Work Text:
The knot in Shouto’s shoulder tightens and gives him a twinge he can feel all the way down his spine. He grimaces and reaches for it without thinking, momentarily distracted from the task at hand.
He pays for that distraction, because a split second later there’s an explosion to his left and an angry voice shouting, "G et your head out of your ass, you half and half moron!”
Shouto wants to sigh, but Katsuki is right. They’re in the middle of containing a small villain riot taking place outside of a shopping center. The villains have mostly mutant quirks, and don’t seem to be after much more than causing all the heroes and police in the immediate vicinity headaches. It’s standard but he still can’t afford to waste any time.
He whirls around, ignoring the erratic spasm in his shoulder, and gets to finishing the fight. Between him, Katsuki, and a few other new heroes, they make quick work of it. It doesn’t take them much longer to restrain the troublemakers and get them loaded into the armored police vans.
There’s a bunch of press circling the scene, and Shouto discreetly waits off to the side, standing by in case any of the villains try to make a break for it. He’s trying not to engage with the press if he can help it, and he would usually speak to the police, but they seem to have it under control. Some of the newer, more camera-hungry heroes get pulled away for interviews. He tries to make himself invisible.
He’s just thinking about leaving, but he hears Katsuki before he sees him.
“Hey!” Katsuki snaps, annoyed and as gruff as ever, and Shouto crosses his arms as he approaches. He puts on his best impassive expression as Katsuki elbows past the people between them. His rough, rude exterior hasn’t changed in the years since they were rivals or classmates. It’s fine, though, because it gives Shouto an excuse to be stubborn.
As Shouto does his best to look bored, the police officers in Katsuki’s warpath skitter out of the way, apprehensive expressions on their faces. The dirty look that constitutes Katsuki’s resting face is far more effective at clearing a path than the indiscriminate elbows he throws, but employs both tactics liberally. Shouto has always thought Katsuki resembled a walking nuclear blast.
“What?” he asks when Katsuki is in range.
His friend, though they would never call each other that aloud, parks himself in front of Shouto, his eyebrows drawn into an expression that is equal parts annoyed and pissed. There’s dirt on his face and his shirt is torn, and Shouto realizes that he must be just as haggard.
“Excuse me?” Katsuki snarls, and Shouto feels a curl of amusement. Katsuki is an easy mark, and for the most part, it’s fun for Shouto to rile him up. “ What?” Katsuki repeats, his eyes flashing with anger, “I was just about to ask you— what the fuck that was.”
Shouto glances around, as if he’d missed something obvious, “What what was?”
Katsuki growls and smacks him in the shoulder, “ This , you goddamn pain in the ass.”
“Oh,” he shrugs. The knot is still twisting painfully somewhere between his shoulderblade and spine, and he can feel the beginnings of an ache starting in his lower back. “It’s nothing,” he replies honestly.
“Like hell it is.” Katsuki stares at him, intimidating regardless of the fact that he’s several inches shorter. His bright, intelligent eyes study Shouto’s face. “I should have let that villain stab you,” he says after a moment.
“You wouldn’t have.”
Shouto’s reply only serves to make Katsuki more annoyed, and there’s the distinct sound of several small, barely contained explosions that punctuate Katsuki’s mounting frustration. “I would have, you useless two-quirked bastard,” he spits, but they both know that’s not the truth. Katsuki clicks his tongue and levels him with a dark stare.
Shouto sighs, knowing that whatever is coming next is not up for argument.
“You’re starting to fight like an old man,” Katuski tells him. He pulls his phone from one of the protected cases on his utility belt and starts to look for something. “And it’s embarrassing for both of us.” There’s chime, and Shouto feels his own phone vibrate in one of his pockets. “Set up an appointment.”
He raises an eyebrow at Katsuki but doesn’t reply at first. He pats around on his hero costume before he finds the pocket where he put his phone. When he pulls it out and opens the message, he sees a link to a massage parlor, of all places. He starts at it, squinting a little to make sense of it. “Is this a joke?” he asks.
“The joke here is your inability to read,” Katsuki mutters, then says clearly, “It’s not a fucking joke. They specialize in quirk-related massage therapy.”
He starts to open his mouth to tell Katsuki that it’s a waste of time and money, but he’s cut off.
“It’s covered under our occupational health plan,” Katsuki says, rolling his eyes. “But I don’t give a shit if you pay out of pocket or what. Don’t try to make excuses. If I catch you slacking again I’m going to request a transfer.”
It’s an empty threat, but Shouto has been translating Katsuki-isms for years now. His attempts at caring are completely rude and thoroughly mediocre, but Shouto doesn’t fault him for that. Katsuki has the emotional intelligence of a guppy and after a long ten years of figuring each other out, Shouto knows that what Katsuki is really saying is this: I’ve noticed that there’s something bothering you and I want to help you fix it.
So he sighs, long and hard, to prove his own point, and says, “Fine,” which he knows Katsuki can translate into what he really means: Thanks for looking out for me. This is usually followed by a colorful, imaginative insult from Katsuki before he stomps off to find someone to yell at, which he delivers with a comforting reliability. Shouto looks at the message for a while longer, before resolving to at least make a consultation appointment later that evening.
“I’m sending someone your way and I don’t want him worked over by some mediocre asshat that doesn’t know a quirk from a leg.”
Izuku smiles into his phone and pulls up the appointment schedule. Whoever it was must be important, if it was worth Katsuki calling about it. “Alright Kacchan,” he hums to disguise his amusement as thoughtfulness. He scrolls ahead to look, there are a few new names showing up on the appointment manager, but no one he’s ever known to work with Katsuki.
“What have a told you about calling me that?” He asks, sounding more tired than irritated. At this point, it’s just routine. Izuku is never going to stop calling him that childish nickname and Katsuki knows it.
“You said that he works at your agency?” Izuku asks, ignoring the Katsuki’s response. He glances over at the pile of intake paperwork as if the answer would be right on top. His eyes slide back to the computer screen and he scrolls through the next month, “Nothing next month of the month after. Are you sure he actually made an appointment? Usually after the consultation we try to squeeze people in right away. We already had your office’s insurance on file so it really shouldn’t have taken so long.” Izuku is muttering under his breath at this point, still scrolling through the calendar.
“If you took a goddamn breath once in a while and listened to me I could tell you when he gets there.”
He laughs a little, the embarrassment of getting caught rambling diluted but still ever present in his life. “Sorry, Kacchan.”
