Chapter Text
Todoroki Shouto loved Midoriya Izuku.
At times, it seemed like a universal truth. Like how water and oil could not mix, how in autumn leaves fall to the ground, or how the ocean tides take the rocks away. Shouto would love Midoriya.
Shouto loved Midoriya’s smile, the way he spoke, and the sparkle in his eyes when he took down a villain three times his size. He loved the way he was always looking out for people. Always the first one to volunteer for the hardest missions. Always the first one to smile if those missions went wrong. Always there. Shouto knew Midoriya was special the moment the ache of fire began to cool on his skin after that fight—he knew he fell in love with him sometime later, though he couldn’t recall the moment it exactly happened, just that one day he woke up and knew. It made sense; Todoroki Shouto loved Midoriya Izuku.
And Midoriya loved him. Shouto knew from the way that Midoriya always smiled when Shouto agreed to help with whatever plan he came up with to defeat the next villain. How they could talk without saying a word. Midoriya trusted him with stupid secrets and Shouto told him his own. Midoriya would come to him on nights when the nightmares got too bad—a mutual agreement that the other wouldn’t say anything—and Shouto would simply move his stuff to the side so that Midoriya could lay down. He’d talk for a while before eventually, his words would begin to slur, and his eyes drifted shut. Every time, Shouto would lay, feet beyond him, and fight the temptation to move the curl that always fell across his forehead.
Midoriya called him important. He called him precious.
The only thing was, the type of love Midoriya had for him, was not the same love Shouto held.
There was a difference between loving your best friend and falling in love with your best friend. Shouto would know. He experienced both. Regardless, Shouto was fine with the way things were. He was. Living in the periphery of one Midoriya Izuku—Japans next top hero—was more than enough. Shouto was okay with just being friends.
Being friends with Midoriya came with several benefits. He got the first dibs on any of the duplicate Hero merch Midoriya got from his mom or friends. It gave him the opportunity to fight alongside Midoriya for any type of mission. The ability to know his best friend was safe because he was able to block a critical blow, which made it easier to breathe. It allowed him the ability to listen to him talk. Midoriya saw the world differently than everyone else. Shouto loved to see it the way he did through only his words. The way images could dance on his tongue, creating worlds in a quiet moment only Shouto was allowed to see. It was the most relaxing; it was the most troublesome.
One day Shouto was lying on the floor, homework long finished. Midoriya—laying opposite of him so that their heads were next to each other, but their bodies were not—said,
“I think I’m finally going to do it.” He dropped his head to the side, and Shouto followed so that he could look into his eyes. Shouto could dream up a world of possibilities of how Midoriya would conclude his statement:
I think I’m finally going to do it and tell him that he liked him.
I think I’m finally going to do it. Shoukun you’re beautiful.
I think I’m finally going to do it and kiss him.
“I think I am going to do it,” Midoriya said instead, holding eye contact—the determination there made Shouto warm. “I’m going to ask her out.”
Shouto had to break eye contact first, though, it was the conclusion he expected. I think I’m finally going to do it, and I love you Shouto didn’t make sense together. It didn’t make sense because Shouto already knew Midoriya’s heart belonged to another. While it didn’t stop his mind from wandering aimlessly, it did make reality hurt less.
“Have you decided on flowers or chocolate,” Shouto said without inflection. Midoriya groaned.
“No,” he said, “that’s why I have you. To help me out so I don’t make a fool of myself.”
Shouto glanced back at him. “Well, I’m afraid I can’t help you with that. I fear that you are a lost cause.
“You’re an ass,” Midoriya said, though he was smiling, “I knew I should’ve just gone to Kacchan.”
“Bakugou’s love language is verbally challenging people and then competing with them. He’d have you both fight in a dual or something.”
“That could be fun.”
Shouto flicked his forehead. “You buy her mochi and take her to my spot. You show her the stars and dance in the sky. Put one of those quirks to good use.”
Midoriya was silent. Shouto risked, looking back at him. “Then again, maybe a fight club would be fun.”
“No,” Midoriya said, still studying him, “it’s almost perfect. Are you sure you want someone else being aware of your quiet space though?”
