Work Text:
Love involves a peculiar unfathomable combination of understanding and misunderstanding.
Diane Arbus
i. misconstrue: get the wrong idea; take in the wrong sense
The kitchen tap is dripping—has been dripping—for months. Six maybe, if Shouto’s memory serves him right, if the first time had in fact been in the tail-end days of winter. Unlike the first time he’d heard it, sometime in the early afternoon of a ‘day off’, the living room was quiet.
It was a strange experience, fever dreams and general confusion aside, existing in a space he shared with his friends and not hearing a sound. A space he only ever shared, the quiet off-putting and uncomfortable as the blankets wrapped around his shoulders had begun to feel. His classmates had left him there, some hours prior, after they’d caught word he was mildly sick. Nothing but a cold, insignificant but not insignificant enough for his body not to betray him and leave him feeling tired. After he’d woken up, the first thought he recalls having, past the haze and disorientation was quiet , and then, wanting his friends to return quickly.
The sound of the tap had been his only companion, until he’d eventually drifted back off to sleep.
Hearing it again, he’s sure no one else has noticed it. He’s not sure how often any of them are entirely alone. They travel in packs, eat in groups every five minute break between classes or homework or sleep, and exist in buddy systems, because being alone is unnecessary. It starts off inconspicuously, before accidents turn to convenience, turns to a way of life. There’s safety in numbers.
Some of them are slower on the uptake, which is fine, really. There’s probably a learning curve for these sorts of things, and he’s not one to judge. He certainly started slow, testing the waters only when sure not to be judged, which now that he thinks about it, probably wasn’t as scary or brave or life changing as it’d had felt.
It was an eagle-eyed approach, distant but attentive, the only thing he felt comfortable with.
But that— the faucet, unnerves him. The relentless dripping and oppressive silence feels like dunking his entire head underwater—being just conscious enough to fight the feeling without falling under. It’s the humidity of a summer night, stumbling through the dark with an overly present feeling of it pressing against him to guide his way; insistent along the skin of his neck, almost like a hand, only worse, because this hand reaches right through him. It phases through his skin and comes back twice as strong.
His classmates say he’s a practical guy, on the one hand. “ Even heroes cry, sometimes, I think .”
On the other, unsentimental. “ Objectively speaking... I'm stronger than you. More capable .”
It doesn’t upset him, because they aren’t wrong.
Not until now, anyway. The faucet is giving him anxiety, and as far as he knows, (anxiety is normal, says his therapist, you’ve been through a lot, say his teachers) getting distressed, for any reason, is okay.
It doesn’t feel that way, though. The faucet keeps dripping.
He almost forgets, standing there, in that metaphorical bubble, that he doesn’t ever stop existing. They only have so much time to crack what's probably terribly unfunny jokes, and maybe take a nap, before responsibility comes calling. They have no time at all to do it alone.
It’s not accidental. The way Midoriya feels the need to check the communal areas before heading off to sleep, just in case. In case of—what? Todoroki doesn’t know. This, probably.
“Todoroki-kun.”
He knows this, and he’s glad now, that he’s sitting on the floor in the living room, feeling weird and being weird. Had he gone straight to his room and failed to cross paths with Midoriya, as he happens to do, every night, he wonders if Midoriya would have noticed his absence.
“Yeah,” Shouto responds.
Midoriya is observant. He notices a lot more than you’d think; Shouto knows because he spends a lot of time looking at Midoriya, and how other people look at him.
He’s counting in his head, listing things he likes.
— soba, six seven eight, warm hoodies, the color green, nine ten ... twelve, there’s a television here, a lamp, a dirty plate —
“Look at me for a second?”
There’s a very gentle pressure on his closed fist, that is pulled up near his chest.
Without a word, he complies. It helps more than he would have thought. — Green hair, freckles. A smile he knows well, kind hands, pressing into his own. Thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen –
“Okay?” Midoriya asks, although he already knows the answer.
He’s not, but being able to admit that helps too. He forgets himself at times, but being part of a greater unit allows for his margin of error.
“It's so quiet.”
Sometimes he worries about it following him. If living in a bubble for the rest of his life was something he could get used to.
“I don’t like it either,” is what Midoriya settles with, after a beat, and Shouto doesn’t understand why it makes his ribs ache.
“But mumbling is what I do best, so it never lasts long.”
The ache gets worse, and Shouto realizes that it’s relief. The relief of having someone understand. When all that’s left behind is the removal of whatever was squashing him to the ground, hard, unrelenting, disappears — from one moment to the next. When he’s pushing himself to the limits, the moment his legs buckle. Walking a pier, until his feet blister, and jumping into cold water.
Midoriya making jokes at his own expense is a very Midoriya thing to do. It kind of makes Shouto sad, that he does that, but it also makes it easier to breathe, existing near someone as kind as him. If he were any good at understanding people, or himself, he would have realized in the moment how gone he already was.
——
Technically, things stay the same. Unfortunately technicalities are really only ever brought up in a circumstance of exception. For example, things that were true yesterday but are only now technically true: He was practical, to a fault. Excluding outlying incidents, nearly nothing got under his skin. His judgment was good.
Using rational thought, his judgment, and his aversion to getting overly emotional, he should be able to avoid unfortunate situations. Considering what his definition of “unfortunate” encompasses, maybe he ought to consider himself lucky.
Except, he’s not lucky at all. He actually misses his ability to ignore most or all of his feelings. This thought causes him to recall a conversation with Midoriya, which according to him is emotionally unhealthy behavior, and could cause one to turn volatile. They hadn’t named any names during this conversation, but there was a mutual understanding.
So yes, technically, he was this and that— yeah, sure. Technically, he was just studying right now. (It sounds like a lie, even to him.)
They’re on the floor, and his pens are so thoroughly lost in the mix of Midoriya’s he’s not sure it’d be worth it to separate them. There are the notes, and worksheets, that he knows are just as much of a lost cause, even with the distinguishable hand-writing. Everything is mixed up, blended together enough that he’s been reading Midoriya’s notes in class the past few days. It’s fitting, considering what the inside of his head has felt like since the dripping tap incident.
(You’d think Midoriya would be more organized, with how much he loves to study, and how invested he becomes in his interests. Shouto learns, through his own observational skills, that Midoriya doesn't actually ‘like’ to study. He’s simply good at it, and happens to be more of a visual learner, so the mess… just happens.)
They’ve been spending time together. Naturally, Shouto begins to show evidence of this. Midoriya likes to write notes on his arm, to remind himself of things, and one afternoon that’d led to Shouto adding a note of his own. Midoriya had smiled down at it before adding a note to Shouto’s arm, too: study for quiz tuesday, and a smiley face.
