and play with his boyfriend’s hair. Said boyfriend shifts closer to him, and Izuku wants to melt back into the bed next to him, but he needs to get ready.

The bed creaks, just a little, as Izuku pushes himself out of it, and he can see the moment Shouto wakes up. His shoulders tense, minutely, and his eyebrows scrunch together. Izuku sighs to himself. So much for letting him sleep in later.

“Good morning,” he says quietly, shaking out his legs as he stands.

It takes a moment for him to process it, but eventually he gets a muffled “Morning,” in return.

“I’m meeting up with Uraraka today,” he says, grabbing his towel from the door hook. He gets a mumbled affirmative as an answer. “You don’t have to get up yet, you can sleep more if you want.”

Shouto loosely waves him off, arm flopping back into the covers, and Izuku walks over and presses a kiss to his uncovered cheek.

“I’m gonna shower.”

“Okay,” he says, opening his eyes. “You think you’ll be gone long?”

“A few hours, probably. We’re just getting some late breakfast. Or early lunch. One of those two.”

“Brunch,” Shouto says. “You’re getting brunch.”

“Yeah, we’re getting brunch.” He stands back up all the way. “You really should get some more sleep. I know you’ve been tired lately.”

Shouto’s face seems to get even more exhausted at that comment, and Izuku frowns. That wasn’t his intention. “We should talk when I get back. Really talk. I’m worried about you.”

“You shouldn’t be,” he replies. “There’s nothing to worry about.”

“Mmm.” It’s not an agreement.

“You should get ready. I know you and Uraraka haven’t been able to spend much time together lately.”

He doesn’t like dropping the topic, but he’ll let it rest for now. He’s definitely bringing it back up tonight though.

The bathroom is semi dark, sun not shining through the curtain on the window. He opens the cabinet above the sink to grab his tooth brush and the toothpaste and bumps into Shouto’s cup with his hand on accident. Something inside rattles, and that’s not normal. He reaches inside the cup and his fingers wrap themselves around a bottle.

When on earth had Shouto gotten himself sleeping pills?

There’s a bad feeling in his stomach. He can handle them not telling each other small things. It’s not as if he recounts every single second of every single day to him. But sleeping pills? Prescription ones at that? That’s something that warrants talking about. And the fact that they’re hidden in his toothbrush cup, such an inconspicuous place that he would never think to hide something, means something is very very wrong.

They really need to talk tonight.

He puts the bottle back, debates on bringing it up now, and decides against it. Shouto needs more time to wake up, and Uraraka might come and drag him from his apartment if he puts this off any longer. Maybe he can ask her about it, get some advice.

The shower is near scalding, and he tries to scrub away his worries, but if anything they start to build. He doesn’t know why Shouto is keeping secrets from him, but he knows it’s bad and that he needs to talk to him about it. Izuku hates feeling unhelpful, and that’s exactly what he feels right now. They don’t keep secrets from each other. He’s not sure what to do about this.

Shouto’s shuffling around in the kitchen by the time he gets out of the shower, putting together breakfast for himself, and Izuku slips into his clothes in quiet contemplation. Uraraka texts him, just a quick message telling him she’ll be at the café they’re meeting at in about half an hour. It’s not too far from where they live, but he’ll have to leave soon if he wants to get there within a reasonable amount of time.

There’s sizzling coming from the kitchen, and peeking around the corner grants him the image of Shouto standing over a pan of eggs, hair pulled back.

“Hey,” he announces, and Shouto gives him a halfhearted glance. Izuku comes up behind him and loops his arms around his waist, resting his chin on his shoulders. “I’m leaving soon.”

“Alright,” he says, leaning his head on Izuku’s. He flips his eggs around with the spatula.

“I love you. You know that, right?”

“Of course. And I love you too.” The affection slips so easy from his mouth now. It had been difficult for him when they were younger, Izuku knows. Such open displays of emotions like this were hard, they still are, but it’s better at home, in the privacy of their apartment, where no one can make assumptions.

“I care about you. And I don’t like to see you hurting and stressed. And I know you’re both right now. So just try to relax today, and maybe we can talk about it tonight? I wanna help, if I can.”

Shouto’s frame has tensed up under him, and his breath comes out a little stilted. Izuku takes a moment to turn the burner off so his eggs don’t burn, and then squeezes his arms tightly around his middle.

“I—,” Shouto says, and then stops abruptly. He swallows harshly and sets down the spatula. “We’ll talk about it… later. Right now you need to get going.”

“If you want me to stay—”

“No. It’s fine. Go have fun with Uraraka. Tell her I said hi.”

“Are you sure? Really Shouto if you want me here I’ll stay.”

“You and Uraraka keep putting this off. I’m fine.”

Shouto turns around in his arms and looks at him. He’s tired, Izuku can tell. He doesn’t look rested at all, regardless of the sleeping pills he hasn’t mentioned, or the sleep he assumes he’s been getting. He presses his hands to his cheeks and rests his forehead against Izuku’s.

“I love you,” Shouto says.

“I love you, too,” and why does this feel so tense?

“Will you pick up milk while you’re out? Ours is almost empty.”

The tenseness is gone, and he answers with an affirmative. Shouto presses a kiss to his lips and turns back to the stove, sliding the eggs onto a plate. Izuku grabs his bag from the chair and swings it onto his shoulders.

“Call me if you need anything. I mean it.”

Shouto smiles at him and nods. Izuku feels weird leaving him here like this, especially with how strange that “I love you” felt. But he’ll be verging on late if he waits any longer, so he nods back, grabs his keys, and leaves.

When he makes it down the stairs and outside, it’s nice out. There’s a little bit of wind, but it’s a pleasant day. He’s glad he brought a jacket, though. The café isn’t too far, a little bit of a walk, but he’s glad for the air.

He makes it there before she does and orders them both coffees while he waits. He knows her regular order here, and he’d been hoping he’d be able to buy at least part of her food.

Uraraka shows up a few minutes after he does, just in time for their coffees to show up, and she groans as she sits down.

“Dekuuu, I keep telling you that you don’t have to buy me stuff. I can buy my own coffee.”

“I know that. I just haven’t seen you in a while and since I got here first, I figured I’d treat you! At least to coffee.”

She takes a drink of it and he can see her resolve break a little. “Well, you did get the order right, so I suppose I can forgive you.”