“He’s coming this Tuesday. You’re working, right?”
Izuku freezes, and his mind scrambles like a hamster on a wheel. He glances at the date on the computer, then double checks the calendar, just to be sure. “Kacchan,” he says slowly. When he takes too long to finish his thought, there’s a rough prompt from Katsuki and he says, “ Today is Tuesday.”
There’s a long pause on the other end of the line, then Katsuki takes a breath and swears. “ Shit. I meant to call you yesterday.”
“It’s fine,” Izuku says nervously, laughing even though it wasn’t really fine. There’s a reason that Katsuki tells him when big-name heroes are coming through his work. He needs time to mentally prepare. He can already feel the nerves burning a hole in his stomach.
Katsuki doesn’t reply at first, as if weighing the benefits of calling Izuku out on his lie. “Okay.” He says, choosing to believe that Izuku really is in control, for the first time in the history of their shared existence. “His appointment is midday so he should be there around—”
There’s a chime from the front office, about a room away from where Izuku currently sits. It signals that there’s someone in the lobby, in case no one is working the main desk.
“A-around now?” Izuku asks, glancing at the clock.
There’s a beat of painful silence from Katsuki, who seems to feel actual remorse when he says softly, “Yeah, around now.”
“Alright Kacchan, thanks for calling, I gotta go,” he says, then just hangs up. He knows he’ll get shit from Katsuki about hanging up on him later, but really, what are his other options? There’s a pro hero in the lobby and he doesn’t know what to expect, and for one of the lead massage therapists at Quirk Therapy Massage, it’s a big failing. He looked at the calendar the week before, but this new hero must have been a last-minute schedule.
He sighs and readies himself to step out into the lobby, to check the hero into his appointment and to get a sense of what he needs, but he hears Sato’s voice at the front desk. Having dodged that bullet, he takes the remaining moments he’s been given to scramble for the hero’s name and information, so that he can at least do part of his job correctly.
Shouto steps into the incredibly normal looking building that houses Quirk Therapy Massage and is pleasantly surprised by how non-threatening it is. The door chimes softly as if saying hello, and he begins to think he worried for nothing. His experiences with doctors and physical therapists have been poor at best, so he hadn’t been sure what to expect. What he finds is a brightly lit, clean lobby with a strong, clean cut young man at the counter.
“Mr. Todoroki?” the man asks, after glancing at his computer. His name tag reads Sato in neat, blocky letters.
Fighting the urge to check his watch, because he already knows he’s early, Shouto nods. “Yes, I have an appointment at 12:30.”
“And this is your first visit?” Sato asks.
“First in-person visit,” Shouto says, stuffing his hands into his pockets. He’d spoken to a woman on the phone the day before, who’d assured him that they would be able to help with his recent aches and pains. He still didn’t really know what he signed up for, or with who. Katsuki had mentioned a massage therapist by name, but Shouto had already forgotten who he’d recommended. He’d been too surprised to learn that Katsuki had a positive recommendation to commit the name to memory.
“Sure thing,” Sato replies, smiling warmly. He stands from the desk and steps around the counter, a tablet in hand. “I’m sure that Kayama has already given you the basics, but we here at Quirk Therapy value our patron’s privacy above all else…” he begins to lead Shouto through the same information he’d been given over the phone, but the familiar content puts him at ease.
“If you prefer,” Sato says, guiding him towards a hallway, “We can provide a quirk-free service, in which the therapist doesn’t use or have access to their quirk.”
That is new information, however, and it makes Shouto’s ears perk up. “No quirks?” he asks, liking the sound of that more than he should.
“A lot of the staff here have wearable technology that limits their ability to use their quirk,” and as Sato goes on to explain the technology and the services available, Shouto finds that he’s very much interested in a quirk-free massage. “It looks like you’re already scheduled with someone who specializes in our quirk-free offerings. How does that sound?”
“That sounds great,” he replies honestly, a little glad that he didn’t have to ask.
Sato nods and leads him to what looks like a dressing room. He opens the door and says, “Once you've changed, you can go through the door on the far side of the room. Then your massage therapist will come out for your session.”
“Thank you.”
When the door closes behind him, he feels a curl of nervousness. The changing room doesn’t look that much different than a regular physical therapist’s office. There are anatomical charts, details with quirk biology, and serene painted landscapes on the wall. On the side closest to the door, there’s a locker for his things and a plush robe hanging on the wall.
He stares at the robe for a little while and panic begins to bleed around the edges of his brain. It’s irrational, but he hasn’t been in any state of intentional undress in front of another human person in years. He takes a steadying breath to quell the rising panic and focuses on the setting’s professional sheen.
It helps to calm his nerves, a little, and he resolutely strips down to his underwear and slips into the robe. After putting his things away and taking another moment to gather himself, he steps into the other room.
The lighting in here is warm and dim, the walls are a dark, but not overwhelming color. Relaxing, gentle music plays over hidden speakers, and it’s soothing overall. Shouto glances around the room and goes to sit on the soft massage table, finding this part of the experience more in line with what he was expecting. He tries to let the ambiance work on his remaining nerves while he waits for the massage therapist.
He doesn’t have to wait for long.
The door opposite to the changing room opens, and a warm, distinctly sweet man comes into the room. He enters as if he’s accidentally stumbled into Shouto’s private bedroom, and not his own place of work. “H-hi,” he stammers, then clears his throat. He blinks once, and Shouto can see a faint blush on the bridge of his nose, warm and attractive beneath the soft glow of the lights.
Shouto finds himself instantly endeared to him.
“Hi,” Shouto replies, smiling without realizing.
The massage therapist smiles crookedly in return and comes into the room, nervously straightening his shirt as he closes the door and says, “I’m Midoriya, I’ll be your therapist today.” He comes close enough to bow politely, and Shouto can see the freckles dotting his cheeks, the wispy curl of his hair around his ear, and the cut of his neat, well-tailored black uniform.
The name is vaguely familiar, and Shouto’s eyes want to linger on Midoriya’s face, but something else catches his eye. He frowns.
“No bracelet?”
“O-oh,” Midoriya straightens and takes a step back, his face rotating through several different emotions far more quickly than Shouto is capable of deciphering. “I’m, um, quirkless,” he answers, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. He tilts his head in a half-shrug and adds, “Don’t really need the tech.”
Now it’s Shouto’s turn to blush, and he feels like an asshole, “I’m sorry?” he says, or rather, unintentionally asks.
