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On a rare Sunday off, when Shouto only wants to be lazy in solitude, Yaoyorozu calls him to hang out.
When this happens, he expects her to ask for one of the following: a coffee run to an overpriced hipster cafe, a walk through the park, or a meal at an even more overpriced French restaurant. She has simple needs but expensive taste, she’s not afraid to admit.
This time, however, she asks to do all three. Within the same day.
To spend the whole day with him, he takes too long to realize.
“You don’t have to!” Yaoyorozu adds quickly over the phone, shame creeping through her voice when there’s no reason to. “I just happened to finish my errands early, but I don’t want to do nothing at home, so I was wondering if you wanted to, um, but only if you’re not busy or—”
“Yeah,” Shouto cuts her off, more to stop her stammer and less because he understood her excuse. “Let’s do that.”
She responds with a sharp inhale, as if caught off guard. He finds this reaction reassuring, as he had been holding in his breath the entire time too.
“Are you sure?” she checks, sounding too cautious for him to not be concerned. “You don’t have anything else today?”
No, but he understands why she asks. In the five years since they’ve become Pro Heroes, Yaoyorozu has never asked for anything else—nothing more. Because she never asks for more, neither does Shouto. The bridge is brittle between their safe haven of trust and the murky realm of “more,” so he’s learned to silence every whisper of the heart that dares to cross it.
“Yaoyorozu.”
But today, and maybe it’s because every muscle has been ripped apart from the exhausting work week, he does not have the strength to stifle it.
“I’m always down to hang out with you,” he says, out loud with honesty.
A moment of silence intrudes and Shouto is quick to dislike it. This gap rarely exists over the phone and for a good reason. Silence means she is thinking, which means she is hesitating and when Yaoyorozu hesitates, there’s a high chance she’ll keep him in the dark, change her mind, and—
“Okay,” she says, allowing his thoughts to breathe again, making his heart flutter but not for the first time.
Inside the cafe, Shouto finds her as he always does. She wears a bare face, a low ponytail, and an excessive level of concentration toward the menu. She often mentions needing her skin to breathe on off days, a protective style to counter a recent case of hair loss, and a potential change in appetite (even though she always orders a hazelnut latte). These are trivial details, but because they inform Shouto about the inner workings of Yaoyorozu Momo, he imprints them to memory anyway.
Receiving her smile before her “Good afternoon, Todoroki-san” is also within expectation. Today, however, there is something different about the way she looks at him. The corners of her mouth kick up in delight, not simply smile out of perpetual politeness. An indisputable joy beams through her gaze, sparking a light even her dark eyes cannot contain. He thinks this glow of emotions could run boundless had it not been for bangs and baby hairs framing her jaw, containing said joy to her face yet somehow spilling into him.
“What’s with the face?” Yaoyorozu asks, and only then does Shouto realize he has been speechless since he first laid his eyes on her.
To be honest, he doesn’t have an answer. He doesn’t have a mirror on hand to inspect his face. There’s no difference in the tiny muscle movements within his jaw. He’s as tired as one might be before caffeine consumption. Sure, he’s held back by a bated breath that can’t be explained by the aroma of roasted coffee beans, but he’s the same as usual. There’s no reason to explain “the face” that piques her curiosity.
He should say “nothing’s wrong.” Yaoyorozu is used to hearing him say “nothing” when she does point out any slightly-off detail about him. Curt responses, he has learned, are enough for her to stop digging for something unnecessary and maybe unattainable. They should order their standard drinks, retreat to a quiet corner table, then continue their conversation in a manner which never invites inexplicable expressions and undefined feelings. Their typical coffee routine, Shouto should maintain.
But the longer he remains quiet, the tighter her smile tugs at him, filling him with a warmth that he can never recreate with his Quirk, encouraging him to say, “You look nice.”
Before Shouto can even take back those words, because the dutiful years of friendship have never allowed him to utter such delicate words, Yaoyorozu instantly flushes with pink.
“R-Really?” She cups her face, and Shouto watches her fingers tap across her skin like they’re conducting an inspection. “But I didn’t do anything different today.”
“I know,” he says, feeling a little rush of confidence that wasn’t there before.
Yaoyorozu must be too. Instead of remaining flustered with modesty, she maintains her gaze on him. Soft, but unwavering. Tender, yet firm in the way her brilliant eyes hold him in place, as if she should be the only thing that matters in his line of sight.
And proven by today, she doesn’t need to do much to make it happen. She just needs to call and he’ll come running.
On a cement path they’ve walked many times before, her eyes shine brighter than he’s ever seen them.