“So neither of us forget,” Midoriya says, even though Shouto has never forgotten a quiz a day in his life. He starts drawing on Midoriya’s arm a lot after that, once a day at least, because Midoriya always returns the favor. He likes walking around with the brightly hued fading ink because it’s something they do.
Eventually the pretense of “running into each other” every single day, one way or another, loses its novelty. They meet eachother somewhere, anywhere, everywhere, to “study” and draw stupid drawings in the margins of their notebooks and on the backs of their hands.
(He’s studying, intently, the way Midoriya’s curls sit differently every single day, and the way he always, always smiles when they say hello, and before they say goodbye. Shouto keeps having to look away, skin flushing against his will, heart racing annoyingly loud in his ears. He is abandoning all rationale for being painfully obvious —
Midoriya does not notice this, of course, Shouto is very careful that he doesn’t.)
Curiously, in-between sipping his drink, and staring, Midoriya’s eyes are on him, all soft and wrinkled up in the corners, like a well-worn love letter. Shouto’s heart pounds in the cage of his chest, and he actually has to regulate his breathing for a second before speaking.
“What?” The word is hardly loud enough to hear, and he swallows down the agitated energy now shaking his nerves loose.
“I’m starting to think you want to spend time with me, or something, Todoroki-kun.”
Oh, good grief. Shouto’s strumming heart kicks, and it’s painful, genuinely. Firstly because even as Midoriya is calling him out on what must’ve been obvious love-sick behavior, he still uses honorifics.
Second of all, Shouto knows what it feels like to be punched in the gut. It’s happened numerous times, and it’ll happen numerous more. Once you get used to the feeling of having all the air forcibly knocked out of you, it isn’t so bad, and so he can say confidently that hearing those words is something of a similar experience. Maybe just without the anticipation and preparedness.
Which is quite pathetic, really, thinking he could be docile and gentle in his approach on the matter of his sudden tenderness, his unexpected emotions. Midoriya has him figured out — of course, he has; he’s incredibly smart, very perceptive, with years of practice with his hero studies — oh. He should probably respond.
“Yes… I guess I do.” He admits defeat quietly, a heroic fall. He’d rather be honest; he knows the importance of acknowledging defeat, sometimes. This time, it was more courageous than to go down swinging.
“That’s okay! I have no problem tutoring you, if you need help with something. I have tons of notes, real ones, not just the ones I scribble on the back of our hands, probably too many…”
Shouto loses track of what Midoriya is saying after that, detaching from his mind so strongly for a moment that he can do nothing but sit and stare.
Midoriya does not, in fact, have him all figured out. Shouto almost outright laughs at the assumption that Midoriya has made, that he truly believes Shouto’s been hanging around the common space for the sake of getting a tutor, instead of just telling him, because…what, he was too shy?
(You are too shy , a voice suspiciously akin to his own, drawls, too shy to admit why you're really here, or what that mean—) Ahem.
He decides that it’s okay, that he’s okay, lying on the floor looking, looking, looking, and when he finds Midoriya’s notes in his bag, he’ll hand them back melodramatically, brushing hands together, as if passing along his own heart, and it feels a little like confessing.
——
“It helps if you pronounce vowels by moving your mouth differently.”
“Hmm. I’m sure,” replies Shouto, chin in the palm of his hand, and pays very close attention to the way Midoriya provides an example, not perfect, but he thinks it’s pretty close. If only he were paying any attention to the lesson’s content.
Looking down at the pages of mindless scribbles, the previous moment of distraction lingering, but fading. He feels guilty, almost, for wasting so much of Midoriya’s time. He doesn’t even need help —
“So what do you need help with?” Midoriya asks, cheery, and blissfully unaware of the amusement and confusion Shouto was trying not to show.
“English,” he deadpans, before remembering that he’s, in fact, fluent.
Shouto tries his best at a smile, which is probably more of a grimace, and repeats the word.
“Whoa, Todoroki-kun, you learn so quickly! That was perfect.” Midoriya’s tone wavers at the end, sounding more confused than excited, and he tilts his head in thought, obviously mulling something over.
Shouto may visbally wince at that, suddenly desperate to divert the attention to something else, quickly.
“Just got lucky. Do you want to get coffee? I think that’s all the English I can take for today.”
Checking the time, Midoriya pauses, and Shouto realizes his excuse doesn't hold up against the fact that it was still pretty early. Midoriya does end up giving in to the over-priced, sugary goodness when Shouto offers to pay, but he groans internally when Midoriya tells him that they’ll “Make up for the lost time tomorrow!”
He’s not even mad, though, since he was the one lying. Plus, spending more time “studying” never hurt, right? Midoriya’s tenacity and determination are endearing, and he doesn’t have to listen to that damned leak again.
ii. jealousy: envy; to demand faithfulness and exclusive worship
“I really need advice,” Shouto laments, eyes unseeing, head in his hands.
“Not only am I the last person on earth who would ever help you, I am the first person in line to take you the fuck down-”
“You and Kirishima, that's a thing that happened, and I still don’t understand,” Shouto barrels on, mostly to himself.
“Fuck you, I am going to give you the worst advice and ruin your shitty relationship with-”
“We don’t have a relationship,” Shouto corrects, laying back against the floor, “That's the point.”
“I don’t fucking care, get out of my room,” Bakugou says, but it’s much less angry than Shouto anticipates. He’s probably thinking about Kirishima.
“How did you two get together?” Shouto asks, half expecting to either be forcibly removed, or ignored, if Bakugou’s feeling gracious.
“I don’t know,” Bakugu responds after a long pause, earnestly, and Shouto’s so surprised he considers the possibility of Bakugou finally accepting their best-friendship.
“Shitty Hair… is an idiot, and he’s honestly a shit liar.”
Shouto fears if he moves, Bakugou will realize who he’s speaking to, and what he’s just said. He remains very still, arms splayed on the floor. He wonders if anyone would ever believe him if he told.
“But I don’t hate him. Sometimes it just works out.”
… “Is that your way of telling me it’ll work out if it’s supposed to? That's honestly pretty nice of you-”
Bakugou’s face is so red when he kicks him out, Shouto can’t stop himself from laughing about it in class the next day.
——
Shouto opens his door still half-asleep. He moves on auto-pilot, doesn’t even try flattening the mess of hair on his head from where he’s sure it’s flying in twelve different directions. He’s still tugging angrily at the shirt he’d yanked off the floor and pulled over his head, stumbling and swaying at the simple task of greeting whoever is at his door.