The waitress comes back, does a little bit of a double take at the two of them sitting there, and hands Uraraka her menu with poorly hidden surprise.

“Thank you!” she says brightly, and the waitress practically glows as she leaves.

They chat about what they’ve been up to recently, pausing only to order some food. Izuku waits to bring up the topic that’s weighing heavy on his mind, and he’s fairly certain Uraraka knows there’s something wrong.

He picks at his plate, food a little more than half eaten, and Uraraka sets her utensils down across from him.

“All right, no more stalling. What’s the matter?”

“W-What?” he says, startled out of his thoughts.

“You’ve looked antsy all morning. I know you’re thinking about something, and I’m pretty sure it’s not great. You’ve got you half out of it look on.”

“I’m not… nothing’s really the matter.” Except everything’s the matter. “It’s just, well, I hope it’s just a misunderstanding.”

“Is he cheating on you?”

“What?!” That thought hadn’t even crossed his mind, and it definitely doesn’t right now. “No! No, where’d you even get that idea?”

“Figured we’d get the worst out of the way first. I know he wouldn’t, but I just wanted to cover all our bases. Now what’s wrong with you and Todoroki?”

“I don’t want to say that there’s anything wrong.” Because he wishes there wasn’t anything wrong. But he knows that’s just wishful thinking. “But I think there’s something wrong.”

“I’ve gathered that yes.”

“No Uraraka I mean something serious.”

Her joking demeanor drops and she focuses in on him fully. The attention makes him anxious and he shifts in his seat.

“It’s just, lately he’s been so quiet. And I know he’s quiet a lot, but not like this. It feels forced, like he wants to talk, but he can’t, or won’t, or isn’t letting himself. He’s so stressed. The only time he’s relaxed is when he’s deep deep asleep, and he wakes up so easy that it’s so hard for him to get any real sleep. And I thought he’d been sleeping, but he’s tired. Not normal tired. His eyes look like they’re bruised. Something’s wrong, Uraraka, and he won’t tell me what it is.”

She opens her mouth to say something and he barrels right over her.

“And that’s not it!” He’s gotten a little too loud now and forces himself to quiet down. “I was grabbing my toothbrush today and bumped into his cup and it rattled, so I looked inside, and he’s hidden sleeping pills in there. Prescription ones. So there’s actually something wrong, and instead of telling me about it, or even offhand mentioning he was having trouble sleeping, he thought he had to hide it from me. I- I don’t know what I did, to make him think he couldn’t tell me things, important things, things like this, but it must have been awful or-or-or I didn’t take him seriously enough or he just doesn’t trust me anymore. Which, Uraraka, if he doesn’t trust me anymore it means I’ve done something so fucked up that—”

“Deku!”

He snaps his mouth shut and scrubs at his eyes, which are a little too damp for his liking. Uraraka grabs his hands when he’s done and squeezes.

“Hey, look at me?”

He does, and she look very worried. So it’s not just him.

“That… really doesn’t sound good. But you know just as well as I do that it’s not your fault. You wouldn’t ever do anything to hurt him, and you know that. I know that. Todoroki knows that. Have you tried talking about it?”

“Not the sleeping pills, that was just this morning and I figured he needed time to wake up more, or, I don’t know, compose himself? But I’ve tried to get him to talk about the rest of it, all the exhaustion and stress and stuff, and he keeps telling me that nothing’s wrong and getting defensive. Today was a little different. I suggested talking about it later tonight before I left and he got really, I’m not sure if scared is the right reaction but that’s what it felt like. And he told me that we could talk about it later but that I should go meet up with you.”

Uraraka looks contemplative, and Izuku pulls his hands back to fiddle with his food some more. “He did say he was open to talking about it, though?”

“Yeah, but what does later even mean? And he doesn’t know I know about the sleeping pills.”

“Well, maybe when you talk about it, work around that? Try and see how much he’ll tell you, and if he brings them up himself you can mention that you found them earlier?”

He groans and scrubs at his face. “I’m sorry, Uraraka, I know this isn’t what you wanted when you asked to get together. This isn’t even your relationship and I’m shoving all my problems on you.”

“I’m just glad to see you somewhere outside of work for once. And I don’t mind helping.”

“You shouldn’t have to.”

“Hey, stop it. Whatever’s going on it’s not your fault, okay? Stop blaming yourself.”

He huffs and stuff his mouth full of food so he doesn’t have to answer. Uraraka stares him down while he does, big eyes never leaving his, until he slowly nods in response and she seems satisfied.

“You’re probably right,” Izuku says after he finishes his bite. “We just need to talk, and I need to listen.”

She smiles. “You guys have worked stuff out before. This’ll be something to laugh at later on. I’m sure of it.”

“Yeah,” he says, but he’s not too sure.

They stay there for a while longer, straying onto different, lighter topics, but he’s still preoccupied with Shouto. They’re there for a little more than two hours, and Izuku takes one last stab at picking up both bills before they leave.

“No!” Uraraka says, exasperated. She turns to their waitress. “Don’t let him pay for my stuff. I mean it. We’re buying our own food.”

As he does what could almost be considered pouting, he relents and lets her pay for her own food, but he does pick up her coffee still.

She hugs him goodbye. “Tell me what happens, okay? Soon. I’m worried. And tell Todoroki to say hi sometimes.”

“I will, for both of those.”

“I miss you. Stop being so distant,” Uraraka says, squeezing his hands. “We should get together more often.”

“We will, I promise. Just let me get this figured out with Shouto first.”

“Of course!”

She bids him goodbye, and he does the same, and they part their separate ways. He still needs to pick up milk, so he stops in the little grocery store near their apartment complex to buy some.

The cashier that he goes to works when he comes in a lot, and she chats him up about hero work a little, lamenting her quirk that lets her turn any rough surface into a smooth one. That gets him talking, and seeing as he’s the only one up front, he proceeds to tell her all the different ways that it could be helpful in heroics, or even in just everyday life. She looks a little shocked that he’d go out of his way to tell her all the fantastic uses for her quirk, but for Izuku, quirks have always been a passion. He thinks he might’ve been a good quirk counsellor had he not been so dead set on heroics.

It’s a very short walk from the store to their apartment, and he digs his keys out of his jacket pocket to unlock the door.

“I’m home!” He calls, repocketing his keys after he enters.

