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Tenko dug his fingers into the soft fabric of the mask covering his face and neck, attempting to scratch at the sensitive skin underneath. His too-short nails and the gloves he wore stopped him from actually scratching himself, but the familiar motion still settled his nerves a bit. It was his second month at U.A. and he still felt jumpy around all his classmates, still felt the incessant urge to scratch and claw at his skin if they so much as looked in his direction.
He’d had problems with scratching at the skin on his face and neck for as long as he could remember. It started as an allergy thing, just dry, itchy skin that never seemed to go away. He remembered the way his mom used to gently apply ointment to his skin, the way she would gently tug his hands away from his face when he started to scratch.
But after his quirk manifested, it became something else entirely. He still had the dry skin, but the urge to scratch wasn’t brought on by it; instead, it was brought by his dad’s endless screaming or the way his mother refused to meet his eyes.
He had been five years old, rocking back and forth as he scratched at his collarbone with one hand, the other buried deep in the soft fur of his dog, Mon. His dad had just left the room, finally finished screaming at him after he had gotten caught looking at an old picture of his grandma. He hadn’t understood why he had gotten in so much trouble just for looking at the picture. He had thought she was beautiful. And she was a hero! His dad should have been proud of her, and yet there was only one photo of her in the house, collecting dust in the back of an unused drawer in his dad’s desk.
Tenko continued to scratch, his too-short fingernails barely quieting the anxiety that crawled along his skin. He felt like he was covered in ants and that scratching until his skin bled would be the only way to dislodge the thousands of tiny teeth that sunk into his skin all at once. Just as all five of his fingers dug into the scratchy fabric of his t-shirt, attempting to quell the itch that danced along his skin, something inside Tenko burst. In the blink of an eye that felt as if it lasted years, Tenko’s shirt turned to dust underneath his fingertips. Mon narrowly avoided the same fate, only saved by Tenko snatching his hand out of his fur before his quirk could activate again.
He remembered standing quickly and screaming for his mom, excited to finally show her his quirk, to show her he wasn’t useless, that his dad didn’t have to be ashamed of having a quirkless kid anymore. He showed her how it worked by touching all five fingers to the small, green cactus on his bedside table. He grinned as it turned to dust under his fingertips.
He still remembered the way it felt to meet his mother’s eyes that day. He had been expecting her eyes to be shining with tears and for her to tell him how proud she was. Her eyes had shone alright, but not with tears of joy. He had never seen her look so horrified. The scratching got worse after that.
His mom didn’t apply ointment to his face anymore, didn’t help him clip his nails so they stayed short enough that they didn’t slice open his skin. She didn’t grab his hand to stop him from scratching. She didn’t touch him at all, after. She didn’t even look at him. His dad only grew angrier, somehow more furious at having a son with a “villainous” quirk than having a son with no quirk at all. Hana was the only one who stayed the same.
After his customary trip to a quirk doctor, Tenko was finally registered with a quirk they named Decay. His mom hated the name. Tenko liked it. He was secretly glad the quirk registration office decided on quirk names instead of the family of the quirk user. Before they left the doctor’s office, Tenko was fitted with tight leather gloves that he was told to never - under any circumstance - remove. They were quirk resistant, so he couldn’t get rid of them if he wanted to. They became a permanent extension of himself, this thing that his mom halfheartedly attempted to assure him was to keep him safe. He wasn’t stupid. He could tell from the way she looked at him, the way she looked relaxed only after the gloves were all but sewn into his skin that they were meant to keep her safe.
Something changed in Tenko, then. He knew at five-years-old, watching his mother refuse to touch him because of her fear of his quirk, watching his dad’s fury at his only son having a quirk that should only belong to a villain, that one day… one day, he was going to be a hero. He was going to be just like his grandmother.
Hana had supported him through the years, had made sure he exercised daily and practiced using his quirk when his parents weren’t around. It was because of her unending support that when the time to apply to U.A. finally came, he was more than ready. The entrance exam was a breeze for him, all he had needed to do was slap his ungloved against each of the robots he came into contact with to ensure they turned to ash beneath his grip.
When his acceptance letter finally arrived, Tenko had grinned at his father’s fury. His anger only made Tenko want to be a hero more. He was going to show them that he could do it, that they shouldn’t be scared of him. He could be good. He could be the type of person that people called out to for help, the person that saved people from burning buildings and knocked out villains with a single punch. He didn’t care how long it took, he was going to show them how wrong they were about him.