Shouto went back to studying the ceiling. If he wanted to, he could almost imagine the porous texture was stars. They were laying in a field. Midoriya’s rambling wasn’t about heroes, wasn’t about girls, wasn’t about him even, but about the constellations. Midoriya reaching up to point out the planets they could see right now. Granted, Shouto suspected that if they were really stargazing, he’d spend the whole night watching the stars reflected in Midoriya’s eyes. Maybe Midoriya would catch him. Shouto knew wouldn't be able to resit and tell him he was beautiful. He was sure it.
“We’re graduating soon,” Shouto said, shrugging somewhat on the floor, “it doesn’t matter if it’s special or not.”
On the day they got back from summer vacation, Midoriya and Uraraka officially started dating. They came out of the elevator holding hands. They swung them together on their walk to school. During lunch, Uraraka leaned her head against his shoulder. All around them people said:
“They’re so cute.”
Or
“Finally.”
Or.
“They’re soulmates; just watch; this is forever.”
If it was the latter, Shouto couldn’t be more pleased for his friend. Uraraka was amazing. She had become one of the top fighters in their class. She was always there for someone when they needed a shoulder to cry on or something as simple as a hug. She was great at giving pep talks. If Midoriya ever needed to be saved, Shouto trusted her to be the one to do it. But really, Shouto liked Uraraka because Uraraka liked Midoriya. A fellow kindred spirit or something.
Shortly thereafter, they graduated. Shouto managed to snag an apartment close to the agency he was working at—along with Midoriya and Bakugou—and it was close enough to the trains that he could see his family whenever he wanted. It was a bit noisy at night, but he never needed to keep the windows open to catch a breeze. He only kept the curtains open. When he couldn’t fall asleep, he’d watch a rainbow dance across his ceiling and count backward from one hundred.
Midoriya said it was ridiculous. He always made a beeline to the curtains in the living room the moment the sun began to dip below the skyline. He spent a good number of nights warming his guest bed since it was easier to crash at Shouto's than to take the train back to Musutafu and his mom. Shouto didn’t mind. He liked the company. He liked waking up in the morning and making breakfast for them—he was learning how to cook and Midoriya was gentler on his criticism of his burnt eggs then Bakugou was. While plating the messy dish, Midoriya would come back into the apartment from his morning run. They’d eat breakfast while Midoriya rambled about a cute dog he saw and how one day he’d like to get a pet.
“Maybe I’ll get a fish,” Shouto said once, pointing out the empty space on his bookshelf where theoretically a fish tank could sit.
“A fish? I don’t think you’re home enough to even take care of a fish, Shoukun.”
“Well, maybe it’s a good thing I have you as a roommate then, huh?”
Midoriya blinked at him, and just as Shouto was about to take it back, his friend started crying. Shouto stayed silent. He found it worked better that way. Midoriya didn’t like to be patronized and Shouto was infinitely patient. Before Midoriya completely settled down, he got out of his seat and approached Shouto’s spot. He hugged him. He asked,
“Are you sure?”
Shouto’s arm found itself awkwardly around his back while saying, in too small of a voice, “that’s what friends are for.”
Midoriya never quite moved in, but he was given a key. Eventually, the extra room became more like a hero shrine—Midoriya was given too many first looks at prototype figures and he accepted them all. They ended up in Shouto’s spare room. Shouto bought a fish tank and some rocks and a little tree that lived underwater. He bought a fish. The fish died. He bought more underwater plants. They were nice to look at. Midoriya bought an All Might figure with scuba gear. As a joke, they pretended that it was the fish. They were proud every day to find it alive, before moving it to a different portion of the tank.
Through all of this, did Shouto stop, or try to stop his feelings towards Midoriya? No. He was scared of what would happen when they didn’t exist. He was scared he’d never be able to fall in love again. He chose instead to pine quietly for his friend, which he knew by that point he’d never actually have. Currently, Uraraka was on Midoriya's lap, laughing at a movie while Iida reminded them to lower their voices so that the neighbors wouldn’t get upset. Shouto was making dinner. He heard everything but was focused on his task. Focused on cutting the fish into perfect slices. Not focused on the way Midoriya’s eyes shone when he looked at Uraraka. The way they laughed. The way they smiled. The way they were so happily in love with one another.
And still, Shouto pined.
