Chapter Text
"Alright," a flash of irritation radiating in Bakugou's voice, "can we please just do this picnic here instead of spending another hour looking for a spot?"
Surprisingly, it wasn't Midoriya who suggested them to start a new tradition of them doing picnics on the weekend, but instead Todoroki. The boy inspected the surroundings with his hands on his hip and a sun hat shielding his face and finally nods in approval.
"That'll do."
"Oh, thank fuck." The blond-haired man collapses onto the grass, legs finally giving out. Midoriya gives an apologetic smile to the two and rubs the back of his head nervously.
"Sorry, all the other spots I suggested were taken up..."
It's a breezy, sunny day, and it only made sense that the parks would be full today with families and loved ones enjoying their own time in the sunshine. The ocean is a crisp gentle blue that mirrored how spotless the sky is, save for a few white puffy clouds that slowly sailed by as if they were lone ships in the sea. The sun rays feel warm on Midoriya's skin, inviting his fingers to stretch up towards the sky as if to collect a blue piece of his own.
The first time they agreed--one blonde boy more reluctant than the other two-- was slightly awkward, to say the least. Bakugou forgot the drinks and napkins, Midoriya overcooked the beef and undercooked the tofu, and Todoroki packed a tiny blanket for a day after a heavy spring rain. That day, they sat crammed on the blue blanket, silently chewing rubbery-textured food and forcing themselves to swallow inedible sandwiches with the discomfort of sticky fingers and dry throats. The forceful winds were intent on stealing their basket and smacking leaves in their faces.
It was another month before Todoroki insisted the three of them try again. Midoriya was the easier one to convince out of the three of them, so it didn’t take much persuasion for him to agree. He enjoyed any opportunity to spend time with both of them outside of the classroom. Bakugou, on the other hand, took some consoling.
“Why,” Bakugou finally snaps after one class, putting down his pen with a forceful thud, “are you so persistent on dragging our asses to another picnic?”
“Because,” Todoroki said determinedly, “we are friends. Friends eat delicious food together.”
He shoots an exasperated look back. “But why a picnic. Why can’t we just do someone’s house or a restaurant like normal city people. Which is what we are.”
“Because friends do picnics. On Friday nights, we do hotpot at Midoriya’s, Tuesdays we study at your place and eat curry, but Saturdays are for picnics. What else would we do on Saturdays?”
“An entire world of alternative activities exist in this damn city, Shouto.” Bakugou rubbed his face in irritation. He wasn’t the biggest fan of camping and outdoorsy activities and didn’t understand why people force themselves to eat outside in parks where the weather was uncontrollable. He disliked having to constantly swat away bugs from his food and shift his body on uncomfortable grass just so he can hunch over and eat food that has gone cold. Over the years, he’s lost the joy of being outdoors after his childhood, and he really just doesn’t want to go. Even if finally the three of them are friends.
“Like what?”
“Like...bowling?”
“Do you remember the last time we bowled?”
“...”
“Yeah, Kacchan, you got a little bit too heated with the neighboring group...”
“And you proceeded to yank the bowling ball...”
“You really get too competitive, it’s kind of funny...”
“...”
“... and the bowling ball went flying at the man’s face...”
“You really are like an old man how cranky you get at bowling....”
“... the man was with his kids, Bakugo. His children and wife--”
“Okay,” he jerked up exasperated,” okay, holy shit, nevermind on bowling then. But why does it have to be a picnic?”
Todoroki pursed his lips shut, chewing the inside of his mouth. It was hard for him to express his thoughts and feelings, as they both quickly learned from working together and eventually becoming friends. He was slow to voice his feelings and thoughts, and Midoriya eventually learned how to read the more subtle body language he has.
“It doesn’t hurt to give it another shot, does it?” Midoriya spoke up quickly, giving a warm, placating smile at the two. “I’ll bring a bigger blanket, and I’ll pack some pillows for us to rest on. It shouldn’t be raining either this weekend, so the weather will be nice. ”
“Fine,” the blonde boy finally gives in, hoisting his bag over his shoulder. “But I make the food this time.” He jabs a finger at his chest, earning two warm smiles. He looks away in irritation, and Midoriya swears he sees a flash of pink.
“Okay!”
....
While their friendship with one another started off tumultuous and rocky, the realization of mutual love was slow and organic.
...
When Saturday came, Bakugou comes with an entire feast packed in two big picnic baskets. The size of the two makes him waddle as he walks up the hill, and Midoriya tries to hold back his giggles as the man reminds him of all the elderly Filipino grandmothers from his childhood. He rushes to him, taking a basket from his arm and relieving him of the weight.
“Holy shit,” he wheezes,” why did you two pick a spot on a ninety-freaking-degree hill?”
“It has a really good view!” The sweet-faced boy insists. He looks down at the heavy wicker baskets in his hand, and it takes a second for him to get a better grip “Also, we thought you were just gonna bring sandwiches and snacks...”
“Sandwiches and snacks? What am I, a peasant?” Bakugou scoffs.
