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Contrary to everyone’s belief, Tomura did not hate Todoroki Touya at first sight.
If anything, Tomura was indifferent about him, apathetic. During his first day in UA – a month or so after he was ‘rescued’ from All For One and enrolled under UA’s villain rehabilitation program – he was more concerned about making first impressions and remembering his classmates' names. The Class President, whom Eraserhead asked to show Tomura around, was a bit too eager to introduce him to his class, yammering, “This is Shimazawa, Kageyama, Miyagi, and of course, Todoroki – ” she says with what Tomura could only describe as a dreamy sigh. “ – but you may have already known him.” To which Tomura simply responds, “I don’t,” because while he may know Endeavor – had an encounter with him before, even – he never bothered to learn about Endeavor’s personal life, much less his son. That seemed to have been the wrong answer because then he was subjected to an unwilling indoctrination of who Todoroki Touya was and why he matters.
“He’s so cool and charming!” “Strong and talented!” “Brave and selfless!” “He’s going to surpass his Father for sure! Don’t you agree?”
Tomura glances at the Todoroki in question, who doesn’t bother acknowledging his classmates’ greetings every morning, always running far ahead of everyone else during training, and staring at a far away place that he only knows where. “If you want cool, then you should see Eraserhead,” he answers.
Tomura had only been speaking his mind at that time. But Todoroki seemed to have taken it as a personal insult.
Since then, Todoroki became the absolute bane of Tomura’s existence.
He cuts in front of Tomura at lunch. He hides Tomura’s things in the bushes, the closet, the top of the blackboard, and anywhere else whenever Tomura isn’t looking, then never returns them. He has never called Tomura by his given name, always Mophead, Raisin, Creeper, or Freak. Once, Princess, when Tomura’s indoor shoes went missing only to find them in Todoroki’s shoe locker packed with eraser shavings and ground pencil lead.
Tomura had been considering removing his gloves ever since the day Todoroki sat on his desk, feet hiked on the table and chair leaning dangerously back. It would’ve surely sent Todoroki scrambling, the rest of the class crying. Tomura knows that his reputation as a former villain still carries some weight. But Tomura doesn’t, he restrains. Every time he itches to use his quirk, he remembers every single bow that Eraserhead has made to the HPSC and heroes who Tomura crippled, pleading for a second chance: “Please, allow Tomura to join UA.” As if Tomura is repairable, as if Tomura is salvageable.
So, Tomura endures. But only just for a few months.
Tomura is never one to take a beating, after all. Not now, not ever, and certainly not to a guy whose whole identity is being the son of the No. 2 ‘Hero.’ (So many fake heroes; there’s only one in Tomura’s eyes)
When fate hands him that opportunity on a silver platter, Tomura is not one to refuse.
“Alright, you two. This is a quirkless spar, okay? Obviously, no quirks. No hitting below the belt. You win if you incapacitate your opponent or push them out of bounds,” Present Mic explains, hand raised in between Tomura and Todoroki, each other’s spar mates today. Usually, it is Eraserhead who supervises these classes, which Tomura would’ve enjoyed more if not for Todoroki’s extra spiteful and aggressive nagging towards Tomura during this time. As if Todoroki doesn’t want him to pay attention.
Tomura endures extra more during those classes. He wants to be on his best behavior for Eraserhead after all. But today, Eraserhead is out and Present Mic, who is his substitute, never has the same reverence Tomura holds for his colleague. “Ready?” Present Mic asks.
Tomura nods, already seething.
Todoroki grins, knuckles cracking. “Come at me, freak.”
The spar ends in a bloody brawl. Todoroki Touya, the expected winner of the fight, is laid on his back, his nose bleeding red, his face bruised all over; while, Tomura, the expected loser, straddles on top of him, one eye swollen shut, his lip bleeding over his chin. But those injuries don’t stop Tomura from grinning as he watches Todoroki’s eyes widen in what seems to be disbelief.
“I win, patchwork,” Tomura spits out, using a rather offensive nickname from Todoroki’s past. Not that Tomura cares; he just wants this asshole to be hurt.
