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Of all the traits he possessed, Izuku Midoriya had always known his curiosity would be his downfall.
It was not a trait befitting of his position. As a valet serving the Todoroki family's youngest son and heir, Shouto Todoroki, there were plenty of things Izuku had to be: resourceful, to attend to his master's every wish; observant, to foresee these wishes before they should come; skilled, be it in assisting his master with his wardrobe or overseeing travel arrangements. He had not the need nor the right to be curious, and yet it was curiosity that led him towards the sound of a piano being played on a warm summer night.
The light of the full moon was strong coming through the wide windows, so Izuku had not found it necessary to carry a candle as he walked towards his chambers after fulfilling the day's duties. His master had retired to bed early, requesting he not be disturbed and refusing to let Izuku assist him in changing into his sleeping clothes. Since then, Izuku had been mulling it over in his mind. He could not tell if he had done anything wrong. Only two months into the Todorokis’ service, his understanding of his master's moods remained flimsy at best; Todoroki had never shown him any mistreatment, but his manners were cold, and he was not one to display many emotions. He was, however, a frank and oftentimes blunt man.
“Surely, he would have voiced his opinion had I displeased him in any manner,” Izuku had been mumbling to himself when the first notes of music reached his ears.
Izuku halted, worries momentarily forgotten. Never before had such a beautiful sound graced his ears; he had heard plenty a guest playing during their visits to the Todoroki estate, and his own mother, despite not being very skilled, had maintained a habit of sitting by the piano in his old house and attempting a few songs, but this was nothing like it. The hair on Izuku's arms raised at the haunting yet melancholy tune.
Drawn by the music, Izuku padded towards the drawing room down the corridor. He was merely doing his duty, he reasoned, for it was odd that the room be in use at this time of night. His master's safety would be threatened should a trespasser have entered the Todoroki estate. One look to assure it was not someone who should not be there, and he would leave, Izuku promised himself as he approached the ajar door. He silently placed his hand on the ornate wood, being careful not to push it any further as he leaned forward to look inside.
The thought Izuku could not shake, as he tried to recover the breath that had rushed out of his lungs at the sight before him, was that he had walked in on a most precious secret.
Shouto Todoroki sat at the pianoforte. His fingers, moving swiftly over the keys, created the music that had so enchanted Izuku. Strands of white and red hair fell over his closed eyes, and the arch of his cheekbones was accentuated by the moonlight, painting his pale skin in a dreamlike glow. There was something vulnerable in Todoroki's expression, in the parting of his lips and the way he tilted his face upwards, unguarded for once. Izuku would compare him to a painting were it not for the fact that not even the most skilled artist in the world would be able to match such beauty or capture such emotion as the one evoked by the sight of Todoroki playing the piano.
Izuku was aware that he was intruding; it was obvious his master did not wish for anyone to see him in this private moment. It was difficult, however, to think of the man before him as the same master Izuku had come to know when the façade of the impassive heir crumbled with every passing moment.
Unable to look away, Izuku stayed at the door, trying to remain as quiet as possible. The rapid beat of his heart resounded in his ears. He kept fearing the moment Todoroki's eyes would open and his indiscretion would be noticed, but it never came, and by the time Izuku convinced his feet to move, Todoroki was still playing.
The music accompanied him all the way to his chambers, imprinted in his mind long after it was out of earshot, along with a sight Izuku was certain he would not be able to forget for as long as he lived.
It would have been in Izuku's best interest to put aside what he had seen. There had been no mention of the event on his master's part, so Izuku was inclined to believe his presence had not been noticed. If he were to pretend it never happened, his position at the Todoroki estate would not be at any risk.
Yet, despite knowing what a foolish decision it was, Izuku ignored all reason and returned to the drawing room the following night, and the nights after that.
Not once did he find the door to be closed or locked; not once did Todoroki stop playing or give any signs that he was aware of being watched. During the day, he remained the same, his treatment towards Izuku unchanging. Izuku did not know why it saddened him so; perhaps the glimpse he had been given of another side of his master made him wish he could see it more often.
Alas, he was nothing but a servant, and one who was breaking the rules no less; so he could not. He could only stand back and listen from the shadows and make his presence small enough that he would not be seen.
"Do you intend to hide behind that door forever? It's been a fortnight already."
Izuku stilled, finding himself suddenly faced with Todoroki staring straight at him. His heart turned cold as comprehension dawned on him—he had been caught. Even more so, judging by Todoroki's words, he had been caught from the beginning. It eluded him why his master had not said anything before, but certainly now he would not spare Izuku any kindness in dealing with his indiscretion.