He pined on their walk to work each morning, watching as Midoriya bounced through the crowds, holding a coffee, only to stop and grab Shouto’s sleeve before they were running, reaching the police barricades just in time to see some hero defeat some villain. Midoriya pointed out how well the hero was doing, or what special move they used to make that final blow. He talked with other bystanders and fans. He asked the police how long the fight had beed going on for. Shouto reminded him they were running late, but he couldn’t find it in himself to push him to go.
He pined when a movie executive or something came into their agency for some type of promotion. Compared to city-wide battles what was being offered was rather mundane. A publicity stunt more suited for low-ranking heroes who needed the boost, not the hero Deku. But Midoriya eagerly shook the man’s hand and swore that he’d be there, along with all his friends. Unfortunately, most of his friends were heroes who had jobs to do and missions they were easily called away for. Shouto was called away. But he ran in, thirty minutes late, to find Midoriya in the middle of the crowd, totally enraptured in what was happening on screen. Shouto couldn’t say what it was about, only that Midoriya had a bucket of popcorn on the seat next to him, which he lifted up for Shouto and whispered, “I’d knew you’d find a way here.”
He pined when—while Shouto watched the lights on his ceiling—he heard his bedroom door open, and Midoriya peaked his head in. His hair was somehow standing up more than normal, and the shirt that he wore was too big. It matched the shape of his eyes. He whispered a question into the darkness of Shouto’s room and Shouto moved over. In another life, Midoriya would have a place in his bed for a different reason. But in this life, Shouto was more concerned with helping Midoriya lose the demons that plagued him. Like in high school, Midoriya started with a topic and discussed it until he fell asleep. Like before Shouto watched him, watched as the same curl fell between his eyes and the red lights from outside rosed his cheeks. He was beautiful.
Shouto pined until one day Midoriya came into the apartment, asking if he could hide a ring there. Uraraka knew all his secret locations at his mom’s house, and if she didn’t, his mom did. He wanted it to be a surprise. When Shouto noted that it wasn’t a surprise for him, Midoriya told him it was because he was different. Later when they were watching the news, Shouto said,
“Marriage is a big step.”
Midoriya swallowed his drink and said, “every step is supposedly a big step.”
Shouto could see that logic in that. He knew that they were soulmates. By that reasoning alone there was no reason to wait.
“I call being the best man.”
“Okay, but you might have to fight Kacchan for the role.”
“I’ll kill Bakugou for the role,” he said, reaching over and grabbing the remote to change the channel, and that was that. Marriage was never something on Shouto’s radar, so he told himself he couldn’t really say anything to discourage Midoriya. He supported him through anything. He could accept this. So, he did.
Shouto made a list. The first step was to meet new people. He tried at first other heroes. But heroes were egotistical. They gushed over his rank and talked about the photoshoots they could go on. One even went so far as to ask him if he’d ever considered dying his hair since it was hard to coordinate with. Shouto found that he didn’t like most heroes.
He went to bars where he learned the art of hooking up from Kaminari who was all too happy to join him, saying something about wanting to be there when Shouto inevitably broke someone’s heart. Shouto didn’t quite understand how he did that. He didn’t want to hurt anyone. He found out most people liked having sex. He found out that some people who liked having sex liked the way the skin bruised in the form of thumbprints. If he didn’t like that, then it was up to him to find a way to cover up a bruised jaw.
He settled on dating apps, but like the bars most people just wanted flings. Shouto was okay with that. He read about the success stories. The times were people thought it would be a one-night hook-up before one thing led to another and they were in love. Shouto wished he could remember how he fell in love with Midoriya. If he did, he figured he’d have a better shot at falling in love again: follow a step-by-step guide to protect his heart from breaking. He found that some of the same people who frequented the bars used the apps too. He rationalized that maybe a little pain was worth it, as long as he was making someone happy. He stopped when his wrist broke, which was harder to explain.
Then on one rather boring Friday night—Shouto was on the floor wrapped in his favorite blanket, watching a movie—the door opened. He peered up to watch as Midoriya fumbled with the lock before tossing the key in the dish Shouto kept. It cracked. He swore, pulling off his jacket and tossing it to the ground. When he finally looked up, he froze.
“I’ll replace it.”
“Are you okay?”
Midoriya sighed. “I thought you’d be in bed.”
“It’s eight o’clock.”
“It is.”
“Midoriya?”