Some of the blood from his lip splatters on Todoroki’s mouth and chin, and Tomura delights at the frozen expression stuck on the other’s face. What many more can Tomura see if he actually spits on him? Would there be horror and disgust? Shock and trepidation? All these make Tomura laugh.
But instead of those, Todoroki sticks a tongue out and licks a drop of Tomura’s blood on his mouth, eyes unblinking. Tomura just balks.
What the fuck was that? Tomura thinks, belly churning, before Midnight’s gas knocks him out cold.
Tomura later wakes up to a notice for a week-long suspension and a stern reprimanding from the Principal, Nehzu, who takes up the rest of the afternoon with his lecture. He ends his speech with a rather tight smile and ominous reminder: “UA accepts only students with great potential into their doors. I hope we weren’t wrong about you.” Tomura’s only consolation to this situation is that Todoroki is with him, receiving the same threat and admonishing.
Once Nehzu was done, Eraserhead escorts them back to their empty classroom so they can get their things and leave. Todoroki is the first one to get out, though reluctantly. Tomura thinks Todoroki is gearing up for another fight, but he stares at Eraserhead, pupils contracting, before he leaves. Eraserhead waits for the door to close before he turns to Tomura.
Eraserhead sighs. The sound alone strikes a primal fear that Tomura didn’t know he had, more gut-wrenching and more inconsolable than the fear he holds for Sensei.
“Tomura, UA can only do so much to help you,” Eraserhead begins, knocking a breath from Tomura’s lungs. Tomura suddenly feels so small and unloved. “If you continue to pick fights with students and behave poorly in class, then the deal is off. You know this, right?”
Like a dam breaking, Tomura yells everything out. “But I didn’t do anything wrong! I’ve been doing everything you tell me I should,” Tomura has been keeping good grades, participating in recitations, and restraining his hands whenever he wants to scratch his neck. He’s done everything that Eraserhead has asked him to do, and his only mistake was that he defended himself from getting hurt. Was that wrong? “Y-you said you weren’t going to leave. You-you’re not leaving me, right?”
Eraserhead sighs and looks up at the ceiling. Every second those red eyes don’t see him, a part of Tomura starts to break, starts to lapse. Those same eyes have made him stop feeling itchy and disgusted with himself that Tomura can’t bear living a life where he feels his own body is against him, oppressing him – like Sensei.
No more, no more –
“I told you before that I promise to help you. I intend to keep that promise,” Eraserhead says, turning his now soft gaze back at Tomura. “But only if you help me, too.”
Tomura is so relieved that he can almost cry. Of course, Eraser will stay. Of course, Eraser keeps his promises. He is a hero, Tomura’s hero. “Tell me what to do.”
“Try to get along with your peers. Talk to them, bond with them. Make at least one friend before the semester ends – ” When Tomura tries to open his mouth to protest, Eraserhead shakes his head. “ – just one, Tomura, so the Commission will be satisfied. Then, they’ll leave you alone.”
Tomura highly doubts that. The Hero Public Safety Commission is like Sensei, always scheming, always lying. He knows that moment he is taken away by them, he’ll end up on the same path as he would’ve if he was still under Sensei’s control. Only that he will be operating under the flag of the ‘heroes.’ Both are equally worse and unwanted options.
This is why Eraserhead has been fighting so hard just for Tomura to stay in UA, Tomura realizes with a gasp. See, this is why Eraser is so cool, so kind.
He thinks back about Todoroki and wonders why someone would ever describe him as ‘cool.’
By the time Tomura’s suspension was over, the air around his class has changed to something new and unfamiliar.
For one, Todoroki has gone silent. He stops taking Tomura’s things, cutting in front of Tomura in line. Tomura’s shoes are untouched in his locker every morning until he puts them on. The nicknames remain, but are not spoken with any more animosity.
If Tomura is half of a brain cell, he would’ve chalked these developments up as a good thing. That finally Tomura has made his message known and made Todoroki back off. Now, they can both go on and continue from where they left off in their own separate paths: Tomura to rehabilitation; Todoroki to owning his Father’s legacy.
