Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It smelled like a storm was brewing. Shouto was trying so hard to focus on his work, but the essay in front of him was completely uninteresting, and the ozone drifting into his dorm room on the humid breeze was distracting. 

Shouto had fallen a little bit in love with storms. He enjoyed them before, when they reminded him of the power going out, and his mother and siblings all gathering in one room around an assortment of flashlights and candles to watch the rain pummel the greenery of the garden. They would wait for lightning and then count the seconds between the flash and the roll of thunder, and try to guess how many kilometers away the lightning was.  

More recently, though, he had found a very different reason for the anticipation thrumming through his veins at the first hint of dark clouds, the first fat droplets of rain. 

The reason pulled himself up and over the ledge of Shouto’s balcony, his clothes soaked through already and green lightning crackling around his body. He was always a vision. 

Shouto didn’t even hesitate in standing up from his desk. He crossed the distance between them in three strides. 

“Fancy seeing you here,” Izuku joked, just before Shouto grabbed him by the face and pulled him in for a rain-soaked kiss. 

Izuku’s hands jumped up to hold onto Shouto’s elbows, and Shouto could feel the roughness of the one scarred, gnarled hand contrasting with the other much smoother one. 

Izuku laughed when they parted, his eyes betraying his carefully constructed unflappable exterior as they danced with lightning and excitement. 

“I knew you’d be here sooner or later,” Shouto said. 

“You know I can’t stay away from you,” Izuku replied, just this side of too sincere. 

Shouto kissed him again, longer and softer and sweeter this time, because otherwise he might go professing his undying love for the boy on accident. Izuku responded in kind. It wasn’t until Shouto felt a slight tremor tumble through Izuku’s body that he let him go again. 

“Come inside. I’ll get you some clothes,” Shouto gave him no say in the matter, hands dropping from Izuku’s cheeks to his hands and tugging him back into his room. 

Izuku followed without protest. He always followed Shouto inside when he was asked. 

Shouto closed the balcony door most of the way and set about finding something for Izuku to wear. He dug out a soft shirt and a pair of sweatpants that he bought specifically for Izuku, and turned to find that Izuku was already beginning to remove his soaked hoodie. 

In the warm orange light of Shouto’s dorm room, he could soak in his appearance much better. The hoodie was tossed towards Shouto’s laundry bin, and then the cargo pants he was wearing, leaving him in only his costume, all deep green and gunmetal and—

Deep, deep red. 

Shouto felt his heart stop in his chest as Izuku began working the skin-tight suit off of his torso, wincing and hissing quietly to himself as though he could hide the pained sounds beneath the noise of the rain outside. 

When Izuku looked up at him, his face was paler than it should have been. Shouto hadn’t noticed in the darkness of the evening, but the lights of his dorm room were bright enough to reveal every detail of the nasty, oozing injury. 

And then, Izuku laughed. The sound of it was slightly strained. “You should see the other guy,” he said, like it was nothing. 

Shouto prided himself on being cool, calm, and collected. He had spent years perfecting his blank expression and building up the walls around his heart. Unfortunately for him, it was Izuku who came crashing in and shattered all of that. There was no hiding his fear, his worry, his anger, his desperate need to hold Izuku tightly and never let him go, never give him back to the world. 

“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Izuku shrugged casually, pulling his wet costume off of his other arm to leave his torso bare. “But it probably needs to be cleaned.” 

He was already moving, ducking into the powder room where Shouto had stashed a first-aid kit specifically for him. No matter how common an occurrence his injuries were, Shouto always felt stymied by the sight of Izuku bloody and broken. 

He finally broke the awful trance the sight of blood had put him in, and carried himself to the bathroom with purpose. The door was wide open still, and Izuku stood in front of the sink, digging through the first-aid kit. 

“I’ll help you,” Shouto informed him. It was not an offer. 

“I can do it myself, Shouto. I promise, I’m fine,” Izuku tried to insist. 

“Did I ask if I could help? No, I said I would help,” Shouto snapped. “Sit on the counter.” 

Izuku gave him a crooked little smile, and did as he was told. When Shouto stood between his legs to get a closer look at the wound, Izuku lifted his arms and draped them around his shoulders. 

Shouto worked carefully, doing his best not to let his fingers tremble. He cleaned the wound first. Izuku hissed at the sting of saline in the open gash, body tensing slightly, but he didn’t say anything. Shouto continued until the wound was clean and visible, murmuring apologies under his breath the whole time. It was still oozing slightly but not enough to drip. It was a nasty thing, deep enough that it would need stitches, and Shouto had to spend a moment with his hands braced on Izuku’s thighs, just above his knees, as he breathed through his mouth. 

“I can do the stitches. You don’t have to do that for me,” Izuku murmured. He pressed his nose against Shouto’s cheekbone, his forehead against his temple. 

“I told you I would do it,” Shouto answered. 

“You don't know how, Shouto. Let me take care of it, okay? It’ll be done in a few minutes, and then you can help me with the bandages, sound alright to you?” Izuku kissed his face, the furrow in his eyebrows, putting his hand in Shouto’s hair and letting his blunt nails graze against his scalp. 

Shouto breathed out ice into the small space between them. 

“You don’t want to watch this,” Izuku told him. 

Shouto knew he was right, but he stayed exactly where he was. 

Izuku sighed, and busied himself with preparing the suture needle. 

Shouto watched the way he pierced the skin over and over again, heard the ragged turn of his breath as the black thread dragged through the angry red flesh around the gash. 

It took more than a few minutes. Shouto watched as Izuku cut the thread, his hands shaking as he slid the needle back into the package it had come from. His fingers were only a little bit bloody, but the streaks of red and rust against his tanned skin and freckles blended and juxtaposed in a way that had Shouto feeling sick. 

“All done! See?” Izuku smiled at him, and slid back down off of the counter. He turned his back to Shouto and washed his hands in the small sink, the water swirling orange in the basin. 

Shouto remained silent. He didn’t trust his voice, and Izuku certainly didn’t need him crying or something equally as stupid. He waited until the boy turned back around to face him, then busied his hands with cleaning the wound again. Izuku had been right, in that Shouto did not know how to stitch up a wound. Bandages, though… 

Shouto knew bandages. He was careful as he folded gauze and placed medical tape. He had to shimmy Izuku’s tight costume down his hips further in order to wrap the securing bandages around his whole waist. 

“I had hoped that you’d be undressing me under slightly different circumstances tonight,” Izuku drawled, doing a fairly decent job of hiding the shakiness in his voice. 

Shouto looked up at him and glowered. Izuku answered him with a teasing grin. 

“I don’t think that now is really the time, Izuku,” Shouto grumbled. He secured the bandages, before running his fingers gently over the edges of them to test the tension against Izuku’s skin. 

“I’m sorry. I mean it, though, this wasn’t really how I wanted to spend my time with you,” Izuku sighed. “Actually, after this happened, I almost didn’t come to see you at all.” 

Shouto’s head snapped up, his eyes wide as his heart dropped into his stomach. Izuku looked back at him like he was expecting his anger. 

“You weren’t going to come?” Shouto demanded. “And where exactly would you have gone instead?”

“I know you hate it when I show up injured! I just… I hate making you worry. You get this look on your face,” Izuku frowned deeply, his brows knitted and his eyes watery. 

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you feel as though you couldn’t come here,” Shouto reached back up to cup Izuku’s cheeks in his hands again, for the second time that night. 

“I know. You always look like you’re mourning me, or something. I’m okay, Shouto, I promise,” Izuku whispered. 

Shouto kissed him again. Izuku’s arms had found their way back to his shoulders. Shouto was crowding him against the counter, and Izuku was still shaking slightly. 

“I’m scared that one of these days, you won’t be. You won’t be okay, and what am I supposed to do then?” Shouto admitted against his lips. 

“You know I worry about you the same way, right? We’ve both picked dangerous paths.” Izuku pulled his arms back towards himself, so that his crooked and unmarred fingers could tangle at the back of Shouto’s neck, and his thumbs could brush against the corner of his jaw. 

Shouto didn’t really know what to say to that, so he said nothing at all. The arms of Izuku’s soaked costume were hanging limply at his sides, dripping puddles of rainwater onto the floor. He didn’t say that he knew Izuku did all of this, all of the brawling and being injured and losing sleep and working himself to the bone, for Shouto, and for his classmates who were only a year and a half away from becoming real heroes in a world that Izuku had tidied up for them. He understood why Izuku did what he did. 

It didn’t mean he had to like the results of it. 

But the League of Villains had been taken down only three months ago, in an operation spearheaded by All Might and several of U.A.’s staff, and the Shie Hassaikai long before that, and now Izuku’s work was mainly focused on keeping the void left behind empty. 

From outside the open balcony door, Shouto heard a rolling peal of thunder. 

“I brought you dry clothes. Let me help you change,” Shouto offered. 

Izuku smiled at him again, this time without the teasing or the mischief or the flirtation. Shouto knew he probably didn’t really need the help, but it felt good to be of use. He had to peel the legs of the costume off of Izuku’s body, and ended up taking his underwear with it. Izuku turned bright red down to his shoulders, sputtering and laughing despite the fact that they had seen each other naked plenty of times. 

Shouto still found it charming. 

With Izuku in warmer, drier clothes, he led him back into his bedroom, helping him carefully down onto his futon. 

Izuku smelled like skin and hair and person, like ozone and rain in tree branches and humid air. Shouto held him against himself, the essay on his desk long forgotten in favour of this—rest. 

“Do you think your classmates have caught on yet?” Izuku asked. Shouto had turned off the overhead light on their way out of the bathroom, but the lamp on his desk remained on. By the light of it, he could trace the lines of scars and create constellations out of freckles along Izuku’s broken, gnarled hand and arm, could pick out the freckles that rested on either side of the scar that bisected his face; that long, thick, vertical line of shiny pink crowded on either side by flecks of brown, the newest addition to his collection. 

“Probably. At least two of them have enhanced hearing,” Shouto responded, his own voice barely a rumble in his chest. Just because he could, he reached over and brushed his fingers over the pointed end of the scar, where it stopped beside Izuku’s mouth. 

Izuku hummed, leaning happily into his fingertips. “Maybe I’ll get to meet them one day,” he said, and he sounded hopeful. 

“You will. I think you’ll like them,” Shouto told him. 

He pressed a kiss against the spot behind Izuku’s ear, right where he was a little bit ticklish. 

Izuku shrugged his shoulder up and laughed when Shouto just pressed his nose into the spot instead of pulling away. Shouto let a puff of cool air dance over Izuku’s neck. 

“You’re a menace,” Izuku scolded him. Shouto just made a vague noise of agreement and tightened his arms around him. 

It was quiet for a moment, except for their breathing. Izuku was the one to break the silence again. 

“Shouto?” 

“Mmh?” 

“I… I love you. You know that, right?”

Shouto was speechless for a moment. Izuku was fiddling with the hand clasped in his, and Shouto sat up just enough to see the way his eyes were cast down at their entwined fingers. 

“I love you too. So much, Izuku,” he breathed. 

Some tension in Izuku’s form seemed to melt away. He let go of Shouto’s hand to touch his cheek with so much gentleness and care, Shouto thought he might just catch fire. 

“I’ll always come back to you. I promise.”

Shouto bit his lip. He wanted to beg Izuku not to make promises like that, promises he may not be able to keep, but the words got caught in his throat. 

“Okay. And I promise that I’ll always come back to you, too,” he said, instead. 

Izuku grinned, and it seemed to light up his whole face like the sun appearing from behind the clouds. 

Chapter Text

Shouto woke to the sound of quiet cursing. As he pushed himself up, his eyes adjusted to the low light of pre-dawn and he was caught by the sight of Izuku pulling his costume back on, then yanking at his hoodie and cargo pants. Shouto had no doubt they were still damp from the storm, and the costume at least was still bloodstained and ripped at the abdomen. 

“Izuku?” He asked in a sleepy rumble. 

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you,” Izuku whispered back, yanking his hoodie over his bedhead and crossing the room to kneel at the edge of Shouto’s futon. “I slept in, its almost light out. I’ve gotta get going.” 

Shouto hummed and reached out a hand, still a little tingly with the tail end of pins and needles, which Izuku caught and kissed the palm of. Without having to be asked, he leaned over the rest of the distance and kissed Shouto’s lips soundly. 

“Please be careful,” Shouto requested, though to his ears it sounded more like a plea. 

“I will,” Izuku answered. “And you too, be careful. Don’t take any unnecessary risks. Be safe, Sho, so I have someone to come back to.” 

Shouto nodded, sealed their pact with one more lingering kiss, before letting Izuku pull away. 

“I love you,” Izuku sighed into the space between them. 

“I love you too,” Shouto answered without hesitation, and maybe with a little desperation mixed in. The nature of Izuku’s lifestyle was uncertain enough that Shouto felt the need to say all of the important things out loud, before he lost his chance. 

Even in the dark, he could see Izuku’s soft smile. “I’ll see you soon,” he said like it was a promise. 

Shouto almost wanted to call him on it, knowing that there were often weeks or even months between visits. Something about it sounded different this time, though. 

“Okay,” he replied instead. 

Izuku crossed the room to the balcony again, looking back over his shoulder as he slid the door open. 

“Go back to sleep. Its still early,” he said, and then he was gone. 

Shouto watched him disappear over the ledge of the balcony and laid back down, only to stare at his ceiling. He remained awake as the sunlight crept in through his half-open curtains. 

— 🌩️ —

The teachers were acting weird, and Shouto was starting to get concerned about it. They weren’t looking at him, or anything, though he couldn’t help but worry. There was something going on, and the rest of the class was beginning to notice. 

Shouto hadn’t seen or heard from Izuku since that morning he left just before dawn broke. Not that that was unusual necessarily. Izuku refused to give Shouto any phone number or contact information for himself, in case he was caught. He would get in trouble for his vigilantism, surely, but he refused outright to allow Shouto to be roped into his ‘mess’. Their relationship was characterized by long stretches of silence, interspersed with moments of all-encompassing closeness. That did nothing to prevent the anxiety crawling up his throat as he worried about Izuku, injured but likely ignoring it in favor of his ‘work’, and the teachers—all pro heroes—seeming to be in on something no one else was privy to. 

Yaoyorozu seemed to have caught onto Shouto’s mood, sending him questioning glances as they ate together at lunch, or studied together in the afternoons. Even Jirou, who was usually happy to tease and rouse him whenever she hung out with him and Yaoyorozu, was being a little nicer than usual, making less jabs at the very least. 

One week passed like that, then two. 

When Aizawa announced they would be training at Ground Beta, Shouto didn’t think anything of it. When the class, dressed in their hero costumes, gathered in front of the gates to the false city, and Aizawa announced the guidelines of the day’s exercise, that’s when the gears in his head really began turning. 