Midoriya laughs, “I haven’t gotten that one before.” Shouto’s gaff seems to set Midoriya at ease, and he picks up a tablet. “I can go get one if you prefer,” he offers, keeping his eyes on the screen.
“It’s alright,” Shouto says, feeling a bit embarrassed. Midoriya purses his lips, almost frowning, and Shouto feels even more like an ass. He prays that he can get through the rest of this experience without completely making a fool of himself.
“It looks like your problem areas are your shoulders and back?” He asks, and Shouto realizes that Midoriya was reading his information, not stuck on Shouto’s misstep. He swipes the screen, looking thoughtful, “But you mostly use your hands and your feet for your quirk.” That one isn’t a question, but a statement.
Shouto cocks his head, curious, and waits. The massage therapist purses his lips into a fine line, a crease forming between his brows. His eyes flicker over the screen, and Shouto finds himself remarkably interested in the contents of the tablet. What could possibly be so interesting?
“Okay,” Midoriya says decisively, pulling Shouto from his thoughts. He sets the tablet aside and clasps his hands in front of him. “Shall we get started? Go ahead and lay back.”
Swallowing, Shouto does as he’s told, scooting back on the soft material of the massage table. “Should I take this off, or?” he plucks at the robe, unsure of what made him ask.
“Whatever you prefer,” Midoriya says simply.
Shouto decides to trust him and slips free of the robe. Left only in his boxers, he lays back on the table and watches Midoriya approach from the side of his eye.
Midoriya turns to a side table with an assortment of oils and lotions, asking, “Do you mind if I begin at the top of your body?”
Grimacing, Shouto wants to say no. He doesn’t like being reminded of the scar imprinted on the worse side of his face. But Katsuki recommended this place, so he puts his feelings away and closes his eyes. “Sure.”
There’s a hum of confirmation then Shouto hears the rustling of fabric as Midoriya moves. He waits, his breath shallow but even, and feels himself tense.
But the first touch is gentle. It isn’t soft, it’s firm, forgiving, and Midoriya presses on the planes of Shouto’s face, which at first feels alien. Then, the strangeness begins to fade as Midoriya makes circles on Shouto’s jaw and temples. Eventually, he sinks into a peaceful kind of meditative state, feeling the considerate pressure of Midoriya’s strong, kind hands move first over his face and neck, then down his body.
He makes his way methodically over each of Shouto’s limbs, working his fingers into the tired muscles and loosening the stress lodged there. At one point, he presses something in Shouto’s palm and it makes him want to melt into the bed forever. He must have made a sound or a strange move, because then Midoriya spends what feels like an extra amount of time there. His hands are soft and warm against Shouto’s, and it’s better than anything else he’s ever experienced.
After a while, he doesn’t even have to try to keep his eyes closed. His breath grows deep and relaxed, and the scent of the lotion and oils Midoriya is rubbing into his skin begin to feel grounding and relaxing.
There are places on Shouto’s body that he didn’t even know where tense. There’s a muscle on the outside of his knees that Midoriya spends a considerable amount of time kneading and pressing, and when he moves onto the next spot, Shouto feels like he could climb a mountain. Eventually, he’s instructed to turn over onto his stomach and he wonders how much more there could possibly be.
Midoriya doesn’t disappoint.
As if sensing the exact location of his discomfort, Midoriya carefully works out each of the pains and aches that have been lingering around Shouto for weeks. He doesn’t even need to move or reply, Midoriya just finds the rough spots and the parts of him that have been neglected and simply makes them better. He reaches a kind of bliss as Midoriya works his lower back, and his brain wanders to a pointedly unprofessional place.
The stray thought about Midoriya’s hands as he works down the back of his thighs and calves is hardly decent, but who could blame him? He suddenly has the urge to open his eyes and watch him work. Is he focused? Shouto wonders dreamily, thinking about the way Midoriya’s bright green eyes had reflected the cool light of the tablet screen. Warmth suddenly spreads through him as he realizes that yes , Midoriya has to be that focused on him. He can suddenly picture those green eyes roaming his body and the press of Midoriya’s lips into that purse, soft and pink and inviting. Shouto doesn’t stop his mind from wandering past those lips.
His brain is hazy and his body is boneless, and he sinks a little deeper into relaxation. There’s a pause, and Shouto waits for more, his breathing even and comfortable. He wonders where Midoriya is going to put those gentle, giving hands next. He has no preference, anywhere will do.
There’s a tap on his shoulder, however, and Midoriya is gently prompting him to get up.
Shouto sits up and takes a deep breath, the urge to lay on that massage table for the rest of his life a strong feeling in his gut. He blearily looks around the room and catches Midoriya watching him.
“Better?” he asks, his gaze attentive and searching.
Shouto reaches for the knot in his shoulder but it’s not there. All that’s left is the memory of the pain, the muscle now pliant where it’d been tough before. He’s too foggy to speak, so he looks at Midoriya and nods, sure that he looks ridiculously dazed.
Midoriya’s mouth quirks in a smile that’s equal parts humored and satisfied, then says sincerely, “Good. If you’d like another appointment, stop at the front desk on your way out.”
Shouto is nodding before Midoriya even finishes his statement because yes , he does want another appointment. Maybe tomorrow, or later that same afternoon. He couldn’t believe how much better he felt.
Midoriya politely excuses himself and leaves the room, and Shouto spends a few moments just absorbing this blissful, unfamiliar feeling. It’s better than he could have imagined, and resolves to take Katsuki out for dinner that night.
“I’m busy until eight, but you can take me out after,” Katsuki says, sounding distracted. There are voices in the background, and Shouto wonders what he’s doing. It must be important, if Katsuki skipped the opportunity to insult him.
He checks his watch, there’s enough time to run some errands and if he times it right, he could end up on Katsuki’s side of town right around eight. “That’s fine.”
“Of course it’s fine,” he snaps, “I fucking told you that it would help and it did, and now you owe me a massive fucking dinner.”
Shouto raises an eyebrow, “I owe you? Does it count as owing if I already offered?”
“You owe me because I say you owe me,” Katsuki replies irritably, “See you in a few hours, asshole.”
Shouto laughs before saying goodbye and hanging up. Katsuki’s rough exterior once made him intolerable, but somehow, his consistency made him easy for Shouto to handle. The expectations between them are minimal, and their friendship ended up being remarkably low maintenance and dependable.