He tries his best not to look solemn once the door is open, but he must miss the mark entirely, if Midoriya’s reaction, (the very real person waiting for him), is anything to go by. His expression shifts from a lingering sleepiness of his own to surprise, and then just as quickly, a sudden burst of laughter. It’s unexpected, and Shouto still feels somewhat like he’s acting more on instinct than rational thought. He wakes up incredibly quickly when his over-tired mind decides to imagine how Izuku’s skin must feel beneath his own pyjama shirt, also skewed and rumpled, probably still bed-warmed—
He snaps his gaze back up to Midoriya’s face, hyper-focused on keeping his thoughts away from that territory, so he counts the freckles on Midoriya’s cheekbones instead, tightens and loosens his grip on the door.
“Morning, Todoroki-kun! I’m sorry for laughing. You just look so distressed, and it’s not even seven yet.” He’s still tripping over his giggles, and Shouto finds himself fighting a smile on his own face. Pretty.
It figures that Midoriya is a morning person.
Despite his best efforts, he snorts, leaning his head against his hand where it supports his weight on the door-frame, and waits for Midoriya to continue. Though, even with the lull in convesation, Midoriya remains silent, staring wide-eyed and stock still, with what was dangerously close to nervousness in his expression. Shouto grows more alert at this, looking past him and into the hall.
“Is everything okay?” He asks, his voice sleep worn and heavy. He clears his throat, rubbing at his eye.
Midoriya still doesn’t immediately respond, and when Shouto meets his eye again, his face ia tinged red, “Are you feeling o-”
“I wanted to see if you’d-”
They speak simultaneously, and Shouto quiets, waiting for Midoriya. As far as he knew, it was Saturday, and he doesn’t think he’s forgetting anything.
“I wanted to see if you were coming to the beach with us,” he says, finally.
Shouto’s mouth opens slightly in surprise. He was forgetting something.
“I forgot,” Shouto blurts, embarrassed.
Midoriya nods once, twice, a growing smile on his face. “You have time to join us. It's still early.” That explains the attire, and the lack of light outside, “If you want to, I mean.”
“How’d you know I forgot?”
“Y-you forget a lot, about our class planned trips,”
Shouto thinks back to all his free days, and how he usually spends the entirety of them asleep. “Mm, I think you’re right.”
Midoriya is still smiling. He has this way of smiling that catches Shouto off guard sometimes. He’s always been an open book, and Shouto somehow still feels bad for reading the pages. Morning interaction is bad for his heart. Any interaction is bad for his heart?
So he says, “Yeah. I’ll go.” Before he has a second to think twice, and when Midoriya brightens even more, somehow, Shouto does not regret it. If he were an open book, his pages would be well-worn, but only by one pair of hands. Hopeless, they’d read, over and over again.
He sleeps on the way there, buried in a hoodie three sizes too big, and he swears he hears someone snickering somewhere in the car, (which was too small to be carrying that many people), something about “Midoriya is the only one who could—” and then laughter, but he’s half asleep, and misses the rest of the exchange. Probably for the better.
——
Wrapped in the late summer heat, everything is simple. The warmth swallows them all in one, big, collected breath of air, and washes every detail of their lives in a happier glow. They’re not heros, on these outings, just a bunch of annoying third years, with too much will, and not enough cause. They enjoy it immensely, and it does them well. Midoriya especially, he concludes, because he’s never felt so abundantly over the slope of someone’s shoulders before now. The way his muscles shift and twist under the tanned skin, kissed in freckles, which seem more obvious than ever. His throat feels arid.
Is it wrong, that the sight is the only reason he isn’t regretting his being there? That’d he’d absolutely be in bed, this very moment, if Midoriya hadn’t been the one to ask him to come.
(Shouto had contemplated, at great length, the idea of foul play. If Midoriya had somehow roped the mind-controller into making Shouto a weaker man. However, upon further inspection, he’d concluded to simply being weak-willed— all on his own. Whether Midoriya is aware of this, or how he’s currently the only cause of such a weakness, is still unknown.)
No. It is Midoriya’s hair, he thinks. When he wakes up, his hair—it curls up. Softly, it tuckers up near the base of Midoriya's ears, and Shoutos hands start to burn, with the need to push some away, or tug it forward, and watch Midoriya flush red either way. Then he starts thinking about ear freckles, and consequently, he can’t stop the way his eyes begin tracking the skin of his neck, and... it’s hard not to get distracted. One second he’s thinking about the curls, and the next, he’s agreeing to whatever Izuku wants. His best friend; maybe he should feel bad for thinking this at all.
Thoroughly distracted with his dilemma, he fails to notice the way Midoriya is on a trajectory to back directly into him, running backward with his own distraction: one frisbee. Shouto only realizes he’s been zoned out after he opens his eyes, flat on his back in the hot sand, which only burns half as much as the skin above him. It appears as though Midoriya had been planning to turn and catch the disk, but half way turned, met collusion with Shouto before being able to. They stare at each other, and Shouto’s hands fall from the skin on Midoriya's waist, sinking into the sand. Something in his stomach is twisting. A knife maybe, it feels serious.
“Sorry.” Shouto rasps, and decides he was wrong about his earlier conclusion. Midoriya’s hair has nothing to do with it, it must be his complexion; the way his skin is glowing under the attention of a hot day, yeah—
“Uhh,” replies Midoriya, and Shouto makes no effort in moving.
The sand between their skin is sticky with sweat and sun-screen. It’s gritty and uncomfortable, or at least it should be, but at that moment, it doesn’t feel bad at all. Midoriya’s eyes are taking up half his face, he notes next, and Shouto catches the twitching of his own fingers again; loose green curls, hanging close enough to block out the sunlight to his eyes, like a halo.
“You’re cold.” Midoriya says.
“Yeah.”
He makes a move to get up then, and Shouto does not pout. One tanned arm, covered in scars comes into view, and he looks away when he grabs hold. Midoriya’s always warm, and his right hand tingles with the familiar contact as he stands.
“Kinda convenient,” adds Midoriya, head tilted and staring at Shouto’s right side in contemplation.
Shouto swallows, “I guess.”
“Wanna share?”
Shouto breathes deeply, his hands twitching a third time. “It’d be selfish not to.”
Total surprise takes over Midoriya's face, there and gone in a breath. Shouto understands then, that it may be because Midoriya's request wasn’t a serious one, rather a teasing remark. It was a joke, but he hadn’t hesitated to agree.