Maybe Shouto should have gotten up sooner. Maybe the moment Midoriya entered the apartment. But now he was. He was launching up and trying to reach his friend, just as he collapsed. Shouto wasn’t there in time to catch him, but once he was close, he wrapped his arms around him. Midoriya was uncharacteristically quiet, gripping Shouto’s arm and breathing through his nose. It would’ve been silent had the movie not been playing in the background. Shouto was afraid of disrupting it. He had only seen Midoriya like this once, and it was terrifying enough then. He hadn’t prepared himself properly to deal with it again.
Then Midoriya began to speak—one of Shouto’s loves—sharp and broken and bruised.
“I am too much of a hero. I cannot balance my life well. I know that. I do. It’s been three years since high school. I haven’t grown. I should be better. I’m aiming to be better. I am a hero. But that’s my whole world. The only thing that matters. I don’t care. I don’t see others. I didn’t see. Because I’m a failure. I’ll always be a failure. Useless. Useless. Useless. I don’t know why I’d think it would be different. I don’t. I should’ve. Fuck.” Midoriya squeezed tighter on his arm. “Why didn’t I see this?”
“You’re not useless,” Shouto whispered the moment he could. Midoriya laughed.
“You think too much of me.”
“Maybe,” Shouto agreed, “what happened?”
Midoriya swallowed. “She said we want different things. I think I disappointed her at some point, and I tried. I tried. But,” Midoriya’s voice broke, “it’s over now.”
Shouto was glad his body knew how to react because his brain froze. His hand continued to rub circles on Midoriya’s back while the other held his hand, brushing his knuckles. He was breathing in Midoriya’s shampoo. He was listening as the first tears dripped down his chin and hit his shirt.
Meanwhile, Shouto couldn’t understand. They were soulmates. Forever and red-strings and all that other sappy nonsense that came with it. As far as he knew, he thought they were happy. He thought she was happy. It wasn’t as if she ever shied away from her boyfriend when he rushed to lift her up and twirl her around after each successful mission. She looked at him like Midoriya looked at her. People had said it was forever. Shouto liked Uraraka. She liked Midoriya. Shouto liked Midoriya more.
“She’s an asshole,” he ended up saying before his brain fully rebooted. Almost instantly Midoriya pulled away from him. Whatever hurt disappeared in a flash of anger.
“Don’t say that,” Midoriya said. “She’s your friend. You can’t just choose one of us.”
It wasn’t a choice for Shouto. But it was obvious Midoriya wasn’t going to listen. He was speaking. He was saying,
“She’s amazing. She’s a great hero.”
Shouto tuned him out, something he didn’t do too often. Midoriya was staring at the ground, talking with his hands. His face was streaked with tears, but they were no longer falling. When he looked up again, the anger was still evident. Shouto heard him say,
“I should’ve gone home. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.”
He started scrambling away and Shouto reacted. He grabbed his hand before he got too far.
“Don’t go,” he said. “We’ll watch a movie. Your choice, okay?”
He dragged Midoriya to the couch. He wrapped him in his favorite blanket. Once satisfied that he wasn’t going to bolt, he ran to the kitchen and got a bowl of popcorn. He returned to Midoriya fiddling with the remote. He recognized the cartoon. He didn’t mind. He sat down beside him with the bowl of popcorn between them.
About halfway through he realized the curtains were open and that every once and a while a white light from outside would shine across the tv, disrupting the image. Midoriya never said anything about it. He sat quietly until the very end when the main character said something and Midoriya broke. He collapsed in on himself and rocked. His sobs were loud. Shouto knocked the empty popcorn bowl onto the ground, scattering the remaining kernels, in order to reach him. Midoriya was harder to pull into his arms the second time, but Shouto was stubborn. He pulled him against his chest and waited.
Eventually, Midoriya’s sobs turned to sniffles which turned to silence once more. The movie was long over. At first, Shouto thought Midoriya had fallen asleep—it wouldn’t be the first time he had cried himself asleep. In fact, it wasn’t even the first time he had cried himself to sleep in Shouto’s arms. But he wasn’t asleep. He was slightly untangling himself to look up at Shouto. He whispered,
“It hurts.” His eyes were shiny and somehow fierce. “I just want to forget that it hurts.”