Except that isn’t really what happened. If it was, then how could anyone explain the way the younger Todoroki had been staring at him all day long, with no care or bashfulness or hesitancy for being caught? Hardened blue eyes are trained on Tomura’s back like a honing laser; his irises turned from light sky blue to deep aquamarine, his pupils wide as saucers.
At first, Tomura thought that Todoroki might be looking at someone else; then later on he starts to think that Todoroki was plotting his revenge and was being too obvious about it. But both these were wrong. Todoroki continues to stare at him even at lunch time when he is surrounded with his own ass-minded friends. And when Tomura risks a glance at him, just to see what the asshole’s deal was, he finds no look of contempt or desire to seek vengeance in them. Just something heated, like when Sensei first saw him all those years ago, intrigued by his sad past and his ‘wonderful’ and petty quirk.
May I borrow your quirk for a bit, little Tomura?
Tomura stands up from his seat, interrupting Present Mic’s lesson about English prepositions. His neck feels like it’s breaking in hives, his stomach rumbling like it has appendicitis. “I feel sick. May I go to the nurse’s office?”
“Uh, sure, yeah, yes, go ahead. Let me just get the hall pass. Do you need to have someone go with you?” Present Mic asks as he pulls out a card from his desk.
Tomura says, “No,” the same time as Todoroki says, “I’ll go with him.”
The rest of the class shuffled uncomfortably in their seats. Present Mic frowns in a way that shows how the teacher thinks that that sounds like a horrible, horrible idea. “There’s really no need – ”
But Todoroki is up anyway, taking Tomura’s wrist, and dragging him out of the classroom, hall pass forgotten. Present Mic could only yelp as he chases them until the doorway. “Please don’t do anything stupid!” Tomura doesn’t know to who that reminder is directed.
Tomura tries to pull back his wrist, but his limbs feel like noodles, his stomach lurching. He is at least thankful that Todoroki walks at a fast pace because, by the time they reach the clinic, Tomura dives to the nearest trash can, his throat gagging for vomit that he thought was going to come.
“Wow, what’s wrong with you?” Todoroki asks.
Tomura flips him the finger. He hears Todoroki snort as a response.
“Whatever, that’s not my problem,” Todoroki says, to which Tomura would’ve responded with a happy, “Good” if he wasn’t retching his heart out. He doesn’t know how long he is hunched over the can, hugging it like it was his lifeline – or Eraserhead’s arm, whenever Tomura has nightmares. He contemplates calling Eraser but then Todoroki locks the door and another wave of nausea sends him back to the can.
Soon the hives taper down, his body starts to calm. The last of the bile finally erupts from his throat, straining the bottom of the can with pieces of his breakfast and stomach acid. His gut slowly is relieved from the uncomfortable presence he could've sworn was swimming in his insides a few moments ago. Tomura coughs and spits and wipes his wet mouth with his sleeve –
“Gross,” Todoroki speaks up, still here. A single piece of tissue flutters on Tomura’s shoulder. “Use this.”
Tomura glares at him, surprised that he stayed. “Why didn’t you give me the whole roll?”
Todoroki frowns. “Do you need one roll?”
A vein twitches on the side of Tomura’s head. “Where’s the nurse?” Tomura asks instead of calling the other a bunch of unsavory names. You promised, a voice that resembles Eraserhead’s say. Yes, I did, Tomura answers the voice. But it’s so hard to play nice.
“I don’t know. UA is actually understaffed with medical personnel. It’s just Recovery Girl and a few interns,” Then Todoroki stands up, rummages through the clinic’s medicine box, and takes a bottle of what looks like anti-nausea pills. He throws a bottle of pills at Tomura, who, as noodle-limb as he is, fumbles and lets the bottle end up in the trash.
Todoroki sighs, exasperated. “For fuck’s sake.”
“Why the hell are you even here?” Tomura yells, about to vomit again.
“Because, Mophead,” Todoroki walks up to him again, fishes the bottle from the garbage can with two fingers, and drops it on Tomura’s lap, vomit-soiled bottom first. “I’m helping.”
Eraserhead, why the hell are you making me ‘play nice’ with these people, Tomura thinks as he takes two pills from the bottle and downs them both without any water. Todoroki whistles, seemingly impressed by that.
