Work Text:
“What.” Is all Todoroki says. His eyes lift and then blink, once. “I mean.” He tries to formulate, but gives up. “What.”
The customer beams wide, eyebrows rising in silent question. Or maybe tentative hope. Or possibly both.
“There’s five different viruses on this.” Todoroki states. “Of what I can diagnose. Just by looking at it.”
The customer’s cheeks begin to colour, a gradual process until his whole face is red. It’s rather impressive, truth be told. “Um. Well.” Then he pulls a face, one corner of his mouth tugging down comically as if to say, whoops.
The effect of it is somewhat ruined by his obvious embarrassment.
“What would you like me to say?” He asks, impish. His hands are clasped behind his back, shoulders curved inward. He looks as if he’s prepared for a telling-off.
He looks as if he’s genuinely asking Todoroki what he’d like him to say.
“You can start by how you actually use it.” Because honestly, Todoroki would really love to know.
“Its not hard! I mean, they’re just pop-ups.” The customer beams wide once again, all charm, as if this would somehow diffuse the situation.
Todoroki stares.
He’s honestly never met anyone this idiotic.
“What’s your name?” Todoroki finds himself asking.
He must get this a lot. He smiles wider, then replies, “Midoriya.”
“Midoriya.” Todoroki begins gently. “Do you have anything important on this laptop?”
“Oh, yeah.” He says, nodding. “All my photos, essays, everything.”
Todoroki tries to breathe slowly.
It’s like talking to a bunny-rabbit.
Even then, Todoroki thinks he might be getting somewhere if he were literally talking to a bunny-rabbit.
It might, at the very least, be able to read tone.
“So why didn’t you come sooner?” He asks. “When you first started having –” Todoroki searches. “Problems?”
Problems isn’t even a strong enough word for what’s he’s looking at.
“I mean, I downloaded the anti-virus thing that it told me to.” Midoriya says.
Todoroki blinks. He stills. “You mean the – the big, blinking, ‘you have a virus, get rid of it now’ pop up?”
Midoriya at least, has the decency to pause. He doesn’t say anything.
“And then they asked for your money?” Todoroki assumes.
Midoriya presses his lips together in a toothless imitation of a smile, finally understanding. It looks more apologetic than anything.
It reminds Todoroki of a scolded puppy. Sorry without reason, unsure of what it’s done wrong, happy to apologise anyway.
“I suppose you haven’t uninstalled it.” Todoroki takes a wild guess.
Midoriya opens his mouth, closes it, then turns his mouth down at the corners, as if afraid to speak.
“Alright.” Todoroki begins, because this isn’t getting them anywhere. “I’m going to be honest. There’s no way to salvage this laptop. It would be cheaper just to buy a new one.”
Midoriya’s eyes widen in horror. “A new one?” He repeats.
Todoroki sighs, feels a pang of sudden and rare sympathy.
Midoriya’s t-shirt is half tucked-in at the front, coming out at the back as if it was hastily thrown on. His hair is a shock of dyed-green, tuffs sticking up at his forehead, but styled into an undercut that suits him. His eyes are green too, but are almost cartoonishly wide.
Coupled with his splotched freckles, his small upturned nose and very prominent flush, he looks like a child somehow trapped inside the body of a fully grown – definitely fully, from what Todoroki can see – man.
Clearly this person isn’t equipped to handle life. There’s a real possibly he might step on a bombsite and blow the world up.
“It really would be cheaper.” Todoroki tries. “By about 10,000 yen.” He frowns. That’s right, isn’t it? A laptop wasn’t hugely expensive the last time he checked. Then again, Todoroki isn’t exactly the best judge.
It’s true that hairdressers have the worst hair. By comparison, Todoroki has a Toshiba.
“What about all my stuff?” Midoriya cries, looking alarmed now.
“If you have a pen-drive, we can put everything on that.” Todoroki offers, hands up in surrender. “Nothing lost.”
Midoriya pauses, considers it, and then itches his chin. “But. That sounds like a lot of work.” He says. He eyes Todoroki distrustfully. “The anti-virus seemed to think it was simple.”
“Because that – was also a virus!” Todoroki waves a hand inarticulately. “You just infected your laptop more! If you hadn’t downloaded it, this wouldn’t even be happening!”
Midoriya crosses his arms as he cocks an eyebrow. “Well, I can hardly trust what a technician says.”
Oh, now he’s just getting sassy.
“But you trusted a neon sign that flashed up on your laptop one day?” Todoroki asks incredulously.
The eyebrow, slowly, comes back down.
Todoroki runs a hand through his hair, smoothes it back from where it’s fallen across his face, and fixes his glasses on more securely. “Look.” He states. “I’m not out for your money. I don’t know if you’ve had a bad experience with a technician or something, but I’m telling you the truth.”
Midoriya seems to soften, before something comes over his face, steels his resolve. “I think I’d rather a second opinion.” He states curtly.
“It’s not a dying dog!” Todoroki finds himself exasperated. “It’s a dead laptop!”