Shouto moved. In some faraway corner of his mind, he could recall the movies Ashido loved. The ones where the main characters circled one another until they collided. Until everything fell into place. Shouto wasn’t naïve enough to think his life was part of a movie—perhaps it was long ago when his father created him to become a star, but that was then, and now, Shouto only existed. He protected, reassured, those he could reach. He could reach Midoriya. He could reassure him that he could still be loved. He closed his eyes and kissed him.
Midoriya was still. His lips were chapped. While Shouto knew how to kiss, he did not know how to kiss Midoriya Izuku. But, as he was deciding that this was possibly the worse decision he ever made in his life, it somehow set itself up to be one of the best choices he ever made.
Midoriya pressed forward. He kissed him back. He found his way onto his lap and pushed. Shouto accepted it all, eagerly. He let callous fingers scatter across his cheeks, before exploring more. It was Midoriya first who dipped his fingers under Shouto’s shirt, pulling it up and tracing the planes of his abdomen. In testing the waters, Shouto gently pressed back. A gentle pressure on his neck to keep in close. A steady hold on his lower back to keep him in place. Midoriya moved and Shouto responded. It was nothing unusual. It was completely alien. It was Midoriya kissing him down his neck to his chest and whispering nothing but praise.
It was a perfect fantasy becoming reality.
Within the dream, the colors appeared more saturated. Midoriya, raising his head back up to kiss him, highlighted in gold. The green beacon from the hall, which had black carved shadows from the window, which Shouto didn’t let bar him from his room. Midoriya, green and freckled pink, who led him by hand to the crisp white comforter, which was stained in darkness once Midoriya’s shadow descended over it. The blues in there. The fiery oranges that ebbed and flowed between them. A red that Shouto did not heed.
Shouto wanted it to be gentle. His only task was to do as Midoriya asked and make him forget. He could do that. He took Midoriya’s hand within his own. He returned his lips to his. He wanted to be gentle. Others were not. Had Midoriya gone anywhere else, he’d be hurt. There’d be no physical bruising from this. He wanted to be gentle because he loved him; so, he was.
The next morning, Midoriya was gone. His side of the bed was left in disarray. Shoutos’ was as well. The sheets twisted uncomfortably around his ankles and midsection. He lazily untangled himself, grabbing some sweats, before making his way to the kitchen. It was earlier than usual, but he set out making breakfast. He took his time to make something a bit larger. He kept it warm when he finished. He sat at the table, nursing his coffee while he waited for Midoriya to return from his run. But as the clock moved, further along, Midoriya missed his usual time back. Then it got too late, and Shouto started eating with one hand as he got ready with the other. It was in the bathroom that he saw the note.
“Worked Called!”
Shouto didn’t need any more than that. He was still too giddy from the night prior. He assumed that what went unsaid was the “we’ll talk tonight,” or “I can’t wait to see you later today,” or “I love you.” Shouto rolled his eyes at that one, reminding himself it was only one night. It could mean nothing—it could mean everything.
Shouto’s schedule was for a local school to speak to kids about the dangers of quirk misuse. He was there and back before Midoriya was, though there was evidence that Midoriya had been there. The open door to the guest bedroom, and the scattering of clothes across the floor. Almost as soon as he left the room, his phone was vibrating. He accepted it without concern.
“It’s an emergency trip,” Midoriya said, sounding breathless, “America for three weeks.”
“Okay."
“I’ll be sure to buy you something fun,” Midoriya said, unfazed, “but I gotta go. See you later Shoukun.”
Shouto reasoned, in those three weeks where Midoriya was gone, that once he got back, they’d talk about what they were. Shouto wanted it to be official. He wanted that label. But he could understand why Midoriya would want to wait. It would look bad if he went from one long relationship with Uraraka to Shouto just like that. Shouto didn’t mind. He was patient. He had been patient. What was a little more time?
Around the second week, Shouto began to get tense. How was one night supposed to articulate everything Shouto had ever wanted to say to Midoriya? It didn’t. It couldn’t. So Shouto planned.
When Midoriya came back home, he’d have a feast ready—really, he was rather decent at cooking by now—and between sips of wine and the window open to showcase the starlight, he’d tell Midoriya everything. He’d tell him that he loved him and whenever Midoriya was ready, he’d hope for more. When doubt kept him awake, he reminded himself that Midoriya had kissed him back. Surely if he hated it, he would have pushed him away back then. But he didn’t. He reciprocated. Shouto knew Midoriya loved him, it wasn’t a stretch to believe that the type of love for him had changed.