“You’ll all be going in at once. We have a guest, who will be your opponent. Your job is to find them inside of the city, and then take them down,” Aizawa explained. He was handing out capture tape. “They’re highly skilled, and they have more experience than you do with real combat, but they’ve been given capture tape just like yours. If you’re caught and taped, you’re out. Use everything at your disposal to achieve this. It’s a villain chase, and they’ve been given permission to fight you all without holding back. For all intents and purposes, consider this to be a life or death situation.” 

A chill passed over the students at Aizawa’s words, as several of Shouto’s classmates began glancing around nervously. 

“You’ll have one hour. Work together, and take this seriously. You’re second years now, I expect you to be giving this your all.”

Yaoyorozu dutifully raised her hand. “Mr. Aizawa, do we get to know anything about the villain?” She asked, and Shouto could see that she was worried. 

“No, the scenario is as I have presented. You know nothing about them, but you have been given more time than you’d normally get for an exercise like this. Use it wisely,” Aizawa answered her. 

“What about time to plan before we enter the city?” Iida chimed in, his arm ramrod straight and sticking up into the air. 

“No. Any other questions?” Aizawa’s tired gaze drifted over the class, and when no one answered, he stepped aside and the doors to the false city opened behind him. “Good. Your hour starts now.” 

After that, it was a mad dash to get inside and the whole time, the contact devices fitted to each of their costumes crackled with voices. Iida was trying to encourage them to find a building to hole up in so that they could formulate a plan, while Bakugou insisted it would be a waste of time to plan when they had no idea what they were planning for. Shouto stayed quiet and let his classmates figure themselves out. 

“Tentacole, Invisible Girl and I should try and gather intel,” Jirou’s voice crackled over the radio. “Even if there’s no use planning now, there’s no use going in completely blind either.”

Above their heads, slate grey clouds were gathering. 

“We should all spread out, try and stay hidden, and see if we catch a glimpse of anything,” Shouto added. 

He caught his classmates’ agreements, and got himself up onto the top of a darkened apartment complex by climbing up a rusted fire escape. The metal creaked and groaned under his weight, but held fast. Up there, the smell of ozone was stronger. Another storm was brewing, and Shouto found himself pushing down the pang in his heart. 

He caught sight of movement out of the corner of his eye, and turned to see Uraraka floating herself up to the roof of a taller building across the street from Shouto’s perch. She landed as the first few drops of rain hit the concrete beneath his feet. 

This turn of the weather was bad for them, Shouto knew. The decrease in visibility would only make this exercise harder, and cause problems for people like himself and Bakugou, whose combustion would be hindered by the rain. Shouto made the decision to duck inside of the building. 

“Damn, this rain,” Kaminari cursed over the radio. “Anyone having any luck?”  

“Nothing from me,” Jirou answered. “I’m gonna move on to a different area. The rain is causing some issues, but its not too heavy yet, so I should be able to differentiate between it and footsteps.” 

“Nothing from me, either,” Shoji added. “I think half of us should stay inside the buildings to search. Those who are good at close-quarters, find a building and start poking around.”

Already inside, Shouto turned down the volume of his communicator and began to search the empty building. The rain and dark clouds made it hard to see in the darkened hallways. Shouto did his best to dry himself off, and lit his hand on fire for the light. 

It was silent, except for the rain and occasional roll of thunder, and a constant, slow dripping noise from somewhere nearby. He found the leak in the roof fairly quickly, and frowned at the puddle of water at his feet. 

He only had a split-second to register the sound of someone else moving, before he was turning and sending icicles in the direction of the noise, though he found the hallway to be empty when he turned to look. 

He felt a blow to the back of his head and someone grabbed his right wrist, pressing into his elbow and sending him to the floor with a heavy foot planted against his back. In milliseconds, before he could light himself on fire, or freeze whoever was holding him down, there was capture tape wrapped around his wrists. He looked over his shoulder in defeat to see an opponent in grey and black, a helmet covering his head entirely, short, broad and masculine but with no other discernible features. Something about him, though… Shouto couldn’t help but narrow his eyes. 

Almost playfully, the masked figure raised a finger to where his lips must have been, reached over and took Shouto’s communication device from his ear with a gloved hand, before leaving just as quickly as he had arrived. Shouto watched him slip out of an open window, and then he was gone. It was all strangely, achingly familiar. 

The class knew the rules of the capture tape; an alternative to being literally knocked out (and a way to avoid too many concussions.) Shouto was left to wallow in his embarrassment for another forty-five minutes before the buzzer sounded, announcing the end of the exercise. 

“Frankly, that was an embarrassing performance,” Aizawa’s voice scolded them over the tinny speaker system. “Come back to the gate, we’re going to go over things.”

Shouto sighed and pushed himself up from the ground, yanking his wrists roughly out of the tape and trudging through the pouring rain. If only he hadn’t been so distracted, he thought bitterly, as his classmates emerged from alleyways and buildings and began to group together in the main street of the false city. 

Several of them looked worse for wear, sporting nasty bruises or noticeable limps. Kaminari had clearly been short-circuited, Yaoyorozu was shaking slightly, though whether it was from cold or hunger, Shouto was unsure. Bakugou was visibly steaming in anger, and Tokoyami was rolling out one of his wrists, standing under Shoji’s webbed arms to keep dry. 

That figure in black and grey stood there at the gates, waiting for them. His helmet was still firmly on his head. He stood at attention, the dark, impassive glass of his visor betraying nothing at all about the person underneath. 

“Well, class 2-A, that was abysmal,” Aizawa drawled. “Luckily for you, I wasn’t expecting you to succeed. Still, I was hoping you’d hold out a little longer than that.”

The class shifted uncomfortably, disappointment and frustration etched into every face in the crowd. 

“You were outmatched, and you still split up with no plan or system in place. That was your first mistake. I hope you all take this as a learning opportunity. You could have avoided this loss, but you had a slim margin for error,” their teacher concluded. 

The class was silent, until Tsuyu raised her hand. 

“Mr. Aizawa, who is this?” She asked simply. 

Instead of answering her directly, Aizawa turned to the boy at his side. “Want to introduce yourself?” He asked gruffly. 

Shouto could only find himself half-surprised when the figure reached up and pulled off his helmet, revealing unruly green curls, tanned skin, and freckles that Shouto knew by heart. 

“It would only be fair,” Izuku chuckled, tucking the helm under his arm and smiling warmly at the gathered class in front of him. “My name is Midoriya Izuku, and I’m a recently licensed underground hero known as Deku.”

Shouto’s classmates stood there gaping. Bakugou, though, looked like he was staring into the face of a ghost. 

“Midoriya will be joining this class, though when it comes to combat training he is leagues and bounds above any of you,” said Aizawa. “He is technically here on probation. However, we wanted to introduce him and give him a chance to gauge all of your abilities as well.”

“Probation?” Sero asked with a raise of his eyebrow. 

“Yes, probation. If he does not meet the expectations laid out for him, he will not be allowed to stay here.” Aizawa confirmed. 

Izuku stared straight ahead, the easygoing facade he had put on cracking just slightly, just enough for Shouto to see how anxious he really was.  

“Don’t try and rope him into any of your hair-brained schemes. Now, let’s go inside. Change out of your wet costumes, and meet me back in the classroom. We’ll go over strategy and battle planning for the rest of the afternoon,” Aizawa announced, leaving no room for argument. He turned, and Izuku turned with him, allowing their teacher to lead him away with a hand on his shoulder. 

For just a second, Izuku glanced back and gave Shouto a little apologetic look. Shouto just watched him leave. 

(Even with the swirling mix of emotions in Shouto’s gut, he could appreciate the view.)

Chapter Text

Shouto was fourteen and angry at the world. He had every right to be, he thought, his body aching. Like it wasn’t enough that his grades were near perfect and he was already in peak physical condition. Like he could give his father more than what he already was. 

(He could, a small voice in the back of his head reminded him. If he wasn’t a coward, if he wasn’t scared of what his fire could do, if he wasn’t so—) 

Shouto was having a bad night. The only solace he had was the fact that his father was a heavy sleeper, and therefore, Shouto never had any issues sneaking out of the house. Being a pro hero, then coming home and ‘training’ Shouto was enough to knock him out for a solid six to eight hours, and Shouto took full advantage of that. 

He was still quiet as he pushed the door open and stepped out into the cool night, closing it nice and tight behind him. The breeze stung against his skin, raw and pink with heat and burning. He clenched his jaw and charged onwards.  

The gate was silent as it opened, and clicked as it closed, and then he was free from that house. It loomed at his back and he pointedly made no effort to look behind him. There was a vending machine a few blocks away that he frequented on nights such as that one. He put one foot in front of the other and, despite the ache in his body, left his house behind. 

Nights in his part of the city were always quiet. The wealthy suburbs didn’t have much happening for them past nine in the evening, and when he checked his watch, he found that it was inching past ten-thirty already.

The cool light of the vending machine was comforting, and Shouto was so distracted that he almost didn’t see the boy standing beside it. He didn’t jump, but he did freeze up enough that the boy took notice. 

He was shorter, with eyes the size of saucers reflecting the light from the vending machine in a way that was almost eerie. His hair was messy and plastered to his forehead, one of his cheeks was darkened with either dirt or bruising. In the shadow of the alley, Shouto couldn’t tell which. He wore a hoodie and cargo pants that were a little too big for his frame, in colours dark enough that they kind of all blended into one. 

For a long moment, they stared at each other, frozen in place. For some reason, Shouto had decided that he would not be the first to speak, and he also would not approach the vending machine while this boy was so close to it. 

“Are you okay?” The boy asked, breaking the silence. His voice was high and soft, like he was afraid of spooking Shouto. 

“I’m fine,” Shouto answered curtly, “and frankly, it’s none of your business.” 

The boy frowned, and stepped out from beside the vending machine. His gaze was searching and intelligent, and from the way he was still looking at him, Shouto could tell that he knew he was lying. 

“Are you sure?” The boy asked. “If someone hurt you—”

“I said it’s none of your business,” Shouto snapped. “I just want a cold drink.” 

The boy flinched like Shouto had reached out to strike him, and he felt a little bad for a moment, but then the boy moved aside and Shouto was finally able to step up to the vending machine and shove his coins into the slot. He did not look at the boy any more, and jabbed the button on the vending machine that would give him the cold green tea that he was craving. 

The roll and thunk of the bottle falling from its spot in the machine was jarring in the dark and quiet of the night. Shouto kept his back turned to the boy as he cracked the seal on the lid and took a long sip. He knew the caffeine wouldn’t help him sleep, but he couldn’t deny that the bittersweet drink was a needed comfort. When he did finally turn around, the boy was still standing in the middle of the sidewalk and staring at him.

“What?” Shouto snapped. 

“Nothing,” the boy responded. “Sorry, I don’t mean anything by it.” 

With the boy standing where the streetlights could reach him, Shouto could make out more details. A few dark freckles on his cheeks, maybe more that were melting into his tanned complexion in the orange light. The way his shoulders were just as tense as Shouto’s felt, the way he stood like he was prepared to sprint away at the first sign of danger.

The boy didn’t speak again, and Shouto made no effort to address him. Instead, he sat down on the ground, just outside of the mouth of the alley which hosted the vending machine, and listened to the electric buzz of it. He half expected the boy to try and badger him some more, and he fully expected him to walk away, but instead, he shuffled awkwardly in place for a few more moments, until finally he sighed softly and sat down on the curb, with his back to Shouto. 

There were holes in the back of the boy’s hoodie, right over his shoulder blades, like he had been dragged across the ground on his back. Whatever he wore underneath the hoodie was dark too, though, and Shouto couldn’t make out any bare skin. No obvious injuries except for the dark spot on his cheek. Shouto had a fleeting, momentary thought that he should ask about the boy, ask if he was alright in return, but he bit his tongue instead. 

And then he ran out of time, because there was a commotion from somewhere down the street, and the boy jumped to his feet. He looked towards the sound, then back at Shouto. 

“Thanks for the company,” he said, “but you should leave now.” And then he took off running towards the noise.

Shouto, because he was a meddler at heart, and overconfident in his abilities to protect himself if need be, followed after him. 

The boy was fast, but Shouto could hear the scuffle in the darkened alleyway. He skidded to a halt at the entrance and watched as the boy wrestled with some strange figure on the ground. A woman stood against the wall, shaking with a hand over her mouth as she watched a child fight on her behalf. Her purse lay spilled across the pavement. It was obvious what was going on, and Shouto, who  was confident in his ability to analyze and respond to situations such as this one, rushed to take the woman by the arm and lead her away. 

“H—he has a gun,” she whimpered, stumbling over her high heels. 

Shouto’s blood ran cold as he heard the echo of a muffled shot ring out amongst the sounds of fighting. There were several more thwacking sounds that followed it, before eventually the night grew silent again. 

“Ma’am, you need to phone the police,” Shouto said. 

The woman didn’t move. Shouto handed her his phone, already opened to the keypad with emergency services’ number entered. She trembled violently, but managed to place the call. 

Next, Shouto did something very stupid. He went back to the alley. 

The boy was long gone, though the puddle of blood left beside the unconscious body of the mugger left an uncomfortable feeling in Shouto’s stomach. He could hear the woman sobbing into the phone as she explained what happened, and Shouto caught a glimpse of the criminal on the ground, his face already swelling, black and blue and red, and with no other discernible features. His dark clothes hid everything else about him. 

The police showed up quickly. Shouto gave his statement, dropped his name to a few officers and asked them sternly not to contact him for more information. The woman explained that someone, though she hadn’t seen who, had attacked the mugger before Shouto pulled her to safety. 

Shouto weighed his options. The boy had escaped, obviously, which made Shouto think that perhaps he had some experience in situations like this. He had no proof that the blood belonged to the boy, rather than the mugger, and though he felt no loyalty to this random boy he met at his favourite vending machine, he also knew a bit about vigilantism. 

When Shouto described the boy to the police, he didn’t lie, but he was vague. He offered broad strokes, and no fine details. Freckles, dark hair, short. He offered the barest of minimums, and then he left. 

Even as he did it, he wasn’t sure why. 

— 🌩️—

The night after the U.A. Recommendation exam, Endeavor was a blazing fury. Shouto came second, and his father would not let him forget it anytime soon. Three straight hours of training, of being nearly cooked alive in that goddamn room, until finally he collapsed and Endeavor decided he wasn’t worth his time. Fuyumi was the one to help him back onto his feet, patch his fresh burns, and feed him before he was sent off to bed. 

Of course Shouto couldn’t sleep. When midnight rolled around and—despite the exhaustion in his body—he remained wide awake, he shoved his covers off of himself and made his way outside again. 

He had recently begun climbing out onto the roof, rather than making the trek to the vending machine. The encounter with the mugger had made him wary, and rather than risk getting himself into the sort of trouble that the police might get involved in, he had settled simply for the type of trouble that would earn him a scolding and a few extra minutes of training when he didn’t want it. Better than what he would get if the police showed up at the door asking questions. 

He did not notice the second figure joining him until they sat heavily beside him, legs spread out across the shingles of the roof. 