He looked up when he finally entered the classroom, sighing as he took his seat beside Touya Todoroki. It wasn’t like he hated his classmate (though it wouldn’t be that much of a stretch considering he hated almost everyone). Touya was just… well, he was Touya. He was loud: always joking and yelling with his friends, always teasing Tenko about his mask or his gloves. It was annoying. Everyone else in their class ignored Tenko - he liked it that way - but for some reason, Touya had decided he was going to bug the everliving shit out of him every fucking day.
“What’s up, Shimura?” Touya asked, leaning back in his seat, that familiar smile stretched across his face.
Tenko scowled, trying not to stare at the way the staples on Touya’s face seemed to tremble with the stretch of his lips. Touya was one of the few people who could understand someone with a quirk like his, he supposed. Touya’s quirk, aptly named Cremation, was extremely unsuitable for his body. When he overused it, he ended up covered in burns. And he had overused it a lot. Most of his visible body was covered in pale scars and surgical-grade staples. He didn’t understand how it didn’t make Touya any less popular. Tenko knew if he took off his mask, his classmates would stare and comment on the scars littering his body; the way the skin on his face was constantly covered in thin cuts with tiny dewdrops of blood forming on the surface.
But Touya was different, for some fucking reason. He was probably even more popular because of his very visible quirk drawbacks. It made Tenko’s fingers twitch. He would never use his quirk on another person, he knew he wanted to be a rescue hero, but sometimes the nagging voice in the back of his mind told him to just get rid of the constant thorn in his side.
“Nothing,” he grumbled, staring resolutely ahead. Maybe if he ignored Touya he would get bored and go bother someone else. It never worked, but he tried it every day just in case.
Luckily, he was spared Touya’s incessant chatter when their homeroom teacher walked in, effectively silencing the class. Tenko sat up a little straighter at his desk. He pretended like he didn’t give a shit about his classes or his grades, but it was all a front. He had the highest grades in the class and he didn’t plan on losing the top spot anytime soon.
He listened as Vlad King talked about a group project they would be working on. It was about quirk discrimination, and he smirked under his mask as the people in the class who constantly talked about Tenko’s “villainous” quirk sank a little lower in their seats. He had never complained to his teacher about the things they said because, frankly, he didn’t give a single shit about their opinions of his quirk, but it was nice to know that his teacher was at least paying attention to the way he was being treated. And the fact that he wasn’t afraid to let his students know that he knew how shitty they were being.
He was not happy, though, when his name got called alongside Touya’s, signaling that they had been partnered together for this project. He sank a little lower in his seat, already dreading having to work with the white-haired dumbass sitting beside him.
“Nice, Shimura, looks like it’s you and me on this one,” he smirked, raising his hand for a high five. Tenko just stared at him, looking pointedly back down at his hands. He was still wearing his gloves, but most people refused to touch him in general, let alone go anywhere near his hands. But he guessed Touya wasn’t like most people.
Slowly, against his better judgment, he raised his hand and brought it towards Touya’s. He probably moved slower than what was considered normal for a high-five, but he was still waiting for the punchline of the joke, for Touya to snatch his hand back in anger or fear, for a panicked fist to connect to his face for even daring to reach out towards the other person.
But it never came. Instead, his gloved hand smacked lightly against Touya’s outstretched palm. He looked as surprised as Tenko did when their palms finally touched. Tenko felt his eyes widen even further when Touya’s fingers twitched, when they curled inwards slightly as he slid his fingertips down and against the soft leather of Tenko’s gloved hand. Tenko shivered as the white-haired boy ran his fingers along the entirety of Tenko’s hand. Tenko made the mistake of looking up, then. He felt his breath hitch in his chest as he saw Touya’s face, his eyes blown wide and a blush sitting high on his cheekbones.
Tenko blushed furiously when he realized what was happening. He snatched his hand back to his chest and scowled. He pulled his hood up over his hair in an attempt to cover the blush that covered the exposed skin of his face. Stupid Touya and his stupid face. He had always been a bit of a flirt, but never with Tenko. It made his stomach twist into knots as he stared down at his desk, trying to subtly look at the hand that Touya had all but caressed just a few seconds ago.