Yaoyorozu isn’t looking at anything in particular. She stares ahead of the path, though her eyes occasionally flicker to him. She’s brief, but holds a few beats longer than she normally does. Innocent, even when her gaze falls below his.
Shouto tries to pinpoint it to something in the park, but finds nothing new. The wind darts through the space with the same bone-cracking chill as two weeks ago. The plum blossoms have yet to bloom for the gray sky. They’re on the same course that lets him stay close enough to smell her jasmine perfume but never touch.
They’re not talking about much either. Just the mundane things in life. Yaoyorozu is enjoying another excellent romance novel. Bananas are twenty yen more expensive. He’s learning pottery with his mother. That one fancy smart vacuum has finally been discounted. They engage in the Japanese vs. foreign alcohol debate for the hundredth-something time. The usual stuff.
So nothing, again, to explain how her eyes find light and her smile brightens within the shadows of the woods.
“Todoroki-san,” Yaoyorozu calls him mid-conversation, “you’re making a weird face again.”
“Am I?”
“Yeah,” she says through a light chuckle. “Is everything okay?”
Huh. So maybe it’s him that’s different.
There might be some truth there. His eyes are sore from blinking less than usual. He hears her laughter a little louder than before. He’s the one bothered by the leaves getting stuck in her hair.
He also looks toward her lips when he shouldn’t.
“Yeah,” Shouto insists, even though he’s reaching across to brush off the leaves, letting his fingers skim through her soft strands. “I’m always okay.”
In the midst of his daze, the cold winds blow against his hand with the old years of them, howling at him for crossing the line he drew first.
But today, Shouto ignores that constant, cautious voice in his head. He keeps picking leaves out of her hair, allowing himself to do a little more than usual for her, savoring this brief closeness at a safe distance.
Through it all, Yaoyorozu doesn’t move an inch. She just keeps staring at him, wide-eyed with a hesitant, but expectant gaze. He’s not sure what she’s looking for, but her eyes seem to settle where his breath becomes air.
When they reach their destination, Shouto is convinced that there is something different, if not wrong, with Yaoyorozu today.
His eyes bulge at the giant soba sign. One that hangs over the cash-only restaurant Yaoyorozu has chosen.
Not him, Shouto has to remind himself. Yaoyorozu did. Yaoyorozu. Chose. Soba.
“Seriously, what’s going on?” she asks, her brows furrowing in concern. “You’ve been making very weird faces today.”
Shouto takes too many beats to blink, his entire body still suspended in disbelief. “We’re not eating white people food?”
“...I beg your pardon?”
“You always want white people food,” he says like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.
Yaoyorozu, however, looks horrified. “No, I don’t!”
“But you like white people food.”
“Stop saying ‘white people food!’”
She shoots a nervous glance to the busy street of pedestrians, then back at him with a stern glare. “No one says that!”
“That’s not true. Bakugo, Burnin, even Jiro—”
“I don’t care! It’s rude and ignores the intricate differences within European cuisine!”
“They all taste the same,” Shouto argues. “There’s too much butter, but it still comes out bland.”
Her glare sharpens.
“Todoroki-san,” Yaoyorozu starts, her voice lowering to a dangerous rumble, “are you implying that I have bland taste?”
“Has that not always been the case?” he quips too fast for his own good.
Red bursts through her face, warning Shouto that he did indeed screw up.
“Says the one who prefers their soba plain! And doesn’t salt their food! And thought ‘seasoning’ was a verb for the four seasons back in high school! And—”
Though her growing pettiness should be a cause for concern, Shouto can’t help but laugh. Amusement bubbles in his chest at the sight of her cheeks puffed up and her fists raised like a chipmunk on steroids. Yaoyorozu rarely gets pissed over little things and when she does, she looks too adorable for him to take her seriously.
“—and yes, maybe I do have a very low tolerance for spicy food, but that doesn’t mean I have bland taste! I just prioritize high-quality textures, subtle flavor combinations, and—”
In a weird way, he’s grateful. He likes knowing that he can push her buttons and she won’t make him feel completely terrible. It’s reassuring to have her angry around him, as if she fears no retribution in his presence and trusts him to still be her friend.
Friend, Shouto is reminded. Just friends. As they’ve always been.
Today, the word swarms in his mouth like a bitter vow.
After dinner, the moment when they always say goodbye and go their separate ways for the night, Shouto finds the courage to say, “Let me walk you home.”
Yaoyorozu stops in her tracks, raises an eyebrow. “Why?”
He hesitates for too many beats, wonders when he first started counting time by the cadence in his heart. Maybe it started just now, where they face each other at a crossroad, the street lights stop dancing over her hair like an angelic halo, but that funny little light of hope still gleams brighter than ever through her eyes. Maybe it was when she first allowed him to touch her, if only just to rid some fussy foliage from her hair. Maybe it was when he told her “you look nice” today, even though he’s thought it a thousand times in a dark corner of his mind.