Shouto turned, expecting to see the eyes of a criminal, or perhaps the eyes of a vigilante he had met once before, and instead he froze as he looked into the rabbit-like mask covering the face of his companion. It looked like a bad arts and crafts project, though the moonlight added unsettling shadows to the eye sockets and the wide, toothy mouth. 

Shouto was already calling on his ice before the figure raised its hands placatingly. 

“I’m not here to hurt you,” said a voice, only vaguely familiar, from behind the mask. “Actually, I came to say thank you.” 

Shouto didn’t speak, and he did not let his guard down, even if the ice he summoned hurt the near-frostbite in his fingertips. 

Slowly, the boy removed his mask, and Shouto once again found himself staring into wide, round eyes set into a freckled face. This time, there was no dark splotch on one cheek, though his nose was more crooked than Shouto remembered. 

“You didn’t give the police any real information on me, even though I know you could have. So, thank you,” he said, and then, he smiled. 

He had a nice mouth, Shouto might have thought if he was a little bit less repressed. Instead, he kept himself on guard as the boy beside him replaced his mask. 

“You didn’t seem like the talkative type before, so I figured asking why you did it wouldn’t get me anywhere. I just wanted to make sure I thanked you.” 

“Okay,” Shouto responded, deciding that this boy probably wasn’t a danger to him. 

The boy turned his face away. “Anyways,” he continued, “I also have something to give you. It’s just a start, but I thought that you might want to see it.” 

He pulled a bent manila folder out of his hoodie pocket, and when he held it out delicately, Shouto took it from him. And then he opened the file, and his whole life flipped upside-down. 

Inside were pages and pages of files about Endeavor’s misdeeds. Shouto’s eyes widened with every word he read, until his head was spinning with it all and he had to close the folder with a snap . He looked up at the boy beside him. 

“Who the hell are you?” He demanded. 

“I’m someone who wants to help,” said the boy. 

Shouto didn’t miss the lack of a name given, but he was more distracted by the fact that this boy, this possible vigilante, had met him once, recognized him enough to find him again at his home, and had started looking into his father.

“I—I’d already been interested in Endeavor for a while before I met you—well, him, among others,” the boy explained, like he was reading Shouto’s mind. For a moment, Shouto actually thought he might have spoken all of that aloud, though the boy gave no other indication that he had. He certainly did not address the issue of his name. 

“Why?” Shouto asked him. It came out strangled. 

“Because I know what bullies look like, how they act, what they become… and because he’s a little too close to number one for my liking,” the boy answered. 

Shouto watched the way he tensed as he spoke, his fingers digging into the tile of the roof through his tight gloves, his shoulders stiff. 

“And what do you want from me?” Shouto added. 

At that, the boy huffed a little laugh and turned his face back towards Shouto again. The mask was just as unsettling as it had been before. 

“Honestly? Nothing really. Maybe permission to continue with this project, I dunno. If you told me to stop looking into your family, I would. But people like Endeavor need to be taken down a peg, and I’m confident that I could put together a dossier capable of destroying him, and everything that he is,” he told him, very simply. Shouto appreciated the frankness. 

However, the thought of feeding information about his family to someone he didn’t know at all, beyond two strange encounters, was ridiculous. Shouto was sure that the vigilante could tell this from his face, because he shrugged. 

“I’ll keep working. It’ll probably be pretty slow, though. I won’t do anything with the information until I’ve let you see everything, and I’ll give you my word on that.” 

Shouto didn’t nod, or shake his head. He didn’t say anything more, but their conversation was over anyway. The boy pushed himself to his feet, his balance impeccable on the uneven roof, and he looked down at Shouto. 

“If you ever need to find me, Dagobah beach is a good bet.” He said. “I’ll see you around, Todoroki.” 

With that, Shouto watched him jump from the roof, to a cherry tree in the front yard, to the high wall surrounding the property, and then he disappeared into the night. 

Shouto burned the file. He climbed back inside the house and didn’t sleep that night. 

— 🌩️—

It was not Dagobah beach where they met again. Instead, Shouto found him completely by chance, in a park halfway across the city from his home. 

He was sitting against the trunk of a tree, no mask to be found, dark hair frizzy from humidity, and for the first time, Shouto realized that it was green. Rather than his dark hoodie and practical cargos, he wore a t-shirt and basketball shorts, and he looked so ridiculously normal, Shouto might have walked right past him without ever noticing him if it weren’t for the commotion. 

Three boys gathered around him, looming over him in a way that was clearly supposed to be threatening. Shouto thought it looked a little bit ridiculous. One of the boys grabbed the notebook that Shouto’s unnamed vigilante was writing in, flapping the leathery red wings that sprouted from his back and holding the notebook up and out of reach. His two friends guffawed and pressed in closer. 

“Why don’t we take this off of your hands, Deku?” The one with the wings taunted. “It’d help you give up that stupid dream of yours, don’t you think?” 

Deku(?) watched, his face pinched and shuttered, like he was trying not to get visibly upset. Clearly, it wasn’t working well enough, because the laughter of his tormentors rang out through the park, and it made Shouto bristle. He watched as one of the boys reached out a hand, all long, spindly fingers, to grip ‘Deku’s hair, and the third boy reeled his leg back for a kick. 

Well, Shouto couldn’t abide that. 

The three boys clearly had no real training, that much became clear immediately. Shouto had absolutely no trouble completely unbalancing the one aiming a kick at the boy’s head, and when the one with the strange hands jumped away in surprise, Shouto shoved his friend into him, sending them both falling back and sprawling across the ground. 

The only one left was the guy with the wings. Shouto looked up at him, into his face filled with boyish anger, and he barely had to wait a second before the boy dove at him, leveling a sloppy attack at his chest. Shouto sidestepped, and struck with his forearm against the back of his neck. He fell out of the air with a heavy thump . 

‘Deku’ scrambled to grab his notebook, and stared wide-eyed at Shouto, the surprise clear as day in every inch of his face. 

“I don’t like bullies either,” Shouto said by way of explanation. 

‘Deku’ nodded, and when Shouto gestured for him to follow him, he did so without hesitation. 

“Aren’t you a vigilante?” Shouto asked, once they were far enough away from any prying ears. The bullies had run off to god-knows-where as soon as it became clear that they wouldn’t win. “You could have defended yourself,” he added. 

‘Deku’ laughed bitterly. “And then I’d give them reasons to question me, and why I’m suddenly capable of fighting back. Besides, better me than someone else.” 

Shouto scoffed. “I doubt they’re smart enough to start asking questions.” 

“Not them, but… well, there’s usually four of them,”  his companion sighed. 

“They called you ‘Deku,’” Shouto mentioned. 

The boy frowned. “I guess they did, didn’t they?” 

Shouto waited for him to say more, but he didn’t. When he looked at him over his shoulder, he found the vigilante staring intently at his shoes. When Shouto found them a bench to sit down on, he followed his lead like it was an automatic response. 

They sat in silence. Shouto had run out of things to say, and ‘Deku’ was too lost in thought to keep up a conversation. Every so often, he would mutter something to himself. He held his notebook tightly, and Shouto spied a title scrawled on the front of it: Hero Analysis for the Future, No. 12 . 

“I’m sorry, I never really gave you a name, did I?” the boy spoke finally. 

He glanced over at him, then back down at the notebook in his hands. It was then that Shouto noticed that there was a name on it. Midoriya Izuku was scrawled there in blocky kanji, the ink a little smudged. 

“Maybe… maybe just call me Deku? Everyone already does, anyways.” 

Shouto shrugged. “If you want,” he said mildly, already telling himself that he would not be using a name that so closely resembled an insult like ‘worthless person.’

“I—I think so,” the boy nodded. 

Shouto did not mention that he could see his full name scrawled across the front of his notebook. He didn’t make any moves to reassure the boy that his secret was safe. He sat beside the young vigilante as the afternoon began to grow cool, the evening drawing nearer. 

“Are you going to U.A.?” The boy asked finally, breaking the silence that had fallen between them. 

Shouto nodded, because he hadn’t gotten his acceptance letter quite yet, but he knew he was getting in, and he knew he was going, too. 

‘Deku’ smiled, and there was a hint of bitterness to it. “Good. I’m glad. I think you’ll be a really good hero, Todoroki.” 

Shouto, who had never had a choice on what kind of hero he was going to be, tried not to show how much his chest ached at hearing him say that. He wasn’t sure if it was a good hurt or a bad hurt, but it was definitely an ache taking root in the cavity of his chest where his heart wasn’t. 

‘Deku’ smiled, and in the flat afternoon light, it was soft and kind and good. When he left Shouto sitting alone on that park bench, Shouto thought he must not have known the weight of those words. 

It was all he wanted to be, he thought. A good hero. 

— 🌩️—

U.A. announced its intentions to become a boarding school just after the regular entrance exam was over. Shouto breathed a sigh of relief when his acceptance letter arrived, and the realization that this would allow him to escape from his father finally hit him. 

His classmates were loud, boisterous, and in some cases irritating, but Shouto would take that over living with Endeavor any day. He barely had any belongings to unpack, and between himself and his sister, his room was set up in half a day. 

Then, classes started. On the first day, Shouto’s homeroom teacher expelled a kid and made sure to drill into their heads that he was more than willing to do the same with any of them. He was a strict, tired man named Aizawa, the pro hero Eraserhead, and his no-nonsense attitude put Shouto somewhat on high alert. 

Their English teacher was none other than Present Mic, and he was just as loud and excitable in person as he was in the clips Shouto had seen of him online. History was taught by Midnight, and Shouto felt the disgust churn in his stomach when he heard how some of his classmates spoke about her. Apparently, his glaring was obvious enough for them to be cowed, and he hadn’t heard anything else about it since. 

Math was taught by Ectoplasm, and Shouto liked his teaching style quite a lot. He was straight to the point, clear and concise, and he made an effort to keep their attention with jokes and quips throughout his lectures. Sciences were taught by Power Loader, who had a tendency to get ahead of himself in his lessons, but certainly knew what he was talking about.

Their heroics teacher, though, stood out among the faculty like a sore thumb. His name was Mr. Yagi, a skeletal man with shaggy blond hair, who walked with a cane and had a hacking cough that sounded a little too wet, sometimes. Shouto didn’t think he had imagined the blood he had seen in the man’s handkerchief. None of that was really the reason that he stood out, though. Where most of their teachers were pro heroes who had practical experience with their subjects, Mr. Yagi was not a hero anyone recognized. Even Midnight had her Masters in anthropology, as she explained at the beginning of their first class with her. Mr. Yagi, who taught heroics, could not explain where his expertise came from, nor was he a hero that anyone recognized. He was an anomaly, frankly. 

He did know what he was talking about, though. He had the working knowledge of the hero system to back up his position, and his wry sarcasm and enthusiastic encouragement of his students quickly earned him the favour of most, if not all of class 1-A. Even Shouto could admit his appreciation for the man, even if his mind constantly swirled with questions about him. It seemed that he was a rookie teacher, and Shouto wondered almost constantly what he had been doing before he took the teaching position. 

It was when Shouto was off-campus for a run one morning that he was reminded of Deku’s words, during their second-ever meeting, and turned his trajectory towards Dagobah Beach. As he approached the boardwalk, he slowed to a jog. 

He wasn’t exactly sure what had compelled him to seek out the vigilante on that particular morning, but he was not disappointed. The sun had yet to rise, but the pre-dawn light bathed the world in a strange wash of grey. As Shouto caught sight of the figures on the beach, he slowed to a stop to watch. 

‘Deku’ was indeed there, his body crackling with green electricity. The veins under his skin seemed to be glowing, giving him a near-ghostly appearance. He stood still, very still, his feet dug into the sand and his face tight in concentration. 

And beside him stood Mr. Yagi. 

“How long do you think you’d be able to hold this?” Mr. yagi asked. 

“M–maybe a minute?” the boy ground out, his voice tight. 

“Thats a good start, young Izuku,” Mr. Yagi said encouragingly. “You’re improving already!” 

“Doesn’t r–really feel like it,” he responded. 

“Don’t say that,” Mr. Yagi scolded. “Just last week, you couldn’t activate it at all without hurting yourself. It is an improvement.”

The boy said nothing else, and true to his word, the light in his veins and the electricity both faded a few seconds later. His legs seemingly gave out under him, and Mr. Yagi rushed to catch him. 

“Good job, you did amazingly,” Yagi encouraged him. “I’m sorry I can’t be more help, but I’ve gotten in contact with someone who I think can,” he was saying. 

‘Deku’ nodded jerkily, and Shouto ducked behind a nearby tree just as he raised his head to look in his direction. 

The use of the boy’s given name reminded Shouto of the kanji scrawled on the cover of his notebook. He fumbled slightly as he pulled his phone out of his pocket, found his browser app, and typed the name Midoriya Izuku into the search bar. 

Only one result seemed relevant; it was a Facebook page of a woman named Midoriya Inko, and pinned at the top of her page was a post about her son, Midoriya Izuku. 

It was the same boy, there was no doubt about it. He was younger, scrawnier, but his hair was the same deep green and his freckles, though darker than the ones on the vigilante that Shouto knew, were the same too. He was smiling bashfully at the camera, a birthday cake half cut out of the photo. The text of the post was what really captured Shouto’s attention, though. 

It was from only four months ago, just after the day at the park, Shouto realized, and it read:

My son, Izuku, has gone missing, and I do not know what to do. He is my entire life, please, if anyone sees him, or has any information about him, contact me. He has curly green hair, green eyes, freckles, he is 166cm tall, last seen wearing a white T-shirt with the phrase ‘Dress Shirt’ printed on it in black, black and green athletic shorts, and red high-tops. This is a photo of him from his birthday one year ago. The police have told me that he is probably just a runaway, and he is quirkless, so they are resistant to investigating further. I know they think he may have just committed suicide, but I also know my son, and he would never do that. They suggested that I make this post here, and ask for help. Please, if you can spread this around, I just want my son back again. He is only 15 years old. He has had a really hard life, but I know that he is still out there. Izuku, baby, if you are reading this, please come home. I miss you, and I love you more than anything. 

Thank you for taking the time to read my post. I hope that you will help me find my son. 

The post concluded with her phone number, as well as the numbers for two people named Bakugou Mitsuki and Masaru. Shouto stared at the numbers, and wondered whether or not he should call one of them, or maybe if he should ask the boy in his class named Bakugou if he recognized any of the names. He wondered if ‘Deku‘ knew about this post, and he wondered if he felt guilty. 

No time like the present to ask, he figured, as someone cleared their throat beside him. 

The vigilante was looking at him with one eyebrow raised, his arms crossed over his chest. 

Dawn was breaking properly by then, and Shouto could see him in more detail. He looked worse than the last time he had seen him, his clothes were shabbier, the bags under his eyes a little darker, and though he had more muscle mass than Shouto thought he had before, there was no extra body fat to pad it. He might have looked more intimidating if he wasn’t shaking slightly, too. 

