Chapter Text
Shouto can’t believe that his father hired another pool boy.
“We don’t need a new pool boy.” He says, when his father brings it up at the dinner table.
“Yes, we do. The last one was highly unprofessional.” Enji says.
“That’s a nice way of saying he ran off with Touya.” Natsuo says. “It’s not his fault that you made Touya miserable; I can’t even be mad at him for eloping.”
Enji’s scowl turns into a frown. “This isn’t a family discussion. This is a statement. I have hired a poolboy for the summer reason. It’s in the best interest of our family to have a fully functioning staff. That is final.”
Shouto sighs and stares at his plate. He enjoys swimming; it’s his sense of purpose, and the Todoroki family has a large, expansive pool. He doesn’t like strangers coming to their pool. Interacting with it. Cleaning it. Shouto’s offered, more than once, to simply do the maintenance on the pool himself. His father always rejects him, stating that it’s not his job to do it. Shouto likes to swim in the mornings, when the air is crisp and not quite as scorching hot as it is at high noon. When there’s a pool boy there, cleaning the pool during Shouto’s preferred times to practice, it’s just too much .
Hawks had been nice enough, and Shouto had even started to not mind him, especially because more often than not Hawks would just sneak into Touya’s room when he was supposed to be cleaning and abandon the pool entirely. Those days were great, because then Shouto had the pool entirely to himself. He always covered for Hawks and Touya, doing the cleaning himself, because the longer that Enji bought the lie, the less likely it would be that Enji would hire a new pool boy.
Then, the fool had run off and eloped with Touya at the end of last summer. They’d had a Las Vegas wedding. The announcement threw the entire Todoroki house into chaos. Shouto can still remember waking up to his father screaming bloody murder at the wedding pictures that Touya sent them, alongside a lengthy credit card bill.
“I still don’t think a pool boy is necessary, father. I can clean the pool myself.” Shouto says.
“Whatever I
say
is necessary, Shouto!” Enji roars, and as he does so, their family butler who had been in the middle of dropping mail in front of Enji, flinches. Enji bristles, and looks over at the woman.
“My apologies, Mrs. Midoriya. I didn’t mean to startle you.”
“It’s fine! I’m very appreciative of you hiring my son on such short notice.” Inko bows, and Shouto’s brow raises to his hairline.
“Your son?” Shouto asks.
“Ah, yes. The new poolboy is Inko Midoriya’s son. What was his name, again? Izuki?”
“Izuku, sir.” Inko corrects, politely. “He’s always loved swimming, and I promise you that he won’t be a bother, Shouto.”
“It’s fine. It’s not a problem that my father hired him.” Shouto says. “I just don’t fare well with strangers.”
“My Izuku is a sweetheart. He’s very excited for the opportunity, and I promise, he won’t bother you.” Inko gives Shouto a patient smile. “And if he does, please tell me, and I’ll tell him to behave.”
“I appreciate it, Mrs. Midoriya.” Shouto says.
“Really, Shouto. You’re training to become a professional swimmer; you should be used to people observing your practices by now.” Enji says. He waves a hand dismissively. “Nevertheless; do update me if the boy is more trouble than he is worth. I have no qualms with opening up my applications to a pool of fresh faces again.”
Inko deflates beside him; Shouto tenses, and squeezes his knife in his hand. Now, he’s not going to tell his father this man is anything other than the perfect pool boy even if he’s Shouto’s worst nightmare.
“I’m sure he will be fine , father.” He spits.
“Good.” Enji is flipping through the mail, disinterested. Shouto watches as he tosses fan mail lazily on the table, for Mrs. Midoriya to dispose of. Enji has never liked fanmail. ‘I produce content for the sake of the content. I cannot be deterred by the words of fans, kind or otherwise’ , he always says. Shouto thinks it’s quite rude of him, but Enji has never asked for his say on much of anything, despite the fact he’s an adult.
Shouto stands up. “If we’re done here, I’m going to use the pool for practice.”
“Very well. Remember: Izuku Midoriya starts on Monday.” Enji says.
* * *
Izuku Midoriya is a problem.
It’s not because of his attitude. Not at all. Izuku Midoriya is a friendly young man.
He comes to work his first day, wearing a short-sleeved top with a hood and bermuda swim shorts. He greets the family, with his bright and blinding smile. He’s about Shouto’s age. That’s a little unnerving -- Shouto had liked that Hawks had been slightly older than him, just because that meant he had less to talk to him about. Izuku himself seems to be quite the little chatterbox, but he seems content just to ramble, so if Shouto figures going forward that he can just nod along to whatever he says, and that will be fine.
No, the problem is that when Izuku goes out to get himself situated at the pool, Shouto’s world is suddenly in slow motion. Izuku’s pecs glisten in the rising California sun as he shrugs off the shirt and places it in his bag. His skin, like his mother's, is dark. When the sun kisses it, it glows a rich brown, like finely finished oak. Shouto stares, unabashedly, at the trail of dark green hair that starts at Izuku’s belly button and travels underneath the hemline of his shorts, his entire torso covered in dark freckles.
Izuku turns, facing the fence, his back to Shouto. The Todoroki estate overlooks the rolling hills of Hollywood. Their pool is in-ground, but they’re on a mountain, and it has a see-through barrier overlooking the city below. Izuku looks as though he’s on top of the world here, rolling his shoulders and running thick, scarred fingers across his muscles as he stretches them. Shouto imagines being allowed to kiss every scar that covers his arms and back.
