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Shouto didn’t know what to do, not really. He was content with the position he was in, for the most part, but he knew it wouldn’t last forever, and the idea of anything changing was a prospect so terribly sad that he didn’t allow himself to think about it. He still had another year, at least, of his comfortable positioning between a life that was real and the occasional seeds of fantasies he allowed himself.
Things couldn’t be going better. He was in his second year at UA, and he was at the top 1-A with very little real competition. He'd managed to make some friends, open up a little bit, and really felt like the others in his class cared for him. If life should continue as it was, things were lining up to look pretty good for Shouto. He’d start his official hero career as a sidekick, but it would really only be a formality at this point; everyone knew that nearly everyone in class 1-A would end up with a thundering hero career relatively quickly, especially those at the top. He’d start his own agency, hire up-and-coming sidekicks, show them what it meant to be a real hero.
He was going to save lives. Stop villains. Make a real difference in the world. And he was pleased to know that all of the hard work he had put in was starting to pay off beyond simply satisfying his old man. Not that anything he’d ever do would actually satisfy him. He’d never been good enough, never would be good enough, until he was placed solidly at the very top of the hero ranking charts. And maybe he would’ve cared about that sort of thing at some point, but not anymore. Not since the Sports Festival.
One year ago, after the television broadcasts had left and the stadium had been cleared, after his wounds had closed and the ache in his muscles had eased, Shouto found himself unable to think of anything other than the boy who had put him in such a state to begin with.
Midoriya.
He had been the first person (deadbeat father not included) who had really given him much of a challenge, and what’s more, Midoriya had challenged him. Not his quirk, not his left side, not what he had inherited from his father, but him and what he could do, who he was as a whole. Midoriya had reminded Shouto after a lifetime of being told otherwise that his quirk was not just a power inherited, but was his and his alone. It was true, he was an offspring of his father and his fire might have been a result of that DNA, but his siblings with ice powers had the same mix of genetics, and never once had he questioned if it was really their powers or their mothers. His quirk was no more of his fathers than the left side of his hair was, soaked a deep red. Not using his left side wasn’t hurting his father, it was hurting him, limiting his potential as a hero and his capacity to do good in this world. Midoriya had, quite literally and somewhat violently, ignited a fire back in Shouto that he had been refusing to acknowledge for so long because he had thought it belonged to someone he resented.
The fact that the two even met in their fight was by pure chance. It was obvious to anyone watching that, although certainly powerful, Midoriya had no sense of how to use his quirk effectively and his advancements throughout the festival were nothing short of a fluke. Nevertheless, they were poised to face off, and Shouto’s life had changed because of it.
The adrenaline of the day had worn down over the hours following, but Shouto’s mind kept returning to his meeting with Midoriya. It had changed his life. He didn’t know what the full extent of Midoriya’s influence would be at that point, but he had never been more certain that any meeting would have lifelong consequences.
After the Sports Festival, Midoriya had reached out to him directly, and Shouto had, for the first time, responded.
Maybe he felt like he owed the other boy something for the incredible lengths he went to for Shouto. Maybe he was so starved for any positive interaction that he would have taken to anybody who’d reached out. He wasn’t sure himself. If anyone asked, Shouto still wouldn’t be able to say why exactly he had been willing to engage in friendship when he had resisted them for so long previously.
Regardless of what happened, and how, and why, they became friends. Or, something like that. He wasn’t sure. Shouto had never had a friend. He was friendly with his sister and brother, but they weren’t really friends, they were siblings. He hadn’t been enrolled in a proper school before UA, and he certainly hadn’t connected with anyone up until then.
The closest Shouto had gotten to anyone was with Yaoyorozu, who he could understand, even if just a small amount. They were both prodigies, the only ones to have gained entry to their grade via recommendation. They had interacted and were amicable enough, but it was stilted, at very best. He preferred to keep to himself, most of the time. But, after Midoriya had reached out to him and they had become friends (could they really be considered friends at that point?), Shouto found himself interacting with Yaoyorozu more. He chalked it up to learning better social skills, but also recognized a new and intense desire for a neutral party outside of Midoriya and his circle to talk to. Yaoyorozu was an outside figure, someone who didn’t seem like the type to gossip, and she was a good listener, even when he didn’t know how to string his words together very well.
It was with her that he had first discussed his fixation around to. She offered Shouto her thoughts.
He did something very important for you, she had told him. It makes sense that you are more fond of him than you are of others.
And she was right. He did do something very important for him. Midoriya had changed who Shouto was fundamentally in a way nobody else had before. It did make sense for him to enjoy his time with Midoriya so much; he had been his first real friend.