Shouto, because he wasn’t sure what else to do, held up his phone to face him. 

“Midoriya Izuku, right?” he asked. 

Midoriya Izuku paled slightly. 

“H–how did you find that?” he demanded.

“I saw your name on your notebook. I wasn’t planning on doing anything with it, until I saw you with my teacher,” Shouto explained. 

Midoriya’s mouth formed a thin line. He exhaled harshly through his nose. “So, are you gonna turn me in, then?” he asked warily. 

“I know better than most about the things that parents can be hiding. Plus, I know how quirkless people are treated, by everyone including their own families,” Shouto responded. “Did you run away from your mother?”

Midoriya sighed heavily and lowered himself to sit on the ground, leaning against the thick tree trunk Shouto had hidden behind (unsuccessfully.) Shouto sat beside him. 

“I didn’t run away from her, not like you’re implying,” he explained. “I love my mum. Even after I was diagnosed as Quirkless, she tried her best to support me however she could. I could tell she was hoping I would give up on my dream of being a hero, but I never did, obviously. Then I met someone, and my whole life changed. I suddenly had the chance I always wanted, I could become the hero I had so desperately wanted to be. We decided on a path for me, one that would be best for both of us and our goals, and that path just happened to be vigilantism.” 

Shouto watched as he ran a trembling hand through his hair, sweat making the curls more defined, and sticking flyaways down to the back of his neck.

“It quickly became obvious that I was putting her in danger by staying. It felt terrible to leave her without any warning, but… I couldn’t let her get hurt because of me. When it’s safe, I’ll go back to her, and I’ll apologize for everything, but right now, It’s the only way I can protect her. So, I guess, it just has to be this way,” Midoriya finally finished, his face grim and exhausted. 

“So what does Mr. Yagi have to do with all of this, then?” Shouto demanded. 

“He's… my mentor, I suppose you could call him,” Midoriya answered vaguely. 

“So that energy I saw around you earlier, was that his quirk, then?” Shouto prodded. 

Midoriya barked a laugh. “I guess you could say that. It’s complicated.” 

Shouto nodded, and Midoriya looked at him like he expected him to ask for more details, but Shouto didn’t. In a way, he understood Midoriya. Being quirkless, feeling powerless in a world that probably never told him he was anything else, seeing an opportunity to make a difference… Shouto thought that it all made perfect sense. 

“So what are you going to do with all of this?” Midoriya asked warily, his shoulders taught. 

“Nothing,” Shouto told him. “I have no reason to interfere.”

Midoriya looked somewhat surprised at that, but the little smile he gave Shouto afterwards was all relief. 

“Thank you,” he said. “It seems like I always have something new to thank you for.” 

“Are you still looking into Endeavor?” Shouto questioned. 

“Yeah. it’s slow going, but I’ve been making progress,” Midoriya assured him.

“Then that’s thanks enough,” Shouto sighed. 

Midoriya bumped Shouto’s shoulder with his own. “If you ever decide you want to tell me your story, I’m here,” 

Shouto looked at him, and at the rising sun on the horizon. Mr. Yagi sat on a bench on the nearby pier, far enough away that he couldn’t hear or see them. The water sparkled like rhinestones. 

“Have you ever heard of quirk marriages?” Shouto asked. 

— 🌩️—

On the day that Shouto’s class went on a field trip, to a place referred to as the U.S.J., a villain attack occurred at a mall in the Kiyashi Ward. All Might was spotted engaging with a group of villains in the mall’s central plaza. No citizens were seriously harmed. Arrests were made, All Might was injured but not fatally, and a few articles mentioned mysterious allies to the heroes involved, though none listed the allies’ names. 

There was one clip that managed to capture a blurry image of these allies; one was too fast for details, nothing more than streaks of yellow and red. The other, though…

Shouto would recognize that shade of green anywhere. 

— 🌩️—

Shouto lost first place to fucking Bakugou Katsuki. He stood on the second place podium and seethed, as Bakugou raged and ranted above him, barely allowing Midnight to place his medal around his neck. 

It wasn't even a loss. Second place was an impressive feat, and Shouto knew that. He was surrounded by incredible talents, and to come out standing on the podium at all was a testament to his abilities in and of itself. Still, second place felt like a bitter reminder that his ice wasn’t enough . Without his fire, he had succeeded, but he hadn’t gotten that perfect score, that number one spot. His ice was just shy of enough. 

And that fucking sucked. 

His father was convinced by Fuyumi–and the fact that Shouto would have to return to the dorms the very next day–to forgo any training that night, but Shouto still had to sit through several hours worth of lecturing, mostly about how disappointed in Shouto he was. Shouto bit his tongue and bore it. 

Apparently sick of looking at him, Endeavor finally sent Shouto to bed with the promise that the next training session they had would be twice as rigorous as usual. Shouto didn’t tell him that, with the dorms, he could very easily spend the next year far away from him without raising any suspicions at all. 

Shouto snuck out again that night. He was exhausted, sore, nursing bruises and suffering the effects of Recovery Girl’s quirk, but he needed to get out . His father was still a heavy sleeper. Shouto very nearly slammed the front gate on his way out. 

He wandered without paying much attention. Dangerous and stupid, yes, but he was stewing in his anger and resentment and disappointment, and when he looked up, there it was. The tide was high, the water reflecting the velvet black of the sky, the moon turned to shimmering, ghostly light on the surface. The beach was empty, so Shouto found a log far enough away from the water and sat. The salt air was clear and seemed to crystallize in his lungs. 

This time, he heard the footsteps approaching him, but his companion did not sit down. 

“How’d you know I would be here?” Shouto asked. 

“Stand up,” Midoriya responded. His voice was so cold, Shouto nearly didn’t recognize it, but it certainly did a good job of startling him out of his thoughts. When he turned his face towards Midoriya, he was surprised to find the kind of anger there he wouldn’t expect from anyone less than his father. 

“Are you going to lecture me, too?” Shouto asked snidely, but he did stand. 

Midoriya dropped into a fighting stance. “Fight me, and take me seriously. Don’t go half-assing this because of a grudge.” 

Shouto scoffed bitterly. “A grudge? Is that what you think it is?” 

“I think you’re holding yourself back. I think it’s petty. I think it’s a damn shame what you’re letting him do to you, and I think that I want to beat your ass,” Midoriya replied. “Come on, what are you waiting for?”

Shouto bristled. “What on earth are you talking about?! I’m not fighting you on a public beach. You’re just asking to get caught!”

Midoriya charged him. Shouto barely had time to brace himself before the other boy barrelled into his chest, and without his years of training, he would not have stayed on his feet. Midoriya Izuku was strong, and more than that, he was determined to prove his point. Whatever the hell that point was, anyways. 

Shouto managed to shove him off, and sent a small wall of ice in his direction for good measure. 

Midoriya lit up from the inside, flickering electricity jumping across his body, he held out his hand and flicked his finger, sending Shouto stumbling backwards with a blast of wind as his ice shattered. 

All of a sudden, Shouto was taking this much more seriously. Even in the moonlight, he could see the way that Midoriya’s pointer finger was purpling. 

Shouto snarled and drew on his ice again, but Midoriya was expecting that. Another flick of his fingers had him shattering that wall as well. Shouto rushed in close, and Midoriya defended, maneuvered, and attacked just as viciously. 

“You could do so much more than this, Todoroki!” Midoriya snapped, just as he got in close enough to land a good, hard punch to Shouto’s stomach. 

Shouto retched, he fell and scrambled to his feet, just in time for Midoriya to aim a punch at his head, which he barely managed to avoid. 

“Do you know what I would have done for a quirk, any quirk at all, just a year ago?!” Midoriya ranted. “And you just refuse to use half of yours, and for what?? You’re holding yourself back!” 

“It’s an evil quirk and I won’t stoop to his level,” Shouto insisted. “I will never be like him, and I will never use his cursed power!” 

Midoriya flicked his fingers again, and blew Shouto back into the cold surf. He came up sputtering and spitting salt water, but it did give him an advantage. He sent his ice outwards in a sheet along the ground, froze part of the tide, and as he threw himself at Midoriya again, he used the lack of traction to unbalance him. Midoriya went crashing down into the frozen sand, and Shouto watched his elbow glow as he drove it down behind him at the last second. The ground practically erupted, and Midoriya whimpered in pain, but he succeeded in throwing Shouto off of him again and staggered back to his feet. 

Shouto felt adrenaline buzzing beneath his skin, enough that he suddenly realized that he wasn’t feeling the exhaustion that he expected. He looked across the improvised battle ground at Midoriya, and had to pause for a moment to register his surprise. 

Midoriya looked worse for wear. He was clutching his elbow, wincing in pain, and at the end of his arm hung his hand, every finger swelling and purple. The sight was kind of revolting, the way they hung like there were no solid bones in them. It took Shouto a few seconds to realize that that was probably, in fact, the case, and then another few seconds to realize that whatever Midoriya was doing to himself was a result of a quirk. Shouto looked around for Mr. Yagi, and found nothing but empty beach. He took another good, hard punch to the diaphragm for his distraction.

“You can see what my quirk does to me, right?” Midoriya said. 

Before Shouto got the chance to answer, to ask if Mr. Yagi had anything to do with his apparent new quirk, he was blasted backwards again. Another finger, on the hand that was still intact, broken. 

“But I’m still using it, so why won't you give me the same courtesy?” 

Shouto wanted to pull his hair out by the roots. He wanted to punch Midoriya in the mouth. “I’m not going to use his fucking quirk–” He began, only to be cut off.

“It’s not his! It’s yours, you fucking idiot!” Midoriya screamed. His voice echoed in the dark of night. “It’s your power, isn’t it?! It’s your quirk, so fucking act like it!” 

And Shouto, without realizing it, had begun to catch fire. Midoriya’s grin in the flickering light of the flames was as brilliant as the sun. 

He broke the rest of his fingers in the end of that fight. Shouto won by a hair, but it didn’t really matter. Midoriya had given him a lot to think about. His voice rang loud and clear in his head as he sat in the lobby of Recovery Girl’s off-campus clinic. She didn’t ask him questions, and Shouto didn’t offer her any information that she didn’t need. She had healed his bruises and frostbite, the latter of which he hadn't even realized that he had, and then glanced at Midoriya’s hands and huffed something about needing to perform surgery before any healing could be done. Shouto hadn’t seen or heard from either of them since. 

If there was one thing he could appreciate about Recovery Girl, it was her discreetness. Still, he wouldn’t leave Midoriya there, consequences be damned. 

Mr. Yagi shuffled in about thirty minutes after Shouto and Midoriya arrived. He looked at Shouto, then at the rest of the empty waiting room, then offered a gaunt smile. 

“Everything alright, Young Todoroki?” He asked in that rough voice of his.

Shouto nodded. He didn’t think his voice would work then, and he didn’t want to find out. He had a million questions, but none of them were fully formed enough to voice, so he stayed quiet.

Mr. Yagi nodded. He sat down in a seat across the room from Shouto and rested his hands on the crook of his cane. They shared the space in silence for a long while, then, though Shouto was too tired and too lost in thought to know exactly how long. When Recovery Girl finally shuffled back into the room, he was startled out of his reverie as Mr. Yagi stood abruptly. 

“He’s fine, his arms will be in casts for a little while, and there will likely be some permanent damage, but he’s as lively as ever.” She announced, to Mr. Yagi and not to Shouto. 

Permanent damage. It felt like a rock in the pit of his stomach. Mr. Yagi thanked Recovery Girl and shuffled past her, and Shouto stayed frozen in his seat. 

“What on earth were you two thinking, honestly,” Recovery girl scolded him. “Didn’t you wear yourself out enough at the sports festival today?” 

Shouto just shrugged numbly. 

“Whatever you two fought over, it had better have been worth it,” she huffed. 

Shouto wanted to tell her that it was, and at the same time, it really wasn’t, but he couldn't find the words. She left him alone after that, though not without grumbling that he was lucky she had been there that night, and Shouto had just enough wherewithal to be grateful to whatever deity or god had granted him that small victory. 

Finally, what seemed like a full year later, Mr. Yagi emerged from the hallway that led to the clinic’s private rooms and informed Shouto that Midoriya was requesting to see him. 

Shouto steeled himself. He expected to be cursed out, or told to never try and find Midoriya again, but instead, he was met with yet another wide grin. 

“I’m proud of you,” Midoriya said. “You did it, and I’m so proud.”

“I’m sorry,” Shouto murmured. “I’m sorry it took you disfiguring yourself for me to understand.” 

“I would do it again a hundred times over,” Midoriya told him confidently. 

“Please, don’t,” Shouto pleaded. 

The smile on Midoriya’s face turned bashful, but he made no promises. 

“I have a lot to think about,” Shouto added, voicing his thoughts like an excuse for bad behaviour.

“I’m sure,” Midoriya said, “but I think you’ll make the right decision in the end.”

Shouto sat down in the stiff plastic chair at Midoriya’s bedside, his eyes tracing the ridges in the sterile white bandages around his arms. 

“I’ll be okay. Just a few days and I’ll be back on my regular patrol route like nothing even happened!” he tried to assure Shouto. 

Shouto was not quite reassured, but Midoriya’s upbeat attitude definitely helped. 

“Can I–” Shouto took a deep breath and steeled himself. “I want to make a selfish request.”

“Go ahead,” Midoriya nodded.

“I would like to be your friend. If you would have me.” 

Midoriya’s grin was back in full force, like Shouto had just given him the best news of his life.

“I would like to have you as a friend,” He told Shouto. 

It was a new kind of warmth, Shouto thought. Not like fire and flame, but like a heater set to the perfect temperature. Like the sun on a clear day in spring. 

Midoriya filled the space between them with idle chatter, and allowed Shouto to respond in barely more than hums and shrugs, and the warmth seemed to seep into the room. When Midoriya grew tired, and Shouto stood to leave, they parted with the promise to see each other soon. Shouto wasn’t sure how, but he really hoped that they could keep that promise. 

He would find a way, he decided. He owed it to Midoriya. He thought, just maybe, that he did have a heart after all, because it beat against his ribcage like a drum the whole way home. 

— 🌩️—

When Hosu burned, Shouto found himself right in the thick of it. Strange creatures stalked the streets and skies, shrieking inhuman cries, giving the heroes grief like no villain ever had before them. It was utter chaos and Shouto, separated from his father and his sidekicks, was just doing his best to stay alive. 

He had spotted a hint of crackling emerald electricity earier, and had been following it ever since, but it was getting hard to maneuver through the streets with all the panicked civilians and desperate heroes. It was pure luck that he came across that alleyway, and he almost didn’t even see what was happening inside. If it weren’t for the flash of green catching his eye again, he would have ignored it completely. 

He certainly did not expect to find Iida on the ground, bleeding sluggishly from wounds that Shouto couldn’t quite make out. More than that, though, he was frozen momentarily by the sight of the hero killer Stain engaging with Midoriya, no more than five meters from them. 