He goes to the kitchen to put the milk in the fridge, and when he’s done that, he remarks quietly on the silence. Shouto usually responds with a greeting if he’s home, and he sends a message when he leaves, so this quiet isn’t normal.

“Shouto?” He looks in the bedroom, because maybe he’d fallen asleep, but no such luck. He isn’t in the living room, nor the spare office. The door to the bathroom is closed and he knocks.

“Shouto are you home?”

No answer.

He knocks one more time, just to be sure, and then jiggles the handle, which proves to be unlocked. He turns it, and opens.

The first thing Izuku sees is the blood, dripped onto the tiles and seeping across arms and into clothing. Next is the vomit, followed by the empty pill bottle on the floor.

Shouto sits slumped against the sink, head flopped low, eyes hidden behind his hair. There’s vomit down the front of his shirt leading onto the floor between his legs. There’s blood around his arms, and with dawning, numb horror, Izuku realizes there’s deep deep deep cuts on them.

“Shouto?” It comes out no louder than a whisper, and he gets no response.

All he can do is stand there for a second, frozen in shock, until adrenaline spurs him into movement. He almost trips over his feet getting over to him, but he makes it, pulling the first absorbent thing he can onto his arms to staunch some of the bleeding. His phone comes out at some point, and he doesn’t really know what he says, because the man on the other end is assuring him there’s someone on the way, just wait there and keep doing what he’s doing.

He’s pulled Shouto into his arms, head rested gently on his shoulder, and he looks so pale. Paler than he did this morning, and the bruised eye look has gotten worse. He’s whispering something, probably apologies. He can’t understand anything that’s happening around him, just the man in his arms, limp, unresponsive, bleeding.

His hands press firm but not too hard against his arms, and he can feel the warmth of the blood soaking into his hands, and he wants to throw up at the feeling.

Suddenly there’s people around him and commotion and talking and one of them tries to pull Shouto from his arms, and he almost activates his quirk. His grip tightens and the person puts their hands up, makes eye contact with him, and speaks very slowly.

“I need to take him from you. We need to take him to the hospital. Can I take him, please?”

And he nods, arms slackening, still gripping the cloth in his hands. The paramedics grab Shouto, and one of them helps Izuku stand, and takes both of them to the ambulance. Izuku sits in a corner, helpless to watch as they try their best to save his life. He can’t do anything. He can’t do anything. He’s completely useless like this, staring, watching, waiting, as they speed down streets to the hospital in their district.

When they get there, the medics are fast as they roll him out and into the hospital. He follows fast behind, right on their tails, and he’ll stay with him, he’ll stay with him until he wakes up and after and they’ll talk and he’ll cry and Shouto’s going to be alright—

A hand stops him in his tracks before he can follow them behind the third set of doors. He tries to move past them, but the hands grab his shoulders, stopping him.

“You can’t go with them.”

A nurse has stopped him, eyes deep with pity, and he tries to push past her again and yet again she shoves back.

“Deku,” she says, as if it even matters that he’s a hero right now. He can’t do anything. “Please. They need time. I can keep you updated on everything I can get ahold of, but right now they need to focus on saving his life, alright?”

He nods, eyes stinging, and whispers a very quiet, very defeated, “okay.”

She leads him to a waiting room, away from the main room, and sits him down. “Do you need me to call anyone?”

“No,” he says roughly. “I’ve got it.”

She nods, squeezes his shoulder, and leaves.

He thinks he’s thinking, because he manages to send a group message to All Might, his mom, Uraraka, and Iida with the hospital name and the entrance they should come in. He can’t bring himself to put any more information, even though he knows vague messages like this are anxiety inducing.

He repockets his phone, and turns to staring at his hands. A shirt is in them, one of Shouto’s, he realizes numbly. He must have grabbed it from the floor of the bathroom, the closest cloth thing he could find. The blood’s soaked through at random places, and as he unbunches it, it almost looks like a bad tie-dye project. He brings it to his face, and under the cloying scent of iron, it still smells like him. There’s blood on his hands underneath, up his wrists a little. It’s soaked into his shirt and his jeans in random spots, and he stares at his hands, stained patchy rust red and loosely holding the bloodstained shirt.

He’s not sure how long he sits like this, eyes hyperfocused onto the slowly browning blood covering his palms, but it’s long enough for All Might to get there. A large hand rests on top of his, and he jumps, blinking his eyes in quick succession, looking up at the gaunt face staring down at him, and suddenly he feels so much younger than the twenty-five he knows he is. It doesn’t matter that Yagi Toshinori hasn’t been All Might in a long time, he still feels safe enough to let his face crumple up and let out the first shaky breath. His eyes get wetter and wetter until they’re spilling over and he heaves out a sob.

“Midoriya, my boy,” All Might says frantically, hands coming up to his shoulders. He squeezes, and Izuku cries harder. He’s grateful that they’re the only two in the room. He wonders if this is a hero specific waiting room, for privacy purposes. “What on earth happened? Is that your blood?”

“N-no,” he says shakily. “It’s Sh—”

And then Uraraka bursts in, followed closely behind by Iida. She stares at him, the blood on the shirt and his hands, and back to his face, and something dark crosses her face.

“Did… he didn’t. Deku he didn’t.”

He can’t. This is too much. He didn’t want to be alone, but people asking questions about this, even those he’d consider family, it’s too much. He curls up around the shirt, sobbing into it. All Might removes his hands, and he can hear him and Iida ask Uraraka if she knows what’s happening, and hear her quiet, “fuck” in response.

And then it’s all hushed voices, and he can’t make out what she tells them, or what they say in response, but he knows it’s about Shouto, and this is the worst moment of his life.

His mother comes in not too much later. She’s farther across the city than the rest of them, and she comes up to him, not bothering with more than a cursory glance at the others, and she crouches down in front of him, pulling his hands into hers. She’s gotten better at reeling in her anxieties over the years of him getting hurt.

“Izuku,” she says softly. “Are you hurt?”

He shakes his head, looking at her with water blurred vision.

“Is Shouto hurt?”

He closes his eyes, grimaces, and nods.

“What happened?” She’s made her voice inaudible to anyone but him, and he’s so grateful.

“He,” he starts, whispering. His voice catches and he stops. Clears his throat. “I c-came home and he was in the bathroom and- and I think he tried to kill himself.”