He spends the next few hours running errands and marveling at how much better he feels. He drops his hero suit off to be cleaned and repaired, sends paperwork that’s been sitting at home for weeks, and even manages to pick up groceries for the following week. He’s feeling so productive that he even calls and sets up another appointment with the massage therapist for the following week.
Once he’s done will all of his chores, he makes his way to Katsuki’s house. He ends up being a few minutes early, fully ready to be berated into buying dessert on top of dinner. But when he goes to knock, he hears laughter on the other side of the door.
It’s muffled, but rich, and a second later, the door is opening.
“—Okay Kaachan, whatever you say,” the voice is amused, teasing, even, and so, so familiar. The door hasn’t opened enough for Shouto to see who it belongs to.
“I’m telling you, you little shit, that game is rigged ,” comes Katsuki’s voice, growing louder as he approaches the door.
“And I’m telling you that I believe you,” is the reply, and whoever it is actually laughs.
Shouto’s eyebrows raise in surprise. As far as he knows, there are very few people who can talk to Katsuki like that and survive. He’s intrigued, and frankly needs to know who this person is.
The door finally opens right as Katsuki spits a bitter, “ Whatever,” and then Shouto is face-to-face with Midoriya, who’s in the middle of a laugh that makes his eyes crinkle, his hand running through his hair in an affectionately amused gesture.
Oh . Shouto thinks stupidly.
Then, What?
Midoriya catches sight of him and his smile vanishes almost instantaneously, replaced with something that looks just shy of horror. “O-oh!” he gasps, bumping into the door as if his surprise physically rocked him.
“You’re early,” Katsuki says, coming to the doorway. He grabs the doorjamb with one hand and the door with the other, caging Midoriya out of his house. Midoriya glances between the two of them, a faint blush rising to his cheeks.
Unsure what to make of the situation, Shouto clears his throat and says, “I’m here.” His eyes drift towards Katsuki’s arms, which are blocking the doorway and extremely close to Midoriya. Instead of shying away from Katsuki in fear, he seems rooted to the spot. It’s the opposite reaction most people have, and Shouto can’t help but think, Who is this guy?
“I see that,” Katsuki says, rolling his eyes. He nudges Midoriya, more softly than Shouto thought was possible, and says, “Quit standing there like a deer in the headlights and get out of my goddamn house.”
Midoriya makes a sound halfway between a squeak and an affirmation and pulls his bag, a tote that he holds close to his body, up his shoulder and takes a step out of the doorway. Up close and in the plain light of day and out of his flat uniform, he looks way more fit than in the dim light of the massage room. Shouto shuffles out of the way to let him pass, and is rewarded with a nervous, flushed smile. “You two enjoy dinner!” he manages to say over his shoulder as he retreats.
Shouto watches him disappear from sight and then stares down the sidewalk, as if Midoriya will reappear and explain what he just witnessed. When that doesn’t happen, he slides his eyes to Katsuki, who is watching him with a bored expression.
“You taking me to eat, or what?” Katsuki drawls, still leaning in the doorway.
“Or what,” Shouto says.
Rolling his eyes, Katsuki drops his arms and says, “Let me grab my shoes, I’ll be right out.”
Shouto nods, a strange feeling bubbling in his stomach. It was unfamiliar and uncertain, and he didn’t know what to call it. He stood there on Katsuki’s front step, frowning and trying to figure it out, until he came out again.
Katsuki takes one look at him and shakes his head before saying, “You two are both the fucking worst.”
“Are you…” Shouto struggles to find the words he so badly wants to asks, and Katsuki stares at him from over his plate.
Katsuki’s expression is daring Shouto to ask what he wants to ask, because Katsuki won’t do the work for him. They stare at each other for a little while, locked in a familiar, routine battle of the wills. This time, Shouto caves. He sighs, shakes his head, and then just spits it out, “Are you dating ?”
His first response is to take a bite out of chicken wing and look at him like Shouto is the dumbest person in the world. “You know I don’t do that lovey-dovey shit.” He drops a chicken bone into the pile on his plate and takes a long drag from his beer, as if that answer were sufficient.
“I know,” Shouto says slowly, feeling… complicated. “Lovey-dovey shit aside, are you seeing each other?” The sound of Midoriya’s laughter from the other side of the door comes into Shouto’s head, unbidden. The massage therapist seemed just as comfortable with Katsuki as Shouto was, which was saying something. There was a running joke at the office that Shouto’s the only friend Katsuki will ever have, so seeing proof otherwise was difficult to comprehend. What boggles Shouto more is that he didn’t even know there was anyone else Katsuki could tolerate as a friend.
Katsuki waves a half-eaten chicken wing in the air lazily, “ No , we’re not seeing each other. Been there, done that, not interested.” The last bit is muttered under his breath, but Shouto’s ears hone in on those words as if they were an enemy target.
“So you did date.” I knew it, I knew it, I knew it, his brain repeats, short circuiting.
Katsuki stares at him again, and Shouto stares back and takes his time deciphering the expression. Katsuki looks impatient, annoyed, but not angry. Shouto holds his tongue, willing Katsuki to spill.
“Are you going to eat, or just grill me? Jesus christ.” He throws his half-eaten wing onto his plate irritably and leans back in the booth. Shouto knows he’s won, but doesn’t say anything yet. Katsuki throws one arm over the top of the chair and picks up his drink in his other hand, his eyes never leaving Shouto’s face. “Why do you care, anyway?”
“I don’t care,” he says, far too quickly.
With a snort, Katsuki says, “Yeah, sure,” and then leaves Shouto to stew for a moment.
“ Fine, ” he says, buckling under the pressure. He just has to know . “The massage was great—”
“Like I said it would be,” he mutters.
“ Yes, ” Shouto sighs, “Yes, Bakugou, you were right. As per usual.”
“Hey—” he starts, but Shouto cuts him off.
“Very worthwhile,” he continues, “Midoriya was my massage therapist and it was incredible, okay? Like you said.” Shouto realizes that of course Midoriya was the one Katsuki recommended, that’s why his name was so familiar. “But imagine my surprise when I come to see you and find you interacting with a quirkless massage therapist like a regular human?”
Katsuki wrinkles his nose and looks away. “So what?”
Ah, Shouto thinks. It is a soft spot. He’s never seen Katsuki get anywhere near defensive of another person. Especially not when that person is a gorgeous massage therapist with hands that Shouto would honestly kill for.
“So, please tell me.”
He snorts again, but this time concedes, “Fine, you major fucking baby. What do you want to know?”