Shouto sent a blast of fire down the alley, just as Midoriya dove away from a wicked blade. Shouto’s eyes met the dark sockets of Midoriya’s mask, as Midoriya propelled himself away from his opponent with a well-placed kick. He skidded to a halt with his chest heaving. Rather than his usual outfit, he was wearing a full-on hero’s suit, all tight compression fabric in emerald and deep grey. His shoes were still bright red, but something about them was different. They looked heavier than the high-tops he had been wearing the last time Shouto saw him. 

“Can you fight?” Midoriya asked, turning back to face Stain. The hero killer was crouched in the shadows, sizing the two of them up. 

“Not legally,” Shouto answered wryly. 

Midoriya huffed a strained little laugh. Stain charged them again. Shouto and Midoriya leapt into action. 

Stain seemed to have an endless supply of blades. Shouto wasn’t even sure where he was keeping them all, though the second three daggers were stuck into his arm, he began to have a hard time caring about that. 

“If he ingests your blood, he can paralyze you!” Midoriya announced, bouncing off a wall and landing a good hard kick to Stain’s chest, sending the man flying backwards. 

Shouto turned to look at Iida, still unmoving on the ground. “Iida, is that what happened to you?” he asked sharply. 

“Y–Yes,” Iida managed, though it sounded like it took a lot of effort to speak. Shouto watched as his hand twitched, stuttering like some invisible strings were holding it in place from every angle. 

“Well, hurry up and break out of it,” Shouto snapped. 

Iida said nothing else, but his hand continued to twitch. Meanwhile, Midoriya reached out a gloved hand and wrapped it around the blade of Stain’s sword as it came down above his head. 

“You’re blinded by your hero worship,” Stain hissed. His voice sent shivers down Shouto’s spine. “They’ve made you the child soldier on the front lines of their war.” 

“I chose to fight alongside them,” Midoriya told him, sweeping his legs out from under him and yanking the wicked sword from his grasp. “I think it’s you who’s been blinded. You were going to kill a kid, and what would that have proven?!” 

“That kid is the perfect example of what’s wrong with hero society. He didn’t care about stopping me, all he wanted was revenge,” Stain cackled.

“You nearly killed his brother!” Shouto scoffed. “Your ideology is skewed, if you really cared about ‘cleansing’ hero society, you would have actually gone after the heroes that are corrupt! God knows there’s enough of them to keep you busy.” 

Iida stood behind Shouto, on wobbly legs, though with determination burning in his eyes. 

Midoriya had been keeping Stain good and busy as he spouted his bullshit. That is, until Stain managed to knock Midoriya's mask away and drag a new blade across his cheek, licking the blood from the metal as Midoriya leapt away from him, only to go down like a puppet with his strings cut. Shouto’s heart skipped a beat in his chest. 

After that, it was all Shouto could do to keep Stain away from all three of them. He sent ice and fire at the hero killer, as Iida grabbed one of the many discarded blades from the ground and held it out in front of himself, his hands shaking. 

It took far less time for Midoriya to be able to stand again than it took for Iida, though, and soon he joined them in the center of the alley. His mask lay a few feet away from him, though his face remained obscured by a sort of tight, black balaclava. Shouto met his eyes properly this time, and found them determined and frustrated in equal measure. 

“Can you get your friend out of here?” he asked Shouto. 

“I’m not leaving,” Iida announced. “I started this, It’s my responsibility to make sure it’s finished.” 

Midoriya heaved a sigh. “Fine, then you’re going to do exactly what I say, got it?” 

Iida nodded. “I understand,” he agreed. 

“You have a quirk like Ingenium’s?” Midoriya asked, as though he hadn’t seen it in the sports festival just a week before. 

“I do,” Iida answered without question. 

Stain laughed from the end of the alley. “You’re looking a little worn out, children,” he teased. “Why don’t we end this nice and quick?” 

“Shut up, we’re talking,” Shouto responded, and sent a glacier his way. Midoriya’s eyes turned to him for just a split second, wide and full of an emotion that Shouto was unable to read. Then, he turned back to Iida. 

“We need that special move of yours. Todoroki’s gonna force him where we want him, and you and I are going to aim for the head. If we can knock him out, we can get everyone to safety.” Midoriya explained quickly. 

Shouto didn’t have time to agree to this plan, nor did Iida, because Stain shattered the ice around himself and began racing towards them as soon as his feet hit the ground. 

Shouto blasted him over and over with fire and ice and more fire, until his back was against the brick wall of the alleyway. Then, Midoriya and Iida sprung to life, each aiming a kick right at Stain’s head. 

The hero killer collapsed like a ragdoll. Shouto stood in silence with his companions, and the three of them all held their breaths as they waited to see if their plan had worked. 

“Thank god,” Iida sighed, when nearly a minute had passed and Stain still hadn’t moved. He stumbled and had to catch himself against the wall. 

“Todoroki,” Midoriya appeared at his side. “You should sit down, you’ve lost a lot of blood too.” 

Shouto looked down in surprise at the three daggers embedded into his arm, and found that he had honestly forgotten that they were there at all.

“I’m going to make sure Stain can’t get up again, and you two are going to stay here and watch him until I can get someone to come to you, okay?” he added. 

“We should at least get to the entrance of the alley,” Shouto argued. “It would be better if people could see us.” 

Midoriya paused as though thinking it over, but in the end, he agreed. Shouto and Iida were instructed to get themselves and the pro hero Native, who Shouto hadn’t even realized was there, out of the alley. 

When Shouto heard the dull thwacking sound of a body being hit, he did not turn back around. He didn’t think he wanted to see exactly what Midoriya was doing, and he doubted that Midoriya would have wanted him to see it either. 

Finally, Midoriya dragged Stain out into the street, his hands and feet bound with zip ties, and dropped his unconscious body unceremoniously on the pavement. 

“Th–thank you for saving me,” Iida said, a frown etched deep into his features. 

“I hope you’ve learned your lesson from this,” Midoriya told him. 

Iida nodded. Midoriya looked satisfied by that, as he slipped his mask back on over his face. 

“If you really want to thank me, you’ll tell no one about me, do you understand?” Midoriya added. 

“We understand, don’t worry,” Shouto assured him. “Your secret is safe with us.” 

Midoriya turned his face towards Shouto and Iida, the mask betraying nothing, and then the moment was broken by the approach of sirens. 

“I’ve got to help clean up the rest of this mess. You two be safe,” Midoriya said, and then he was jumping up between the buildings on either side of the alley, body crackling with that green energy, until finally he disappeared over the edge of a roof and was gone. 

Shouto and Iida didn’t speak much for the rest of that night. When it was announced that Endeavor would get the credit for Stain’s arrest, Shouto secretly hoped that Midoriya’s excessive use of force would be credited to his father, too.

When he got home, the first thing that Shouto did was go to Dagobah Beach. He went several times, over the course of several days.

Each and every time, the beach remained empty, and Shouto’s heart sunk further each time.

— 🌩️—

Shouto was distracted from his homework by a gentle tap tap tap against the glass of his balcony door. 

He froze, waited, and listened for any more noise. 

It came again. Tap tap tap.

Calling on his ice, he crept towards the door and pulled back the curtain just enough to see outside. There stood a figure, in a dark hoodie and cargo pants, and they were shifting nervously from foot to foot. 

The ice encrusting Shouto’s hand melted away, and he flung open his curtain first, then the sliding balcony door. 

“Hey,” Midoriya greeted him, pulling down the black medical mask that hid the bottom half of his face and grinning crookedly. 

“How did you get here??” Shouto hissed, yanking him inside and closing the door as quickly as he could. 

“Climbed,” Midoriya shrugged, pushing his hood off and taking in Shouto’s room. “Wow, are all of the rooms traditional like this?” 

“I meant how did you get into U.A.,” Shouto huffed. “I assumed you climbed. ”

Midoriya pulled a small device out of his pocket, all wires and blinking LED lights around a black plastic cube. 

“I put together a jammer. If it’s working the way I want it to, it basically makes it so that the security system doesn’t even register my presence. I'm essentially always in a blind spot,” Midoriya explained. 

Shouto stared at the little device. “You… made that?” 

“Yeah, it wasn’t too difficult, but that's partially because I had some really detailed information about how the security system here works in the first place,” Midoriya shrugged. “It should be a radius of effect, so as long as I’m within fifteen meters of it, I’m hidden.” 

“You’re a genius,” Shouto said in awe. 

Midoriya turned a deep shade of red, from the tips of his ears all the way down what Shouto could see of his neck. 

“N-no, I'm not!” he insisted. 

Shouto gave him a look that he hoped conveyed how much he did not believe him, and as Midoriya looked away and scratched his cheek awkwardly, Shouto felt a flood of something that he could only describe as affection through his body. There was little he could do to stop the heat from rising in his own cheeks. 

“A–anyways, I didn’t get to see you at all after Hosu, so I wanted to check on you and make sure that you were okay!” Midoriya stammered. 

“I’m fine. I tried to find you, I went back to Dagobah a couple of times, but no one was ever there,” Shouto told him. “I was worried about you. ”

“Well, I’m alright too, so no need to worry anymore!” Midoriya laughed, a little nervous. 

“I’ve been meaning to ask you, about the night when I first met you,” Shouto added. 

Midoriya’s brows furrowed, but he nodded for Shouto to continue. 

“Did you get shot?” Shouto asked bluntly.

Midoriya sputtered and stumbled over himself for a few seconds, as though trying to make excuses or find a way to lie his way out of the answer.

“You did, didn't you?” Shouto sighed. “I saw the blood, and I heard the gunshot.”

Midoriya kept his mouth firmly shut, and did not confirm or deny anything. Shouto didn’t really need him to. 

“That’s why I was worried about you,” he admitted. “You seem to struggle with self-preservation.” 

Midoriya made an offended noise and crossed his arms over his chest, his brows furrowing in frustration. “I don’t need you to worry about me, I’m perfectly capable of taking care of myself!” he insisted. 

“Maybe I want to be someone who worries over you,” Shouto retorted. 

Midoriya opened and closed his mouth several times, his eyes widened in surprise. When he finally spoke, his voice was a little shaky. “Wh–what?” he asked. 

“I–I don’t know,” Shouto admitted. “You’re already very important to me. I'm scared that I’ll lose you too soon, and I won't even know about it. I’m worried that you’ll just… disappear from my life.”

Midoriya stared at him, stock still like the words that Shouto was saying were completely foreign to him. 

“I–I don’t want to worry about you, but I do want you to be alright. I want you to come back, I guess, and if me worrying about you gives you a reason to do that…” Shouto trailed off. He had never really been good with words, and for a second as he looked up into Midoriya’s watering eyes, he thought that maybe he had already fucked up. 

And then Midoriya practically launched himself at Shouto, closing the small distance between them and nearly knocking them to the ground as he wrapped his arms tightly around Shouto’s body. Shouto didn’t really know how to hug people, hadn’t given or received a hug in many years, but he refused to stiffen or let Midoriya think that he didn’t want him close. He thought that maybe Midoriya was the only person in the world he wanted to hold, in fact. They stood in the center of Shouto’s room for a good long while, with Midoriya sniffling into Shouto’s shoulder and Shouto holding him tight. At some point or another, his hand found its way into Midoriya’s hair, the coarse curls poking out through the gaps in his fingers. 

He inhaled the smell of ozone and sweat and petrichor. He exhaled all of the anxiety that had built up in his chest over the course of the week. 

“C–can I ask you to call me Izuku?” Midoriya mumbled into Shouto’s sweater. 

“Will you call me Shouto, then?” Shouto asked. 

Midoriya nodded against him. Shouto’s whole body felt warm, even his right side. 

“I would be honoured to call you Izuku, then,” Shouto assured him. 

It would be another three months or so before they shared their first kiss. It would be the result of nearly a month with no contact, and of Izuku showing up at Shouto’s dorm room again in the dead of night, beaten absolutely bloody and stretching new scars across his nose and lips when he smiled at Shouto, lightning reflecting in his eyes. It would be Shouto grabbing him by the front of his shirt and scolding his recklessness, it would be Izuku’s bashful attitude and gentle reassurance that his team had won the battle, that they were even closer to their objective. It would be Shouto telling him not to be an idiot, begging him to be more careful. It would be Izuku cupping his cheek in the hand that had been mangled when he fought Shouto on that beach all those months ago, and it would be Shouto pressing his mouth to Izuku’s with more confidence than he really felt. 

But that wouldn't happen for some time. Until then, Shouto was satisfied with the ability to hold his friend in his arms, and to hear such a kind voice speak his name. 

He was already alight. 

Chapter Text

The day that Izuku joined class 1-A seemed to drag on endlessly. Shouto had to stare at the back of Izuku’s head for hours, his broad shoulders now clad in the familiar grey of a U.A. Uniform blazer, so unlike his usual hoodies and t-shirts. He found himself wondering about the black and grey costume from the combat exercise, where it came from, if Izuku himself made it like he had his previous costume, or if it was given to him by the school. He looked so handsome in it, but Shouto couldn’t help missing the green of the old jumpsuit. 

It wasn’t until late into the afternoon that Shouto got a chance to talk with Izuku one-on-one. In fact, it was nearly dinner time before Shouto managed to find an excuse to break away from his friends and return to his room. Somehow, he wasn’t at all surprised to find that Izuku was already there. 

“Shouto,” Izuku breathed. 

Shouto didn’t respond, except to cross the room to him and wrap him up in his arms. 

“You’re okay,” Shouto sighed. 

“I’m okay,” Izuku confirmed. 

“You made it,” Shouto added. 

He pulled back to see Izuku grin. 

“I made it,” Izuku agreed. 

Shouto kissed him. He thought maybe he should be mad, or upset, or at least annoyed at the lack of forewarning, but all he felt was the usual relief that Izuku was whole and safe, and then even more relief that, with a real license and the protection of U.A., he might stay that way for a good long while. 

“We should figure out how we want to play this,” Izuku murmured, in a moment of breath-catching between kisses nothing short of devouring. 

Shouto hummed disinterestedly and began pressing his lips to the skin of Izuku’s neck, bared by the t-shirt he had replaced his new school uniform with. 

“Sh—Shouto,” Izuku huffed on a laugh, trying half-heartedly to push Shouto away. 

“Later,” Shouto grumbled. 

“How about we save this for later, and we figure out a plan now,” Izuku bargained.

“Not interested,” Shouto huffed against his collarbone, dropping the temperature of his breath just to tease. 

“Sho,” Izuku whined, prying his head away with both hands and an attractive amount of strength that did nothing to distract Shouto at all. 

Shouto scowled. Izuku gave him the cutest, crookedest grin in his ample arsenal, and Shouto caved. 

“Fine. How do you want to play this, then?” 

Izuku chewed his lip for a second before speaking again. “I think it might be best if we don’t let anyone know that you knew me before this,” he said finally. 