Not that Tomura cares. He sits against the wall and waits for the medicine to kick in, while Todoroki sits on the nurse’s chair, staring at Tomura, once again unblinking. A stale silence passes over between them.
Tomura is about to tell him to knock it out – because he doesn’t have the energy to deal with this shit, not when he still doesn’t know what to feel about it, not when it reminds him of Sensei – when Todoroki suddenly speaks up.
“So.” Todoroki starts.
“So?” Tomura responds.
“I bought you something.”
An image of a trojan horse pops up in Tomura’s mind. “Why?”
Instead of answering, Todoroki takes something out of his pocket and throws it to Tomura. This time, Tomura manages to catch it.
In his palms is a small and shiny pink box. A kiss-mark sticker seals the flap of the box in place. “What is this?”
“Can’t you read? It’s a lip balm. You put it on your lips, so it doesn’t, you know,” Todoroki struggles to find the words. “Crack up like that.”
“Oh.” Then quickly, Tomura adds. “I know what a lip balm is!”
Todoroki scoffs “You don’t seem like you do.”
Tomura ignores him to peruse the words on the box. The letters are tiny and written in incomprehensible cursive, but Tomura can stop a few familiar words: Aloe Vera Extract. Pink Tint. Moisturizing. Peach flavor. Why does a cosmetic product have flavoring? Is this meant to be eaten?
“Well,” Todoroki starts again, expectant.
Tomura frowns. “Well what?”
“Aren’t you going to say something?”
Tomura pretends to ponder for a minute .“Oh yeah. Fuck you!” Tomura says as he flips him the finger. Yes, very childish, he knows.
“Fuck you, too,” Todoroki says, flashing the same immature gesture. “But that’s not what I wanted to hear.”
“Then I don’t know what you want,” Tomura confesses because this has gone far enough. “I don’t know what’s your deal, nor do I want to care. But what I do understand is that you hate me and I hate you. There is no need for us to talk or interact or stand within two feet of each other. You don’t have to do any of – ” he gestures wildly at the room and at the box. “ – this. Just stay away from me, and I’ll stay from you. Understood?”
Todoroki is speechless for a moment, mouth agape. “Whoever said I hated you?”
“You did!” When Todoroki looks at him questioningly, Tomura continues, “My shoes. My things. The nicknames? You know, Mophead? Ring a bell?”
Todoroki squints his eyes. “So?”
Tomura is so close to smacking him. “How does anyone like you?”
“Whatever, you’re changing the topic,” Todoroki interjects, ignoring Tomura’s indignant ‘No, I’m not!’ “ – First: I want you to say thank you.”
“Then thanks – ” Then Tomura whispers, “ – asshole.”
“And second – ” Todoroki continues, ignoring Tomura’s scoff of ‘There’s more.’ “ – I want to be friends with you.”
Tomura stares at him. Then blinks, and blinks, and blinks, and blinks. Todoroki groans and rubs his hands on his cheeks.
“Wait, what?”
“You need one friend, right? So that you won’t get kicked-out?” Tomura remembers then his talk with Eraserhead, and how Todoroki left before that. Should've left. But it turns out he didn’t. “So let me be your friend. Even if it’s just on paper. Think of this – ” Todoroki points at the box. “ – as my peace offering.”
“This is all too sudden,” Tomura eyes the other carefully. “And all too convenient. What’s in it for you?”
“I don’t do what I don’t want to do,” Todoroki answers, shrugging. “Just know that I’m not doing this for any brownie points ‘cause I don’t need them. I don’t need praise. There’s only one person I want to prove myself to.”
Tomura hates that he understands how that feels. “And if I refuse?”
Todoroki looks like he didn’t expect that question. “You’d refuse?”
“Why wouldn’t I? You gave me a black eye.” Eraserhead had to ice that for two days.
“And you broke my nose. I looked like a Christmas reindeer,” Todoroki replies, miffed. But then he huffs, letting hot air out of his mouth. “So, we should call even, now, right? Can’t we call a truce?”