She sucks in a breath, and he drops his head again, but not before she can drag him into a hug, pulling his head onto her shoulder. He lets her hold him, warm arms keeping him together. He doesn’t cry, at least not a lot. He thinks his eyes are permanent leaky faucets at this point, but it’s not as much. She stays with him like that for as long as he wants, holding him close, tightly, and he hasn’t let his mother hug him in too long, but this doesn’t feel right, it shouldn’t be like this.

Izuku pulls back and wipes at his eyes with a clean part of his arm. She takes the seat next to him, leaning against his side. The others come over cautiously, and he nods at them.

“Midoriya,” Iida starts and then stops, rethinking. “Forgive me for asking, but do you know if he’ll be alright?”

He shakes his head. “I don’t know. No one’s told me anything since I got here.”

“Well that’s unacceptable. You sent that message almost an hour ago. It’s high time for some news.”

He goes off, presumably to find some news, and Izuku almost laughs. Uraraka offers All Might the chair other chair beside him and he accepts it with thanks. She sits down on the floor in front of him.

All Might’s hand rests on his back, rubbing small circles, and he relaxes, minutely. Izuku’s dealt with suicidal people before. He’s stumbled upon a few too many people on a bridge, and as a hero, and just a decent person, he stops and does what he can. He’d dabbled with the idea himself when he was younger and quirkless and had no worth to anyone. Never seriously enough to act on it, but when kids say the same things every day, and those same things include taunts of suicide, it’s hard not to think about it.

But him and Shouto have talked about this, after Izuku got over thinking about their childhoods as suffering competitions, and that Shouto had a worse childhood than him, so he could never bring up any bad memories surrounding his own around him ever. They’ve talked about it at length, both of them, the different ways their childhoods were terrible or not so terrible and that they’re mostly okay now, but still a little wrinkled on the inside. Izuku assumed, based on their conversations, that if Shouto ever started feeling like this that he would say something. He didn’t even think of it as a possibility.

Iida comes back, followed by the nurse who had seated him in here. Izuku lifts his head up to meet her eyes and she gives him a soft look.

“Currently, he’s stable.”

It feels like a weight’s been lifted and Izuku breathes out a sigh of relief.

“Can I see him?” His voice sounds rough.

“Not yet. You should be able to within the next hour or so, but they need to finish some things up.”

He nods, sated on information for the moment. Iida thanks her quietly, and she bows before leaving. He’ll be okay. Shouto will be okay. They’re going to be okay.

“I,” he says, standing, and the others look at him with wide eyes. He swallows. Stares down at his hands. “I’m going to get cleaned up.”

“Do you mind if I join you?”

Iida looks at him expectantly, but not in a way that he expects to be told that it’s fine. “You can come, if you want.”

He follows quietly behind him, and Izuku is glad that the hallways are empty. He finds a family restroom, makes sure it’s empty, and leads them both inside.

It’s quiet.

He turns on the faucet and just stares at the water for a minute. There’s steam rising from it, and he’s only turned on the hot water. He moves the shirt to hang from his shoulder. Iida shifts behind him, and he sticks his hands under the spray.

“Midoriya,” he says, and he can see him shifting uncomfortably in the mirror. This is hard on him too, he realizes. Him and Shouto were close. All three of them were after Hosu. He’s thinking in past tense. Why is he thinking in past tense?

Iida turns the cold water on, and he realizes his hands are burning. He squeezes some soap into his hands and scrubs and scrubs and scrubs until his hands feel raw and red and scraped free of any blood. He can still feel the sensation of it warming against his skin, and he shudders.

“Midoriya I… I don’t really know what to say.” Izuku grabs paper towels and scrubs at his skin until it’s even rawer. If they’re dry, he can’t feel the liquidy warmth seeping into his palms. “I never- I’d never expect this to happen.”

“Me neither,” he says back quietly.

“Uraraka told me what you said this morning, and in hindsight it must seem obvious. Or it doesn’t and I’m just trying to work around this in my head.”

He hasn’t had the time or brain capacity to think about the hindsight, but he’s doing it now, and Iida’s right. It seems so obvious. The secrets, the pills, how forceful he was that Izuku leave to see Uraraka, the way his “I love you” felt so strange, because it was the last one he was meant to hear. A lump settles in his throat and he blinks a couple times to clear the wetness. The shirt is back in his hands now, blood having dried. He rubs and anxious thumb over a place where the blood didn’t stain.

“You’re right,” he gravels out. “I-I shouldn’t have left this morning. He was acting weird, a-and the pills, I should have known—”

“No,” he says firmly, and Izuku shuts up. “I didn’t mean that. I’m just… trying to comprehend how this happened. None of this is your fault, Midoriya. You have to know that.”

“I do,” and he only says it because somewhere deep down, he really does know that it isn’t his fault. But that doesn’t change the fact that he feels like he could’ve done so much more.

“Well good,” Iida says, confidence fading. He looks a little uncomfortable if Izuku’s being honest with himself. The shirt covered in his friend’s blood can’t be helping. “…Should we head back?”

Izuku nods, grabbing the door and holding it open for Iida before following him out. They walk back in silence that’s vaguely comfortable, if only for the fact that Izuku’s known Iida for ten years. Were it not for that, the anxiousness in the air would be eating away at his nerves even more than it already is.

All Might and his mom are talking quietly when they come back, and Uraraka is lying on the floor, hands on her stomach. She tilts her head back when they enter and watches as they come closer before sitting back up. Izuku sits back down and Iida takes a seat on the floor next to Uraraka.

He stares at the ceiling for a while, head resting against the wall, and the others make quiet chatter around him, but he doesn’t say anything, and he knows they don’t expect him to. The shirt gets twisted and untwisted in his hands, fingers rubbing over the dried over blood spots and the smooth softness of the clean parts. He closes his eyes, eventually, and the world melts away a little bit. He can feel the phantom sensations of blood on his hands, of a heartbeat pulsing against him that grows infinitely slower with each second. The cool clammy skin resting against him, deadweight on his shoulder.

The door opens across the room, and Izuku brings himself back. He doesn’t know how long it’s been, but the nurse from before is back, and Iida is already moving to stand.

“He’ll be fine.” Izuku only nods at her. “Would you like to see him?”

“Is he awake?”

“Not yet. He lost quite a bit of blood, so he’ll be asleep for a while, but you can still be in the room, if you want.”