But conversations slowly started to shift more and more towards Midoriya as time went on. He didn’t mean for it to happen. Yaoyorozu didn’t mention anything about it. But suddenly, one day, when he was mid-conversation and reciting something Midoriya had muttered word-for-word, Shouto realized that he hadn’t really spoken about anything that hadn’t involved the other in what felt like weeks.
Yaoyorozu asked him what was wrong. She always seemed to know when something was wrong. He told her.
You do seem quite fond of him, she had told him. You talk about him often.
He is special to me, he had told her. Then, after a moment, Do you think I am special to him?
Do you want to be? She’d asked him. She hadn’t answered his question.
Yes, he’d said. I think so.
Do you think you might like him more than just a friend? She asked.
No, he’d said. I don’t think so.
And he didn’t think so. He wasn’t sure what “liking someone more than a friend” was supposed to feel like, but he was pretty sure this wasn’t it. He hadn’t liked someone before, in whatever vague sentiment that was suppose to mean. He had a hard time liking people in general, even without the extra implications of something more. But he had heard stories about people who liked each other, from his sister, mostly. People got butterflies in their stomach when they liked someone. Shouto didn’t get butterflies around Midoriya, but he did like spending time with him. You were supposed to be aroused by someone you liked, but Shouto didn’t get aroused by Midoriya. He didn’t get aroused in general, actually. He wasn’t sure what the big fuss about it all was. Kaminari sometimes talked about his “turn-ons”, which he had thought meant triggers for his quirk, but couldn’t understand why maid outfits would spark his electricity. Yaoyorozu had helped him figure out what he was actually talking about, but he only ended up more confused. Were people really getting aroused by costumes and simple gestures? Should he be getting aroused by costumes? Was there something wrong with him?
No, he decided at some point, there probably wasn’t anything wrong with him. It all seemed like a lot of work and wasted time to spend so much brain power and time on things as unnecessary as turn-ons. And it didn’t matter, anyways, he wasn’t interested in anyone, so it wasn’t something he should worry about.
Shouto coming to terms with the disconnect between his father and himself led him to starting to visit his mother. Yet another part of his life Midoriya had influenced. It seemed like everything had touches of Midoriya in it now.
He’d told his mother about Midoriya. She was a good listener, like Yaoyorou, but she didn’t know Midoriya, so he had to describe everything about him to her. She smiled while he did.
You seem to like him a lot, his mother had said to him.
Yaoyorozu said the same thing, he told her. She asked if I liked him more than a friend.
Do you? His mother had asked.
No, he said. He is my best friend.
You can catch feelings for a friend, his mother had said.
Shouto didn’t know what to say. He knew, logically, that what she’d said was probably correct, but he still didn't know if what he was feeling was anything different than what was normal. And, besides, he would probably know when he had caught feelings for someone, right?
Do you think I’ve caught feelings for him? Shouto had asked eventually.
That’s not something for me to decide, she told him.
His mother didn’t pry any more than that. Shouto had a lot to tell her about his life, so his regaling of Midoriya was swept away in the tide of conversation. He left feeling content.
It was an online search that led Shouto to discovering that his lack of arousal was not as normal as he thought it might be. Asexuality, it was called. Most people did get aroused by people they had more-than-friends feelings for, but asexual people did not. He wasn’t sure what to do with this piece of information. He had assumed that people would always be aroused by the one they loved, and that was how they knew they loved them. But he didn’t. How was he supposed to know if he was interested in somebody, then? What was a friend if not somebody you loved but had no interest in a sexual relationship with?
It would be a lot easier, Shouto thought, if he was normal. If he got aroused, he would probably be able to figure out how he was feeling. It felt unfair that he didn’t.
Shouto kept thinking. Was Midoriya asexual? Or did he get aroused by people he loved?
Did Midoriya ever get aroused by Shouto?
He didn’t keep thinking about that. He wasn’t sure he wanted to know the answer.
Shouto decided somewhat rashly one day that he would ask his sister about what it was supposed to feel like when you liked someone. She seemed like the type of person to know the answer to these sorts of questions.
Do you like someone? Fuyumi had asked him.
I don’t know, he had said. I don’t know what it’s supposed to feel like.
It feels different for everyone, she’d told him. It’s about trust, and comfort, and familiarity, mostly.
Shouto trusted Midoriya. He felt comfortable around him, too. Did that mean he liked him?
I guess, he had said. But I trust all of my friends. And I’m comfortable around all of them, too.
Well, do you see yourself spending your future with this person? She asked next.
Of course he did, Midoriya was his best friend.
I want all of my friends to be in my future, he told her.
What do you envision yourself doing with this person in the future, then? She asked. Dancing with them? Kissing them? Dating them? Or just being in their life?
That made Shouto pause.
I don’t know, he had said.
They went around in the same circles for a few minutes before Fuyumi put her hands on his shoulders.