Much to their surprise, Bakugou is an incredible chef. Somehow over the past two days, he had the time to create cashew garlic rice, fried bananas, seafood egg rolls, and five other steaming assorted dishes. In a box, flower-sculpted cold cantaloupe pieces laid neatly with star-shaped pineapple pieces, and he brought a glass container of fresh-squeezed lemonade. He grins, proud as Todoroki and Midoriya excitedly 'ooh’s and ‘aah’s as they each shoot questions on every dish they see. They were all traditional Hmong and Laotian dishes, he later explains. Each dish was crafted with care and intricate skills that professional chefs couldn’t dream of owning. No, they are only skills the grandmothers could ever carry.
As much fight he initially put up when being dragged to picnics, Midoriya quickly learned that Bakugou forgets how much he dislikes nature if they ask him to cook. For each picnic they have, Bakugou is the designated chef, and each time he recreates a traditional recipe that reminds him of the elderly women of his childhood. Having him talk about food and the dishes makes him lost in the stories he recounts to the two, slowly showing an unexpected side of him.
“I haven’t had time to cook recently the past few months because of school,” he says out of blue one day, refilling his plate with seconds. He sits comfortably on the duck-printed blanket, shoulders relaxing. “I use to cook all the time with my grandma, and when she passed away, I would cook for my family the dishes she uses to make.”
Todoroki tilted his head with curiosity. He sat properly on the blanket next to Bakugou, thoughtfully chewing some nab vaam. “Your grandmother taught you how to cook when you were young?”
He gives a slight nod, absentmindedly putting a sweet coconut rice-wrapped banana leaf on Midoriya’s plate before putting another on Todoroki’s. They learned from their picnics that he makes sure others eat till their stomach can't take anymore. “I had a lot of anger issues when I was a kid, and my grandmother would try to help with that. She made me learn from her all the Hmong and Laotian recipes she remembered from before the war. It eventually helped the older I got after she passed away, but when I don’t get to cook for a while, it gets...well...”
Bakugou had a fiery personality that popped and cracked with determination but was often mistaken as a gunshot. He struggled over the beginning of high school; he’s a stubborn cobblestone wall, cemented up and guarded with seemingly infinite impenetrable stones in place, but the more cracks he developed, the more he came crashing down. To be understood is the highest form of intimacy there is. Midoriya saw the same flashes of hotblooded red as everyone else did the past few years with Bakugou; but he’s also seen the feminine pinks, pastel reds, soft sunset oranges, and mournful blues.
“Your grandmother seems like an incredible woman,” Todoroki says gently. “She taught you an incredible gift.” His face softens and he chews the inside of his mouth in quiet anxiety.
“Don’t make that face,” Bakugou snaps quickly before regret falls onto his face for being irritated at the red-and-white-haired boy. “Sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you.”
“No, it’s. Well.”
Midoriya gives him a gentle nudge on his shoulder. “Well?”
“I just admire that from people who can remember and have grandparents that pass on things like that. My grandparents on my mom’s side don’t talk much about Hakka food or even language. I have these memories,” he scrunches up his face slightly,” but I don’t have the right words to my head to place them. I don’t have the right language. My dad hates talking about that side of the family, so it feels... unreachable.”
It's the first time Todoroki has ever opened up to the two about his family. Midoriya and Bakugou always knew his father is a lot to handle; when it came to sleepovers, Midoriya's or Bakugou's place would be the two options, and the white-and red-haired boy always seemed relieved whenever he could spend a night away. Midoriya--and even Bakugou--knew better than to pressure him to open up at a pace faster than what he could handle, and so they stayed quiet, absorbing the words Todoroki quietly shares.
Where Midoriya has seen a sunset palette of colors when he looks at Bakugou, he starts to see an evening spectrum of dusky purples, velvety blue, and vulnerable reds for Todoroki.
It comes to Midoriya one mundane evening, as he does his homework, that his strong platonic feelings for his two friends are also swirled with soulful romantic feelings.
It dawns on him softly in the least of traditional dramatic fashions. When it's time to take a break from mind-numbing homework, he picks up his phone and scrolls through messages in their group chat. He mindlessly giggles and snorts at the random memes that Todoroki shares and Bakugou's videos of his sweet but demanding tabby cat. As a minor of a tradition that is picnics, sharing food and resting together introduced an unexpected sense of softness into their relationships with one another. When Midoriya stops at a specific message, it washes over him.
{baku} hey idk if this is dumb
{baku} but i've really enjoyed going on picnics with you two.
{my neighbor todoro} woah, katsuki getting all cheesy on us? i thought you were lactose intolerant....
{baku} -_- k nevermind
{my neighbor todoro} but no seriously! it's nice to have space in my life where i can be soft and be myself. i really look forward to seeing you both every Saturday.
{baku} i've been thinking about it a lot recently, and it's been weird. i never felt like i could be this much of myself with other people and just exist.
{baku} idk just hope you two know how much i care about the both of you.