Or maybe he’s always been counting time with Yaoyorozu by his heartbeat, a manner not bound by the temporal. A manner that lets him pretend he’s never wasted her time and ignored all her quiet, expectant glances for something else. More, if he dares to hope.
“I want to,” he decides to say.
Her lips press into a shaky smile. “Todoroki-san, are you sure you’re okay?”
“Why do you keep asking that?”
This time, it’s her turn to hesitate.
“Because you…” she falters, taking an audible gulp. “Todoroki-san, you look like...”
“I look like what?” Shouto presses on. His often steady heartbeat becomes frantic, at odds with the stillness of her answer.
Or lack thereof. Yaoyorozu rarely initiates a silence as heavy as boulders dropping in his stomach. It tempts his hands to ball into tight fists, leaving him unsettled when it never happens around her.
“Yaoyorozu,” he says her name, tries not to heave his barriers back up when he takes a sharp inhale, “you can tell me.”
“I might be wrong,” she replies too quickly—quietly.
“Why do you say that?”
Her smile thins, but remains. “Just because.”
She ends it there, but it’s enough for him to understand. Though her confidence has grown over the years, Shouto knows her teenage insecurities will never go away. He sees it every time her soothing voice wavers, her hands cross over her lap like a poor man’s shield, and her gaze struggles to meet his. He accepts this part of Yaoyorozu; he just never wants to be the cause of it.
“If you end up being wrong,” he starts, taking the first step forward for once, “then nothing else will be right.”
To his relief, she breaks into a chuckle, doesn’t move away when their breaths begin to graze each other. “You trust me that much?”
“Yaoyorozu, I trust you the most,” he says, effortless but not careless.
He likes to think she heard it that way too. Her smile returns, but something raw burns through her eyes, unable to remain hidden behind curled lips. It refuses to go elsewhere, only hopelessly gazing into him in a way she’s never done before. Searching for something, Shouto realizes now that they’re finally, finally just a touch apart.
“Then...” Yaoyorozu hesitates one more time, clasps her hands anxiously against her chest.
“Would you still trust me if...” she takes another pause, steadying her voice through a sudden intake of breath, but with a strength Shouto knows has always existed. “...if I said you look like you want to kiss me?”
His heart stops and Shouto loses his last way to count time.
Good. Make him stop keeping track of wasted time and regretting past what-if’s. Let the delicate desire in her words become the pulse he listens to first, should have looked for its presence a long time ago. Allow the world around him to fade into a dark blur just to have Yaoyorozu remain in sharp focus and his mind clearer than ever on what to do next.
“Yeah,” he says, allowing the comfortable realization to kick the corners of his mouth upward, bringing his hands to fold over the ones pressed into her heart, “because you would still be right.”
Because he wants to make this moment, this one time where they’re finally dropping the weight of their friendship and picking up something new (better, he hopes for), last as long as she’ll allow it.
Based on her smile brightening before his, he begins to believe she will.
“Then,” Yaoyorozu starts again, her voice demure but her gaze a little more confident than before, “can you kiss me now?”
Shouto can’t help but scoff. The audacity of this woman to pose her demand as a sweet, innocent question.
He doesn’t mind. She makes this easy, easier than it should be for a man forever slow with feelings, and he’s glad she does.
“Were you waiting for me to kiss you all day?” Shouto decides to tease first, even though desire pounds impatiently in his chest and Yaoyorozu steps closer but not close enough for their lips to meet without words.
She doesn’t meet him there. Not yet. Just lets her smile grow with an unmistakable glow of joy, guiding his heart to fall right back into their familiar rhythm together.
“Mm” — she feigns a wince, fails to keep up the facade when her voice tips toward laughter— “maybe a little longer.”
“‘A little,’ huh?” He brushes his thumb across her hand, pulling another giggle out of her and god, he adores how she laughs into him like they’ve been doing it forever.
They’ll need to do a lot of talking. Discuss their reasons for holding out, waiting for the other to make a move until realizing they had to do it first. Probably figure out how everything fell perfectly into place during what should have been another normal day. Maybe he can ask her how long she’s truly been waiting, how she finally found the courage to ask him out first. Maybe she can tell him if this sudden pull in his core is the first part of falling in love and if not, let it at least be an everlasting promise to stay by her side.
But that part can wait. He’ll make that time for another day, and his heart thrums with the knowledge that Yaoyorozu will too.
Tonight, all Shouto wants to do is bring his lips to hers, house her breath with his, and feel their heartbeats align for the first time.