He nods again, standing. And then he remembers that other people are here with him. He hates the idea of him having called them all here and then leaving them to deal with themselves. But he really needs to see Shouto alone. He needs to be the only one there when he wakes up. He needs it.

Blankly he realizes that no one’s called his sister yet, and a pit settles in his stomach.

“I… Can you guys…”

“We’ll stay out here until you’re ready, Izuku, don’t worry.” His mom smiles shakily at him, and he’s grateful that she came.

“Can, uh, can you call his older sister?”

It looks like the rest of them forgot about telling her, too, and he doesn’t feel so bad. His mother nods, and he gives her the number. Uraraka looks like she wants to protest him going back alone, but Iida gives her a sharp look and she twists her mouth shut.

The halls smell sharp, incredibly sterile, and he feels dirty walking in them. The nurse doesn’t try to make small talk, which he appreciates. She leads him to Shouto’s room and lets him in. She runs him down on the basic functions of things and then leaves them.

He looks at Shouto, and he doesn’t look back to full health, but it’s so much better than what he found in the bathroom. His arms are wrapped, pink dotting the middle of the wrappings just slightly. His face is pale, lax, hair pulled away from his face. The bags under his eyes are incredibly pronounced, dark, stark against his skin.

Izuku drags the nearest chair he can find over to the left side of his bed and sits, shaking hands reaching out to touch, unsure, afraid that if he presses to hard, he’ll break.

He looks fragile.

With gentle fingers, he touches his face first, brushing over soft skin, over the scar Shouto still hates, brushing his hair back even farther. The fingers trail down his neck, down his shoulder and arm, halting at the gauze wrapped over his forearms. Shaky hands press down on it lightly, feeling the rough material against his finger tips. It stays in place as he drags his hands down it, eyes damp. His hands come to rest at Shouto’s, grasping between the fingers, forcing a hand hold. He needs to touch him. Needs to feel the warmth of his body and the pulse under his skin and hear his gentle in and out breathing patterns that skips when Izuku brushes his fingers a touch too heavy.

“I know you’re asleep and can’t hear me,” Izuku starts, laying his head down on the bed. “Or maybe you can, dreams are funny like that. Sometimes I can hear you calling me to wake up before I even know I’m dreaming, and there you are when I do wake up, saying my name, telling me it’s time to get up.”

He sighs, heavy, and sinks his whole weight against this mattress. Shouto says nothing, still very much asleep. The heart monitor drones in the background, a steady beep, beep, beep. It’s comforting. He can hear his heartbeat projected into the room, an assurance that he’s here, he’s alive, nothing is wrong and he’s going to be okay.

“I’m sorry,” Izuku says, almost whispering. “I’m sorry you felt like you couldn’t tell me. I’m sorry I didn’t figure it out, and I’m sorry I left this morning.”

His voice wobbles as he continues, but there’s no one here but Shouto to hear, and even he can’t fully understand him. “I-I wish you would have said something. Anything. But you’ve been so dodgy I thought maybe… maybe if I gave you some time? You’d say something? But you didn’t, and we’re here, and you almost died.”

He can hear footsteps outside the door in the hallway, but they pass without stopping.

“I love you, Shouto. And I know you know that, and that you love me too, but I—,” he cuts himself off, squeezing his hand as gently as he can manage. He’s crying again. “I just wish I knew why this happened.”

Shouto says nothing. Izuku didn’t expect him to wake up during his emotional speech, and he didn’t. Everything feels heavy, and Izuku settles himself in, head on the mattress, hands still holding his.

He guesses he must fall asleep, because the next thing he knows, the nurse is letting All Might and Shouto’s sister into the room. Her clothes seem somewhat formal, and he realizes she must have come directly from her classroom.

“Is he—,”

“He’s okay,” both Izuku and the nurse say. She seems to sag in on herself as she sits down heavily in a chair.

“Todoroki-san,” he says, and she looks at him, eyes wide, mouth clamped shut. “Would you like a minute alone?”

She nods, and her hands look like they want to reach out and touch but she’s afraid to. It’s hard to pull himself away, but she deserves this. He stands and lets her take his place, and follows All Might and the nurse out of the room.

All Might walks him down the hall a bit and stops, leaning against the wall. Izuku stands, staring up at him. Regardless of how much taller he’s gotten, All Might still has a good foot on him. The air is still heavy, and he fidgets.

“Midoriya, are you alright?”

“No,” he says truthfully. “I’m really, really not.”

All Might pulls him into a hug, and the bony arms around him feel comforting. A hand rests in his hair, and he shudders out a breath. And another, and another, until he’s crying again and he curses the fact that he cries so easily, because it leaves him drained, and he’s cried so much already today, but he lets himself slump against All Might, who’s seen him cry too many times to count, and he just holds him there, steady.

“He’ll be okay,” he says, voice vibrating deep against him. “Todoroki will be fine. And then you’ll talk about this and figure things out, and you’ll both be okay.”

“I should’ve known something worse was happening than I thought. I should have… I…”

“You didn’t, and it’s okay.”

“I know that, but it doesn’t make anything better,” he snaps out, and immediately regrets it. All Might’s here because he asked him to be, no other reason. He shouldn’t be getting snippy just because his nerves feel like they’ve been frayed all the way through his body.

“You’re right,” he says. “It doesn’t make anything better. But it does mean you’re not to blame. Just because it feels bad doesn’t mean it’s your fault.”

That… that he can accept. That makes sense in his muddied up brain, and he remembers that All Might has a lot of experiences, and a lot of advice from them. So he nods in acceptance and All Might squeezes him tightly before letting him go.

“We’re here for you. Know that. For both of you. And we’ll be here until you ask us to leave.”

He nods again, and they walk back down the hallway. All Might leaves him at the door with a shoulder squeeze before going back to the waiting room. He knocks and enters when he hears a quiet voice tell him it’s fine to come in.

Todoroki Fuyumi sit next to her brother, hands clasped in her lap, looking at him with the saddest look he’s ever seen on her face. He pulls another chair up on the opposite side, on Shouto’s right, and grabs his hand again.

“I… I knew he was having problems, but I never thought…” she says, staring at him. “Never this.”

“Did he tell you what was wrong?”

“Some,” she says, not looking at Izuku. “Not all. I think he thought talking about it made him a burden. And I tried to tell him he wasn’t, but he never really listened.”

