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You’re 3 months self-harm free! Congratulations! You’re doing amazing!
There are streamers and little balloons decorating the screen, and when Shouto touches one of them, it pops and is immediately replaced by another, different coloured balloon. He stares at the happy words in the center of the festive decorations for a couple more seconds, then exits the app and turns his screen off.
Three months. It’s— well, it’s not a very long time. But it’s the longest he’s lasted so far. And he’s— he doesn’t know. Proud, he thinks. Afraid? But he’s not sure of what. Nervous, maybe. There’s definitely happiness in there somewhere, mixing in with the pride (but also with the fear and the anxiety). A very faint anger, or disappointment, or both, but at what, he doesn’t know.
It’s a complicated mix of emotions, and it’s just another thing he can’t understand. It’s a record for him, something he should be proud of, something he should be happy about— and he is! But that’s not all he’s feeling, and he’s not even that happy or proud. And not feeling those emotions just makes him feel more complicated emotions that he can’t figure out, and it’s setting up an endless loop that can’t go anywhere good, so he stops concentrating on them.
Instead he focuses on getting dressed for class. He has time, but Midoriya — Izuku, he’s Izuku now — is waiting for him downstairs, along with Iida and Uraraka and Tsu. He catches a glimpse of red lines on his thighs as he’s pulling on his pants, but he’s gotten good at ignoring them (there’s something about today that makes him stare at them for a couple more seconds than normal, but it’s a step up from the panic attacks he used to have sometimes) and it’s only a few more seconds of ignoring his feelings before he joins Izuku and his friends downstairs.
“Shouto!” Izuku beams at him when he spots him, and Shouto’s heart jumps a little, just as it always does, when Izuku says his given name.
“Izuku,” Shouto says, smiling almost unconsciously.
“Do you have all your things?” Iida says, appearing from the kitchen, hands already speeding through the air as he speaks. “Ready to go? We don’t want to be late!”
“We have fifteen minutes!” Uraraka protests at the same time as Tsu says,
“I don’t think we could ever be late with you with us, Iida.”
As Iida insists that they must be early to class, Shouto turns to Izuku. Izuku is looking on at his (their?) friends, amused, and normally Shouto would be doing the same, although maybe less amused. Today, though, Shouto can’t take his eyes off Izuku. He’s the only person — well, one of the few people — that Shouto has told about his— self-harm. He wants to share his accomplishment with Izuku, maybe tell him about every other odd emotion that he should not be feeling today — he knows he should talk to his therapist about it, too, but his next scheduled appointment is in two days, and Shouto doesn’t know if he can sit on this for that long.
And, well, he doesn’t just want someone to tell him what’s wrong with him. He also wants, as pathetic as it is, for someone to be happy for him, for someone to celebrate with him— for someone to be proud of him. He wants Izuku to be proud of him, even if he isn’t proud of himself.
Izuku catches onto his intense stare, and turns to him with a questioning look. “Shouto? Are you okay?”
“Um— yes,” Shouto says, swallowing the words he really wants to say. He’ll tell Izuku, he decides — Izuku has always been happy to listen to Shouto, has always been there for Shouto, he can tell Izuku anything — just after class. When they’re alone. “We should get going.”
“Good idea, Todoroki!” Iida says, and is already out the door by the time Uraraka starts to groan.
---
He’s antsy, the whole day. It reminds him of the days right after Izuku had walked in on him, the first time. He had constantly been sending Izuku nervous looks, hadn’t been able to concentrate on anything any of his teachers were saying, had barely had an appetite — he’s the same way today, even though today is a good day, a day he should be glad to have reached, and he doesn’t understand—
But it’s over, now, and as they’re released and heading back to the dorms, he sidles up to Izuku, falls into step behind him. “Can I— talk to you?”
Izuku smiles easily. “Sure. In my room, or yours?”
It shouldn’t be a question he needs to think on, shouldn’t be that serious, but he falls silent for a few seconds as he thinks about it, before finally deciding, “Yours.” There’s a comfort in Izuku’s room that isn’t there in his, no matter how many All Might stares he needs to ignore.
Izuku smiles at him again. “Okay!”
They’re almost there at this point, but that doesn’t stop Izuku from filling the silence with mindless chatter about what they did today, about how cool he and Ojirou looked when they did quirkless sparring and how their match lasted the longest. It’s nice. Shouto’s never had an issue with silence before, but he thinks that it might have been— strained, maybe, if they were to be quiet now. Awkward.