On the day Midoriya’s plane landed, Shouto went to the agency knowing Midoriya would go there first. On a whim he bought flowers, but he felt self-conscious when he entered the building. Amid asking where Midoriya was, he lied and told the others they were for his mom. He said he was just stopping by before he went to visit her, but he wanted to catch Midoriya first. He didn’t know if they believed him. It wasn’t too unusual that he sought out Midoriya after being gone for such a mission, so he hoped that they did.
Midoriya was in the locker room. Shouto stepped off the elevator with a skip in his step. He was excited, though terribly nervous, which was stupid. It was Midoriya. But he didn’t want to scare him by being over-eager, which was why he hesitated at the door to take one deep relaxing breath, only to hear what was on the other side.
There were no colors in it. The door was grey. The floor white. The fluorescents bleached the flowers in his hand. There were noises. Moans and desperate pleas to go harder, to go faster, to hurt, to bruise, to shatter.
Shouto was a fool. A fool to love someone who could not love him back. He told himself it was just fucking. It didn’t mean a thing. Another simple tool to use in the wake of heartbreak, but then Shouto had to realize his own objectivity. A warm body that was within reach, nothing else. Midoriya could have gone anywhere, but he had come to him—he had come to him. It meant nothing. Midoriya did not see Shouto the same way Shouto saw him.
Somewhere on his way home, he lost the flowers. It was a shame. They had been beautiful.
Midoriya came back to his apartment late. He lied easily that his flight was delayed. Shouto didn’t bother to do anything but accept it.
It was okay.
Midoriya wasn’t around as much in those first few weeks. He was saving lives and staying with his mom. Shouto didn’t allow himself to question if it was another lie.
It was okay.
After four months, a sneaky paparazzi took a picture. Shouto didn’t like the man. Midoriya didn’t take it that hard. He held a press conference. He told the world who he was in love with. Shouto couldn’t find it in himself to keep the tv on when the familiar face took the stage with him.
It was okay.
People everywhere gushed that Midoriya and Bakugou were destiny. Childhood friends to lovers were something anyone could support. They had moved beyond their rocky past and were better for it. They were Japan’s top two rising stars. They knew each other the most intimately. They had each others whole lives past, present, and future. Their parents came out to say that they always assumed that one day they would realize that they loved each other. Like everyone else, they called it destiny. Who was Shouto to argue with that?
Midoriya moved out—he never moved in—somewhere around the eighth-month mark. One day they were watching a movie, which ended with Midoriya, rubbing his eyes and drearily entering the guest room, and the next Bakugou was over with boxes helping Midoriya pack up all of his collectibles. In true Bakugou fashion, he swore up a storm that it was unfair he had to help move Midoriya out of two apartments, but Midoriya laughed and said,
“Gathering a few things at Shoukun’s is hardly moving myself out.”
Shouto didn’t plan to put anything in that bedroom. He kept the door closed. Behind it, a spare futon, and a lamp, nothing more. It took him a few days before he realized that Midoriya left the All Might in his fish tank. At that moment, its bronze finish was covered in green and no longer bright. Shouto took it out that night, polished it up, and said, “It’s just me and you now,” before placing it back.
He found that if he ignored it. It didn’t hurt. He could fight himself and go back to the way it was—how he lived when Midoriya dated Uraraka. However, Uraraka was not Bakugou.
Bakugou was a winner. He wasn’t scared of his own smile. He stood atop villains and roared when he defeated them. He was Shouto’s friend—ironically the first friend he made without Midoriya’s help, or maybe Midoriya did help him? If Shouto questioned all of his decisions, had he chose to look past Bakugou’s abrasive nature because he knew Midoriya trusted him without a doubt? It was hard to say. But Bakugou was a good hero and a good person. He just expressed himself in an outrageous form that happened to be endearing. Furthermore, unlike Uraraka, Bakugou was someone Shouto had to fight beside regularly—they were the same in that sense, both wanting to be there to make sure Midoriya succeeded.