He didn’t get it. He couldn’t get Touya’s face out of his head. He looked surprised that Tenko had reached out to touch him, but he hadn’t looked scared. He had only looked excited, pleased even. And then he had blushed. What the hell did that mean? It didn’t make any sense.
He blinked when there was a hand on his shoulder. He finally heard the sound of the bell, realizing distantly that class was over and that he had spent over an hour thinking of nothing but Touya Todoroki.
He looked up, blushing again when he saw Touya standing over him. His hand was warm against Tenko’s shoulder, maybe from the heat of his quirk or maybe because Tenko was always cold. He stood, shoving all of his things into his bag so he could head to English.
“Here’s my number,” Touya said. Tenko stilled, his hand still poised over the book on his desk. Touya was giving him his number? Like, willingly? After a second, he realized that Touya was holding out a scrap of paper and smirking, obviously waiting for Tenko’s brain to catch up with his body and take the paper from him.
“Thanks,” he said, shoving the paper deep into his pocket. Touya squeezed his shoulder one last time before letting go.
“Text me, Shimura, we gotta figure out what the hell we’re gonna do for this project, after all,” he called, already walking out of the classroom and towards his next class. Tenko was left standing there, eyes wide as he stared after Touya’s retreating form. His fingers curled around the piece of paper in his pocket and he cursed when his face flushed again.
He was so fucked.
Tenko didn’t go home much anymore. He slept there, sure, but he spent every second he could on campus or at the coffee shop he had come to frequent. He didn’t see the point in going home when he clearly wasn’t wanted, clearly wasn’t welcome there.
Which is how he found himself standing outside the Todoroki estate, staring at the massive doors and contemplating just going home to do the project by himself. He had been standing on the stoop for almost five minutes. Should he knock? Should he just text Touya that he was outside? The latter seemed preferable; he had just pulled his phone out when the door swung open.
Tenko’s jaw dropped underneath his mask, eyes widening as he realized who was standing in front of him. Dressed in his hero costume, face alight in flames, was the number two hero, Endeavor. He looked at Tenko with disinterest, probably wondering why some black-haired freak in a mask and gloves was standing on his doorstep. Oh fuck, what if he thought Tenko was going to try to rob him?
“Um,” he said, shifting on his feet. Thankfully, Touya chose that moment to walk by and see who was at the door. His eyes lit up when he saw Tenko. He clenched his fist to fight off the color threatening to rise to his cheeks.
“Shimura, hey! Dad,” Touya said, “this is Tenko Shimura, I’m doing a project with him for school.” Tenko made a mental note of how hollow the word ‘dad’ sounded coming out of Touya’s mouth and at the way Endeavor grimaced when Touya mentioned U.A.
“It’s nice to meet you, Endeavor, sir,” Tenko said, bowing slightly as he did so. Endeavor just grunted in acknowledgment and moved past him, obviously on his way out to patrol. Tenko watched him leave.
“Come on in, Shimura,” Touya said, closing the door behind him as Tenko stepped over the threshold. He toed off his shoes and sighed before he looked back up at Touya.
“Just call me Tenko,” he said, squaring his shoulders. He hated his family name. It didn’t belong to him anymore, felt alien on his tongue. Touya looked at him for a moment before he smirked.
“Sure, but only if you call me Touya,” he countered. Tenko shrugged. He didn’t really care about the whole first names being for close friends and family only thing. Maybe he would have if the name Shimura didn’t leave such a foul taste in his mouth.
Touya led him to what Tenko assumed was his bedroom. It was pretty barren, much like his own. There were a few pieces of furniture and one poster on the wall, but other than that, it didn’t look lived in at all. The only sign that this room was actually occupied was the hastily made futon pushed against the back wall.
They sat down on either side of the small table in the center of the room. Touya pulled out his notes and Tenko hurriedly did the same.
They sat in silence for a few minutes, the both of them unsure of how to start. Tenko felt his hand move to the side of his neck, scratching subconsciously against the soft fabric of the mask. His fingers stilled when Touya spoke.
“Why do you wear that?”
Tenko tilted his head, a little confused at Touya’s bluntness, at the fact that he had even bothered to ask. Most people just wrote it off as another one of the weird things he did, like it wasn’t surprising at all that Tenko would constantly scratch at his own skin like he wanted to claw it off.
“Dermatillomania. Brought on by stress. Scratching helps,” he answered, finally allowing his fingers to move again, albeit much softer than before.