Listen, Shouto, Fuyumi had said. Loving someone is a choice you have to make. Defining your feelings specifically is a technicality. If you want to love them, you have to make that choice. It isn’t always something that can happen passively.
That was the end of their conversation. Shouto didn’t know what else to say to Fuyumi. He tried to think about what he had told her, but it didn’t so much to help. It just made him frustrated. Why couldn’t he just figure out what was going on? What was the point of having his own brain if he couldn't decipher what it was feeling?
Shouto’s internal storm held Midoriya at the center, but he wasn’t sure why. Was he so fixated on his best friend that he was all he could think about, or was he just so caught up in the prospect of being in love that he was simply fooling himself? How was he supposed to know?
Shouto approached Natsuo eventually. He had a girlfriend, so he must know what it meant to like someone.
Do you like someone? His brother had asked.
Why does everyone keep asking that? Shouto asked.
Most people don’t go around asking about love if they’re not in love already, he’d said.
How do you know you’re in love? He asked.
You think about them all the time, he offered. And you want to do everything together.
But I think about my friends all the time anyways, Shouto said. Of course I like doing things with them.
Do you ask about love for all your other friends? He had asked.
Shouto paused.
No, he finally said.
Shouto didn’t keep talking to Natsuo. He wanted to think about what he had said. Why was it that he was only concerned whether he liked Midoriya and not all of his other friends? He liked all of them plenty, but he liked Midoriya the best. He was best friends with Midoriya. Wasn’t it normal to think about him frequently? Did other people not think about their best friends as much as he did? Had he caught feelings for Midoriya? How was he supposed to know?
Why was it that nobody seemed to know exactly what it felt like to be in love? It was very frustrating.
Shouto had gone back to the internet to see if there were any answers, but it didn't seem like anyone there knew, either. At least, not the way he needed them to know.
There were multiple quizzes available for him to take, but Shouto realized quickly that they weren't going to be helpful. He didn't need to know if it was lust or love. He didn't daydream about sex with Midoriya. He didn't only miss Midoriya when he was horny. Shouto wasn't sexually aroused by Midoriya, that much he knew. Did that mean he couldn't be in love with him? If he was never aroused, did it mean he would never be able to be in love? Surely there must be more to love than physical attraction.
And he knew he was right when he read the stories of people who were in love. They didn't talk about sex in them, they talked about a connection, and comfort, and joy. But that wasn't helpful either. Did people who were in love not feel comfortable with their friends? Did they not feel connected with them? Not get joy out of spending time with them? That seemed like it would be a miserable life to live, if you asked him.
Sometimes the couples talked about a special something that set their partner aside from the rest. They could never articulate what it was in any way that was helpful.
Their smile, some would say. Something about the way they smile makes me know I'm safe.
He liked Midoriya's smile.
Their presence, others would say. They light up a room when they walk into it.
He liked it when Midoriaya was around.
It's not something you can really explain, one person said. It's just a feeling.
Shouto closed the tab on his computer. This didn't seem to be helping.
When Shouto returned to Yaoyorozu, he talked about Midoriya again. He couldn’t stop thinking about the idea that he might like Izuku “more than friends”, as she had said. He told her as much.
How do you feel about him, exactly? She had asked.
I like being around him, Shouto had answered. He makes me feel comfortable, and like I matter to him. I want to matter to him, like he matters to me.
Do you think he’s handsome? She asked.
Sure, Shouto said. He didn’t need to think about it very much. But lots of people are.
Do you want to see…. more of him? She asked
Shouto didn’t know what to say. He knew what she meant, but he didn’t know what to feel. The frustration from his previous discovery was overbearing in his mind. It felt so unfair that he couldn’t feel the same sort of desire that other people did.
He’d never necessarily envisioned himself doing anything sexual with Midoriya, but, now that he thought about it… if Midoriya ever wanted to, then maybe Shouto wouldn’t mind trying. If it made Midoriya happy, he could never say no.
If he wanted to show me, he’d finally said.
Would you want to stay with him the rest of your life?
Yes, he said.
And it was true. Shouto couldn't imagine a life without Midoriya in it. Yaoyorozu smiled at him.
It sounds like you might like him more than a friend, she told him.
And he didn’t know what to say. That seemed to be happening a lot, recently.
When Shouto fully came to grips with the fact that he might like Midoriya romantically, he cried. He hadn’t cried for years. It felt sort of like he was going to throw up. Something about the immense weight of understanding slowly lifting and the crushing weight of reality taking its place was too much for him to handle. He’d felt physical pain like no other, but the emotional burden that was suddenly hanging from his chest was different than any of it, a new and terrible pain to bear.
This didn’t feel like the reaction people were supposed to have when they realized they were in love. Something felt wrong.