Ever determined not to make Shouto uncomfortable, “It’s okay. I’m actually hot”, leads to Midoriya insisting on making good on the suggestion. Insisting devolves to demanding, when Shouto doesn’t give in, right away. Which then devloves to Midoriya pouting, and asking again, to which it was physically impossible for Shouto to negate any further requests.
That was a while ago, and now Shouto is dealing with a muscled body, still sand-sticky and hot, pressed up against him. On him, really. If he were not consciously increasing his cold, he’d be sweating bullets. Mina won’t stop making eyes at them, and either Midoriya is really blind, or he’s pointedly ignoring her; Shouto is gateful either way. In their shady crook, hiding from any further radiation from the sun, he feels like he’s missed a memo. Midoriya doesn’t seem bothered, if anything, he seems happy, really happy.
Kirishima comes bounding out of the water a few minutes after that, soaking wet, and smiling.
“The water feels great. You should go into the ocean if you want to cool down, Midoriya.”
Midoriya doesn't bother looking up from where his cheek presses into Shouto’s shoulder. Shouto tries not to feel well-pleased. “I’m okay, maybe later though.”
Shouto is surprised to catch the slightly annoyed look that crosses Kirishima’s face, before it relaxes into another smile, if not a bit more terse than before, “You’re totally missing out dude.”
Finally moving from his recline, Midoriya’s face is still un-viewable from under his baseball cap. His gaze shifts from the shore, back to Shouto, “You wanna go?”
Shouto looks back at Kirishima, who’s smile is wavering, eyes narrowing, and he’s unprepared for what he hears next, “Okay, fine. I kinda want a turn with the ice-pack.”
Midoriya does look up at that, fully, his face unusually blank and gaze piercing. There seems to be some kind of silent communication between the two. Shouto feels nervous.
“Not my problem.” It’s so quiet, Shouto thinks he imagines it for a moment. However, the mild glare Kirishima sends back proves that incorrect.
Nothing but the roaring of the waves can be heard for a moment, even the chatter of Mina and Ochako dies to nothing. There seems to be a kind of stand-off happening.
“Uh,” Shouto cuts in, “You could take... turns?”
Never, did he see this situation unfolding, and yet here they are, in the very moment, and those words, actually spoken. By himself, no less.
Are they messing with him? Just another joke he’s unable to understand? He side-eyes Midoriya, who’s sitting up straight now, although Midoriya’s arm remains looped through his own.
“Nah,” Says Kirishima, before a smile, (a genuine one, thankfully) breaks across his face, and Shouto knows him well enough to know that it’s a bad omen. He catches Midoriya's reaction, and watches as his expression morphs into mild panic.
“Kirishi-!” Too late, whatever he was going to say is effectively stopped, with one fell swoop.
“Make room, love birds!”
They end up in a pile, and with limbs tangled and covered in more sand than before, Shouto is still at a loss. Midoriya and Kirishima are laughing now though, which brings him some relief. He doesn't fail to notice how Midoriya remains by his side.
“Share him!” Cries Kirishima.
“No!” Responds Midoriya, and Shouto wonders if the heat he’s feeling has anything to do with the weather, anymore.
When Ochako starts ribbing them, for the same reason, he knows why his face feels hot.
“C’mon Deku, he’s the only one with an ice quirk. You can’t hog it.”
“I'm not an appliance.” Shouto adds, unsuccessfully.
Mina joins in, and Yaoyorozu, and then Iida starts scolding them, for being too rambunctious, and he hears, rather than sees Bakugou approaching, “Why the hell are you hanging out with these extras!”
The commotion gets to be a lot, which is why when Midoriya manages to get up without being seen, only to pull Shouto along with him, he’s impressed. They make their way to the water afterall, and he’s trying hard not to laugh at the sour expression maring Midoriya’s usually happy face.
“Thanks for the rescue.” Shouto says, wading through the low waves.
Midoriya’s mouth turns up at that, and he wonders when getting him to smile started feeling like such an accomplishment.
They both take a moment to look at eachother, and Shouto questions if the saltwater on Midoriya’s shoulders tastes as sweet as it looks, “It wasn’t just for your benefit y’know.” Midoriya interrupts his daydreaming, and Shouto pointedly looks away. A wave is steadily approaching.
“Hmm, right. You couldn’t share.” Shouto says distractedly; he watches the wave approach fixedly.
Midoriya yelps, disappearing under the waves. Shouto laughs.
“You— you saw that coming!” He accuses, once he re-surfaces, and Shouto laughs again.
Shrugging, his smile remains firmly in place, but before he can tease him any further, Midoriya sends a wave twice as big as any (normal person) should be able to make, his way.
“Quirk using, sore loser—” Is all Shouto can manage, around coughing up half a lung of water. Midoriya looks avenged.
When he manages to regain his composure, he sends Midoriya what can be nothing but a look of total betrayal, before looking down at the water. He looks back up, and then back down. Midoriya seems to understand, and goes deadly serious.
“To-Todroki-kun. I’m sorry. Don't do anything rash.”
“You were using me for my quirk. It’ll be what destroys you.” He says, in his best impression of a villain's voice. He’s certainly had plenty of experience with their monologues to imitate it.
“No! Todoroki!”
He doesn’t actually use his ice. (They were at a public beach. He could get arrested.) But he does push his way between them, grab ahold of Midoriya, and cool down just enough to make the water uncomfortable. Midoriya is laughing louder than he has in weeks; fuck accomplishments, he’s won the nobel peace prize. His cheeks hurt from smiling.
There is one downside to his victory, one very large flaw in his winning plan. Midoriya doesn’t try to get away, not at all. His arms are around his neck, there’s a hand in his hair. Oh no, oh no, oh no.
He’s giggling in his ear, and now they’re both shivering, but for very different reasons.
“Todoroki-kun,” breathes Midoriya, and Shouto feels too much, “I can share. I just don’t want to.”
He lets go of him, then, and Shouto gets swallowed by a decently sized wave. He deserved that.
——
Shouto is selfish, which is why he’s privately happy that Midoriya is in no rush to rejoin the others; he’s also incredibly distressed. Izuku glows under normal circumstances, but in the sun, he’s the sun itself. He’s still human, however, which is as obvious as the sunburn beginning to redden his skin.
“Midoriya, did you put suntan lotion on?” Shouto thinks knows the answer, because he knows Midoriya, but he is nothing if not polite enough to ask.
Midoriya grins sheepishly, and Shouto has half a mind to tease him about his decisions. Predictably, he’s too preoccupied by the back of his neck to say much, bringing his cold hand up to brush lightly over the skin there and along the top of his shoulder. Once he realizes what he’s done, he pulls away to stare into the middle distance, contemplating his self disciple for the upteenth time while pretending something caught his eye.