“He never told me,” Izuku says, and then she does look at him, making eye contact, a pained expression on her face. “I tried, I knew something was wrong, but he kept brushing it off. And this morning he seemed… wrong. Off? I brought it up before I left and he told me we’d talk later and was very insistent that I leave.”

“None of it was about you. I hope you don’t think it was your fault.”

He doesn’t say anything, and she sighs, brushing a hand though Shouto’s hair. “He was… stressed I guess. He didn’t like the attention. Our… father, he paraded him around so much when he was younger I think he thought he could handle it. But he hated the attention then and he really hates it now. I think he was trying so hard to get out from his shadow that he forgot how to take care of himself.”

Of course. Of course. He remembers the headlines when they’d first debuted. There were barely any people who called Shouto by name, civilian or hero. He was always Endeavor’s son. It was so hard for him to get out from under that.

“But I don’t think that’s it. I think it might’ve been something from our mother. He doesn’t remember her well before the… before she went away, but I do. She was never really happy. She put on a smile for Shouto, and me and our brothers when she could, but it was hardly real. She’s talked with me about it, and she was incredibly depressed, and out father just exacerbated it.”

Izuku knows what this means, and he looks at Shouto again. He knows he’s been tired, exhausted, lethargic. It hasn’t affected his hero work, but it’s made him more subdued at home. He has to wonder how he missed all of it. He noticed some, but not enough.

“I think you should talk to him about it, when he wakes up. He might tell you.” She settles back, staring at her lap.

“Alright,” he says quietly, and they fall into silence.

The nurse comes in a few more times to check up on him, but for the most part it’s quiet. Shouto’s breathing is steady, and it seems to lull him back to sleep, resting back on the bed.

It’s a while before he wakes up this time, and Fuyumi seems to have stepped out. He blinks his eyes groggily, and looks up to find Shouto staring at him with his eyes half open. He jerks the rest of the way awake.

“You’re okay,” is the first thing out of his mouth before he gingerly pulls him into a hug. His hands grip around him, one of them finding its way to his hair, and he holds him closely.

“I’m okay,” Shouto gravels out, voice rough.

Izuku doesn’t let him go for a good few minutes, and Shouto doesn’t protest, resting his head on his shoulder. He hears a quiet apology before he pulls back, and Shouto’s face is unreadable.

“You could’ve told me,” he says, voice thick. “You could’ve said something. It didn’t even need to be me. You could have told your sister all of it instead of the half she already assumed. Or a professional, or- or—,” he’s crying again, and curse his leaky faucet eyes. Shouto looks alarmed, like he wasn’t expecting his partner to be upset that he tried to kill himself. “Shouto I just wished you’d said something.”

“I—,” he starts, and then cuts himself off, and Izuku knows he doesn’t know what to say. “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“Who cares if you hurt me, I care if you’re alive!”

Shouto’s mouth snaps shut and he lays back down into the bed, closing his eyes with furrowed brows. “I’m sorry.”

“Just- what happened? Please, Shouto.”

“It feels like I’m being watched all the time. The media, they’re always ready, waiting for me to make some mistake so they can go back to calling me Endeavor’s ‘failure of a son.’ And I thought I could handle the attention. It’s not like I hadn’t had it directed at me since my quirk came in. But this is different. They couldn’t do everything they wanted when I was a kid. But now I’m an adult and things are different and they can act however they want and say whatever they want without fear of retribution, and it’s like I can never relax, because if I do, they’ll find something to say about that.”

“Shouto…”

“And he’s been trying to contact me recently. My father. Just to let me know what he thinks of my life and my failures and you. And I don’t care what he thinks, and I haven’t cared what he thinks in so long, but it’s constant, just like the media, and it’s practically all the same things, over and over and over again, and it feels like I’m drowning, Izuku. I feel like I’m drowning in unwanted attention and that’s so petty and ridiculous to say, because I’m a hero, and of course heroes want attention, but I can’t do it.”

He’s breathing heavy, and his heart monitor is beeping faster. His hands are white knuckle clutching the blanket on top of his legs, and he’s looking at Izuku with the look of desperation civilians get when they see a hero coming, like they can save them from the worst if they just make eye contact.

Izuku pulls him into a too tight hug, and Shouto’s breath hitches and he can feel wetness on his shoulder, and feel him shake in his arms, and hear the tiny, choked off noises from someone who never learned how to cry right coming from him, and he just grips him tightly, his own eyes pricking with tears.

“I’ve got you,” he wobbles out, and he feels so useless. The things Shouto said are something he should have realized, but that’s a worry for a different time. Right now he has his arms full of crying boyfriend, and he needs to be solid, reliable.

“Your sister thinks you might be depressed,” he says, when Shouto’s calmed down and laying against his shoulder.

“She might be right,” he responds flatly.

“You need to talk to someone about this that isn’t either of us, okay? That’s important.”

He feels the nod and runs a hand up and down his back, comforting.

His sister comes in then, and she rushes over, hands up, shaking. Shouto pulls back and looks at her, and he looks so sorry it hurts.

“I’ll go find the nurse and tell her you’re awake,” he says pulling back, and Shouto nods, going limply back onto the bed.

She gets onto the bed next to him as he leaves, grabbing his hands in hers, and he closes the door.

The nurse isn’t too hard to track down, but he stalls a little, wanting to give them as much time as they need. Eventually he gets too antsy and calls out to her, letting her know that Shouto’s awake.

When they get back, Fuyumi is still on the bed, and both of their eyes look a touch redder than they were when he left, but he doesn’t say anything about it.

The nurse goes about checking him over, taking blood pressure, making sure he can focus on things, checking his eyes, and Izuku can tell Shouto’s getting anxious. He dislikes touch from people he doesn’t know, and even if he knows them, it has to have been a while before he’s comfortable with casual touching.

“You’re aware that you’ll have to meet with a mental health specialist before we release you, yes?”

Shouto nods, and Izuku lets out a breath of relief. He was hoping he wouldn’t fight that. The nurse seems satisfied with his answer and lets him know that there’ll be someone in the morning for him to talk to.

As she leaves, Izuku remembers the people in the waiting room, still not knowing that Shouto’s awake.

“I, um, I may have called some people here other than your sister when I got here.”

“Who,” Shouto asks tiredly.

“My, uh, my mom, All Might, Uraraka, and Iida. If you don’t want to see them that’s fine. I can tell them no. But I do need to go tell them that you’re awake and okay.”