It didn’t really matter how hard he scratched, the gloves and the mask made it pretty much impossible for him to really harm himself, but he knew the difference, at least in how he had cataloged them in his own mind, between what the different movements meant. Scratching hard and fast meant he was panicked, that he felt so unsafe he couldn’t stop his own hands even if he wanted to. Soft scratching, more muscle memory than anything, meant he was nervous, sure, but he didn’t feel unsafe. Usually, he stuck somewhere between the two, but Touya’s innocent curiosity brought him down.
He could barely feel it when his fingers scratched over his mask. He tried not to think about Touya when he let his hand fall back into his lap.
“So that’s why you wear the mask, then?” Touya asked.
“What is this, twenty questions?” Tenko asked, rolling his eyes and looking back down at his notes.
“Why not, I’m down,” Touya responded. Tenko’s head shot up so fast that his neck cracked. He winced as the loud noise filled the room.
“We have to work on our project, I already had a few ideas for what we could work on…” he trailed off.
“Come on, Tenko, lighten up. We’ve got three weeks, we can work on,” he reached out and snagged Tenko’s notebook, reading off the first idea he had written down “how underground heroes experience quirk discrimination, at literally any point.”
Tenko blushed, remembering what he had written shortly after that, and snatched the notebook back out of Touya’s hand.
“Fine. We can play. I’ll go since you already asked me something,” Tenko said. Touya made a ‘go on’ motion with his hand, leaning forward a little, obviously interested in what Tenko might ask. Panicked, Tenko asked the first thing that came to mind.
“What’s your favorite color?”
He mentally smacked a hand against his forehead. Seriously? That was the best he could come up with? Touya snorted out a laugh.
“Black,” he answered, staring hard at Tenko. Distantly, he remembered he was wearing all black, but he was more interested in what Touya might ask in response.
“Why the mask?” Touya repeated.
“It helps with the scratching. Why does your quirk hurt you so badly?”
“Mom’s got an ice quirk, dad’s got a fire quirk. I inherited the ice body, but not the ice quirk. Fire and ice don’t typically mesh well,” he shrugged. He acted like it was nothing, like it didn’t even matter that his quirk could burn him alive if he wasn’t careful. Tenko scratched at his neck a little.
“Is that the only reason you wear the mask?” Touya asked, looking down at his cuticles like he didn’t think his question was that interesting. Tenko scowled.
“No, it isn’t,” he answered. If Touya wanted to keep badgering him about his mask, fine, he’d let him. But he was going to have to get creative.
“Why do you only have staples sometimes? I’ve seen you without them before,” Tenko asked. He had always been curious about this, but he wasn’t really the type to ask such personal questions. It seemed rude, but given the circumstances, he figured he could throw that idea out the window.
“I have to get skin grafts every now and again. The staples stay until they’re healed completely and then they can come out.” Tenko blinked. He hadn’t known that.
“Do you ever take off your gloves? Outside of quirk training, I mean.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Why?” Touya asked. Tenko raised an eyebrow at him. He figured that much was obvious, considering what his quirk was.
“It’s my turn,” he answered instead, fighting off a smirk at Touya’s annoyed huff. “Why do you want to be a hero?”
“Oooh, a tough one,” Touya smirked. “Most people would just assume I want to follow in ole’ Endy’s footsteps.”
“I’m not most people,” Tenko said, mimicking Touya’s ‘go on’ movement from earlier.
“I can see that,” Touya smirked, leaning forward so his elbows rested on the table. “I want to do something with my life. It would be too easy to just give up because my body isn’t suitable for my quirk. I want to prove I can do it, I guess,” he answered, shrugging one shoulder.
Tenko couldn’t help but stare at the white-haired boy in front of him. Tenko wasn’t a big talker. When he was a kid, he had learned staying quiet and just watching what happened around him would show him way more than talking ever would. He could tell from the tremble in Touya’s shoulder, the slight shake in the movement despite its whole purpose being to make him seem like it wasn’t that important to him, that he was being earnest; proving he could do it meant more to him than anything else. At least he had a goal Tenko could understand.
“Same question, why do you wanna be a hero?” Touya asked. Tenko scratched at his hairline for a few seconds, debating if he should give an easy answer, the typical “I just want to save people” bullshit, or if he should give the real answer. He brought his knees up to his chest, looping his arms around them so he could rest his chin on top of them.