Midoriya takes another moment to respond, voice high and airy, “Yeah, earlier. It might have washed off a bit in the water, and I burn easy anyway.”
“Do you need- I can help you,” he mutters, gesturing at nothing, still facing the water.
“I’m too lazy to keep up with it, it’s fine.”
“Not fine,” Shouto decides, meeting his eyes, “I’ll do it for you, anyway.”
“Mm. Why not.”
Shouto is already b-lining towards their stuff, and Midoriya doesn’t follow. He returns to him looking all too comfortable, now sitting crossed-legged on the sand, digging into it with the excitement of a child. Shouto smiles, huffing a cold breath on his shoulder as he plops himself behind Midoriya.
He all but shrieks, goosebumps breaking out across his skin; Shouto tries not to laugh (too much).
“Todoroki-kun you can be very mean sometimes,” he grumbles, and Shouto imagines the irate look on his face. His cheeks puffing out and eyebrows slanted sharply, it’s not threatening in the slightest, but it’s not meant to be either.
“Sorry, sorry,” he responds, just loud enough to be heard over the waves lapping at the bend of Midoriya’s knees.
He finalizes his apology by pushing away the longer curls looping down his nape. It’s fairly tangled, and still damp, and he feels Midoriya shiver when his fingertips brush over skin. He tries to keep his temperature regulated, but it's harder to tell in the heat.
Brushing most of the sand away, he starts rubbing the sunscreen in. Midoriya’s even warmer with the redness from the sun. “Does your skin hurt? I can cool my hand.”
Midoriya tenses under where he’s gone lax, “Uh no, no it’s fine! Thanks.”
His skin is smooth, soft even, and that’s including the finer lines of his scars and raised scar tissue. Shouto hums, “I know sunscreen takes a while, and it’s messy, but you should take care of your skin. It’s nice,” he mutters, mostly to himself.
He’s glad that Midoriya can’t see his face, and does not open his mouth again.
When he’s finished, he’s startled by how quickly Midoriya jumps up, all smiles, “I promised I’d go with Ururaka to buy some ice-cream. For the class. I’ll be back soon!” He says, a bit loudly, and Shouto only stares up at him from where he’s still sinking into the sand.
“Sure.” The word is hardly out of his mouth before Midoriya has high-tailed it in the opposite direction. Shouto stares forelonley at his retreating form, and is startled again when someone lands against his slumped back.
“What’s got you so serious looking, dude? We’re at the beach, you gotta smile,” Kirishima declares, leaning most of the front of his body over Shouto. Shouto huffs a laugh, falling into the sand and rolling out of Kirishima’s way.
“You’ve done that a lot today,” Shouto states, shielding his eyes with the back of his arm.
Kirishima doesn’t say anything, but Shouto imagines he’s nodding vigorously in agreement. He peaks a look from under his forearm and is unsurprised to find that he was right. Kirishima is half distracted, smiling hard and breathing harder, looking at something beyond them. Or, rather someone.
“He’s moping over someone, idiot, obviously.”
Shouto doesn't move his arm, so he can still only see Kirishima, and how his entire face lights up, even in the face of getting called an idiot.
“Oh. But I thought- Ooh.”
“You are so hopeless,” Bakugou responds, sitting next to Kirishima, now in Shouto’s line of sight.
“Hopelessly lost on you,” Kirishima sing-songs, leaning into Bakugou's space without hesitance. Shouto marvels at the sight.
“You’re gross,” Bakugou mumbles, but doesn’t push him away. Shouto hides back under his forearm.
There’s muttering too low to make out, and he reasonably assumes he’s being talked about. Despite Bakugou’s insistence of their unwavering rivalry, he’s not worried he’d tell anyone about his Midoriya issues. He doubts Bakugou would want to.
He hears shuffling, and what sounds like someone leaving. When he looks to see who, he’s surprised, and slightly unnerved, to see it’s Bakugou.
“Stop fuckin’ moping.”
Shouto sighs.
“Yeah like that, I know you’re not as emotionless as you pretend to be but... get over it.”
“I’ve tried,” Shouto states, thinking about how Midoriya got up and left. Was he being weird? Obvious?
Bakugou sighs, and when Shouto goes to look again he sees a deeply uncomfortable look on his face, “There’s—You don't have a reason to be fuckin’ pining after someone who is as obvious as you are.”
Shouto hums, appreciative of the stilted attempt at comfort. Bakugou looks ready to die on the spot.
“If you make some shitty joke about our non-existent friendship right now I will send you to the middle ocean in a single blow.” And with that, he gets up and leaves. Shouto smiles to himself. He wonders what would happen if he let himself be entirely honest.
——
To his credit, Midoriya does return with the ice-cream, bags of it, and their classmates look like he and Uraraka have just personally become their savoirs, which they might as well have. Shouto watches him say something to Ururaka, skin flushing red about whatever they’re talking about, and it’s with no pride that he wishes he were closer, just to get a better view. At least he seems less jittery.
Shouto’s moment is entirely disrupted when he’s shoved forward on his feet, turning to see Bakugou giving him a mildly disgusted and angry look, and realizes he’s just been silently threatened into going over.
It’s no big deal, they’re close friends, but his feet feel heavy on the ground, his hands shaky by his sides. If he’s being honest, something that’s become less and less easy these days, he’s worried about how much longer he can pretend. He thought practice would make perfect, but silence makes for a different sort of pain.
He’s so distracted with his inner turmoil he’s almost startled when Midoriya approaches him. Time hasn’t made a difference, not in the way he needs it to.
“Todoroki-kun, have some, it’s been hot all day,” Midoriya says, offering a small tub of some unknown flavor towards him. Shouto takes it without looking away from Midoriya’s face, silent.
The sun’s begun to descend, and with the entirety of his heart in his throat, Shouto wishes more than ever that he were a stronger man.
He’ll keep wishing, everytime he sees the ink on his skin, eyes on him, a warmth in bed, when they’ll inevitably track sand into the sheets. He’ll wish it until he finds a reason not to.
iii. intensity : of extreme force, degree, or strength; having or showing strong feelings or opinion
The days pass like this: Shouto unravels by the casing of his nerves. He finds Midoriya’s shirt under a pile of his own laundry, and it makes it harder to breathe. The pens from study sessions stalk him. The handwriting he stares at from the notes he’s been lending ring too loudly in his ears. Losing his mind seems appropriate, for someone like Midoriya, though he’d be lying if he pretended to be happy about it.