Everything? Shouto wants to say, but insteads asks again, “When did you date?” His brain then provides a million other questions he wants to ask but has to keep to himself. They are not limited to but definitely include: Is Midoriya single? Does he still date heroes? What kind of person does he like?
“Right after we graduated highschool, you nosey asshole,” Katsuki tells him, but he doesn’t seem surprised or irritated, as if he knew this whole conversation was coming.
Shouto blinks at him. He vaguely remembers Katsuki being a little nicer before he went though what Shouto still calls “the unbearable shit” phase. “Oh my god,” he murmurs, his eyes dropping to his plate.
“Yeah, whatver, it was dumb,” he says, waving a hand. “We were childhood friends, gave it a shot, and it was terrible.”
“Terrible,” Shouto repeats, unable to believe it. He just saw the way Midoriya handles him. How could it have possibly been terrible?
“Yes, you insensitive asshole, terrible. Izuku dumped me and said we were better off as friends, which, for once, the little moron was right,” he takes a contemplative sip of his beer. His expression softens, just barely. “The dumbass thinks too much for his own good but for once he had it figured out before I did.”
Shouto opens his mouth to ask another question, but the look on Katsuki’s face changes and causes him to pause. Katsuki looks like he’s not sure if he’s going to say whatever it is he’s thinking. But when he puts his drink down, he levels Shouto with a very deliberate look.
“And yes, he’s single.”
Shouto’s heart skips a beat.
“K-Kacchan,” Izuku stammers, his face growing hotter and redder with every moment that passes. He nervously pulls at his collar, an old habit he tried to break years ago but pops back into play when he’s especially stressed. “You did what ?”
“I gave him your number.”
Izuku can’t figure out Katsuki’s tone over the phone, so he spends a full minute just sputtering.
“If you’re going to choke and die, do it on your own time.” Katsuki snaps. He’s acting like Izuku forced him into the call, but Katsuki called him first.
“ Why would you do that?” Izuku wails, dropping his head against his desk. He’s at work, which is the worst possible place for him to be having this conversation. He wishes he’d never picked up the phone.
“Because I wanted to, you half-wit. Why the fuck else do I do anything?”
Izuku laughs, but it’s shaky and weird. The room feels a little too small. “I-I know you do stuff because you want to, Katsuki,” he says slowly. “But, why did you want to give him my number?”
“Because you’re both horrible and I think you would both suffer if you spent time together. Why the hell else?”
He leans back in his chair and contemplates throwing up. “You’re trying to set us up?” he asks, his voice airy because he’s dizzy. This is unprecedented. The only rational thing that could be driving Katsuki to do such a thing would be something life-threatening. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“I don’t know why I bother with you, Deku. If you’re not interested say so,” he says, sounding as if he knew exactly what Izuku was going to say next.
“It’s not that I’m not interested!” he says, before he can help it. Because it’s true. He stays up-to-date on all the latest and best heroes because it’s good for business. It’s not his fault that Katsuki’s most recent professional partner is exactly Izuku’s type. It’s also really not his fault that he’s had a crush on that same hero since college, not that he’d ever told Katsuki. Has he known this whole time? Izuku suddenly thinks, filling with panic.
“So what is it, then?”
“It’s just, just that—” Izuku pinches the bridge of his nose and scrambles for an excuse. He needs to ground himself, so he latches onto the only thing he can think of, “It’s just really not professional of me—”
“Oh, please ,” Katsuki laughs openly. “Not professional? This? Coming from the guy who broke into hero databases to get the specs on different quirk types and their physiological impacts? Don’t make me fucking laugh, Deku.”
He blushes, hard, feeling cornered. Katsuki won this round. “You’re the worst. I hate you.”
“Yeah fucking right, ” he replies, still chuckling.
“You’re doing this on purpose.”
“Doing what on purpose?” he asks, trying to sound innocent.
Izuku groans and hangs his head, “Torturing me.”
“Maybe.” Katsuki says, “ By the way, did he text you yet? He told me this morning that he changed his appointment so that he’d have you today. At three or four.”
He chokes on air. “Are you fucking kidding me?” Izuku wheezes, scrambling to pull up his work calendar. The computer is unbearably slow and he feels like he’s in purgatory. Nothing is going the right speed and he feels like he’s going to implode.
“I’m torturing you, Izuku.”
Izuku can hear the smug grin in his voice without having to see him and wants to shake him. Some things never change , he thinks, exasperated and frustrated and frazzled. The calendar pops up on his screen and he sees Shouto Todoroki on his schedule. His heart sinks, because really, wasn’t once enough? “You’re the worst,” he repeats weakly.
“You’ll thank me later. Get back to work, slacker.”
Izuku is so disconcerted that all he can manage is a childish, “ You go back to work,” which only serves to make Katsuki laugh at him before hanging up.
He sets his phone face down on his desk, hangs his head, and focuses on his breathing. It’s not fair , he thinks, staring at the grain of wood on his desk. Why is Kacchan doing this to me? Katsuki had never interfered with Izuku’s love life before, and there was no obvious reason for him to start now. It really doesn’t make any sense.
Izuku spends the next hour wondering about his childhood friend’s motivations and stressing, hard, about Todoroki’s next appearance. He barely managed to get through one unprepared session without geeking out, and now the universe is putting him to the test again. In a weak, ineffective attempt to relax, he pulls up Todoroki’s file on a tablet and begins to review it.
Todoroki’s quirk is hard on his body, for sure, but in ways that most quirk trainers wouldn’t think to manage. Quirks like his, Izuku has found, strain the body in the same way that chronic stress does. It’s less about muscle strain and more about well being, which makes sense to Izuku, but none of his coworkers. The fact that it’s mostly Todoroki’s shoulders that bother him prove that his overall stress is contributing more than his quirk.
It seems like targeting the points where his quirk is most utilized, his hands and feet, helped, but there were lots of places that Todoroki needed to give attention. Izuku gets a little lost in the file, adding stretches and massages that his client could do at home and reading what he can about his quirk. Every once in a while, Izuku gets a little distracted by the photos of the young hero, but he’s mostly productive.
He’s so engrossed in his task that Todoroki’s appointment creeps up on him without him realizing. Sato interrupts him from staring at a particularly cool photo that he found online, from a recent villain attack where Shouto is rounding up villains with ice and fire while Katsuki descends from the sky, explosions blaring. It’s cool and helpful, and he tells himself that it’s purely research.