“They’re fine,” Shouto says quietly.

“Are you sure?” his sister asks. “I know you’re not one for attention.”

“Those four are fine. It’s not like they don’t already know what I’m here for.”

Izuku nods and stands up, squeezing his hand before going to get the others.

They’re all in the same spots he left them in, save for Uraraka, who’s currently sitting on the ceiling, tapping her fingers anxiously. She floats back down when he comes in, however, and the other three stand.

“He’s awake,” and he can feel some of the anxiety dissipate. “You can come in, if you want.”

“Is he okay with that?” Iida asks.

“He’s okay with that.”

They follow him back, his mom with an arm around his shoulder, and the door feels heavier to open than last time.

Shouto’s waiting, sitting up, and Fuyumi is sitting back in her seat. His mom goes over first, gives him a gentle swat on the head, and then pulls him into a hug, whispering something that Izuku can’t hear. Shouto whispers something back, and they both nod.

All Might sits at the foot of the bed and tells him quietly that he’s always there for him, and Shouto nods.

Uraraka come up to his side, looks angry for a moment, and then her face falls. “You really scared us, Todoroki.”

He apologizes quietly, and she makes him promise not to do it again.

Iida gets very quiet, and Izuku politely doesn’t listen to what he says. He knows it’s very personal, and Shouto grabs Iida’s hand and says something back equally as quiet.

When their moment is done, Izuku takes a spot next to All Might on the end of the bed. The room is still heavy, but the comfort of people lessens it a bit. Shouto laughs first, quietly, remarking at all the people surrounding him, and Izuku follows him. The other let out unsure laughs, but it lightens the mood.

It’s nearly nine when his mom mentions that visiting hours are over. No one says anything for e moment, because it’s uncomfortable to leave. But his mother does first, hugging Shouto and Izuku again before leaving, telling them that if he’s not out of the hospital tomorrow, she’ll be right back up.

All Might leaves next, and Izuku stretches all the way out on the end of the bed. Iida goes next, as he has early patrol tomorrow, and he hugs Shouto briefly before he leaves.

Uraraka stays a while longer, but ultimately leaves around half an hour later. This leaves him and Fuyumi, and Izuku knows he’s not leaving. He’d called his hero agency a little bit ago, telling him he’d be out for the next few days. Then he’d called Shouto’s and said the same. They wanted to know why, of course, and he stayed as vague as he could while still letting them know there was a little bit of a crisis that still needs to get sorted out.

Fuyumi stays about an hour after Uraraka, and she has a class to teach in the morning. She hugs Shouto tightly, kissing his forehead, and threatens to kill him if he ever tries something this stupid again. He promises her he won’t, and when she leaves, Izuku can tell she doesn’t want to.

It’s just them again, and something is different now. Shouto scoots over in the bed to allow him to room, knowing he isn’t leaving, and Izuku slips his shoes off and settles in next to him.

“Do you think they’ll let me leave tomorrow?”

“I don’t know. I don’t know how I feel about it. I think they might, but I’m not sure.”

Shouto accepts this answer and rolls over the face him. “I’m sorry. I really am. It wasn’t supposed to get like this.”

“You need to keep me in the loop when you start getting overwhelmed, okay? I mean it. I found the sleeping pills this morning in your toothbrush cup, and I should have said something then. You didn’t even tell me you were having trouble sleeping.”

“I didn’t want to burden you.”

“You’re not a burden to me, Shouto. You never have been. I love you, and that means taking in all the stuff you consider to be a ‘burden.’”

Shouto doesn’t say anything, and Izuku rolls to hit a button on the lamp next to them, plunging the room into darkness. He rolls back over and wraps his arms around Shouto. “Get some rest, okay?”

He feels a nod, and feels himself fading, and lets sleep take him, Shouto safe in his arms.

The next morning moves in a bit of a blur. The nurse is a different one now, and he’s a little more direct with things, moving them along quickly, doing his check ups fast and thorough.

Izuku leaves when the specialist gets there, and he sits outside the door, anxiously wringing his hands together. When he’s let back in, Shouto looks a little relieved.

“They’re letting me go home today on the strict condition that I start attending weekly therapy sessions.”

“Good,” Izuku mumbles, and kisses him gently. “That’s good. Do you know when you can leave?”

“Soon. They just need to file a few more things and I should be alright to leave.”

“When’s the first session?”

“Tomorrow at one. I don’t know how we’re going to swing it when I go back to work, but I guess I’ll figure something out.”

“This isn’t something you can skimp out on, okay?”

“I know. I know. Don’t worry.”

All he can do is worry, but he keeps that to himself.

They’re let out just a couple hours later, and Izuku lends him his jacket to cover up the blood on the shirt he gets back from the hospital. Shouto’s given instructions on how to care for his arms, and he accepts the paper begrudgingly, and Izuku’s mom shows up to take them back home.

“It’s good to see you out of the hospital, Shouto,” she says on the car ride back to their apartment. Izuku gets the sudden thought that he left the blood and vomit all over their bathroom floor, and he’ll need to clean that up pretty much immediately. They’re both quiet.

“Let me know if you need anything. Really. I’ll be here as fast as I can.”

“We will, mom. Thank you for the ride.”

“Of course sweetie.” She pulls him closer, so Shouto can’t hear. “Take care of him, okay? Make sure he does what he’s meant to.”

“I will, mom.”

“Good.”

Their apartment smells dingy when they get inside, and Izuku opens the windows to let in some fresh air. And then he sets about getting the cleaning supplies while Shouto goes to change.

The blood dried onto the tiles taunts him. “Look what you made happen” it seems to say, but he sprays it with cleaning solution, watches it bubble up and fizz, and wipes it away.

Their day is fairly relaxed, and Izuku spends most of it attached to Shouto, as if he’s afraid he’ll up and disappear. Considering yesterday, it’s not an unfounded fear. Shouto offers to participate in some training, and Izuku immediately sits him back down, telling him he needs a little more time to get his body back to one hundred before he goes about training like he does.

They mostly spend it watching movies and ordering in bad delivery food.

Shouto clings to Izuku that night, and he’s not sure why, but he does find it comforting, so he says nothing and wraps his arms around him right back.