Without meaning to, he begins trying to correct this.
Shouto returns the shirt. He contemplates keeping it, but that feels wrong given how he feels, so he finds himself in front of Midoriya’s dorm room, shirt folded and soft in his hands. He knocks on the door, and when Midoriya opens it, Shouto is disappointed at how his own heart never ceases to betray him.
Midoriya’s mild surprise turns to a more gentle happiness, and Shouto loses himself here, too.
“I brought shirt,” he says, ever so eloquently. Midoriya’s smile wavers, before he turns his gaze to the shirt, squinting.
“Oh, I didn’t even realize that I’d left it... sorry,” he says, and instead of reaching for it, he turns his body, allowing Shouto room to step inside. Shouto does not want this, (because he wants it too much), and he hesitates. He hadn’t planned on being invited in, he really… hadn’t thought ahead to begin with.
“I can’t—stay,” he decides, stilted.
The lie feels obvious, and it may well be, but if Midoriya does take notice, he says nothing. He tilts his head, eyes losing their wrinkle, and nods, “Okay. I’ll see you later then.”
Shouto nods, standing stock still. Midoriya gives him a long, searching look then, and Shouto worries about what’s about to be said.
“If you ever need to talk to me, you know you can.”
“I know,” he responds, honestly.
——
Shouto worries he’s offended Midoriya, acting strange and not having the courtesy to be honest about why. This thought occurs a moment after the third time he’s been slammed into the ground of the training room. It’s a short lived thought, mainly because whether Midoriya were upset with him or not, he kicks ass.
He’s also definitely off his game.
“Todoroki-kun,” Midoriya says, questioningly, a worried line between his brows, “Are you alright…”
Shouto heaves a breath, sitting up by his elbows to rest his head between his knees.
“Let’s take a break,” he says, despite knowing Midoriya was probably not going to continue practicing with him anyway.
He hears what sounds like Midoriya drinking from his bottle, looking up in time to see the way his throat moves when he’s drinking; it’s not long after that he looks away. Midoriya sits across from him, and they sit in silence for a moment, tension thick between them. Which—admittedly is an almost unheard of occurrence. Maybe Shouto’s imagining things.
“You seemed pretty intently focused during the sparring,” Midoriya says, and Shouto already knows this is a set up for something else, that it’s inevitably leading to a single destination.
“Of course. I can’t let my focus wane,” he says, meaning for it sound much more lighthearted than it does. He’s still not great at conventional humor, or, a fair number of other conventional things.
Midoriya’s scarred hand comes into view, landing on his own, still curled in his lap. He raises his brows, wondering why, “What are yo-”
Midoriya scoots closer, and Shouto sees the marker.
Remember to be patient with yourself , he writes, slowly and deliberate, and as it usually is, is accompanied with a slanted smiley.
“That always works,” Midoriya whispers, even closer.
Huffing a breath, Shouto tilts his head, re-reading the note as if to unlock some hidden meaning, “In doing what?”
“Making you happier. Or at least, smile,” Midoriya responds.
His heart squeezes. “I think I’m ready to go again.”
Their second session seems to land them on much more equal ground. Shouto knows it’s cheesy, but he does feel better, even with the bruise forming on his side.
He watches Midoriya gear up to kick off the ground, green light crackling around him, and although it’s hard to guess where he may end up projecting himself, he’s attentive enough to catch his eyes land somewhere on the ceiling over Shouto’s shoulder. Shouto stays still, careful not to look prematurely and give his hand away, and at the last possible moment turns and forms an ice barricade. Midoriya breaks through it, but it’s enough to throw him off guard. Shouto manages to get him down.
“Well, that’s one to three,” he says, looking down at Midoriya, who seems much too happy to have just lost for the first time that day.
——
Shouto decides to do something stupid. It’s stupid because things from this point forward can only go one of two ways. They either go the best they can, or terribly, but the ambiguity of it all will lessen, at least.
He’s decided to ask someone other than Bakugou for advice. If anyone else knew about how he‘s steadfastly ignored any and all suggestions or advice from anyone other than him, they’d think one of two things: that Shouto really didn’t care to ever resolve his heart issues, or that he was a bit misguided and very very dumb.
Truthfully, he didn't want genuine advice. It was definitely easier to complain to someone, who at the end of the day, wasn’t going to push him that final distance. It was more about wallowing in self pity. He was being a coward by letting things simmer, but he thinks he’s ready for a resolution now, even if it’s not the one he wanted.
“Kirishima, I need advice.”
Kirishima stands beside his open door, smile wide and eyes questioning, “Sure man.”
He steps inside the room, wringing his hands in front of him.
“So, what do you want to-”
“I think I’m in love with Midoriya and I don’t know what to do,” he blurts, and actually saying that outloud, is cathartic.
“Oh, well that's great, why would you need advice for that?” Kirishima asks him, earnestly.
Shouto waves his hands a bit, frustrated, “Well, you and Bakugou made it work, and I’ve talked to him but he isn't very… emotive. You’re pretty empathetic, I thought you might know what to do, or say… I don't know.” Now in front of Kirishima’s bed, he falls into it, covering his face.
He feels the bed dip next to him, where Kirishima has sat down, “I think you should be manly and tell him... but honestly I still don't understand the problem. I’m pretty sure Midoriya is going to be super happy to hear that from you.”
Shouto drags his hands down his face, pulling on his bottom eyelids, “Why do you think that?”
Kirishima gives him a baffled look, “Everytime I tell Bakugou I love him, he gets pretty damn happy, and so do I.”
“Kirishima. You guys are dating.”
“Yes? Exactly?”
“Oh. You think we’re dating,” Shouto responds, curling on his side and facing away from Kirishima’s body, “We’re not.”
“That… explains some stuff, but still doesn't make a lot of sense.”
Shouto sighs, “I thought Bakugou might have told you. Guess not.”
“He sort of did. Like, he told me how much you pissed him off talking about Midoriya all the time. But he hates that stuff anyway. And then Midoriya always talked to me about you… but now that I think about it, he never explicitly stated you were dating.”
It takes a moment to process, but when it does, Shouto bolts upright, scrambling for purchase on Kirishima's shoulders. Kirishima sways, laughing, “Whoah-whoah, dude, calm down.”
“He talked about me? What did he say?” Shouto’s heart feels ready to burst out of his chest, and his adrenaline is definitely spiking. This was good, actually, this was great.
Kirishima looks at him warily, looking upwards to evade eye contact, “Uh, well, He said a lot of stuff, but I’m not sure it’s my place to tell you, now that I have context. Maybe you should just talk to him.”
