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After years of walking off injuries, Shouto is very unnerved by how quickly Father brought him to the hospital for some stomach aches.
He didn’t think it was much of anything. He’d only brought it up when Father asked why he hadn’t eaten much of what Fuyumi had made for dinner, especially with Midoriya and Bakugou over. Bad images, or something, even though both of them had eaten the food themselves and didn’t need Shouto’s judgement to know it was good.
Then he was standing in the emergency room, Father visibly struggling to not scream at the desk worker, all over what he had blamed on stress.
On the ride there, he’d mumbled something about genetics and hereditary diseases — the first, Shouto was used to him talking about, the second, not so much.
“That’s not something we can test for here, sir,” the desk worker explains, voice calm and steady. “You’ll have to contact your son’s general care practitioner or a specialist.”
Father grumbles out something else. Shouto crosses his arms tight around his body, still not sure if the pain is from the food he had eaten or the food he hadn’t, or which is worse.
By the end of the night, he has an appointment with a gastroenterologist scheduled for two days away, and a stricter food plan from Father.
—
“They think it might be Celiac disease,” Shouto says, legs tucked beneath him and a glass of water in hand.
“You should have told us something was wrong before!” Iida says, voice just as stern as it always is, though his face betrays his concern, as it always does.
“I didn’t know something was.”
“Todoroki, did you think having a negative reaction to every food you ate as a result of stress was normal?” Tsuyu asks, leaning her head on the pillow squished against her chest.
He blinks. “...No, not when you say it like that. And it wasn’t every food.”
“Just most.”
“And didn’t your main comfort food start bothering you too?” Uraraka asks.
Shouto pauses at that, his eyes widening.
“I can’t eat soba,” he says, with dawning horror.
“There might be a gluten-free alternative?” Midoriya says.
“I can’t eat soba, ” Shouto repeats, ignoring him.
Genetics and hereditary diseases are going to kill him. (Emotionally, at least.)
—
Every test result comes back to say that Shouto has Celiac.
“I’m going to die,” he says, laying face-down on the common room floor directly beside the couch.
“You’re not going to die,” Midoriya says, poking his side with his foot. “Please get off the floor.”
“I’m going to die. ”
“The hell are you bitching about?” Bakugou’s footsteps are heavy enough for Shouto to immediately know where he is and when he stops, but he doesn’t turn to acknowledge him.
“I’ve been cursed by my genetics and hereditary diseases.”
“Shouto has Celiac disease,” Midoriya translates, “and so he can’t eat soba anymore.”
“What?”
“Gluten.”
“Oh. Damn. Gluten free soba doesn’t exist?”
“I told him it probably does, but–”
“It’s not the same. ”
“You saying that because you’ve tried it, or because you don’t want to try it, half-and-half?”
Shouto grumbles, refusing to offer a response.
“Alright. Fine. I’m finding you some gluten free soba and you’re gonna fuckin’ like it.”
“Thank you, Kacchan,” Midoriya says.
Shouto will thank him if – if – it’s the same.
—
Shouto was herded into his room with no explanation two hours ago, now, and he’s starting to question both his own sanity and the sanity of his friends.
Bakugou had told him not to come down or he’d kill him, so he hasn’t tried to, but he’s curious. They can’t lock him in his room and not tell him why.
At the end of those two very long hours, Bakugou finally knocks on his door and grabs Shouto’s arm to physically drag him into the elevator.
“You’re a fucking idiot, half-and-half,” he says, though he says it with a grin. “Soba’s buckwheat noodles. Buckwheat’s gluten free. You just needed 100% buckwheat, it’s the added wheat flour that would fuck you over.”
“What?” Shouto asks, the elevator dinging as they descend from the fifth down to the first floor.
“I told you I’d find you gluten-free soba and that you’d fucking like it,” Bakugou says, dragging him further still through the elevator doors and to one of the common room tables. He unceremoniously drops him into the seat before stalking off, pointing back at him for one second – “Stay there.”
Shouto blinks as Bakugou disappears into the kitchen, before coming back out with a tray of familiar noodles – already cold, sliding it onto the table.
“Alright, eat the damn soba and like it.”
—
Lunch Rush took to the brand of gluten-free soba Bakugou had found very quickly. Within a week, it was added to the allergen section of the cafeteria line.
Shouto has never appreciated the lack of a stomach-ache (or worse) after lunch more.