Midoriya reaches over, shuts the lid with a sharp snap, then picks it up. “Well then. Thanks for your time.”
*
It’s literally the same day. Not even 24 hours later.
Todoroki hears the gentle rap of knuckles on the door, and looks up.
Midoriya ducks his head around the doorway before entering, as if to appear less threatening will yield better results.
His green hair is rather more dishevelled than when he’d first come in. It’s clear his hands have been through it. He looks just as ridiculous, though. Green hair and brown eyebrows. Green eyes. There’s too much going on.
Todoroki has a flashing thought of what Midoriya would look like with green eyebrows, and then there’s an absurd moment where he transforms into a piece of broccoli.
Todoroki blinks, quickly dispelling it.
Midoriya creeps in, and then stands there expectantly.
Todoroki stares back.
“Hi.” Midoriya says.
“No luck?” Todoroki replies.
“Most of them were shut.” Midoriya tells him.
“What about the ones that were open?” Todoroki asks.
Midoriya presses his mouth into a sad line. “No luck.”
Todoroki bites the inside of his cheek against the unfamiliar swell of a grin. Instead, he turns back to his station as if to appear busy. “Told you.” He states, and waits for the customer to disappear.
Midoriya doesn’t disappear, however. He stays where he is.
“Look.” Midoriya starts, a sudden shift in his voice. “Could you just try? I can’t afford a new one, your prices seem reasonable and I – there’s a lot of stuff on here. I got ripped off once, people think I’ll fall for anything, but you – I mean, you seem nice, I’d really appreciate …” He trails off, arm bent at an awkward angle in order to scratch the back of his head while he stares off to the side.
Todoroki wonders what Midoriya sees in him in order to deem him as ‘nice’. If it’s the glasses, the weedy arms or the long, bony fingers. The vaguely unassuming appearance, the perpetually blank expression that couldn’t charm anything, never mind unwilling customers.
Truthfully, Todoroki’s still recovering from his own botched hair-dye experience, after he’d realised he was one of the unfortunate few to go grey early. And so, he bought a box dye and assumed it would be simple.
The internet lies, is what Todoroki learned that day.
He also learned that he rather suits silver. And so, halfway through the process when Todoroki looked in the mirror and realised it was apparent there were more silver hairs than anything else, and not grey, Todoroki also realised he no longer wanted to try and recreate his youth with bright red hair.
Halfway through being rather a literal term.
Not that it matters anymore. He gets more compliments on his hair nowadays than anything else. Unique, is the most common one. Todoroki will take it. At least the red side covers the burn scar from a childhood accident that Todoroki is never not asked about. And it makes his eyes stand out less: one grey, the other blue. People stop noticing the two different colours now that he has two different shades of hair.
But nice?
That’s new.
For some reason, though, the way Midoriya is standing feels like a soft blow to the sternum. Like a fishhook caught in the vulnerable underbelly of Todoroki’s gut. Not painful, just there, tugging.
Todoroki closes his eyes. “Alright.” He sighs so hard he feels his own eyelids flutter.
“Um.” Midoriya grins that impish grin. “Do you think you could have it done for next week?”
Todoroki opens his eyes. “Why?”
There’s a slight crack in his grin. “Because that’s when my assignment is due.”
Todoroki doesn’t move. “You’re shitting me.”
Midoriya pulls something from his pocket. “I bought a new pen-drive.” He says, hopeful.
*
It ends up being less than a week.
All it takes is wiping the hard-drive and installing a new one.
Before that, of course, Todoroki needs to save Midoriya’s data and determine what is actually data and what is some stupidly installed virus.
After combing through illegally downloaded films and video games – and finding, Todoroki might add, nearly ten of them were the cause of the pop-ups (really, how stupid is this guy to assume everything is free?) – he eventually gets to the documents.
Todoroki, however, is too wary at this point to simply transfer them all onto the pen-drive. He’s seen too many viruses now, lurking in unexpected places, that he’s not about to take any chances and save a picture or word doc when it could end up being some encrypted file Midoriya has senselessly assumed was, yet again, safe to download from the internet.
He’s just doing his job, of course.
After all, Midoriya’s assignment depends on it.
He opens them up.
Midoriya’s life floods onto the screen: a deluge of people and places, scenes and memories.
Todoroki feels his cheeks heat, the strange sense of intrusion giving him the feeling of being watched.
He transfers Midoriya’s photos quickly and efficiently, but it’s impossible not to notice that same beaming face with various strangers, that same wide smile he’d given Todoroki when he’d first entered his shop.
Not that it’s Todoroki’s shop – he’s just covering the other tech guy’s shifts, and he knows a lot about computers.
There are photos of Midoriya when he was younger. Fist holding up a sword, in a superhero costume. Beam bright and big, as loud and eye-catching as his hair. Was it inherited? Is that even possible?
Todoroki clenches his jaw and gets back to work.
*
So, after all that, it happens in the elevator.