Shouto deflates, a bit solemn but understanding, “Yeah, you're right.”
“But I promise it was nothing bad! It was good, great! I still think you two should have a conversation, yeah?”
Shouto nods, a small smile gracing his lips. “Mm, thank you, Kirishima.”
“Ha-ha, yeah yeah, but you can thank me after you two talk.”
——
“Is my strategy off?”
The question knocks Shouto for a loop, mainly because he’s the one yielding in their combat practices the most, in recent weeks.
“No-”
“Are you sure? There’s nothing you want to tell me? About my fighting, or-r—otherwise?”
Shouto gives him a searching look, confused and unsure of how to proceed. If he didn't know better he’d say he’s been found out, but not only has he only just resolved to actually confess, but he’s suspected Midoriya of ‘knowing’ once before, and it wasn't quite the case.
“Well-” He doesn't want to lie, so he’ll have to sidestep the question about there being ‘otherwise’ to talk about, “I promise you, your form is perfect. You take me down more often than not,” he says, choosing his words carefully. He wipes the sweat off his forehead with the back of his arm, and he’s sure it’s clear he’s been putting his all into their one-on-ones. Midoriya’s question doesn't make much sense.
“Todoroki-kun… you seem so distracted, and off, and like you're trying to be so careful about every little thing, and it’s making me feel like either I suddenly got much worse at fighting, which I guess doesn’t make sense given how out of breath you are… or you aren't telling me something.”
Oh. Finally having made up his mind after his conversation with Kirishima, he supposes he’s been trying hard to plan the perfect way of going about this all. Midoriya notices even the smallest of details, and he hardly thinks he’s been subtle, of course he would notice something as obvious as this.
“Midoriya, I promise I’m not— mad, or anything. But, I guess there is something I’ve been thinking about, and… something I want to tell you.”
There's a relief in Midoriya’s eyes, but there's also something else, like imbalance, and Shouto has to wonder just how much he’s been silently worrying over this.
“It’ll probably be better if I tell you later, though,” he says. The thought of confessing and having one of the best things in his short life to happen, or getting his heart broken were none too appealing in a sweat covered training space.
Midoriya hesitates, but nods, “You’ll tell me though. And be honest?”
“Of course.”
It might not be as grandiose or well-planned as Shouto had already wanted it to be, but he can try his best.
——
It’s raining, and because Shouto wanted to meet Izuku on the roof, to possibly watch the late afternoon sun, he’s already upset at how things are going. However, umbrellas do exist, and it’s a bit too late for a change of venue, so he diligently climbs up and waits under the overcast sky. It’s not long before Midoriya shows up, hands over his head as he runs up and finds refuge under his umbrella. Shouto is glad for the excuse of proximity, especially if it ends up being the last time for a while.
Midoriya looks up at him, nose wrinkled and eyelashes dripping water, an unexpected call back to their time at the beach.
“Todoroki-kun… why’d you want to meet in the rain?”
“I didn't really, it just happened to turn out this way,” he replies, nervously shifting from foot to foot.
He reaches into his pocket, takes a breath, and pulls out a pen. Midoriya eyes it, quickly taking notice of the bright red object in the gloomy weather.
“Can I write something? On your hand?” Shouto asks.
“Uh, sure,” Midoriya says, switching with Shouto to hold the umbrella handle, “I thought you wanted to talk to me first, but-”
“I promise it’s relevant.”
He takes his time, for a couple of reasons, one of them being he’s entirely terrified of seeing Midoriya’s reaction. His pulse is racing so fast it feels harder to breathe, and even over the rain he’s sure Midoriya can hear it. He writes the last line of the last word of his statement, eyes flicking up between it and Midoriya’s curious gaze. He looks away, but doesn't move.
“Todoroki-kun, you're going to have to move if you want me to see what you’ve written,” he sounds amused, and Shouto wonders how long that will last. He imagines Midoroya laughing at him, after putting his whole heart on the line, and stops thinning about it entirely.
Begrudgingly, he releases his hand.
Midoriya smiles at him, eyebrows wrinkled in confusion, and looks down at the three words on his palm. His smile fades, and he looks up, looks back down, seemingly reads the words again.
“Wh-what-” Midoriya trips over himself, and Shouto stays incredibly still, he can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t look away from the mild panic on Midoriya’s face.
“Is- Are you being serious?” His voice is almost too quiet to hear over the light pattering of rain on his plastic umbrella.
Shouto nods, “Of course.” The rain keeps coming down, and now that the moment has finally come, he feels weirdly calm, “I like you, Midoriya. It’s almost a miracle you haven't noticed yet.” His voice sounds heavy.
Closing his hand into a fist, Midoriya brings it up to the place over his heart, looking down at it another moment longer, “I really didn’t know.”
His head jerks up then, suddenly, eyes wide and cheeks flushed, “Is this why you’ve been acting distracted, d-did you plan this?!”
Breathing out a startled breath, Shouto nods, “Yes, technically, I didn’t know when. I’d only just decided to, at all. Kirishima was actually the one who told me-”
Midoriya shakes his head, frantic, “You spoke to Kirishima? Did he tell you anything I’d said, or-or-”
“Midoriya, please calm down. He didn't actually tell me anything. He told me to talk to you myself, so I am.”
Midoriya’s eyes flicker between his own, still wide; his cheeks are still red, but he looks happy. Bringing his arms around Shouto’s torso he hugs him, tightly enough to almost hurt, and Shouto wheezes once he’s let go.
“You still haven’t responded to-”
He’s cut off once again when Midoriya leans up, hands on his chest, to kiss him. He can't help the surprised hum that escapes his closed mouth, but after he understands what’s happening, he shuts his eyes, leaning in properly. He’s thought about this, a frankly embarrassing, number of times. He brings his hands up to Midoriya’s cheeks, that are warm from his blush and cool from the rain, and when Midoriya is standing properly again, stares at him in what’s likely awe.
“I’m sorry about earlier, when I asked you to tell me what was going on,” Midoriya says, “I didn't mean to be pushy! I probably looked crazy.”
Shouto simply shakes his head, wondering if his alarm is meant to sound off and wake him soon.
“I really thought you couldn't stop getting distracted in combat practices and staring at me because you secretly hated me or something.”
A shocked laugh works its way out of Shouto’s throat, “You’ve spent way too much time knowing Bakugou.” He runs his thumbs over Midoriya’s cheekbones, the gooey feeling in his chest replacing the anxiety that been festering for what feels like forever, “I want to be with you, I’m sorry it took me so long to tell you,”
“Dont apologize for something I couldn’t do either,” Midoriya is quick to interject, “But I’m happy I know now.”