Tomura looks into Todoroki’s eyes and sees nothing but an endless blue and an unknown heat pooling into his pupils. The longer he stares at that heat, the more Tomura starts to feel more comfortable with it. He still doesn’t know what it is, though.
But for now, “Fine. I accept. Don’t make me regret it.” Tomura says with a groan. He knows that in the long run, his ‘friendship’ with a Todoroki will satisfy the Commission’s concerns and prolong his stay in UA – with Eraserhead. But he also can’t help but like he is signing a contract without reading the fine print.
A grin breaks out on Todoroki’s face. Tomura is hit with the realization that the younger Todoroki can smile without malicious intentions.
“Then, are you going to do it?” Todoroki asks, catching Tomura off-guard with another change in topic.
What’s with Todoroki and this sudden change of moods? “Do what?”
Todoroki rolls his eyes and crosses the invisible barrier between them. Now he is sitting cross-legged in front of Tomura, leaving no space for the other to move or get up. “Aren’t you going to try it on?” Todoroki asks, tapping at the kiss-mark seal.
Tomura quickly looks away. “Right now?” He doesn’t understand why he suddenly feels warm.
Todoroki shrugs. “Why not? I’m your friend,” Then he quickly adds. “And your lips look awful.”
“Why, thank you, friend, for the wonderful compliment.” Tomura sneers.
Todoroki rolls his eyes. “Stop whining and just put it on already. I used my dad’s credit card for this.”
Tomura gives him the finger again before he tears the box open.
The actual lip balm itself is nothing but this puny jar made of tempered glass and a metallic cap. It’s small enough to fit inside Tomura’s enclosed hand but bears a distinct heaviness that makes it feel like it’s jam-packed with the product. And when Tomura twists the cap open, he sees a clean settled layer of pink, filled right at the brim of the jar. Tomura smells no scent or fragrance, and for a second, Tomura thought that Todoroki had pranked him with a jar of wax.
Then, he looks at Todoroki – and gulps. Todoroki is so close that Tomura notices that his eyes have hardened again, like metal after going through intense heat, focus unwavering. It sends Tomura’s nerves into a fit of frenzy, the way that gaze makes him feel. It’s the primal fear that he holds for Sensei’s very being or trepidation for making a mistake that would make Eraserhead get up and leave him.
“Go on,” Todoroki says, reminding him.
“You’re weird,” Tomura replies as he dips his finger into the balm.
The balm itself is soft and smooth, not at all sticky to the touch or watery in the way it coats his finger. When Tomura applies the balm to his lips, it almost feels like nothing. The only indication that the balm is there is this weak tingly sensation from his lips, their own reaction from feeling moisture for the longest time.
Tomura makes the unconscious move of licking his lips, tasting apples as he does, and he hears a sudden ‘tch.’
“Don’t eat it,” Todoroki says, almost in a scolding tone. He is even closer now, so much that Tomura notices faint patches of burns on his jaw, a twinkle of metal behind his perfectly-aligned teeth. “Here,” Todoroki grabs the balm and dips his pinky into it. “I’ll do it.”
Much, much later on, Tomura realizes that he should’ve told Todoroki ‘no.’ That he should’ve told insisted doing it by himself, he isn’t crippled. Tomura may have the social graces of a feral mongoose but he knows that this is not what friends do for each other. Putting lip balm on him is not what Tomura’s ‘friend’ would have done for him.
But here they are, just a hair-breadth’s away. Tomura, his head tilted, lips parted slightly; Todoroki, one hand holding Tomura’s chin, the other hand putting balm on the other’s chapped and dry lips, gentle and thorough. His finger glides from left to right, right to left, to the plush of the bottom lip up to the curves of his cupid’s bow, rubbing the center of the lower lip before repeating the same process all over again. Tomura lost count after the third coat. And Todoroki’s finger may have poked into Tomura’s mouth a few times.
But Tomura doesn’t comment on it. Neither does Todoroki. The air has turned thick and palpable, but not at all oppressive. Like the beginning of the rainy season downpour, coming along after a particularly hot summer. Tomura doesn’t feel like hating Todoroki’s guts anymore and Todoroki doesn’t seem like he’ll return to being a nuisance to Tomura, anytime soon.