The next attachment was a picture of them posing together for one of their first picnics together. Todoroki's face is slightly blurry from struggling to take a picture with his left hand, Bakugou looks sweaty from the spring humidity and thus irritated, and Midoriya...
His curls were frizzy and over the place, and his dark skin glistened in the nasty spring heat. But he had a rosy smile, one that made his face muscles ache afterward for how hard he was smiling. In the picture, he's nestled tightly in between the arms of his two friends. His heart feels full of sweet rosy pinks and thankful baby lavender, and he saves the picture as his phone's wallpaper.
He loves his friends as his friends and so, so, so much more. But what was that 'much more'? It didn't feel the traditionally taught concept of love-- that was too selfish and individualistic, and his feelings didn't fit that.
"When you realize who are your soul loves," he hears his grandmother in his head, "you’ll begin to understand how your soul perceives this world."
When he visits his lola and she cups his face lovingly, he smells coconut and banana leaves on her skin. She spends too much time dedicated to making him and his mother piles and piles of sumans, sweet coconut rice wrapped in banana leaves. "Izuku needs some taste of home back in his stomach," she coos playfully, patting his face as if he was created with gold and the soil of home. The smell transports him to the Philippines, as if her childhood memory is a bit shared with him every time they meet. He closes his eyes, and he feels the warm sun, the chorus of voices belonging to his grandmother's strong-headed sisters, and the flashing colors of tuk-tuks on the streets.
She wraps Midoriya up in as much bright love as his own mother does, and he's consistently thankful for the women in his lineage. The femininity that courses in his blood and from his ancestors is the basis of how he understands himself and the whole world.
When he washes up to go to bed, he decides to ask his mother.
“Oh, your grandmother told you that?” His mother smiles at him sweetly from the couch. “She told me that all the time when I was younger.”
“What does it mean?” She pats a spot on the couch for him to join. She's wrapped up in a gray soft blanket and pours another teacup of aromatic black tea for her son to sip. He smiles before he sits down; he loves his mother for how easy and approachable she is to talk with.
“Well,” she pauses to think before continuing slowly, “when you realize who are your soul loves, you start looking or seeing the world and people around you in different ways. It’s something that is spiritual and envelopes your body and mind when it is the right time in your life. Metaphorically speaking, anyway.”
“Is this like our version of a soul mate?”
“Not necessarily. You can have many soul loves, some who you won’t meet in this lifetime. It might be your best friend, or it might be your spouse, or it can be both. Imagine a spectrum of crayon colors; the intensity of the crayon can give you different shades and sometimes different colors. There’s no wall between what is friendship and what is considered romantic or intimate love-- they all are enmeshed in one another on a field."
His mother's words slowly click in place, finally putting how he's felt into words. Over the years, he started seeing people in different colors. He starts seeing wisps of blue of young couples at grocery stores, he starts seeing certain shades of purple, green, gray for his friends and classmates, and....
He starts feeling weird pulls on his stomach when he sees Bakugou and Todoroki. The colors he sees for them have no words that currently exist.
"So then, what did grandma feel when she realized?"
"For her, it was sounds."
"Sounds? Like what?"
" The best she described it were sounds of her mother--your great grandmother-- sewing at night. She understood soul loves by the special sounds that no ordinary person was able to make. These could be ordinary, average, mundane noises, but if she was able to hear it and be reminded of her mother sewing, then that meant they were a soul love." His mother makes hand gestures to try to demonstrate different ways of hearing. "Does that make sense?"
"Yeah, it actually does," Midoriya says slowly, smiling as his mother combs a hand through his hair absentmindedly. Always so messy, he hears her mutter, but he continues with his thought process without paying much mind. "But I feel like it wouldn't to the majority of people."
"It wouldn't to people who aren't connected," she gently corrects, chiding him. "Everyone experiences it differently."
"Do you hear similar sounds like how lola did?"
"No, you see, I felt something different. Do you remember the beach we took you the time we visited lola's home when you were younger?"
"Yes, it was so beautiful. The way the water was so clear and the sun would set..." She smiles at her son as he closes his eyes and transports himself, feeling warm sand beneath his feet and cool water on his fingertips.
"I know when I meet my soul love when I feel the way an ocean's breeze makes my stomach feel. Even if it's on a hot summer day or a dry winter night, I feel it. And depending on the intensity of the breeze, it tells me more on how dear the person is to me."
"I wonder how to tell if it's genuine or if it's something I'm trying to make myself believe." He sighs, rubbing his stomach, some anxiety messing up his nerves.
"Instinct and taking time to think productively." She pinches his nose, and he makes a face and pulls his face back.
"Mamaaa." Midoriya whines, rubbing the skin where she pinched a bit too hard.
"You need to go to sleep, mister." His mother gets up, taking the tray with now cold tea away into the kitchen. He follows and helps her clean the dishes from the day, placing plates and cups on the drying rack.
"Why don't we see lola sometime this month?"
"Yeah," he smiles, thinking of shades of sunsets and quiet winter evenings. "I'd like that a lot."