Had Bakugou been anything less than perfect, Shouto might have done something. But Bakugou made bentos with rice ball explosions, which Midoriya adored. He threw his sweater at him when Midoriya forgot his own, even though Bakugou hated the cold. Bakugou didn’t gush, but on one quiet moment during patrol as they jumped between buildings, he said,
“Of course, the nerd loves me, I’m amazing,” landing on the gravel roof without pausing, “I’m going to remind him that every day.”
And not because he asked, but because Shouto was a good friend, he said, “I’m glad you make him smile,” but because he was a shit, and this was Bakugou he finished with, “but’s he’s still going to beat you in the polls.”
“Yeah, he probably will,” Bakugou said, staring at the skyline. He was smiling. It was one of the few times Shouto had ever heard his friend make such a concession. Who was Shouto to intervene? He saw how Bakugou looked at Midoriya, saw the reverse that matched. If this was destiny, it was a perfect conclusion.
As such, Shouto attempted to move on again. He skipped heroes and bars. He had some old contacts on the app. They were just as demeaning as before. His skin bruised just the same. The pattern of lights changed across his ceiling; the blue had gone out. Watching red waves, he wondered if this was what he deserved? It could make sense. He was born a gifted anomaly. It needed correcting. The universe must have realized its mistake and took from him anything that would be considered kind. He squeezed his eyes shut and forced out the thoughts which told him the only way to love Todoroki Shouto involved pain.
Then one day something happened. The sky wasn’t bluer and the trees no greener than the last. His job was just as tiresome as it was rewarding. Midoriya was out—a press event of some kind—and Bakugou was on patrol. Shouto had finished his paperwork and was just doing a routine check-up on his hero costume with a support company. It wasn’t fancy. People liked to tinker with his temperature regulator and sometimes asked to change the colors. He was simply overlooking the checklist of yes or no when an object was thrust into his hands.
“I know it’s a bit presumptuous of me,” the tech said, “but I figured it couldn’t hurt to show you it.”
It was a mask. Not bulky. Metallic black to match the deeper blue in his hero costume. It had been a while since someone had offered him a mask, high school at least. It caused him to look up, to look at the person in front of him. They were shorter than him, but not by much—not many people could claim that—with black hair tied in a loose ponytail, and bright blue eyes. Shouto would be lying if he thought the man beautiful this first time. The action was the striking part. When Shouto didn’t say anything, the man continued,
“You’re a great fighter Shouto-san, but sometimes it seems like you forget to protect your face,” he pointed towards the mask, “this should help and besides, Deku-san wears one too so it’s not completely out of character for heroes.”
Midoriya wore a mask because he was a close-range fighter. Shouto only corrected him to say,
“Shouto is fine.”
Taki was a recent hire for the support company that partnered with the agency. He went to college and spoke three languages because he thought it was fun—he was currently learning sign language because his first meeting ever at the agency was with Bakugou who had made a show of taking out his hearing aids when he didn’t like one of his suggestions. Taki took it in stride, telling Shouto one day that he knew bitchier people in school, even worse people on opposing teams when he used to play. Taki had been a star pitcher for his college’s baseball team—one of the few sports that stuck around after the advent of quirks, though Shouto was told it had changed somewhat. He was approached to go professional until he tore a muscle in his arm, but he never had any real aspirations to continue the sport.
“I was in college for a reason,” he said while they got coffee half of a block away from the agency, “I always knew I could do more for society and while hero work was never my first choice, it pays the bills.”
He was the only person Shouto knew who didn’t idolize heroes. He made spare comments left and right about their brashness and cockiness. He always ended it by looking over his shoulder to say that Shouto was the exception. He said that Midoriya was given too much credit and that he had hoped people would stop putting so much faith into heroes after All Might stepped down. Shouto reminded him that Midoriya was his friend, and Taki shrugged, saying something about still needing to hold people accountable. No one, besides Bakugou who was no longer serious, questioned Midoriya’s rank or role in society. It should have made Shouto angry, or tense, and yet, every time he knew Taki was in the building, he sought him out. There was a thrill in being seen.
Three years after Bakugou and Midoriya started dating, Taki cornered him in an empty conference room. He slammed his paperwork on the table. Shouto caught himself before he could jump away in surprise. He let Taki approach him until his back hit the wall. Shouto recognized the expression in the other man’s eyes, but he wanted to hear it out loud first. He had made that mistake once. He didn’t want to do it again.