How Izuku regretted his foolhardiness! To think that, after everything his mother had done to grant him the chance of serving a wealthy family, he would have to go back to her with nothing but shame for his own actions.
"Come in."
Izuku's steps faltered as he obeyed, dipping into a full bow in front of the piano. He attempted to keep his voice from shaking as he said, "Mr. Todoroki, I'm deeply sorry for intruding—"
"After that first night, I believed I would not see you here again," Todoroki interrupted. "Yet you kept returning. None of the other servants seem to have heard of this, so I take it you're not interested in meaningless gossip. What I wish to know is—why are you here, then?"
Izuku straightened up. Todoroki was not looking at him with anger, but with something else in his eyes. Izuku could not quite tell what it was; curiosity, perhaps. It made it easier for him to breathe in relief, but it also raised many questions. He wished to know why Todoroki had allowed him to stay, if he had known Izuku was there all along. He longed to ask him what meaning the song he played with such feeling held for him. It would not be fair, however, if he asked for answers while giving none himself.
"Pardon me if I speak too freely, but I was fascinated by your music." By you, Izuku refrained himself from saying. "It's beautiful, but there's sadness in it. You look very lonely when you play."
"Lonely, huh?" Todoroki sat down, and a string of gentle notes filled the room before fading into silence once more. "I suppose you're right," he acquiesced.
His agreement was shocking, and Izuku was left at a loss for words. He waited, but Todoroki did not elaborate, although the way he focused on the piano instead of Izuku suggested he did not need an answer. Izuku was not certain what was expected of him—Todoroki had not dismissed him yet, but he did not look like he was about to continue their conversation, either—so, after a few moments of silence, he shifted in place, clearing his throat. "I should excuse myself—"
"You can stay if you want."
"What?" Izuku gasped, momentarily forgetting his manners.
Todoroki did not seem to care, for his only answer was, "I wouldn't mind having company. As you said yourself… it can be quite lonely."
Of anything Izuku could have expected when he had first met Todoroki's eyes that night, this would never be a possibility. Regardless, getting to know more about the real Shouto Todoroki had been his wish for a long time, and Izuku would be even more of a fool to reject the chance he was being offered.
He bowed once again, and when he raised his head to stare at Todoroki, he dared smile. "If it truly is no bother, then I— I should like to stay."
As summer gave way to fall and the nights went from warm, sticky heat to a piercing cold, Izuku and Todoroki’s secret meetings in the drawing room became routine.
They shared quite a number of silences at first, which Todoroki filled with music and Izuku with the nervous tapping of his fingernails against his thigh. He would not call it uncomfortable—he enjoyed listening to Todoroki play, and Todoroki always seemed pleased by his company, as astounding as that might be—but Izuku had never dealt well with silences. They left too much room for his mind to wander, and it often led to growing worries as his brain picked at details far too complex to analyze.
Such as what these meetings meant, and what would happen if anyone found out about them.
So Izuku, hoping to distract himself whenever his thoughts became overwhelming, turned to conversation. Todoroki was not as averse to it as one might have thought; he did not mind Izuku’s curiosity, even returned it with some of his own. As they talked, what remained of the cold heir façade disappeared before Izuku’s eyes.
He knew Todoroki’s older brothers had succumbed to a plague when Todoroki was a child, but he did not know Todoroki still held countless memories of when they would sneak out to play in the gardens. He knew Todoroki’s mother had passed not long after, weakened by the loss of her children, but he did not know she had been the one to teach Todoroki the piano. He did not know Todoroki was capable of such a fond smile when speaking about his family, or of such a longing look in his eyes as when Izuku told him about his own mother back home.
“She sounds like a lovely woman,” Todoroki said one night, after Izuku was done recounting how she had fretted over him the day before he had first come to the estate. “I should like to meet her someday.”
Izuku nodded politely, but his smile faltered for the briefest moment. He was deeply aware of their different standings, and the thought of their worlds clashing was a terrifying one. During the day, they were still master and servant; Todoroki wore his mask as if it were real, and Izuku tended to his wishes as always, and none of them talked about what happened under the moonlight.
However, the signs were still there. Izuku had discovered so many things about his master—about his childhood, his music, his thoughts—that he could hardly pretend the lines that separated them before remained untouched.
He could not ignore the way his fingertips tingled when they brushed Todoroki’s skin while helping him get dressed. He could not stop his heart from racing when he caught sight of Todoroki’s discreet smile directed at him when he brought him tea. He could not help noticing that Todoroki's hair was soft to the touch, and that the way the red strands mixed with the white during his sleep was incredibly endearing.