In his dreams he smells iron and feels dripping hands wrap around him, staining him red, and he jerks awake, turning to find Shouto. He’s asleep, breathing audibly, chest rising, hair mismatched together again. Izuku brushes a shaky hand on his throat, finds his pulse, and releases a breath he didn’t know he was holding. He wraps his arms back around him, and Shouto snuggles in closer, and it isn’t as hard as he assumed it would be to find sleep again.

The next day is therapy day, and Shouto is antsy.

“Do you want me to come with you?”

“No, it’s fine.”

“Really.”

“Yes really.”

“I can just sit in the waiting area. It’ll be like I’m not even there.”

“I think I want to get a feel for it first before I start dragging you along.”

“I think that’s the opposite of how that usually goes, but if you’re sure, then I’ll stay here.”

“I’m sure.”

Izuku just wants to be there for him, but secretly he’s just a little bit glad that he doesn’t want him to come along. He has someone he needs to call, and if he remembers right, this is his lunchbreak.

When Shouto leaves, Izuku kisses him and pulls him into a hug, promising him he’ll be here when he gets back.

And then when the door clicks, and it’s been a minute without him coming back to grab something he forgot, he pulls out his phone.

After the fourth ring, he’s beginning to think he remembered wrong, and anxiety gnaws at his stomach, but he picks up after the fifth.

“Midoriya, I’m on lunch, what is it?”

“Hello Aizawa-sensei.”

“Yes, hello, I’m no longer your teacher, but you still insist on calling me that.”

“Did you get a lot of attention as a Yuuei teacher before our class?”

Aizawa’s silent for a minute, and then he hears a sigh. “I’m going to eat if you insist on having this conversation right now, because it’s my lunch, but I’ll indulge you. No. I don’t think I got any attention as a teacher before your class, though that might have been because I was underground.”

“Do you get any publicity as a teacher now?”

“A little more than before, but still not a lot… Why are you asking me this?”

“I was wondering if there were any positions open for hire.”

He can hear Aizawa chewing, mulling over the question before he answers. “Are you thinking of becoming a teacher? Because don’t take this the wrong way, but I never really saw you as an in the classroom type.”

“It’s not for me, it’s for Shouto.”

That gets him an actual pause, no food noises at all. “What happened?”

“N-nothing happened!” He was never a terribly convincing liar, and Aizawa makes a non impressed grunt across the phone line. “Well, something happened, but it’s not really my place to say.”

“So something happened that you can’t tell me, but you’re asking me for career advice for your partner, am I getting that correct?”

“Mhm.”

“Midoriya, can you give me anything to work with here?”

“Shouto doesn’t like the media. It stresses him out more than our actual job, which I don’t think it’s supposed to do.”

“And that’s enough for you to consider asking him to switch jobs.”

“Maybe. I just want to know if Yuuei’s hiring right now, and then I can bring it up. I think he needs a step back from people who’re quick to judge his every move.”

“Children judge your every move,” Aizawa says. “But in a different way. But yes, we’re always looking for pros who’re open to teaching and can actually handle a classroom.”

“Great! Thank you.”

“Todoroki’s alright, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he says, and for the first time in the past few days, he’s actually starting to believe it. “He’s gonna be fine.”

“You all aren’t even my kids anymore, and yet here you are, stressing me out.”

“That’s our job.”

“If you’re done leaving me with cryptic knowledge of Todoroki that verges on worrying, I’m going to go back to my lunch and leave you to whatever you’re doing.”

“Have a good lunch, Aizawa-sensei.”

“I’m not your sensei,” he says before hanging up, and Izuku feels just a touch better.

He cooks lunch while waiting for Shouto to get back, and has a plate ready for when he returns. He looks a little exhausted, but not terribly so, and he presses the plate of food into his hands.

“Thanks,” Shouto mumbles, sliding into his seat.

“How was it?”

“…Different. It went a different place than I thought it would, but it wasn’t terrible.”

“D’you want to talk about it?”

“She talked about my father, just briefly, but it wasn’t in an endearing way. I think she’s going to be good.”

“Well that’s good.”

They’re quiet as they eat, and Izuku fidgets.

“You look like you want to say something.”

He jumps a little and looks at him. “I want you to hear me out before you make any judgements.”

This earns him a raised eyebrow.

“How would you feel about leaving heroics?”

And the other brow joins the already raised one. “Are you serious?”

“I don’t think it’s good for you. Saving people is fine, but that’s not all heroics is. The media’s a huge part of it, and I think it’s doing you more harm than good.”

“I don’t even know what I’d do.”

“Teaching?”

Shouto’s quiet for a minute, and then he starts eating again. He isn’t the biggest fan of the idea.

“Why not?”

“I’m not great with children.”

“You’re fantastic with children, what are you talking about?”

“In small, one off situations, maybe. In a classroom setting? I don’t think I could handle them.”

“You’re not your father, you know.”

His shoulders tense before relaxing, and Shouto looks at him with heavy eyes. “I just… worry that if I spend too much time with kids I’ll be just like he was with me.”

“You wouldn’t be. We both know that. If you genuinely don’t want to, then don’t, but I think you should consider it.”

“Maybe,” Shouto says, and that means yes, he’ll think about it, and he’ll really, really think hard on it to get the right choice.

“You don’t have to stay the one thing you’ve done the past years, you can change it up.”

“My father—”

“So what your father? He doesn’t control you anymore, he never really did. He doesn’t get to decide what you choose to do with your life.”

Shouto hums, and finishes off his plate, taking it to the sink. Then he wraps his arms around Izuku in his seat and rests his chin on his shoulder. “I’ll think about it. Really.”

“How’re you feeling?”

“I’m… better. These last two days have been nice, just being home with you.”

“I’m glad,” Izuku says, turning to kiss him. “You’ll tell me if you’re feeling not alright, right?”

“Of course.”

“I mean it.”

“So do I.”

“Mm. Do you wanna do some laundry later?”

“Yeah, laundry sounds good.”

“Afterwards we can watch that movie. The one with the robots and the aliens.”

Shouto groans. “That’s not even worth being a move.”

“It’s fantastic and you know it.”

“I guess I can concede on this movie, but I chose the next one.”

“Deal.”

Shouto takes Izuku’s finished plate and grabs the basket of laundry from outside the bathroom and makes his way to the washing machine, and Izuku thinks things will be okay.

And when Shouto hijacks the movie they watch, he doesn’t even mind.