“On Friday, I’m taking you to that noodle place you won’t shut up about. Afterward, we’re going to go watch a movie.” He said in one breath, before backing up. “We’ll see how this goes.”
Shouto didn’t miss the slight tremor in the other man’s hand that matched how hard Shouto’s heart was beating in his chest. Shouto grabbed his hand, pulled him close, and whispered rather boldly for himself,
“There’s no reason to wait.”
It wasn’t much at first. No cosmic shifting or fates colliding. It was warm. It was exciting. It was something to look forward to.
Then one day Shouto completed a rather hard mission and the first person he called to talk to about it wasn’t Midoriya. It made him pause. It made him realize that at some point Midoriya had become someone less, still important, but not the most important. He was Shouto’s best friend. They had weekly lunches on Wednesday before their joint patrols. They watched stupid movies on the weekends—either at the agency when they were working overtime, or at one of their homes when they were on-call. He listened to Midoriya ramble about heroes and villains and on occasion Bakugou. It didn’t bother Shouto as much as it had before. He was happy for his friends. They made a good team. The phantom pain that used to ache all the time, had finally settled down into something that remembered the ache of loss, but he could no longer feel the bruise.
When Midoriya crashed at his apartment, Shouto had no reason to fantasize about what if. If Midoriya and Bakugou fought, he wanted them to work it out. He was more than happy to be the mediator by giving Midoriya a place to cool his head. The spare room still didn’t have anything to it and Midoriya never commented on it. They talked about nothing and watched tv. In the morning Midoriya went on a run and Shouto made breakfast. It was easier now. Shouto smiled more.
He frowned when a piece of popcorn hit him on the side of the face before falling between the couch cushions. He tore his eyes away from his phone to glare up at Midoriya who was holding the remote and giving him his mock-serious face.
“Do you plan on watching the movie or continue to stare at your phone with goo-goo eyes as if you’re in love,” Midoriya asked, arching his brow. Shouto blinked at him, allowing the silence to curate. Midoriya’s mouth fell open and the next thing Shouto knew was that the popcorn bowl was flying, sending popcorn everywhere, and he was being tackled off the couch. In the pandemonium, Midoriya landed on top of him with his phone successfully in his hands. Shouto didn’t put up much of a fight to stop him from looking further. There wasn’t a point.
“Shit, Shoukun, don’t tell me you’ve been hiding your boyfriend me,” Midoriya pouted, “I thought we were friends.”
Shouto poked him in his thigh. “Not hiding, and you’re heavy.”
“Says the person who wanted to carry me two miles the other day.”
“Your leg was broken.”
Midoriya stuck out his tongue, continuing to scroll through his phone. Shouto accepted his position, waiting until Midoriya was satisfied and they could go back to the movie—granted they’d have to rewind or even restart it at this point. He didn’t think too hard about the faces Midoriya was making or how at several moments it seemed like he was biting back laughter.
“You’re a complete dork,” Midoriya said, lowering the phone, “I can’t believe I’m friends with you.”
“Says the person who tackled me like we are still in school just to get my phone,” Shouto said, finally pushing Midoriya off.
“You love me.”
It didn’t hurt. They were friends. Shouto looked back over to him, still on the ground, smiling back up at him.
“You’re an idiot.”
Midoriya laughed. They got situated back on the couch. Midoriya cursed that he had no more popcorn left and then apologized, telling him he would pick it up before he left. The superhero movie was bad. Midoriya ranted for thirty minutes afterward to discuss how the villain's quirk didn’t even make sense. Shouto pointed out how the whole problem could’ve been solved in the first five minutes and Midoriya sighed, falling back into the couch, exasperated before launching into another rant. It was all good fun. By the time Midoriya was getting ready to leave they were both yawning. Midoriya somehow had popcorn in his hair. Shouto picked it out. In the midst of saying goodbye Shouto asked,
“Would you like to meet him?”
Midoriya’s face shifted then—a foreign expression that Shouto had never seen before. Not sad, maybe confused, the subtle shift of his brow. Out of place since Shouto, at one time or another, believed he knew every intricacy on the face of the man. It was gone before he could study it more. He blamed the yellow light from the window and the shadows. He wouldn’t think of it again.
“I’d like that,” Midoriya said, grinning like he always did, “I’d like that a lot.”