“My whole family, other than my older sister, either hates me or is scared of me because of my quirk. I’ve been told my entire life that I have the perfect quirk to be a villain. I’ve never wanted that. I just…” he trailed off fighting the urge to bring his hand back to his face. “I want to be good.”
Tenko stared down at the table, not wanting to meet Touya’s gaze. He wasn’t sure he’d like what he saw if he did. After a few minutes, Touya spoke again.
“I don’t think you have a villainous quirk.”
Tenko looked up, then, expecting to see some tell, an obvious sign that Touya was lying to spare his feelings. He felt his chest hitch when he saw none.
“Why?” he asked, almost whispering. He didn’t understand. Everyone… He had never met anyone who had really felt that way, other than Hana. Everyone hated him because of his quirk, because of how bad it could be, despite the fact that he had never hurt anyone with it.
“I’m counting that as your next question,” Touya said, probably to lighten the mood a little. It didn’t work, Tenko was too focused on what Touya might say. His question hung thick in the air. He felt like he might choke on it.
“I don’t know. I guess I don’t believe in villainous quirks. That’s the whole point of this project, right? Don’t judge the person based on the quirk. It isn’t a quirk that makes someone a villain, it’s their actions, what they do with it. I’ve never seen you do anything even a little villainous. I don’t think you need to prove you’re good. You already are,” Touya said, chewing on his bottom lip a little. He was staring at Tenko in a way that made him feel like he could see right through him, past the mask and gloves, past the baggy clothes and his scarred face, all the way down to his very core.
Tenko blinked. Once, twice, three times. He stared at the blush sitting high on Touya’s cheekbones, at the way he leaned forward, at the sincere expression on his face. He swallowed, fidgeting with the edge of his mask.
“It’s your turn,” he responded, still staring directly at Touya. Neither of them had broken eye contact yet. It felt too late to do it now, so Tenko kept looking as Touya leaned in impossibly closer.
“Will you take off your mask?” he asked. Tenko nodded slowly, hooking his fingers into the soft fabric and slowly pulling it down. He bit his lip, waiting to see Touya’s expression change, to see his face twist into shock or disgust. It didn’t, of course, it didn’t. Instead, Touya’s eyes grew impossibly wide as they scanned over his face.
“Beautiful,” he murmured. Tenko sucked in a breath as Touya reached out a hand, pushing away a few strands of hair that had fallen into his face. Tenko leaned into his palm, finally closing his eyes. He could feel the blush on his face, but he didn’t care. No one had ever called him beautiful.
“Tenko…”
He opened his eyes again. Touya’s face was only a few inches from his own. He was hovering over the table, eyes wide. Tenko could feel his hand trembling against his face.
“Can I kiss you?”
Tenko wasn’t sure what happened after that, just that he was shoving the table out of the way and lunging at Touya. Their lips met and Touya sighed, alternating between running his hands through Touya’s hair or cupping the sides of his face. Tenko kept his hands on either side of Touya’s legs, careful not to touch him. He didn’t want to do anything that might break them apart.
And he didn’t have to. Touya broke the kiss, panting, and rested his forehead against Tenko’s. Slowly, staring at Tenko, he grabbed at his gloved hands, moving them until they hovered above Touya’s shoulders.
“I like you, Tenko. That means all of you. You can touch me, I trust you, I know you won’t hurt me,” he whispered. Tenko couldn’t help it. A sob forced its way out of his throat as tears pooled over his cheeks. He brought his hands down to Touya’s shoulders, then snaked them down and around his waist as he buried his head in Touya’s neck, letting himself be pulled into Touya’s lap. It was softer than he thought it would be, and he nuzzled even closer to him, weirdly liking the way the staples felt against his skin.
He mumbled something against Touya’s neck as he let himself be held. Touya pressed a kiss into his hair before he moved back, craning his neck until he could see Tenko’s face. He wiped his thumb across Tenko’s face, one hand wiping away the stray tears and the other cupping the side of his face again.
“What was that?” Touya asked, smiling softly at him. Tenko rolled his eyes.
“I said that I like you too.” He blushed, looking down at his hands.
“More than Eraserhead? Because the amount of hearts you drew beside his name makes me think you might like him more than me.”
“HEY!”
Touya laughed as Tenko tackled him to the ground. It didn’t take long for Tenko to have him pinned, holding his arms above his head as he laughed. Needless to say, they didn’t get any work done, but neither of them really cared.