Shouto blinked. “Why not? You knew Bakugou before too, and I doubt the two of you will be able to hide that.”

Izuku cringed. “Kaccha—err—Katsuki isn’t exactly… aware of my illicit activities.”

“So? You’ve been pardoned, haven’t you?” Shouto furrowed his brow in confusion. 

“Not—not exactly,” Izuku chuckled. “Like Eraserhead said, I’m on probation.”

“That’s stupid,” Shouto grumbled. 

“You could be indicted for aiding a vigilante,” Izuku frowned. “I’ve told you before, I don’t want you caught up in all this mess.”

“I would bet that Jirou and Shoji both have a pretty good idea of how long you’ve been sneaking into my room,” Shouto pointed out. “I’m not sure there’s any point in hiding the fact that we knew each other previously. Besides, Iida knows about you, too. Don’t invent problems where there aren’t any.”

That had Izuku fidgeting nervously. “Right. I guess I didn’t…”

“You’re thinking about this too hard. Besides, I don’t want to pretend not to know you.” Shouto tried to assure him.

Izuku seemed to be momentarily lost in thought. Shouto sighed, and untangled their arms and legs enough to lead Izuku over to the futon he had left, rumpled and untidy, on his floor that morning. Izuku settled on it, cross-legged and automatic. 

“I don’t see any harm in the class knowing that we’re… familiar with one another,” Shouto added. 

Izuku nodded, though he was still quiet. His brow was creased, lips moving around soundless words while he pressed his crooked thumb into the divot of his chin. 

“If you haven’t been fully pardoned yet, you are in the process of being pardoned, aren’t you? They wouldn’t have given you a license if you weren’t.”

“You’re right,” Izuku huffed. “I guess I’m still waiting for the other shoe to drop. It's… technically a provisional license, but Eraserhead and the others had to pull some strings to get me out of the trouble I was in, and I’m technically only here because Nedzu convinced them to let me be the trial run for his vigilante rehabilitation program, and there’s still a whole lot of pressure on us right now so I don’t want to rock the boat too hard,” he rambled, shoulders hunching more and more with each quiet word. 

“Rehabilitation??” Shouto echoed, aghast. “What the fuck?” 

Izuku laughed sardonically. “What, did you think I just wowed them with my sick flips and they had a change of heart?” 

Shouto found himself grinding his teeth. 

“It’s not as bad as it sounds.” Izuku assured him. He paused for a moment to think, before speaking again. “My quirk is a bit… erm, it's weird. And complicated. Some big secrets attached to it, ones that I can’t tell you about yet but… I will, someday. Anyways, the plan we—I—had… it worked. You, the students, all stayed uninvolved, and the League of Villains is gone, with you all kept at a safe distance. Lemillion is set to be the next number one hero, and I’m sure that, once you’ve graduated, you and your classmates won’t be far behind. The only reason I’m getting this opportunity is because I had multiple powerful, influential people vouching for me, assuring the HPSC of my role in their victories… Most people like me don’t get this kind of second chance. I just don’t want to waste it by getting anyone else tangled up in my stupid web.” 

Shouto held onto Izuku’s hands tightly. Izuku had always been tight-lipped about his work, but Shouto knew the broad strokes of it—the League, the Yakuza, putting a stop to a brewing war. He remembered very well the nausea in the pit of his stomach as he flipped between news channels, or stared intently at his phone screen, and watched for the hits of green on every battlefield. Media coverage of everything Izuku had been through was spotty at best, the HPSC was good at controlling information when they needed to be, but Shouto could put it together from the scraps he got. 

Now, though, Izuku was sitting in front of him, there to stay. Really, truly to stay. Shouto couldn’t let Izuku shoulder everything alone now, not when he was there to stand beside him. “You deserve every second, third, fourth chance. You have done so much, sacrificed so much for us and no one else knows it. Izuku, no matter what anyone says, you are my hero,” he assured him. 

Izuku’s watery eyes caught his, and his lips wobbled in a lame attempt at stopping the whimper trying to break free from his throat. Shouto reached up and out, placed a gentle hand on the back of Izuku’s head and drew him forwards, pressing a kiss to his forehead. 

“You can’t say things like that,” Izuku said roughly, weakly. “My heart can't take it.” 

Shouto just kissed him again, because they were in the safety of his dorm and he could do so as much as he wanted there, away from the prying eyes of their classmates. When they parted again, he took a moment to speak. 

“I don’t want you to call me Todoroki. I hate that name. I don’t think I could handle hearing it from you again,” he admitted. “Please, I know I’m asking for selfish reasons, but please, just call me by my own name.” 

Izuku cupped his face in his mangled hand and smiled oh-so-softly. “Okay. Okay, maybe you’re right. I’m over-complicating things.”

“Maybe a little bit,” Shouto agreed. 

Izuku huffed a laugh and buried his face in Shouto’s shoulder. 

“I think using each other’s given names will raise more questions than anything else,” Shouto pointed out. 

Izuku hummed. “I guess so.” 

Shouto thought for a moment. “We never exactly put a label on… whatever we are.” 

“I’m sorry,” Izuku murmured. 

“Why?” Shouto asked. 

“For making you wait so long for me. For stringing you along? Leaving you in limbo?” Izuku sighed. 

“You didn’t string me along,” Shouto scoffed. “I understood what I was getting into.”

Izuku turned his head so that his nose pressed against Shouto’s neck. “I don’t really have any experience with romance. Besides you, I mean,” he mumbled. 

“Me neither,” Shouto assured him. “Do you want a label?” 

Izuku was quiet for a moment, before he spoke up again. “Would—would you let me be your boyfriend?” 

“Yes,” Shouto answered immediately. “If you’d let me be yours.”

Izuku laughed. “Yeah. I’d really like that, I think.”

Izuku raised his head from Shouto’s shoulder, only to press their foreheads together. It was his turn to lean in and kiss Shouto, this time. Shouto was helpless to do anything but hold his waist and lean into him. 

He had just finally gotten Izuku’s back against his mattress when there was a knock on his door. He muffled an irritated groan against Izuku’s collarbone, and Izuku smacked a hand over his own mouth to stifle a giggle. 

“Todoroki? Dinner’s ready downstairs if you want some!” Yaoyorozu called through the door. 

Shouto didn’t answer, and hoped that she’d leave quickly. 

“You should eat,” She continued instead. “We had a big day today!” 

Shouto huffed and pushed himself up, though when Izuku made to follow him, he gestured for him to lay back down. Izuku batted his stupid, gorgeous, long eyelashes at him, and did as he was told. Satisfied, Shouto trudged over to his door and yanked it open. 

“There you are! I was beginning to think you weren’t here,” Yaoyorozu smiled brightly. 

“I’m here, and I heard,” he deadpanned. 

“Great! So you’ll join us then?” She prodded, her hands clasped in front of her chest. 

Shouto just shrugged noncommittally, which she seemed to take as an agreement. She made to walk away, but then stopped herself before she could get far. 

“Oh! Also, have you seen Midoriya?” She asked.  “I’ve been trying to find him! we wanted him to have dinner with us too, if he was up for it, but he’s not in his room.”

“If I see him, I’ll let him know,” Shouto assured her, and it seemed to satisfy her because she gave him one last pleased smile before turning and heading back towards the elevator. 

He closed the door and turned around to see Izuku, sitting up and covering his mouth with both hands, mirth dancing in his eyes. 

“Menace,” Shouto accused him. 

Izuku grinned, the picture of innocence. “Who, me?” 

Shouto tackled him back into the mattress. 

— 🌩️—

In the elevator ride down, fifteen minutes later, Izuku did his best to fix Shouto’s hair, having decided that his own was a lost cause. 

“There, it's fixed,” Izuku announced, 

Shouto stood to his full height again and took a moment to just look at Izuku. His boyfriend. The word didn’t seem to encompass everything he felt about the boy standing in front of him, gorgeous even under the pale fluorescent lights of the elevator. He wasn’t sure a word even existed that fit all of those emotions inside of it. 

The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. 

Somehow, through sheer force of will (and childhood trauma), Shouto managed to avoid flinching at the sight of his classmates, all seated around the dinner table, their faces all silently turned towards him and Izuku as they entered. 

“Hey, you guys made it!” Kaminari was the one to break the silence, waving enthusiastically. “Come sit! We’ve got plenty of food left!”

Shouto saw the two empty chairs that had been left for them, at the end of the table beside Uraraka and Iida, and breathed a minute sigh of relief. At least they’d be able to sit together, he thought. 

“Sorry to keep you waiting!” Izuku answered, and though he smiled brightly and kept his posture relaxed, Shouto knew him well enough to see how practiced it all was. He could hear the waver in Izuku’s voice.

Izuku was always braver than him, though, and stepped forwards to take the seat closest to Uraraka, leaving the end spot open for Shouto. He followed and sat down across from Jirou, who looked between him and Izuku with one brow raised. 

He stared back, unphased as he could manage. 

“I’m so glad you could join us, Midoriya,” Yaoyorozu gushed, pushing her glasses up her nose even though they were already situated. Shouto thought that she was probably just as nervous as Izuku was.

“Thank you for the invitation, I—I know I’m kinda butting in a little late,” Izuku answered, bashful as ever. 

If anyone noticed the stutter, they said nothing of it. Shouto, though, placed his hand on Izuku’s knee as subtly as he could, in the hopes that it might be comforting. He could feel the frantic bouncing of his boyfriend’s foot. 

“Nonsense! You’re always welcome, you’re part of our class now!” Yaoyorozu insisted. 

“W—well, thank you anyways,” Izuku repeated, allowing Iida to load up his plate and hand it back to him. 

“And let’s be honest, there’s a bit of an ulterior motive to having you at dinner,” Uraraka added, only half joking.

Izuku gave her a look that was half-cautious and half-curious, accepting his food with a small ‘thank you’ and waiting for her to continue. It was Kirishima that spoke next, though. 

“You’re interesting, man! I mean, you’re a licensed pro but you’re in our second year class? What’s that about?” He said, through a mouthful of food. 

“Yeah, and how did you get so damn good?” Sero chimed in. 

Izuku’s cheeks turned pink at the praise, and he bit his lip nervously, as though unsure what to say. 

“Not that you have to tell us your whole life story,” Uraraka added, “but we can’t help being curious!” 

A chorus of agreements arose from the class, most of them turning their attention towards Izuku. Shouto felt him stiffen, and squeezed his knee gently under the table. 

“I actually can’t really talk about this whole situation much,” Izuku said, and Shouto tried not to glare at the way some of his classmates deflated in dismay. 

“You can’t?” Kaminari parroted, confusion etched into his face. 

“I’m—uh—I’m under a pretty strict NDA,” Izuku admitted. “I can’t explain anything to you guys about where I was before this, or how I ended up here.”

“Dude…” Kirishima gaped. 

“Are you a spy or something?” Hagakure wondered aloud. 

Izuku chuckled awkwardly. “Um, no, I’m not a spy.”

“Everyone! Don’t be rude, if he can’t talk about something, we shouldn’t prod him about it!” Iida chided, his hands moving as they usually did. 

Of course, he probably also had a pretty good idea of what Izuku’s NDA entailed, considering what had happened with the whole Stain incident, but Shouto was grateful either way, as Izuku seemed to relax a little bit without eighteen people interrogating him on topics he wasn’t allowed to discuss. 

“So you can’t tell us how you got so good at fighting?” Shinsou drawled, chin in his hand in a way that was probably supposed to appear casual, but did nothing to hide the suspicion in the downturn of his mouth and the narrowing of his eyes. 

Izuku grinned a little wryly at that, and simply said, “I had a lot of practice.” 

For a few minutes, Izuku was spared from speaking by several of his new classmates recounting their earlier encounters with him at Ground Beta. Kaminari’s account included sound effects and everything, and Izuku’s ears turned redder and redder with each new voice chiming in. Shouto slowly began to pick at his food, a little tense but certainly less so now. Jirou had stopped staring at the two of them from across the table, and had busied herself with teasing Kaminari, who sat on Yaoyorozu’s other side. 

“Midori! Who was the easiest to take down?!” Ashido demanded, turning back on Izuku with fire in her eyes. 

Izuku, apparently unsure of what to do with the intensity or the nickname, sputtered for a moment. Ashido was sitting half a table away from him, but he still leaned away from her a little, nervous at her energy. 

“Yeah!” Chimed in Kirishima. “You can be honest, Midoriya, it’ll help us improve!” 

At that, Bakugou stood up quickly and snatched up his empty plate. 

“This is fucking ridiculous. I’m out of here,” he grumbled, not even bothering to push his chair back in. 

Having long gotten used to his antics, most of the class just ignored Bakugou, or in the case of Ashido and Sero, rolled their eyes at his dramatics. 

“Don’t worry about him, Midoriya,” Hagakure said. “He’s always grumpy about everything. Go ahead, tell us what you really thought of us!” 

The chatter around the table had fallen silent, and most if not all eyes had turned towards Izuku. He shrank back slightly, though someone who didn’t know him well wouldn’t have noticed. 

Shouto felt his jaw twitch. 

“Well… to be honest, I don’t keep track of how ‘easy’ or ‘difficult’ I find an opponent to take down, but—I mean, the one I took down the fastest was, uh…” Izuku trailed off, and Shouto looked up from his plate only to meet Izuku’s eyes. It took him a moment to realize what he was implying. 

He blinked in surprise. “Me?”

Izuku didn’t even get the time to confirm this, because the whole class was suddenly exclaiming in shock and jeering in equal measure. 

“S—sorry,” Izuku stammered, his cheeks pink. 

“Don’t be,” Shouto shrugged. “You beat me fairly, I’ll just have to be more careful next time.”

Izuku gave him a small little grin, “You were distracted,” he admitted. “Besides that, I already knew what to expect from you, so you were at a disadvantage. If you’d managed to catch fire before I got the capture tape on you, then I would have had a problem, but your movements betray you. You never use your fire first, and it’s easy to tell when you’re going to use your ice, and where it's going to go.”

Shouto stared at him for a second. “Really? I’m that obvious?”

Izuku, flush creeping up his cheeks, bit back a grin. “Only a little bit. And I pay pretty close attention.”  

“Was I the first one you took out, then?” Shouto asked. 

“Yeah,” Izuku nodded. “I figured you’d cause quite a few problems for me, you know, if you…” he trailed off, scratching at the scar tissue on his cheek, and Shouto was suddenly aware of the silence that had fallen over his classmates as they listened. 

“If I recognized you,” Shouto stated bluntly. 

Izuku shrugged awkwardly. “That’s why I took out Iida second, and Ka—Bakugou third. The rest of you I dealt with as I came across you.” 

No one spoke for a few stressful seconds. 

“What the hell, you already knew, like, three of us before this?!” Kaminari demanded. 

Iida cleared his throat and became very interested in his plate. 

“Well—you see–” Izuku cringed. 

“Dude! You guys, you should have told us!” Kirishima whined. “We coulda’ used that intel!” 