“Midoriya?” Sato says, sounding patient, like he’s already had to repeat himself more than once.
“Y-yeah?” Midoriya scrambles away from the picture and sends the tablet screen to sleep.
Sato gives him a funny look but doesn’t comment on the blush Izuku can feel on his entire body. “Your next appointment is here, room four.”
“Thanks!” he squeaks, standing quickly, “I’ll be right there.”
He enters the room, almost as flustered as the last time, and finds Todoroki sitting on the massage table, his expression open, expectant, and a bit vulnerable. He almost looks like a little kid instead of a pro hero thanks to the big fluffy robe he’s wearing. Izuku manages to smile at him, and gets a subtle, warm smile in return.
The small gesture gives him the confidence he needs to properly say hello and get to work on the hero he most definitely has not been harboring a crush on for the last several years.
To Izuku’s surprise, Todoroki is just as tense, if not more so, than their last session together. There’s extra stress lingering in his back and shoulders, and Izuku has to knead and press and work hard to get him relaxed.
But there’s a moment that Izuku really enjoys when he’s working with a client, and it’s a big part of why he’s stuck with massage therapy for so long. It’s when he finally manages to break the client free of their stress and discomfort and they turn to putty beneath his hands. Sometimes it’s like a puzzle, and Izuku has to figure out how and where to press and touch to set them free. It always happens slowly, and sometimes it takes a while, but it always happens.
Usually, Izuku finds that hidden spot that’s been bothering them and when he presses it just right, the client sighs and deflates. He knows he’s doing something right when they turn soft under his touch.
During Todoroki’s first session, that moment came when Izuku ran his fingers over Todoroki’s wrists and palms. Those hands, calloused and strong, had been clenched when Izuku had first laid him down. This time, however, they are already open.
Izuku carefully takes Todoroki’s right hand in his own. Gently, he loosens the wrist and smooths herbal lotion into his skin. There’s a brief moment of stiffness when Izuku turns his hand over and begins to knead the muscles of his palm, but it doesn’t last long.
He presses into the Todoroki’s palm with his thumbs and Todoroki sighs, his breathing deepening, and Izuku can’t help but smile to himself. There’s a long stream of air that escapes Todoroki in a quiet, gentle rush. Todoroki’s heartbeat is noticeably slower under his fingertips.
From here, Izuku works diligently, slipping into a deep concentration as he traces the slopes and valleys of Todoroki’ body. While still entirely professional, Izuku still allows himself to appreciate the clients that come through is door. Each of them are strong in their own way, their bodies doing their best to manage their quirks, and Todoroki’s body is no different.
He’s lean and toned, slender for a hero, built like a long-range fighter but bears marks that show he’s been in his fair share of hand-to-hand battles. There are scars all along his body, some faded with time, and others large and bright. Midoriya lingers on the worst of them, tries to break loose the old hidden pains.
Izuku can feel the lingering hold of stress and injury in his scars and joints. There’s a lot of hurt buried in Todoroki’s body, particularly his knees and shoulders, but Izuku makes it his mission to spend time on each of them. Todoroki sighs when Izuku is successful, occasionally shifting or melting further into the table.
His brow relaxes, and the deep creases of his frown fade into an expression that is soft and blissful. Izuku notices that Todoroki’s breathing is deep and in time with the low music, and he can feel his steady, slow heartbeat under his fingertips.
During the session, there are certain things he learns from Todoroki that he’s sure even Katsuki wouldn’t know. There’s knowledge and secrets in the body, and Izuku can empathize with the deep, hidden struggle tucked far, far within Todoroki.
He hopes that he’s responding to that hurt in a soft way, in a way that’s helpful. He wants his clients to leave his office feeling better than when they arrived. He wants them to feel his touch lingering long after they leave. As he works, he wonders if Todoroki will still feel the press of his hands or the whisper of his breathing after he leaves.
He wonders if Katsuki knows what he’s doing.
But thinking about that really doesn’t help his situation, so he turns all his attention back to Todoroki. Once he’s finished, he touches Todoroki lightly on the shoulder and murmurs that their session is finished. He takes a step back when Todoroki exhales and begins to stir.
When Todoroki sits up, his expression is wide-eyed and vulnerable. It’s different than the look most people give him, and Izuku notices a slight tremor run through him as he takes a deep breath. Curious, Izuku tilts his head and watches. Did he do something wrong?
“Thank you.” Todoroki’s voice is husky, dark from the last hour of disuse. He brings a hand up to his shoulder, as if he’s thinking of rubbing it. His hand drops to his lap, though, and Izuku smiles.
“You’re welcome,” he says honestly. With a quick, formal bow, he tells him, “I’ve compiled some resources for you. It’s mostly exercises and things you can do at home to limit your discomfort. You should receive an email later today, but if you have questions, just call us.”
Todoroki stares at him, his expression changing until it’s unreadable. “Oh?”
Izuku smiles, trying to be warm and professional, but it’s difficult. It’s hard for Izuku to focus and keep his eyes on Todoroki’s face. It’s different when he’s sitting up and Izuku’s eyes are forced to follow the gravity of Todoroki’s mostly-undressed figure. “Yep!” he manages, “It’s simple stuff,” he adds, trying and failing to distract himself from the alluring slope of Todoroki’s collarbone. “Stretches that will help your trouble areas, things of that nature.”
He glances away, and Izuku seizes the chance to excuse himself. “Thank you for returning, see you later!” he says quickly, blurting the overly-familiar farewell before he can stare too much longer.
As he makes it to the door, he hears Todoroki’s goodbye, and it echoes in his head for the rest of the day, banging around in his heart until he feels like he’s going to burst:
“I hope so.”
This is ridiculously creepy, Shouto thinks, staring at the Quirk Massage Therapy sign as the daylight fades. It’s close to closing time, and even though he’s had Midoriya’s phone number in his phone for more than a week, he hasn’t had the guts to send a message.
He’s started one on several occasions. There are half a dozen drafts in his inbox, both empty and partially filled message boxes adored by Midoriya’s number on the top of the screen. Why he decided that it was better to show up in person at Midoriya’s place of work, without telling him or sending any kind of message, was beyond him.
Romantics have never come naturally to him, and his tendencies were to overthink himself out of opportunities or impulsively dive in headfirst. His inability to make rational decisions about the very few people he’s found attractive is what landed him in this position. Part of him hoped, as he’d been walking over, that Midoriya would just reject him on the spot and he could just move on with his life.