When the nausea passed, he figured it out. Shouto why it felt so awful. He was in love with Midoriya, but Midoriya was not in love with him. And he never would be.
That had all been a year ago. Nothing had developed.
Fuyumi liked to ask him about it. He didn’t know what to tell her. His mother was less insistent on getting information, but he saw the way she would pay close attention whenever he brought up Midoriya’s name in conversation. Natsuo said to talk to Midoriya about it. Shouto knew he wouldn’t. It wouldn’t really be worth the heartache.
Realistically, Shouto felt rather confident that Midoriya wouldn’t cut off their relationship if he confessed his feelings to him. He didn’t seem like that kind of person. But Shouto didn’t feel there was much to gain in attempting that conversation, given he knew what would happen already.
Midoriya would feel bad for letting him down. He would feel bad for making Midoriya uncomfortable. Their relationship wouldn’t end, but it would be different. Suddenly everything he did for Midoriya would feel like an attempt to win him over, and any reciprocation on Midoriya’s end could be mistaken for a change of heart. In the best case scenario, it would be weird for only a brief period of time, then they could go back to normal. But why bother with that awkward period when Shouto already knew the answer he would receive? He could simply live comfortably in a space close enough to him where they would both be happy.
Yaoyorozo sometimes tried to convince him into talking to Midoriya.
How much do you value your potential happiness? She would ask him. Isn’t the potential of being happier for the rest of your life worth the risk of a small period of discomfort?
It isn’t potential happiness if I know he doesn’t feel the same, he would say back. It’s just a potential strain on the relationship we already have.
And he believed it. Midoriya didn’t like him back, and had no reason to. He had changed Shouto’s life, not the other way around; he had plenty of other friends and love interests that would make for a far better partner, anyways.
His mother sometimes told him that if someone didn’t think he was suited as a potential partner, it was really a loss for them. Shouto didn’t think he agreed.
Surely you must want to know, at least, she would say. What will you think years down the line? You’ll always be wondering what he might say.
I don’t need to wonder, he would say. I already know. I don’t need to hurt myself by asking.
Somewhere in the back of his mind Shouto knew not having an answer made it worse. If he never asked, he would never be told definitively that, no, Midoriya really didn’t have any interest in him. He would never know for certain, which granted him the smallest wisp of hope to stay planted in the very back of Shouto’s mind. It was this hope that made his occasional daydreaming so much more painful, but so much more beautiful, too. It felt like the way his sister would refuse to watch the final episode of a show she loved; even though she knew it was over, if she never watched the finale, it would never really end in her mind. The lack of definitely was soothing, but bittersweet.
What if, Shouto thought to himself sometimes. What if, what if, what if.
But he meant what he had said to Yaoyorozu. He knew. Midoriya had shown no interest in him as anything beyond a friend in the entirety of their relationship, and he wasn’t exactly his type. Shouto wasn’t stupid. He saw how Midoriya interacted with Uraraka. He wanted to resent her for it, but he couldn’t. She hadn’t done anything wrong. It was his own irrational feelings that were to blame.
It was confusing to be around Midoriya now.
When they talk, Shouto doesn’t feel the discomfort of sadness in his body. Any grief of a loss that never existed to begin with melts away into the comforting embrace of his presence. It’s only when he’s stuck, alone, in the echochamber of his own brain that it starts to hurt. Only when Midoriya isn’t around to soothe his thoughts do they rear their ugly heads. It was ironic, Shouto thought, that the only time he could remember how scared his feelings made him was when the person that made him so scared wasn’t around. A fear of the darkness only when there was light, but an otherworldly solace when he was wrapped in its shadowy arms.
What a fate it was to live in.
And now Shouto didn’t know what to do. He loves being friends with Midoriya, more than anything. He makes him feel safe, and understood, and special. He could listen to him talk for hours about anything and everything.
And he loves him, Shouto thinks. He’s still not completely sure, but he thinks this is about the closest he can probably get. He would do anything for Midoriya. He was a light in his life that never seemed to go out. In another lifetime, perhaps the two could run off together, live a life where they could be in love and happy. But he tried not to get caught up in fantasies too often. They would destroy him if he ever thought too long about it.
Shouto was comfortable, for the most part. But he knew he wouldn’t always be. Would he rip the bandaid off soon? Later on? Would he ever rip it off? Or would he spend his whole life thinking about a boy that was blissfully unaware of the angst he was causing? It was inevitable that he would get so wound up at some point that he would do something stupid, whether it was with Midoriya or someone else.
Midoriya liked him enough to be friends. They were only in their second year. If nothing else, he was guaranteed at least one more year of being around Midoriya, seeing him every day and having him be a constant in the otherwise unpredictable life of heroes-in-training. But they were together.
And right now, that was enough.
For now, he could be content.
It would just hurt, sometimes.