Izuku rolls his shoulders, and then bends down to grab sunscreen from his bag. His backside is firm. Shouto was deceived by the roundness of Izuku’s cheeks when he’d first greeted them. He is ridiculously fit, with very thick thighs.
Very thick thighs.
Shouto swallows, but his throat is dry.
Shouto is standing in the doorway to the pool, his jaw probably somewhere on the floor, his towel tossed haphazardly over his shoulders. He is distinctly aware he is in his swimsuit and tears his eyes away from Izuku’s broad back before his thoughts can stir a reaction between his pants.
“Oh! Hi, Shouto! Or should I call you Mr. Todoroki? I know your dad prefers that, so, uhm...?” Izuku has turned to acknowledge him. Dark spots litter his entire torso, neck, and cheeks.
“Just Shouto is fine,” Shouto spits, and his voice is somewhere far away.
“Oh! Perfect. Shouto, then! I’m Izuku!”
“I’m aware.”
“R -- right. Yeah, because I introduced myself to the whole family already! Haha. Sorry, I just, uhm, didn’t know if you’d remember or not, but it’s totally fine if you don’t! I can always remind you or… something.”
This is very irritating. Not only is Izuku more gorgeous than he has any right to be, but he’s adorable, too. Shouto is angry as he storms past Izuku, not saying anything more. He tosses his towel and bag onto one of his mother’s lawn chairs and begins to do his stretches.
He can feel Izuku’s eyes on his body as he performs his stretches. Shouto wants him to look literally anywhere other than at him. Shouto tries to count to ten in his head, as he bends down and touches the tips of his fingers to his toes, but Izuku’s gaze is fixated on him.
Finally, Shouto stands to his full height and glares at their new pool boy. “Stop staring at me.”
“I -- I’m sorry!” Izuku apologizes. “I was just, uh, well, you’re Shouto Todoroki , so it’s kind of, well, I’m kind of in awe.”
Shouto raises a brow. “In awe?”
“Yes! Your swimming record is immaculate. You broke three records in High School. And in college you were the star of your team, before the accident that got your scholarship revoked and your spot on the team removed and I -- “
He shuts up. Shouto glares at him.
“I’m so sorry. That was very rude of me to bring up.” Izuku bows his head, and Shouto grits his teeth, putting his goggles and swim cap on the top of his head, securely.
“Don’t worry about it.” Shouto says. “Just don’t bring it up again.”
He is met with blissful silence as Izuku doubtifully goes back to work, cleaning the tile around the pool while Shouto does his laps. He tries to focus on the cool feeling of the water, running along his limbs like smooth silk as he kicks himself back and forth. It’s excruciatingly painful, feeling the eyes of a practical stranger on his back as he moves from end to end of the pool.
When Izuku’s shift ends, Shouto is relieved, surfaces out of the pool, and runs his fingers along the top of his swimming cap.
* * *
Shouto got into an accident in his sophomore year of college. He had been stupid, really. He and his friends had been skinny dipping where they weren’t supposed to be and he swam right into a jetstream of boiling water. Frankly, he’s lucky that he still has eyesight in that eye.
He doesn’t know exactly why he’d done something so stupid. He still has not lived it down in his father’s eyes. He’d lost his position on the swim team. Even though his father, a very famous and very rich film director, tried to pull strings, he was screwed. Shouto was just acting out, his therapist had insisted. Ever since he’d lost his position on the team he’s struggled to make it as a professional swimmer. His reputation precedes him. He’s no longer a college student now. He dreams of making it to the olympics, but wants to do something more impressive than skinny-dipping into a burning jetstream beforehand.
If he were to enter the Olympics next year, he’d be laughed off of the stage. It’s very frustrating, because that’s all he had planned on doing, ever since he was 16.
Currently he’s sitting in his room, staring outside of his window. It’s the hottest day of the year. Izuku Midoriya is cleaning their pool in very short swim trunks, dark green ones that match his hair, and Shouto’s bedroom has the perfect view of it. Shouto’s running numbers for his father. He doesn’t know what the numbers are for. A film, maybe? He honestly couldn’t even say, not since half an hour ago when he first saw Izuku come out to clean the pool.
He watches Izuku’s muscles as he bends over the pool. There’s the sheen of water along his back. His dark green hair is sticking to the back of his neck. The curls look softer when they’re wet, with little droplets of water staying suspended in the curls.
Shouto has the eraser of his pencil in his mouth, and he’s chewing down on the metal slightly. Izuku moves, and in the process he bends over, exposing the side of his left thigh as he stretches to coax the end of the brush he’s using to clean the see-through panel of the pool’s wall farther away from him.
His door suddenly opens, and Shouto jumps out of his skin, feeling his cheeks flush as he hastily grabs a throw pillow off of the sitting chair by his bookshelf to shove it into his lap. He feels disgusting.
“What do you want, Fuyumi?” He asks, annoyed.
“Dad wanted me to see if you were ready for the meet…” Her eyes dart down to her brother’s hands on the pillow, hastily covering his lap, and a blush of her own crosses her cheeks. “I… will inform him that you’re busy. Sorry, Shouto.”
She steps out. She closes the door behind her. Shouto groans and slams his head on his desk.