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To call you a rose would be fitting. They’re not the most temperamental of flowers, but just like any, they do have places they should not be around. Ice weathers, arid fields, in Todoroki Shouto’s arms — roses don’t belong there. He’s not the most gentle person, and he’s certain he’s not a good fit for you, but he tries hard.
Too hard.
“You’re kinda an idiot, you know that?”
He winces, either from the deep gash or from your stabbing words, but he doesn’t respond verbally. What could he say to you? It’s rare for you to insult him, and even rare for you to see him this beat up, but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t have a choice. You both know what he could say in response, but you’d hear none of it.
If I didn’t do it you would’ve gotten hurt.
Another frustrated sigh leaves you as you set down the soiled cotton ball, the pure white of it fleeting and nearly soaks into the rosy red tone it’s taken on. It’s replaced with its cleaner sister, doused in rubbing alcohol as you continue sanitizing your boyfriend’s injuries. You already know what you’re doing, but how? This isn’t something you of all people should have to do, or at least, he feels that way.
Roses and all their fragility don’t belong on a battle field.
“You’re safe — that’s what matters.”
“As if.” Healing ointment comes next. “You matter too.”
Do I? Shouto hangs his head in thought, mentally wincing at the pain he feels pulling in his neck and shoulder at the small movement. He really took a beating for you, getting in the way of not one or two but four petty villains to stop them from reaching you. It shouldn’t have been much of an issue — he’s great at dealing with mobs — but a fifth snuck up on him with a quirk resistant to his.
Of course, he’d do it all again if it meant making sure you’re uninjured.
“You matter more to me,” he tells you softly, eyes trained on his damaged hands.
“Stop that.”
You don’t demand or tell him — he’d respond in silence if you did. No, you beg him. You plea for him to value himself as much as you value him. To care a little bit more about his life even if it means you get scratched up alongside him. You’d rather be beside him than not.
A lump forms in your throat, challenging the words you want to say and stopping you from letting them out just for a moment. The silence holds you both together, nearly just as painful as his injuries or watching him get injured. There’s absolutely too much to say to him, but he desperately wants to know what would make you sound so vulnerable.
“St… stop what?”
You don’t answer, finishing up with the bandages. Even when he says your name you don’t respond.
“What’s wrong?”
You’re standing up now, grabbing the first aid supplies and putting things back in their places. Everything is neatly tucked away in their rightful places, nothing is strewn about or displeasing the eye, Everything except the tension between the two of you.
Now it’s his turn to choke on the ball of stress at the back of his tongue. You two rarely fight, if ever. Minor disagreements over dinner are nothing compared to now, and somehow it feels like this could get even worse. But what can I do?
He watches you float past him in a hurry, not meeting his eyes and throwing yourself into bed. You don’t even bother to hide yourself under the sheets, exposed yet closed off all at once. He could reach out to you, but will he be enough when he’s the cause of all this? He saved you once today and this is how you react… He shouldn’t want to save you again — shouldn’t risk hurting your further — but god does he want to hold a rose in his arms and remember the gentle, nurturing nature of the world.
He wants to remember how kind the world can be even when he makes mistakes. To see the silver lining when things go wrong. To be reminded of what makes it all worth it.
The weight from his neck and shoulders is laid on the bed underneath him when he settles down behind you. Everything is still, your body still curled up and closed off from him, but you fit perfectly against him like this. How can he not hold you right now?
His arms wrap around you and pull you closer, back to chest, and while he’s in pain in more ways than one, he’s soothed. Your scent is one of the most familiar comforts to him, second to your voice, and that’s the next thing he hopes for.
“I wouldn’t leave you,” he attempts. He’s met with more silence. The confidence in him wavers, but part of being a hero means not quitting. “I was reckless. But I won’t be as reckless next time. I’ll make sure we both get home uninjured.”
While he doesn't see it, your bottom lip quivers. Your lips are a dam holding in a riptide of words that are drowning you with unspilled tears. It’s impossible to sort through what you want to say, whether it’s condemning him or congratulating what you’d consider a lucky escape. You know he wouldn’t have died from such injuries, but what about next time?
Your voice is hushed at the risk of it giving out entirely to the sobs. “You don’t get to decide that in your line of work.”
His response is just as you anticipated and secretly hoped for: a long, tender kiss pressed against the crown of your head. Tranquility in the turmoil. You hold your breath until he pulls away, shakily exhaling some of your stress as he speaks on his own.
“I’ll make it work. Trust me. I wouldn’t say that just to comfort you — I want that for myself too… I don’t want my last moments to be out there like that…” It hurts, hurts you both, but he squeezes you tighter to him.
The tears have nothing to hold them back when you squeeze your eyes shut in tandem with him, letting them roll down one side of your face and staining the pillowcase. While each dot will face by morning, this memory won’t. The pain will linger every time he’s not home, nagging at you from a dark corner of your head.
You trust him, but what if he can’t keep his word?
You trust him, but what if he has to make a sacrifice?
You trust him, but what if-
“I love you,” he breathes, each syllable a whisper meant for the wind, not for you, but you hear it nonetheless. Such a tactless time to utter those words, but the sincerity is there and digs roots deep into your heart. You love him too, undeniably so.
But what if something got in the way of that?
The first sob rips through you, your shoulders tensing against him and trembling in your hysterics, Still, his hold around you is constant. You may shake or waver with tears, and the unspoken mess of words from earlier spill like a stormy sky, but he anchors you to him. For once, this is a weight you both welcome.