“Oh, they didn’t know that it was me at Ground Beta,” Izuku corrected, something akin to panic crossing his features before he could smooth out his expression into something more placating. “They went in just as blind as everyone else! I even upgraded my costume, so there would be almost no chance of them recognizing me.” 

“He didn’t even use his quirk against me,” Shouto admitted. “I had no idea until he introduced himself at the end of class.”

“Wait. Pause,” Ashido gasped. “You’re telling me that Midori is powerful enough to take down the Todoroki Shouto without using his quirk?!” 

Shouto shrugged. “I was distracted, and he used it to his advantage,” he repeated. 

“Actually, the ones who gave me the most problems were Hagakure, Jirou, Shoji, and Kaminari,” Izuku admitted, and the class gaped at him. 

“Wh—really? Me??” Kaminari demanded. 

“Your electricity combined with the rain was super dangerous, I had to play it really carefully with you,” Izuku nodded. “Hagakure’s stealth is her greatest asset, and in a space as big as Ground Beta, she could have been anywhere. I got lucky in finding her, but if I hadn’t, she could have stayed hidden for the full hour. Jirou and Shoji are somewhat hard to sneak up on, so for both of them I really had to go in swinging, and get it done before either of them could get backup. I ended up going for both of their communication devices first, and leaving the takedown ‘til after,” he recounted. 

Sero whistled. “That’s pretty impressive. You’re clearly smart, and way above our level when it comes to practical shit. Why are you in a second year course at U.A.?” He asked. 

“Ah,” Izuku grimaced a little. “Well, I haven’t actually gone to school since I was, like, fourteen, so… when I tested for placement, this is where I was at.” 

There was silence again at that, and when the class erupted into noise and shouting again, Izuku flinched. Shouto moved closer to his side, as his classmates volleyed questions at his boyfriend one after another, giving him no time to respond. 

“Hey!” Jirou barked. “Everyone shut the hell up!” 

The class fell silent. 

“Thank you, Kyouka,” Yaoyorozu sighed. 

“You’re all too energetic,” Tsuyu admonished them all, before turning her attention towards Izuku. “Anyways, I think what they all want to know is why, and how?” 

“R—right,” Izuku said weakly. “Well, uh, I can’t say much. NDA and all that, you know.” 

“But you basically skipped a grade!” Kaminari exclaimed. 

“I did my best to study on my own!” Izuku defended himself. “I just… after middle school, I got a bit sidetracked, and I just ended up not… really concerned about school. There were other things happening, you know?” 

Despite being vague, most of the class seemed to accept this explanation and the lull in conversation gave Izuku—and by extension, Shouto—time to shovel some food into their mouths. 

“Are you excited to be attending U.A., Midoriya?” Uraraka asked, leaning around Iida to do so. 

“Oh! Yes, it was always kind of my dream school,” Izuku laughed, some of the tension in his form easing at the switch to easier topics. 

“Mine too! Actually, I almost died at the entrance exam, and my parents nearly didn’t let me go, even when I received my acceptance letter,” Uraraka recounted the story of her exam to a wide-eyed Izuku. 

“That’s scary!” Izuku exclaimed. “You’re pretty brave, you know, most people would probably have taken that experience and run far away.” 

Uraraka’s cheeks turned pink, more so than usual. “Oh, phssht, I don’t think so. I’m learning to be, though! That’s what a hero does, right? Learn to be brave?” 

Izuku smiled crookedly. “Yeah, that sounds right. I’ve met some cowardly people who call themselves heroes, but from what I’ve seen, I think you’re already leagues ahead of them.” 

There was a slightly uncomfortable silence at that, and Izuku’s smile slowly turned into a grimace. “That was the wrong thing to say, huh?”

“Only if you don’t tell us about which heroes you hate,” Ashido answered, only half teasing. 

“I mean… Nothing’s stopping me, I guess. No NDAs about that,” Izuku joked. 

“Spill!” Hagakure demanded. “You’ve got all the inside info! You can’t come in here and not tell us everything!” 

“Yeah!” Kaminari agreed. 

“Come on, Midoriiiii,” Ashido whined. “We want a full list!” 

Izuku laughed. “Not a full list, but maybe one or two…” 

“Yes!” Ashido, Kaminari, and Hagakure cheered. 

“Okay, who’s your least favourite hero?” Kaminari demanded. 

Izuku’s eyes flicked to the side for a fraction of a second, and Shouto nodded to him. 

“Endeavor. Fucking hate that guy,” he said. 

Gasps arose from the table. 

“Midoriya, please watch your language,” Iida chided, though it was strained. While he may not have known the details, Shouto was certain that he knew the broader strokes of Shouto’s hatred for Endeavor.

“Right in front of his son??” Kirishima gaped.

“Damn, dude,” Sero laughed nervously. “Todoroki’s right beside you.” 

“I feel the same way,” Shouto said, and the gasps were even louder this time. “That bastard doesn’t deserve the title of hero.”

“He doesn’t deserve much except the six foot hole in the ground I’m going to put him in,” Izuku mumbled, for only Shouto to hear. 

Shouto honest-to-god snorted, and smacked a hand over his mouth and nose to stifle it, but the damage had already been done. Seventeen sets of eyes turned on him and stared in complete and utter shock. 

“Dude,” Kirishima said, awestruck, “did Todoroki just laugh??” 

Izuku looked around, confused. When his helpless gaze landed on him, all Shouto could offer was a vaguely embarrassed shrug. 

“I didn’t even know he could do that,” Kaminari said in awe. 

“E—everyone, don't be rude,” Yaoyorozu chided, but she looked just as startled as the rest of their classmates. 

Shouto did his best to school his face into its usual mask of indifference, and glanced to the side to find Izuku still looking baffled. 

“They tell me that I’m… aloof…” Shouto explained. 

And maybe he was. With his classmates, it used to be more intentional, and it’s not like Izuku hadn’t met him at a time when that aloofness, a brash rudeness that he used to shove everyone away from himself, was still set in place. He supposed it had just been so long since then, that Izuku had either forgotten or assumed it was in the past. Recently, with his classmates, he had been trying to make himself more approachable, though he wasn’t sure that it worked very well.

“I’ve never thought of you as aloof,” Izuku said, completely shattering Shouto’s worldview. “You used to be pretty rude, but not aloof.” 

“Rude?” Shouto did his best not to scoff. 

“Well, you cared too much to be aloof, but you never had a problem with being a bitch,” Izuku shrugged. 

Shouto kicked him under the table. Izuku grinned at him. 

“Woah,” Hagakure interrupted. “You guys are way more familiar than I thought.”

Shinsou was fighting back a Cheshire grin and failing. Ashido was looking between the two of them like there was some mystery there for her to solve, and most of the other people around the table were either blinking owlishly at them, or staring with their mouths wide open. 

“Well, they're exactly as familiar as I thought,” Jirou muttered. A few of the people closest to her gave her curious looks, including Yaoyorozu and Kaminari, and Shouto saw some of the colour drain from Izuku’s face. 

“What was that, Jirou?” Tsuyu asked. 

“Nothing,” Jirou sighed. “Nothing at all.”

— 🌩️ —

Izuku insisted on helping to clean up, which meant Shouto stood at the sink drying dishes while Izuku washed. Jirou volunteered to help as well, and while people continued to bustle in and out, the three of them worked in tense silence. Once the common area was mostly devoid of people, save for those distracted by other things, and it was only the three of them left in the kitchen, Jirou spoke. 

“So, does Aizawa know how long you’ve been sneaking into the dorms?” She asked, just loud enough to be heard by them. 

Izuku dropped the bowl he was washing, barely catching it before it shattered against the side of the sink. 

“Jirou,” Shouto murmured in warning. 

“I’m not gonna tell anyone, chill,” she rolled her eyes. “Besides, a few of us already know about Todoroki’s visitor, and me and Shoji both know way more about it than we’d like to.” 

Izuku sputtered and turned bright red from his ears to his collarbone. Jirou just smirked knowingly at them. 

“I figured you’d know,” Shouto told her. She shrugged. 

“It’s just good to get confirmation that you weren’t, like, feeding info to some villain or something,” she shrugged. “Though, I wish I knew less about what you two did in your free time.”

Shouto felt the heat in his own cheeks, as Izuku put down the bowl he had been holding for the duration of the conversation, put his face in his wet, gross hands and crouched down into a ball. 

Jirou stifled a laugh. “Come on, man, its not that bad. Look on the bright side, at least it was us, the ones who can keep secrets, and not someone like Kaminari Denki.” 

“I should have just died. They should have just killed me, I don’t know if I can survive this,” Izuku mumbled. 

Jirou, still snickering, crouched down beside him and patted his shoulder reassuringly. “Don’t worry, Midoriya. Like I said, I’m not about to go telling everyone.” 

“Well, we weren’t exactly planning on hiding it, either,” Shouto admitted to her. 

“Have fun with that,” Jirou snorted. “I’m pretty sure Mina and Denki are already picking out a ship name.”

“A what?” Shouto asked, brow furrowing in confusion. 

“Please. Please don’t ask, Shouto,” Izuku pleaded, strangled. 

Shouto just frowned. “I don’t understand what the problem is. We live in a dormitory, and you and Yaoyorozu aren’t exactly subtle.”

Jirou sputtered for a second, before cackling. “You got me there, Todoroki!” 

A few people were glancing at them from the common room, some (Ashido) even lifting their headphones off of one ear to listen. Shouto glared at them until they turned back around. 

Izuku hardly looked reassured, and though his face and neck were still red, he did his best to stand back up and continue with his chore. 

“Anyways, its good to meet you properly, Midoriya. You seem pretty cool,” Jirou said, wide grin stretching across her face. 

Izuku cleared his throat, and gave her a wobbly smile in return. “Likewise. I—I’ve actually been hoping I’d get to meet you all for a while now.”

Jirou actually looked surprised at that. “Really? Why?” She asked incredulously. 

“I've watched the U.A. Sports Festival religiously since I was a kid,” Izuku explained. “You guys were all really cool this year, and I have so many questions about your quirks. Besides that, though… I mean, Shouto talks about you.” 

Jirou’s eyes drifted curiously towards Shouto. 

“He does?” 

Shouto kept his mouth shut tight. 

“I know you guys thought he was scary for a while, but he’s a very genuine person. He cares a lot, he just isn’t always good at showing it,” Izuku explained softly. 

“I’m right here,” Shouto grumbled.

“I know,” Izuku assured him, bumping his hip into Shouto’s. “It proves my point. I could have done this by myself. It was you who insisted on staying and helping.” 

Shouto frowned. “All of this, it's a lot for you, isn’t it? I couldn’t just leave you alone.”

Izuku smiled softly at him, and Shouto felt for a moment like he’d been shot in the heart. “I know,” he said again, and this time it sounded like an I love you. 

“You guys are so sweet, barf,” Jirou teased. 

Izuku turned red again, and Shouto rolled his eyes so hard it kind of hurt. 

“Don’t roll your eyes at me, Todoroki Shouto!” Jirou gasped. 

“Don’t say barf about me and my boyfriend,” Shouto countered. 

Izuku dropped the plate he was washing right into the sink and splashed himself with dirty water. 

“Sorry, shit, sorry,” Izuku cursed softly, though the plate was safe and whole when he pulled it out. 

“You good?” Jirou snorted. 

“Yep!” Izuku replied, a little too quickly. “Perfectly fine, I’m all good!” 

She rolled her eyes. “Let’s just get this done so that you can go shower off all that dirty dish water.” 

Izuku shot her a grateful smile, and after that, the silence was mostly comfortable. When they were done, Jirou bid the two of them goodnight, and Shouto caught sight her draping herself across Yaoyorozu’s lap as he followed Izuku back to the elevators. 

Curfew rules had apparently become important to Izuku sometime after he was accepted to U.A., and Shouto pouted and grumbled about it as he walked Izuku to his new dorm. It was on the second floor, the closest door to the teacher’s wing, a fact that Shouto did not miss. The room itself was still barren, besides a very basic bed with plain blue sheets and a desk pushed against the wall, in the same spot that Shouto had put his own. 

“It’s all I need for now,” Izuku shrugged, when he caught Shouto looking around the room. “It wont stay this way for long.” 

“Are you sure you can’t stay in my room tonight?” Shouto asked for the upteenth time. 

Izuku gave him the same look he had been responding to that question with since the third time Shouto had asked it. 

“I can’t start breaking rules on my first night here,” Izuku said. 

“I know,” Shouto huffed. “Stupid rule.” 

Izuku chuckled and, safely tucked away in the privacy of his brand-new dorm room, pushed himself up onto his toes to kiss Shouto’s cheek. “You’re cute,” he cooed, “but I promise I’ll be fine on my own.”

Shouto knew that. He didn’t really feel like admitting that it wasn’t that he was worried about Izuku. It was more so that he wasn’t ready to leave Izuku’s side yet, not when he finally had him so close in such a permanent way. 

Izuku planted another firm kiss on his lips, like he could read Shouto’s mind. “I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” 

“Okay,” Shouto agreed reluctantly. 

It was a few more kisses still before Shouto actually opened the door to leave. 

“I love you,” he said. 

“I love you, too,” Izuku answered easily. “Get some sleep, okay?” 

“You too,” Shouto replied sternly. 

Izuku laughed and shoved him out of the door. “I will, I will! Get out of here, before you break curfew anyways!” 

Shouto sighed heavily, but he allowed the door to swing shut behind him, leaving him standing in the fluorescent light of the dorm hallways. 

Despite what he had promised Izuku, sleep eluded Shouto that night. His mind was too busy, his heart racing too rapidly. When he did finally fall asleep, after several hours of staring at the blank ceiling, he dreamed of the nights that Izuku snuck into his dorm room, aching and smelling like ozone and dirt. He dreamed of another body beside his, and when he woke in the morning, it was with sinking disappointment at finding his bed empty and tentative excitement at the prospect of seeing Izuku again at breakfast in equal measure. 

Chapter Text

“I’m seeing my mum again today,” Izuku said, apropos of nothing at all. 

The classroom was mostly empty during lunch hour, except for Aizawa’s sleeping form at his desk, and Tokoyami and Shoji on the opposite side of the room. Shouto and Izuku had taken up eating over Izuku’s desk in the week that Izuku had been at U.A. All of this is to say, despite the fact that Izuku spoke quietly, Shouto heard him loud and clear, and looked up from his bento to see his boyfriend pushing the food around his own box, eyes firmly trained on the piece of broccoli that had attached itself to the end of his chopsticks. 

“Are you nervous?” Shouto asked. 

Izuku laughed, and it came out a little high-pitched and manic. “Terrified. What if she hates me for leaving her? What if she can’t forgive me?” 

“From what I’ve seen, I don't think that any of that will happen,” Shouto tried to reassure him. 

Izuku was mumbling to himself again, food now abandoned in favour of pressing a hand over his mouth. It was too fast and quiet for Shouto to hear, but he didn’t exactly need to. This was a rare situation that he had actual experience in. 