Not when they both know how it feels to be treated gently by each other like this.
“There,” Todoroki says, not with finality. His eyes are tinged red from not blinking. The heat in them has turned soft, mellow. Tomura doesn’t feel intimidated by it anymore. “It’s done. Press your lips for me?”
“Like this?” The balm spills outside the edges of his lips when Tomura purses his lips, presumably because Todoroki applied too many coats. But Todoroki just swipes the excess off with his thumb.
“Yes,” Todoroki smiles, uncharacteristically gentle. “Perfect.”
Tomura hums and lets the other boy do as he pleases.
“So,” Todoroki begins again, another one of his bizarre questions threatening to come out of his mouth. This time, though, Tomura doesn’t mind answering them. “Did it feel good?”
“Hm…It was okay.” Tomura answers.
“Just okay?”
“Just okay,” Tomura lies, though he hopes Todoroki can see through his teasing.
Todoroki chuckles. He is still touching Tomura’s lips. “Did you like it though?”
“Yeah, it’s nice, feels like cream,” Tomura says before he can stop himself.
“Cream?”
“Yeah.” Like the homemade cream that Eraserhead cooked for Tomura the day it was announced that he would remain under UA’s care. The hero let Tomura eat with his hands and fingers, with no repercussions, punishments, or chastises for being a bad child. “You’re safe here, Tomura,” the hero – his hero – says, red eyes warm and smile handsome. “You can be yourself with me – ”
Tomura jolts when something nicks his lip. Todoroki’s thumb bites into the flesh, and Tomura would’ve bitten it if Todoroki didn’t pull away.
“What was that for?” Tomura says. He winces not out of pain, but of the blood he feels running from that split lip. Some of it has seeped under Todoroki’s nail.
“Don’t make that face,” Todoroki warns, frowning.
“What face?”
Todoroki’s frown turns to a scowl. “That face. Don’t make that when you’re with me.”
An asshole will remain an asshole, Tomura thinks as he rolls his eyes. “Whatever,” he feels like he has interrupted something between them. But what it was, Tomura still hasn’t figured it out.
As Tomura moves to wipe his lips, Todoroki catches his wrist. “Stop that. Let me help.”
“No. You’re the one who nicked it.”
“That’s why I’m going to fix it, see?”
“Just let me get a tissue, Todoroki!”
“No, it’s Touya,” Todo – no, Touya says, before jabbing his dumb on Tomura’s lip and thus shutting Tomura completely. “Call me Touya. Todorokis my father. One day, I will destroy him – ” Tomura feels a shudder run through his back and knows, for sure, that Touya meant every word that he said. “But for now, I’m going to help you stay in UA, and – hey! Don’t bite me. I’ll bite back, and your chompers aren’t as sharp as compared to mine.”
Tomura growls and contemplates testing that theory. Instead, he sits still, letting Touya put pressure on his cut.
To think that, in the past, Tomura would’ve socked Touya’s jaw the very minute they were left alone in the clinic, consequences be damned.
Now? His resentment for Touya has been snuffed out to antagonistic rivalry. And Touya, while still crass seems more sincere than before.
A minute after and the bleeding must’ve stopped because Touya is just playing with his lip down, gliding his thumb on the surface without upsetting the wound he dug in himself.
“Touya,” Tomura calls out, name rolling out more smoothly than ‘Todoroki’ which was always a bit of a mouthful. “Are you done?”
Touya completes one more circuit on Tomura’s lips before he stops, his thumb coming out red and glossy and gross. But instead of wiping it off, Touya brings his thumb to his mouth and licks it. His blue eyes – deep and focused, hardened and intense – do not stray from Tomura’s red as he does so. Tomura can see himself in those eyes.
“No,” Touya answers as Tomura’s belly churns, but not at all unpleasantly. “Not yet.”
Much, much later, Tomura will come to understand what this means.
But right now, the unknown sensation in Tomura’s belly has turned to heat, spreading across his limbs, his torso, his neck; up into his brain where it floods, drowning his thoughts of his past, his Sensei, and Eraser, spilling into his cheeks and ears and eyes, where it wells and stays, coating his irises with its color.