The only person he’d told about his half-baked plan was Katsuki, because he’d half-hoped that his coworker would talk him out of his stupid, creepy behavior. All Katsuki had said was, “Then fucking do it already. They close at six.”
So here he is, dressed nicely but not too nice, hovering outside of Midoriya’s place of work like a phantom. He wonders if he should go in, or just wait on the street. He weighs each option in his mind, rubbing at his shoulder as it tightens with the stress of the decision. He’s been doing the things Midoriya recommended to him, if only to have a reason to think and talk about the massage therapist.
Just when he decides that standing on the sidewalk and hovering near the door on an empty street in the early evening is too much for him, he goes to the door. He hesitates for a split second, momentarily filled with a paralyzing kind of doubt, then reaches for the handle.
At the same time, the door swings outward, catching him in the leg and hand and making him stumble back. He curses and has to resist using his quirk out of reflex. He lets himself trip and shakes out his hand, which hit the door handle.
“Shit! Oh my god, I’m so sorry, are you okay?”
His eyebrows draw together at the familiarity of the voice, and when he looks up at the door, he sees Midoriya.
Midoriya is flushed a bright red, his face an open book of concern and embarrassment. He reaches out and puts his hands on Shouto’s upper arms, steadying him as he sways again. “O-oh,” he says stupidly, losing his sense just like he did the first time he visited Midoriya’s massage table.
“T-Todoroki,” he’s really flustered and obviously panicked, “Are you okay? Do you need to sit down?”
Shouto blinks at him, then shakes his head, pulling his bottom lip between his teeth to avoid laughing. “No, I’m alright, Midoriya, thank you.”
“Are you sure?” his voice his thin, and his cheeks flush impossibly redder. “I can take you to the breakroom if you need a minute. There’s tea and coffee, I could get you some water.” Midoriya’s hands didn’t leave his arms, “Oh, god,” he muttered to himself, almost too quietly for Shouto to hear, “I can’t believe this.” There was something else, too, that followed, but Shouto couldn’t make it out.
“I’m fine, really,” Shouto tells, straightening up. He smiles at Midoriya, hoping to put him at ease, but his eyes just get wider.
Midoriya drops his hands, then holds them up as if he’s under arrest. “A-are you sure?” He asks again, sounding adrift.
“Yes, absolutely.” Shouto nods quickly, before Midoriya can ask again. “It was my own fault, I couldn’t make up my mind about whether or not I wanted to go in.”
“Oh, god,” Midoriya almost wailed and reached for Shouto again, “Please, come in. I’ll make sure you get whatever you’re here for taken care of. Did you forget something? Or need to make another appointment?” He reaches for the door again, so quickly that Shouto doesn’t have the chance to stop him before the door is swinging open.
“No, no, I didn’t forget anything,” Shouto says slowly.
Midoriya freezes and looks over his shoulder to Shouto, looking very, very confused. “You didn’t?” He can almost see the gears turning in Midoriya’s head, and takes a moment to summon his courage while Midoriya’s mind works. “Is… is there something I can help you with, then?” There must be some reason you’re here, his voice says, but I can’t think of why that would be. His eyes are big and round, searching Shouto’s face.
“Yes, actually,” Shouto replies, his voice sounding much more smooth than he felt. “I’m sorry to catch you while you’re on your way home,” he says, mentally adding And kind of stalking you, “But I was hoping to take you to dinner.”
Midoriya goes completely still, holding the door partially open.
Shouto watches his face, trying to remain calm and neutral. It seems to take Midoriya a moment to process his words, then a flurry of emotions overtake his features. Shouto recognizes disbelief, wonder, and horrified excitement among a few.
When Midoriya doesn’t respond and just stares at him, Shouto clears his throat tentatively. “Well,” he says, swallowing and trying to remain suave, “It doesn’t have to be tonight—” The sound of his voice seems to jolt Midoriya, and he lets go of the door.
“O-oh, god,” he says, finally, his expression and tone unreadable. Shouto’s heart sinks.
Shouto exhales and takes a big step backwards, “It’s alright if you’re busy, or—” he swallows, trying to find a way to gracefully give Midoriya an out without making an outright rejection unnecessary, “Unavailable,” he settles on weakly. “I’m sorry for coming by your workplace, I know that’s not necessarily preferred, but,” he gestures, feeling the silence around them growing until it threatens to suffocate him.
Midoriya’s eyes are wide, and as the moment stretches between them, there’s a chance for Shouto to study him. His hair is mussed, as if he’s been nervously running his hands through it. There’s a bag on his shoulder, similar to the one he’d had at Katsuki’s, and his uniform is untucked and ruffled. He’s even more beautiful that Shouto remembered.
When he still doesn’t reply, Shouto slips out a quick, “Alright, sorry for bothering you,” before turning to flee. His frenetic brain has already supplied a multitude of ways the earth could swallow him whole by the time he’s taken his first step. He wonders how hot his flames would have to get to make a hole deep enough to go through the other side of the planet.
“Wait!” Midoriya blurts.
Shouto turns around, catches him nervously fiddling with the strap of his bag. He tries to not get his hopes up.
“I-I’m sorry,” he starts, and Shouto sighs. He should have expected this. “Kac-Katsuki told me that he gave you my number. I was expecting a text or phone call, not a visit,” he smiles weakly, looking young and embarrassed. The freckles on his cheeks are warm in the early evening glow. Shouto opens his mouth to tell him that it’s fine, it’s his fault, really, he should have called first, but Midoriya says, “I was just surprised. But I would love to go to dinner with you.”
Instead of thinking about how he could escape, he wonders: Is it possible to fall in love before the first date?
Izuku nervously fusses with his hair in the mirror, wondering how the hell he managed to get himself in this situation. He only had a few minutes until he had to leave his apartment for his date with Shouto Todoroki, and part of him believed that it was all a dream. There was a small, unhelpful voice in his brain saying, Hey, maybe Kacchan is fucking with you again . But those days were far, far behind them. There was no real reason for him to disbelieve Todoroki’s intentions.
He flattens the collar of his shirt, a nice-but-not-too-nice button down that he feels goes well with his eyes, and replays the moment Todoroki asked him out. It’s been repeating on a loop in his brain since the moment he almost smacked Todoroki with the door, which he still feels bad about. To keep himself from getting stuck on that embarrassment, he checks the time.
It’s still a little early, and he double checks the details Todoroki sent by text. He basically has the message memorized, but he looks anyway, just to keep from stressing out. In the succinct text, there’s a time and the name of a restaurant, which Todoroki picked, for their date.