Most of all, Izuku could not deny he was falling in love—maybe already had, desperately so—with Shouto Todoroki, and there was nothing he could do about it.
"You should move your hands gently." Todoroki guided Izuku's fingers over the piano keys, producing a string of sounds much more pleasant than Izuku's previous attempts. "Like this."
His hair tickled Izuku's cheek, rich with the scent of soap. Todoroki had taken to teaching him how to play, despite Izuku's repeated claims of having not the talent nor the disposition required for music. Part of the reason for his lack of progress, were he to admit, was Todoroki's proximity and the distractions it provided; Izuku found it difficult to focus on notes and tempo when Todoroki's breath fanned over his neck every time he spoke, when his touch lingered on the back of his hands for longer than would be considered proper.
These moments both excited and terrified him, for during their secret meetings it was clear that his affections were returned; and yet, during the day, they would only be noticed by the most watchful eyes. It was reasonable, of course. Todoroki had a reputation to maintain, and to society Izuku was, and always would be, nothing more than his servant.
It did not mean Izuku was fond of the idea. The frustration remained deep inside him, brought to the surface night after night, until he could no longer keep it contained.
"Shouto, what are we doing?"
The name slipped past his lips, unbidden. It was most disrespectful for a servant to treat his master so casually—but Shouto did not protest it, and Izuku did not take it back. They had crossed so many lines that one more did not make a difference.
"Shouto?" Izuku asked once again upon receiving no answer.
Shouto's breath quivered, and his hand tightened over Izuku's fingers, keeping them still over the piano keys. His head was tilted forward, with strands of hair hiding his expression from Izuku's view.
This time, the silence that followed was heavy with the weight of things left unsaid.
The day everything changed came with the arrival of a letter addressed to Shouto from his father, Mr. Enji Todoroki.
It had not escaped Izuku's attention that Shouto's relationship with his father was not the most amiable. Upon placing the letter into Shouto's extended hand, Izuku felt a wave of impending dread, worsened by the way Shouto's expression darkened while breaking the seal. The ruffling of paper was the only sound piercing through the silence as Shouto read the words from his father.
"Izuku," he said after a few moments.
Izuku startled before straightening up his spine. "Yes?"
Shouto's knuckles were white from gripping the letter too hard, and he did not look at Izuku when he said, "You're excused from your duties for today. Now, if you would please leave the room."
"E-excused?" Izuku gulped. That had never happened before; he could not fathom the reason behind Shouto's sudden change of attitude. "But—"
"Izuku. Leave."
Even before they had gotten closer, Izuku had never heard Shouto use that tone with him—cold and almost aggressive. It left Izuku no option but to bow and do as he was told, though he was sure his confusion and hurt showed in his eyes before he turned around. Shouto, however, did not give any signs of noticing it, or if he did, he did not care; his gaze had not strayed from the letter for the entirety of the exchange.
For the remainder of the day, Izuku wandered the estate aimlessly. He was so used to devoting all his time to his tasks—so accustomed to being constantly by Shouto's side—that now he was restless.
He tried to make himself busy as best he could by offering aid in the kitchens, but the judging stares and whispers he received from the other servants were enough to dissuade him from the idea. In the end, Izuku went back to his resting quarters, where he had nothing to do but agonize over the letter's contents and what could possibly have caused such a reaction from Shouto.
Perhaps he had been mistaken in his assumptions of Shouto's feelings, and he had finally realized Izuku was overstepping his boundaries. The thought settled uneasily in Izuku's mind, for it did not ring true when he considered all the moments they had shared. Izuku was certain their interactions had always been genuine.
There was only one way for him to know the truth. When the moon was high in the sky, Izuku finally left his quarters and headed towards the drawing room. His steps echoed against the floor, still not loud enough to mask the rapid beat of his heart as he strained to listen to the sound of a piano. When the first notes reached his ears, Izuku sighed in relief.
Shouto sat at the pianoforte much like the first time Izuku had seen him play, with moonlight illuminating the planes of his cheekbones and his closed eyelids. He did not stop playing as Izuku approached and quietly seated himself beside him, but Izuku knew his presence had been noticed by the way Shouto's shoulders tensed.
Izuku tried not to let his own worry show as the melody reached its end and Shouto opened his eyes, turning to look at him. He had once said Shouto seemed lonely when he played; with time, Izuku had seen that loneliness slip away, smoothing Shouto's features into something still beautiful, but less tragic. Now, however, the shadows of it clung to him once again.
"Shouto, is anything wrong—"
Izuku could not finish his question, for Shouto suddenly leaned forward to stop his words with a kiss.