Brushing away the damp hairs on Midoriya’s forehead, he bites the inside of his cheek, “I owe Kirishima a thank you.”
“Me too,” Midoriya looks at his palm again, “Was it your idea to write this?”
“Mhm. It’s special to me.”
“Yeah, our own tradition, but now I don't want to wash my hand.”
“I’ll write it for you as many times as you want.” Shouto punctuates the statement by leaning down to kiss the crown of his head, which still has rainwater in it.
The rain has let up, and with the few clouds in the sky, the sunset looks even better.
+i. compassion : tender feeling; the ability to understand the plight of others
“I must have something on my face if it’s keeping you from eating,” Izuku mumbles, amused smile fighting to make itself known. Shouto’s own smile comes easily, his eyes flickering between the points of Izuku’s mouth and eyes.
“Not quite,” he sighs, his tone faux serious and contemplative.
“Am I that attractive, Shouto-kun? To keep you from one of your favorite foods.”
“You’re not eating either. I could say the same about the importance of my attention on you,” Shouto is trying not to laugh.
“For the love of- there are other people around. I know it’s easy for you two to forget but you are in a public space right now,” Shouto hears Mina say from somewhere beyond his periphery.
It was actually astoundingly easy to forget other people existed at all. Admittedly, he’s surprised no one has complained about the amount of time he's taking from Izuku, as if it hadn’t already been enough before they started dating.
“Kirishima-kun and Kacchan get away with it,” Izuku responds, breaking eye contact to look somewhere over his shoulder.
“Personally, I’d enjoy it if neither of the couples participated in such heavy displays of PDA,” Tokoyami interjects. Shouto rolls his eyes lightly, snaking his arm around Izuku’s waste to bring him closer. Izuku laughs, and Shouto plants a kiss on the side of his mouth.
“We’re making it worse, everyone be quiet,” Uraraka moans, in what Shouto thinks is despair.
“Stop being so dramatic,” Shouto kisses Izuku again, “Half of you were on my case about not doing anything for the longest time.”
“Well Bakugou was,” Kirishima calls from the table behind them, and Shouto has to duck his head into Midoriya’s shoulder to hide the effect that the absolute hilarity of that situation holds on him.
“What? Are we supposed to believe Bakugou cared enough to talk to Todoroki about relationships? Kirishima you’ve really done a number on-”
“Babe calm down—no, you’re not fighting anyone right now.”
“I’m still surprised it took you so long,” Uraraka says, appearing way too suddenly by Shouto and Izuku’s place on the couch. The smug grin on her face makes him nervous.
“Yes, Todoroki was quite obvious, staring all the time. At least it’s socially acceptable to call him out on it now,” Iida adds. Shouto feels a tad betrayed.
“Stop ganging up on me,” he mutters, not actually bothered in the slightest because at the end of the day, Izuku wanted him too.
“I honestly thought if Shouto-kun ever wanted to tell me how he felt… he just would, and since he hadn’t yet, that maybe I was reading things wrong.” Izuku says, leaning into the arm still wrapped around his waist.
Shouto frowns, and takes notice of the silence that falls around them at that. He meets eyes with Uraraka, who looks just as troubled as he feels.
“Todoroki was so obvious it was painful,” Uraraka says, disbelief in her tone. He was.
“You were a lot harder to figure-” The collective groaning in the room interrupts Shouto’s thought. The pained expression on Uraraka’s face has only increased. “It's really not as easy as it looks.”
“You did not make it look easy, Todoroki, no offense.”
“Maybe we’re both just really oblivious,” Izuku decides, quietly. Shouto has to agree.
——
“You’re going to get ink poisoning with all of those ink scribbles all over your arms.” Bakugou is giving his arms (both of them) his best glare.
“Don't be personally offended by me and Izuku just because we’re significantly better than you. You have your own boyfriend.”
There’s a vein popping out of Bakugou’s forehead, “Try talking shit when Kirishima isn’t around.”
“I didn’t realize he was the boss of you,” Shouto deadpans, turning back to the T.V. screen.
“Both of you, shut up,” half of their classmates say, nearly at once.
Izuku giggles tracing over the lines on his arms, “I think they look nice,” he whispers, thankfully no one seems to notice.
Shouto takes his hand, reading over some of the stupid, sappy, mainly uneccassry things he’s taken the time think out and write down. The one consistent thing, per Izuku’s request, is the “I like you”. It doesn't necessarily stay in the same place, but it exists at any given time.
He leans his head down to kiss the top of his knuckles, the inside of his wrist, his fingertips, before leaning back up, just to plant one on the tip of his nose.
“Are you still blushing?” He questions incedulously. They haven't been dating that long, yet, but he does still marvel at the way Izuku tends to blush. Half of the time, Izuku doesn’t act half as bashful as he appears.
“No, you’re seeing things,” Izuku denies, pretending to keep his focus on whatever movie was playing. It was as good as background noise to Shouto.
“I’m not sure I am.”
“You definitely are.”
“I spend way too much time looking at you to not be sure.”
Izuku’s ears tinge red at that, and Shouto has definitely won.
“So I was too handsome to look away from the other night at dinner? You admit it?”
“Technically I never denied it.”
Izuku rolls his eyes, cups Shouto’s face and brings their lips together, once, lingers and then twice. Shouto grins, “Who’s distracting now?”
“Still me.”
——
“Izuku, where are we going? And why do I need a blindfold?”
“Maybe if you cooperated you’d find out.”
Shouto tightens his arms around Izuku’s neck, where he’s gripping with a fair amount of strength (and fear). His legs are wrapped securely around his waist, too.
“Not that I don't trust you, but this feels like a bit much.”
“Okay, I’m going now.” It’s the only warning Shouto gets before the weightlessness, his stomach dropping, and the sound of wind.
When Izuku lands after what must have been a shoot style jump, Shouto stands, yanking at the fabric from around his eyes.
They’d decided to go into the city, after Izuku brought up wanting new All Might merch of some sort or another. It was well into late afternoon when Shouto suggested they return to the dorms, but Izuku insisted he had something to show him. Cue walking to what looked to be a couple of very ordinary buildings, and then the blindfold. Now that Shouto is here, standing on the roof, and with a decent view, he understands why.
“I felt bad, that your confession got rained on - literally. So I thought we could try again.” Shouto looks at him in stupor, the golden light leaving him prettier than usual, somehow.
With a red pen, in the same palm Shouto wrote his own confession into, Izuku writes, I love you.