Date , Izuku marvels. A date with Shouto Todoroki.
Izuku has a date with Shouto Todoroki, an up-and-coming young pro hero with talent, power, good looks, and the kind of personality that makes people want to daydream. He keeps up with all the hero news, partially for work and mostly for pleasure, and knows just about everything there is to publicly know about Katuski’s co-worker.
Not that there’s that much to know about him, since he leads a particularly private life outside of hero work. And even within the boundaries of his profession, he tends to shy away from the cameras and media.
Izuku sighs and checks the time again. Deciding that being early is preferable to being left alone to his thoughts, especially the ones regarding their massage sessions, he flees his apartment and heads to the restaurant. He’d let Todoroki pick because Izuku has no idea where to take a hero on a date— one of the upscale places downtown, or a local hole in the wall? The decision had been too much for him, and all he’d managed to suggest was a general neighborhood.
When he gets to the restaurant, which is a cozy, family-owned place that’s one step removed from being fancy, he finds that Todoroki is also early. He’s waiting for Izuku near the entrance, and perks up when he sees him.
Izuku’s heart flutters in his chest. Oh , he thinks, as Todoroki opens the door for him. He’s wearing a crisp white v-neck and a thin, dark jacket. His hair is pushed out of his face and Izuku finds him remarkably attractive.
“Midoriya,” he greets warmly, his expression soft, though nervous around the edges.
“H-hi,” Izuku replies breathlessly. They stand in the doorway for a moment, completely oblivious to the fact that they’re blocking the entrance until someone tries to leave the place. Face reddening, Izuku shuffles in and asks, “Were you waiting long?”
Todoroki is close behind him, and Izuku catches a whiff of his laundry detergent. It’s so fresh and masculine that his crush sends it right to his brain. “No,” Todoroki replies, his voice low and smooth, “Not long at all.”
Izuku swallows and almost trips over himself as a waiter leads them to a table. He wonders fleetingly if he’s going to be able to make it through dinner without making a fool of himself. He feels like he’s fifteen again, stumbling his way through his first date.
But as it turns out, once they’re settled, conversation begins to flow naturally, as if they’re old friends. Todoroki makes a few suggestions about the menu after ordering a bottle of ( expensive ) wine and manages to make Izuku laugh before it even arrives.
He seems pleased with himself, hiding a smile behind the gesture of pouring Izuku a glass after they’ve ordered their food. He told Izuku a story about one of his and Katsuki’s earliest rescues, in which he’d abandoned a group of children because they were too fussy.
“He just blasted a hole in the wall and told them to get out of his sight,” Todoroki says, his eyes bright with amusement.
Izuku grins, shaking his head, “He would do something like that. I saw it on TV but he never gave me the details,” he leans back in his seat and takes a sip of the wine, which was perfect.
“Of course he didn’t,” Todoroki sets the wine back on the table and leans forward, propping his chin on his hand. They were seated in a booth, away from windows and other customers. The light was golden and there was light music in the background, and it all settled around their booth like a halo. It felt like they were the only two people in the world. “We both got chewed out during the debriefing. He was on probation for weeks.”
Izuku laughs again, imagining the fallout. He’s just about to ask Todoroki about his own heroic mishaps, but Todoroki speaks before he can ask.
“I can’t believe he didn’t introduce us sooner.” His voice is gentle, and he’s entirely focused on Izuku’s face, which goes red as soon as his brain processes the statement.
“O-oh,” Izuku hides his nerves behind a sip of his drink and shrugs. “I-I’m not that surprised, it never really made sense for me to visit him when we were all in school. But here we are anyway, right?”
Todoroki studies his face for a long moment, and Izuku’s face gets even more flushed under his gaze. Finally he says, “Yes, here we are.”
It’s a quiet moment, intense, and Izuku finally understands what it means when people talk about romantic chemistry. He’s undeniably drawn to Todoroki, and feels that the interest is mutual. Every so often, Izuku notices that they continually gravitate towards each other, inching and leaning closer throughout their meal. At one point, Izuku almost puts his elbow in his plate and has to tell himself to calm down.
Conversation flows easily, and it’s well balanced. Todoroki is a good listener, asks interesting questions, and always offers his own insight when asked. In turn, he provides unexpectedly funny quips about his own life, which Izuku greedily commits to memory.
They sit in the booth and talk long after the dessert, a shared slice of red velvet cake, until they really are the only two people left at a table. Eventually, they have to leave, but Todoroki offers to walk him home.
“I would love that!” Izuku says eagerly, feeling exhilarated by the perfection of the date. He’s never clicked with anyone so well so quickly, he can’t believe his luck. He opts to take the long, scenic way home to he can spend as much time with Todoroki as possible. The daylight has long faded, but it’s a beautiful night. The moon casts long, silver rays of light across their path, so bright that they don’t even need the streetlights. It couldn’t have been more perfect.
Eventually they do end up getting close to Izuku’s building, and he finds himself slowing down to stretch out their last moments together. He’s telling Todoroki a story about an embarrassing moment from his first year at work and is rewarded with a delighted, soft beat of laughter.
“Well,” Izuku says finally, after their laughter has faded and there’s no way to avoid it any longer. He pauses in front of the entrance and turns to Todoroki, “Thank you for dinner, I really, really enjoyed myself.”
Todoroki smiles, “Good. I did, too,” he tilts his head, looking ethereal in the glow of the moonlight. “Can we do this again sometime?”
Izuku replies quickly, and without thinking, “Yes, sometime soon.”
A faint blush colors Todoroki’s cheeks, and Izuku’s heart begins to beat a million miles a minute. His expression is open and candid, his eyes gorgeous in the low light. He’s smiling, agreeing with Izuku, then glancing down at his mouth.
A wave of excited, nervous energy rolls through Izuku and he takes a step forward, his body moving without his permission. Todoroki’s smile fades and his lips just barely part, and Izuku finds himself getting lost in those eyes. He steps into Izuku’s space, warm and strong, and Izuku feels an anticipation unlike any other he’s ever felt before.
Then, he reaches for Izuku, lifting a hand to brush his fingertips across Izuku’s cheek. His hands are warm, his fingers gentle against his skin. He’s close enough now that Izuku can feel his breath, warm and sweet, on his lips, and it’s suddenly unbearable to wait any longer. There’s more, though, and it’s a delicate, soft touch that leaves Izuku breathless.