He doesn’t know what he did to deserve a friend like Izuku. (He doesn’t know why he can’t be content with what he has with him, either, don’t know why he always wants more more more.)
The door closes with a quiet click behind them, and Izuku turns back around to face Shouto. “So what did you want to talk about?” His eyes are wide, and he looks earnest and— it’s so easy to tell Izuku things.
Shouto wants to wring his hands, to fidget, but he’s had that burned out of him a long time ago, so instead he bites the inside of his mouth, hyping himself up to finally say, “I hit three months. Today.”
He doesn’t need to say any more. Izuku, already bright and smiling, beams at him, brighter than the sun. “That’s amazing, Shouto!”
And then.
“I’m proud of you!”
The words— they’re stronger, more meaningful than they have any right to be, and before he knows it, his eyes are welling up, and Izuku looks a little less like the sun and a little more concerned, and the first tears drips down his cheek, and— and—
And Izuku is there, like he always is, arms wrapped around his shoulders, and Izuku is shorter than Shouto so he’s bent a little awkwardly, but his face is buried into the crook of Izuku’s neck and it’s perfect and exactly what Shouto needs.
So he cries.
He cries because he doesn’t know how or why or what he’s feeling, he cries because it’s been three whole months, he cries because Izuku is proud of him, he sobs because how can Izuku know him so well—
He’s sure the tears and snot have probably made a mess of his face and Izuku’s clothes, but Izuku doesn’t say anything once he’s cried himself out into a wrung-out rag. Neither of them say anything, and neither of them move at all. Shouto still clings to Izuku like a lifeline, and Izuku holds him gently in return. It’s warm, and in Izuku’s embrace, Shouto feels small and safe and protected, enough to murmur into Izuku’s neck, “I don’t. Feel proud.”
“That’s okay,” Izuku says. “I can be proud enough for both of us. I can keep being proud until you’re proud, too.”
“Why— why don’t I feel proud?”
“What do you feel instead?”
“I’m,” he feels a lot, instead. But what he feels the most is, “scared. I’m afraid. Or nervous.”
“Of what?”
He doesn’t know. He doesn’t know who he’s disappointed in (himself, for getting to this point) or who he’s angry at (himself, for letting himself get to this point), and he definitely doesn’t know what he’s scared of (himself . . . ?) He tries to pinpoint it, tries to feel the emotion and understand it like his therapist had told him, thinks maybe—
“Are you afraid of messing up again?”
Messing up could refer to anything, really. But Shouto understands, and— Izuku’s right. He’s afraid, now that he’s gotten so far, that he’ll mess everything up, ruin all his progress, everything he’s worked so hard for.
The silence is enough of an affirmation. Izuku hums thoughtfully, still almost cradling Shouto, slowly beginning to rock them side to side. “Sometimes I’m still afraid of Kacchan.”
Shouto, strangely comfortable despite the fluids drying on his face and his bent position, almost rears back in surprise. He almost starts to speak, but Izuku keeps going.
“I know he’s different, now. He’s— apologized, and everything. But sometimes, I’m still a little bit afraid of him. I can’t stop it, but I’m— I’m trying. So I think— it’s okay if you mess up, a little bit, sometimes. Or even a lot bit. As long as you’re trying.”
It’s quiet for a second, Shouto digesting what Izuku said, only for Izuku to break it a second later with, “Um, not that Kacchan is still a bully, or anything. Or that he’s mean. He kinda is, but not in a bad way! What I mean is, he’s not really hurt me or anyone else anymore, so he’s changed. Definitely. So it’s not really his fault—”
“Izuku.” He stops talking at once. Shouto thinks he can feel Izuku holding his breath at the sound of his given name from Shouto’s lips. “Thank you.”
Izuku laughs nervously, but his words are genuine when he says, “of course, Shouto.”
Shouto sniffles once more, before picking his head up off of Izuku’s shoulder. Just as he thought — a mess. “I’m sorry, about that.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Izuku waves him off. “I’ll change. Do you want to use the sink?”
Shouto almost flushes. He must look even worse than Izuku’s clothes, and he nods once before slipping into the attached bathroom. He can hear Izuku start to speak again, chattering away at him as he changes and Shouto runs the sink. “. . . do you want to stay here for a little bit? You can change into some of my clothes, and we can watch one of the old All Might movies — have you watched any? — maybe I can convince Kacchan to cook something for us . . .”
It’s— nice. It’s comfortable, and it makes him feel soft and safe and he doesn’t ever want to leave.