It was a gentle press of lips, but enough to make Izuku's body tremble and his hands come up to graze Shouto's neck. It was over in a second, and Izuku felt the loss of a moment he had not even fully comprehended yet; but Shouto remained close even as he pulled back. With careful movements, he tucked a few strands of hair behind Izuku's ear before cupping his cheek. Izuku allowed his eyes to close, and then Shouto's mouth was on his again.
Shouto kissed like he played the piano, with his emotions on display and sincerity in every touch. It was almost enough to make Izuku forget about his concerns, about his questions that never got answers and the contents of the mysterious letter.
Almost, but not quite. When they separated—with Shouto's hand still against Izuku's cheek, as if he were afraid to let go—Izuku saw the sadness in his eyes even through the daze left by the kiss.
"I beg of you, tell me what's wrong," he whispered.
Shouto's fingers twitched before he lowered his hand, and Izuku had to resist the temptation of chasing after his touch. He waited, willing himself to be patient and let Shouto work through his conflicted thoughts.
"You already know of the letter I received from my father," Shouto said. "He addressed the matter of my twenty-first birthday this upcoming winter. A ball is to be hosted for the occasion… and by the end of it, I am to choose someone to marry."
Someone to marry. The words echoed in Izuku's mind and turned to ash in his mouth.
"Do you intend to obey him?"
"If it were only to please him, I would never," Shouto scoffed. "But he knows me well, I'm afraid. He has sent invitations to the peerage in advance, and it would reflect badly on my family's name if I were to cancel it now. My sister could be affected, despite her marriage having already been arranged." Shouto closed his eyes as if he were in pain. "I don't have a choice."
Izuku was not one to get angry easily. He had always understood the complications involved in his and Shouto's relationship, but the way Shouto spoke as if he had already given up made him grit his teeth.
"You do have a choice," Izuku hissed. Shouto looked taken aback by his tone, but Izuku paid it no mind. "There's always a choice. Kissing me just now was one, and that meant something, I know it did." That was what made it hurt so much. "So don't you dare say you don't have a choice when you're just afraid of the consequences."
The room was as still as the night outside after Izuku's outburst. Shouto remained sitting close, but Izuku could feel the distance between them as if it were a physical thing, becoming wider with every passing moment.
And then, "I'm sorry, Izuku."
Izuku's heart broke.
"Me too," he murmured. He refused to look at Shouto as he made his way towards the door; he would not be able to stop the tears if he did. Stopping at the door frame, with the most polite tone he could muster, Izuku said, "With your permission, I'll excuse myself now, Mr. Todoroki. If you need my assistance, I will be in my room."
There was a sound suspiciously like a sob from behind him, but Izuku did not have the strength to turn around. The door clicked shut, and then he was running away from the drawing room.
He was not fast enough to avoid hearing the first sad notes of a piano.
The ballroom resounded with the chattering of voices and the clinking of glasses. Donning their fanciest clothing, men and women of the highest standings milled about, some already looking less than their best after hours of drinking and dancing.
Hundreds of candles made the heat somewhat stifling despite it being the dead of winter, but this was not the reason Izuku felt suffocated from his place in a corner of the room. He'd stood there all night, watching as Shouto got approached by the most desirable maidens and bachelors in the country, all trying to win his favor. Izuku had no tears left, but his heart still clenched painfully when Enji's voice announced that, for the last dance of the night, Shouto would ask the one he chose to be wedded to.
Izuku wanted nothing more than to leave the room, but he stood firmly, ever the dutiful servant. He could not keep his composure, however, when Shouto's eyes met his for the first time that night, and he started walking towards Izuku.
Izuku looked to his sides, wondering if someone had stood there without his noticing, but he was alone. And as the room quieted down, Shouto stopped directly in front of him without breaking eye contact.
"May I have this dance?"
In the back of his mind, Izuku registered that all eyes in the room were on them, but he could focus only on the hand extended towards him. He had to be imagining this. "Shouto, you— What are you—"
"I am making a choice, as you told me I could." Shouto bit his lip and, for a single moment, his confidence faltered. "Now I ask you to make one as well. Izuku Midoriya, will you do me the honor of becoming my husband?"
Scandalized whispers filled the air. Enji was screaming something, but Shouto did not turn away, holding Izuku captive with his gaze and the hope reflected in them. And even if Izuku had suffered from a broken heart for the past weeks, truth was that he missed Shouto. He still loved him—always would—and Shouto was offering him not only an apology, but a chance for them to get back what they had without the need to hide anymore.
So he took Shouto's hands with a smile, and the world narrowed down to the two of them, as if they were back in the drawing room where it all started.
"I would want nothing else."