Because where else.
Todoroki’s on his way to class when the doors open, and all he sees is green hair, brown eyebrows, before Midoriya pops inside, the dry sound of his hands rubbing together loud in the small, confined space, his hoodie stretched tight across his broad shoulders.
Todoroki feels that unfamiliar feeling again, deep in the pit of his gut.
He stiffens.
“Oh.” Midoriya jerks, brown eyebrows shooting up as he does a double-take.
Todoroki nods back, suddenly unable to speak.
“Uh, do you.” Midoriya tries, and then starts over. “Where you off to?”
“Three.” Todoroki rasps. He tries to ignore the fact his voice has been replaced with a life-long smoker’s.
“I mean – um.” Midoriya starts, a smile twitching a corner of his mouth. “What do you study?”
“Computing science.” Todoroki states.
“Ah.” Midoriya hums as his head falls in a nod. “Makes sense.” He murmurs, voice trailing off as if he wanted to start a conversation but gave up half-way through.
There’s a beat.
“I actually do –”
“If you say computing science, I’ll take you to court.”
Midoriya’s laugh is loud and sudden: a thunderous roar like the growl of lightening in the sky. It’s a well-rounded sound, though, big and benevolent.
“No!” Midoriya chuckles. “History.”
Todoroki nods, silent.
You look like you’d be good at that, forms in his mouth before dissipating.
I fixed your laptop, by the way, is what he should say.
I feel as if I know you so well, but don’t know you at all, flits past.
There’s silence, a long moment stretching thin. It keeps stretching, changing shape into something uncomfortable, unbearable. Ready to snap.
Say something, Todoroki thinks. Do something.
Do you like, uh, movies? He wildly composes, before realising that sounds as if he’s asking Midoriya out.
Heat travels from his gut and spreads across his sternum. Would Midoriya even want that?
The silence continues.
Just ask, the desperation beings to fizzle his veins, making him burn. You probably won’t ever see him again. You’ve fixed his laptop. It’s now or never.
Todoroki doesn’t know what to say, is the problem. How does he figure out if Midoriya would be vaguely flattered but not interested, deeply flattered and very interested, or horribly offended and deeply disgusted?
Hey, are you a person that likes people? Todoroki forms. Not limited to gender?
What are your thoughts on skinny, bespectacled boys with uneven haircuts who can type roughly sixty words a minute? Say, off the top of my head, 5’9? Often seen wearing frayed band t-shirts and eating crackers from the packet?
The jolt of the elevator startles Todoroki from his reverie.
Midoriya inhales, stuffs both hands in his pockets, and turns. He opens his mouth, doesn’t say anything, and then presses his lips together in that closed-mouthed smile.
“Well.” He states, after a moment. “This is me.”
Is it Todoroki’s imagination, or does Midoriya look disappointed?
Todoroki can only swallow, throat tight. He nods. His facial muscles feel numb.
Midoriya dips his chin down, still smiling, and then he’s gone.
Todoroki watches the doors start to slide.
And then he slams a hand into the gap and jumps out.
“Wait!” He shouts.
Midoriya stops short, whips around.
And Todoroki ... promptly loses his nerve.
“I – uh, you. I fixed it. Your laptop. By the way.”
Todoroki has never stuttered in his whole life. What is happening to him?
Midoriya sags, nods. “Ah. Right. Thanks. I’ll come pick it up tonight?”
Definitely disappointed. Definitely disappointed. Now or never.
“Or. Um. I can – bring it? To you?”
Midoriya blinks, frowns.
That wasn’t clear.
“Um. If. Like.” Todoroki has never had to ask anyone out.
Usually he’s the one being confessed to, and on the rare occasion he actually accepts, it’s never someone he’s that invested in, or knows all that much about.
Mostly he thinks he gets asked out as a running bet in his class of who can last the longest? Not that Todoroki minds. He gives everyone a fair shot, pretends he doesn’t notice. Not that he totally ignores his date or the hopeful look they give him at the end. He’s always very courteous and gentlemanly.
But he’s used to his own company. He likes his personal space, his time to himself.
What he’s not used to, however, is this.
“Like. We can. I gave it? To you.”
He’s just repeated the exact same thing he said.
Midoriya frowns, confused. “Okay?”
Todoroki huffs, and feels the hot colour on his face gradually increasing. By God, he’s inheriting Midoriya’s tendency to turn beetroot at the smallest things. He’ll wake up green one day.
“O-over. Uh. Dinner.” He manages to grit out.
Alright. It’s done. He can now die in peace. Crawl into a hole and take cover.
Something like realisation begins to seep into Midoriya’s expression, a smile softening his features until into blossoms into a beam.
“Oh! Oh. Um. Yes!” Midoriya grins wide, blinking rapidly. “I didn’t think – I wasn’t sure you – I mean I hoped – it doesn’t matter. Yes.” He states.
Todoroki is stiff. “Yes?”
“Yes.” Midoriya replies, nods sharp. And then he beams.