“Hey,” he started, nudging Izuku’s legs under the desk, until he could eventually prod his foot between them. The contact had the desired effect of interrupting Izuku’s downward spiral, and his wide eyes turned on Shouto. 

“When I went to see my mother again for the first time in almost ten years, I thought she would turn me away too. I tried to convince myself that I’d be okay if she did, but I don’t know if I really would have been. In the end, though, I didn’t need to worry about that. She was… really happy to see me. I think it’s going to be the same with your mom.” Shouto told him, voice low but sure. He watched the way Izuku’s eyes widened and shone with unshed tears. 

“But… what if it isn't?" he whispered. 

Shouto shrugged. “Then we’ll handle that when we get to it.” 

Izuku nodded shakily. There was a moment of silence between them, and Shouto nudged his other foot against the side of Izuku’s shoe, until his boyfriend pushed back. 

“Would… would you come with me? E–even if you would have to stand outside of the room and wait?” Izuku asked eventually. 

“Of course,” Shouto answered without hesitation. “Anything you want.” 

“I think I want you there,” Izuku decided. “And–and if it goes well, maybe I can introduce you to her next time…?” he trailed off, looking up at Shouto through his lashes, asking for permission. 

Shouto ducked his head. “I would like that. Maybe I can introduce you to my mother, too, once you’re allowed off campus.” 

Izuku laughed a little at that, just a breathy thing that had Shouto feeling warm on both sides. He relished that sound, Izuku’s laugh. 

“Yeah. Once I'm allowed back in the real world, that’ll be the first order of business,” he agreed. 

“You should eat your lunch now, though,” Shouto reminded him. 

Izuku managed to finish about half of his bento before the lunch bell rang. Still, Shouto thought, it was better than nothing. 

After lunch was combat training, and Izuku–as had been the case for the past week–was sent somewhere else while the rest of the class gathered in their costumes in front of another false city. 

“Where do you think he goes?” Kirishima asked as he waited for his team’s turn. 

Shouto, who was stretching beside him, looked over with a furrowed brow. 

“Midoriya, I mean,” Kirishima explained. “You guys are friends, right? Did he tell you?” 

“No,” Shouto responded, “I assume he’s training with people who are closer to his skill level.” 

“Maybe he really is here on some sort of top-secret mission, and he’s spying on us or something,” Hagakure chimed in from Shouto’s other side. “C’mon Todoroki, you've gotta know something!” 

Shouto resolutely kept his mouth shut, even as his classmates continued to theorize about Izuku. The truth was, Shouto really did not know what Izuku did during their combat exercises. He wouldn’t ask, and Izuku would probably tell him eventually. It’s how they always did things–they volunteered information, but they didn’t really ask. Honestly, Shouto had just assumed that Izuku didn’t think that this particular tidbit of information was important or interesting enough to bring up. 

“Alright, team 2, you’re up!” Mr. Yagi boomed, as the first team (Sero, Uraraka, Bakugou, and Aoyama) trudged out of the city gates. 

Shouto stood up straight, and followed Kirishima as he hurried forwards. 

Shouto was on rescue duty, with Kirishima as his partner, while Hagakure and Shoji were the combat team. It was a bit odd, but in the case of collapsing buildings and raging fires, it made the most sense. Besides, Hagakure had really been working on her hand-to-hand combat, and it was good for her to practice. Shoji had always been a powerhouse, and Shouto had little trouble leaving the brute force to him. Meanwhile, he and Kirishima dug through rubble, with Shouto freezing precarious chunks of concrete to stabilize them and smothering fires with sheets of ice. Kirishima put himself between falling chunks of rock and civilian-robots when Shouto couldn’t get to them in time, and carried them to safety when needed. In the end, their team passed with flying colours, and received Mr. Yagi’s praise bashfully. 

The rest of the afternoon continued with no issues. No one seriously injured, no arguments getting out of hand, everyone was surprisingly on track when it came to performance reviews. They all returned to the classroom to get their bags at the end of the afternoon with their spirits high. 

Izuku was already there when they returned, packing his bag mechanically. Shouto grabbed his satchel from where it had been left at his seat and wove his way between the desks to stand beside his boyfriend. 

“How are you feeling?” Shouto murmured. 

“I think this is scarier than any villain I've faced,” Izuku responded, and Shouto could see him trembling. 

“Do you still want me to come with you?” Shouto asked. 

“Please,” Izuku responded, and it was just a little bit strained. 

The classroom was empty by the time Izuku finally swung his bag onto his back and took a deep, steadying breath. Shouto offered him his hand, and Izuku took it with a tense smile. 

“Okay,” he said, “I’m ready.”

Aizawa, the room’s only remaining occupant, eyed the two of them tiredly before pushing himself up from his desk in the corner. “Follow me,” he told them, and Izuku nodded and fell into step beside him. 

They wound their way through the school’s massive corridors, much longer than Shouto expected them to. The meeting was on the twelfth floor, for whatever reason. The elevator ride was tense, and Shouto squeezed Izuku’s hand in the hopes that it might be comforting. Izuku squeezed back, though he kept his eyes forward. 

The door to the room was nondescript. Shouto didn’t let go of Izuku’s hand until they stood in front of it, and Izuku reached out to open it. 

“I’ll wait for you,” Shouto muttered. 

“Thank you,” Izuku breathed. 

Then, he opened the door and stepped inside. Before he could even close it behind him, Shouto heard the wail of Izuku’s name and the sobbing that followed, from both Izuku himself and the voice of a woman he could only assume to be Midoriya Inko. The door slid closed, and the noise was muffled. Shouto was left standing beside Aizawa awkwardly in the hallway, unsure of where to go next. 

“Let’s give them some privacy,” Aizawa suggested, turning on his heel and leading them towards another room across from the one occupied by the Midoriya’s. He gestured for Shouto to take a seat on the couch as he prepared himself a mug of instant coffee at the little counter across the room. 

“Do you want anything?” he offered. 

“No, thank you,” Shouto replied stiffly. He wasn’t really used to spending one-on-one time with his teacher, and Aizawa was no less grumpy than he had been in their first year. 

Aizawa turned to lean against the counter, taking a slow sip of his coffee and studying Shouto with an unreadable expression. Not that it was an unusual look on him, Shouto generally found his teacher unreadable, even on his best days. 

“I’m glad the kid has someone who cares about him,” Aizawa said finally. “And it seems like he’s been good for you too, right?” 

Shouto nodded. “Yes, sir,” he agreed. 

“How much do you know?” Aizawa added. 

“Enough. Not many details, but I have a pretty good idea,” Shouto answered dutifully. 

Aizawa hummed his acknowledgement, and the conversation died. Shouto had never been one to really notice awkward silences, but it was hard not to when it came to Aizawa. He was pretty sure that his teacher did it on purpose, though he had no way to prove it. 

Shouto sat with his hands clasped in his lap as he watched Aizawa drain his mug and place it, empty, beside the electric kettle behind him. 

“Izuku is important to a lot of people, I just don’t think he remembers that sometimes. I hope you’ll be willing to remind him when he needs to hear it,” he finally said, words that struck Shouto right in the chest.

“I will,” Shouto promised. 

“I’m sure you won’t be surprised by this, but for now, he’s my responsibility. He’s been granted his freedom on the condition that he stays out of trouble, and I’ve been assigned the task of keeping him in line,” Aizawa went on to explain. 

Shouto nodded along, a conflicted tangle of emotions wrapping itself around his insides. He couldn’t quite read his teacher’s tone, couldn’t figure out if he was speaking from a place of fondness or exasperation. He knew Izuku’s whole story, probably more than Shouto, but did he care about Izuku, or just about making sure he didn’t go causing more problems for the hero commission? Shouto wasn’t sure yet. 

But he was using Izuku’s first name, something that was not true for many people. Shouto wanted that to mean something good. He wanted Izuku to have someone like Aizawa in his corner. 

“That being said, I’d encourage you to come straight to me if there are any problems at all. Do you understand?” Aizawa leveled an expectant look at Shouto, arms crossed over his chest. Even without the floating hair and the red eyes, he was an intimidating man.

“Yes, Sir,” Shouto said again.

Then, Shouto found himself startled as his teacher bent at the waist, and bowed to him. “Thank you, I know I have no right to ask these things of you, but it means a lot to me, and the other people who care for Izuku, that you’re willing to agree,” he said, his voice more sincere than Shouto had ever heard it before.

“He’s… important to me,” Shouto responded, strangled. 

“You’re important to him, too,” Aizawa informed him.

Shouto felt something warm settle in his chest. He knew, he knew that, but hearing it confirmed was… nice. It felt good. 

They didn’t speak much after that. Aizawa made himself another cup of coffee, and Shouto did his best not to fidget with his hands, clasped firmly in his lap. His thoughts were racing, but in the jumbled sort of way that left him grasping for any coherent thread to follow. Aizawa just watched, like he knew exactly what Shouto was going to do next. 

“Why now?” Shouto asked, breaking the silence and then cringing, because the question was so vague and nothing that he fully expected his teacher to dismiss it out of hand. 

Aizawa just raised an eyebrow and waited for Shouto to explain himself. 

“The school year started three months ago,” Shouto explained. “Why is Izuku only joining the class now?” 

Aizawa looked like he was chewing on his words, like he wasn’t sure whether or not to tell Shouto the truth. Eventually, though, he sighed and stepped forwards to take a seat in the stiff armchair across the coffee table from Shouto. 

“Mostly, it’s because we were handling the legal ramifications of a vigilante saving the country,” he admitted finally, setting down his mug and lacing his fingers together in front of his mouth, the rough skin making a quiet hissing sound as he rubbed his palms together. “We had to convince the HPSC that these were extenuating circumstances, and retroactively getting someone a license is not something that’s ever been done before. If it weren’t for who his mentor is, he would probably be in jail right now.” 

Shouto felt his eyebrows raise in surprise. “Mr. Yagi?” He clarified, confusedly. 

Aizawa’s poker face was usually unmatched, but even Shouto could tell that he was taken aback by his question. 

“In a way,” he answered carefully, like that explained anything at all. Suddenly, Shouto’s train of thought was running wild with Mr. Yagi’s name, with who he could possibly be to the HPSC, what kind of position he must have held to have that kind of sway.

“So… he’s here instead of in jail,” Shouto clarified, deciding that questioning Aizawa on Mr. Yagi probably wouldn’t do much good. 

“Thanks to Nedzu’s quick thinking,” Aizawa nodded. “A rehabilitation program, because he’s good at what he does, he just wasn’t doing it legally.” 

Shouto kept his mouth shut tightly at that, and decided not to mention his thoughts on the rehabilitation program. 

“It’s not a perfect solution, but it was the best option. The trial wasn’t going anywhere, especially since he couldn’t be tried as an adult, so when this option was presented, it was easy to convince the judge that this was the best course of action,” Aizawa sighed. 

“So… why is he in the same class as Bakugou?” Shouto asked, and it came out snippier than he planned. 

“I just happen to be the teacher they send the problem children to,” Aizawa drawled, with a pointed look right at Shouto. 

Shouto just frowned deeper, and Aizawa seemed to sense that it wasn’t a good enough answer for him. He continued talking. 

“They put him with me because I’m one of the few people he trusts, and Bakugou is in my class because I have the unique ability to take his weapons when he gets too violent,” he explained. When he saw Shouto opening his mouth, he held up a hand to stop him, “And no, I’m not going to expel Bakugou, that is an explicit demand from Izuku himself.” 

Shouto huffed, but didn’t argue. Even if he would have words with Izuku about it later, even if he was frustrated by it, he wasn’t petty enough to spill all of his boyfriend’s secrets in his campaign to get rid of Bakugou Katsuki. Even if, on those nights when Izuku shared his futon, Shouto would sometimes wake up in the wee hours of the morning to hear ragged breathing, to meet Izuku’s wide and wild eyes, to see him gripping at the starburst-shaped scar on his shoulder as he trembled. 

Shouto hated Bakugou Katsuki, and he couldn’t understand how Izuku didn’t. 

“I know you don’t agree,” Aizawa observed, “for what it’s worth, I don’t either, but I don’t want to break Izuku’s trust. It’s delicate enough as is. For now, this is the way it will be.” 

“He’s too nice for his own good sometimes,” Shouto grumbled. 

Aizawa’s eyes bored into him, like maybe he could also read Shouto’s mind, along with all of his other supernatural abilities. He said nothing, though, if he could even find anything at all in the mess that was Shouto’s brain. He wanted to say something else, anything else, but he didn’t know what. He wanted to know every gruesome detail of what Izuku had gone through, wanted the name of every person that had hurt him, wanted to visit their jail cells and make them into walk-in freezers. He wanted to know about Touya, he wanted to be more upset about his older brother being in palliative care, even though he barely remembered him through the haze that was his childhood and adolescence. He wanted his father arrested. He wanted Izuku to be free. 

Shouto thought, and it was almost like the whole room faded around him. Aizawa didn’t say anything else, and Shouto could pretend that he had faded away too. Shouto could make himself be alone, if he let his mind wander far enough. One thought jumping to the next, and then to the next, and the next. They turned around and around like coins sent spinning across a table, ricocheting off of one another and bouncing, collapsing. Falling flat. Going nowhere. 

The door to the room slid open, and Shouto startled. Aizawa was still watching him, though his eyes drifted towards the door after a second. Present Mic stood there, his face set in a way that had his whole hero getup look like a costume that didn’t fit him quite right. It wasn’t grim, just worried. There were frown lines tugging at the corners of his mouth that Shouto had never seen before. 

“How’s it going?” He asked, striding into the room and leaving the door a little ajar behind him. He glanced over at Shouto, and quirked one eyebrow. 

“Everything’s fine, Yamada,” Aizawa murmured, but he stood to greet Mic and motioned him over towards the coffee bar, where the two of them conferred in low tones for a moment as Yamada made himself a cup of tea. Shouto watched him add a disgusting amount of honey to his mug. 

“You stuck here waiting, Todoroki?” Mic asked, bringing his freshly made drink over to the table. 

Shouto shrugged. Mic just gave him a crooked smile, and it was so different than the wide grins he wore in front of his classes and on posters and in those ads for his radio show that always came up on TV, the ones that Hagakure and Kaminari could quote and insisted on watching through every time. It made him seem so much more human. 

“It’ll probably be a while before they’re done in there,” Aizawa grumbled, jerking his head in the direction of the door. “Are you sure you want to stay and wait, Todoroki?” 

“I told Izuku that I would,” Shouto responded coolly. Aizawa just shrugged, and sat back down again. 

Shouto watched Mic sip his tea, and jerk back from the cup when it was too hot. Aizawa scoffed, and rolled his eyes as Mic fanned his tongue with his hand, like that would help. Shouto didn’t know sign language, so when they began gesturing at each other fluidly, Shouto only watched their hands move without absorbing anything. Eventually, he got bored of that, too, and instead turned his attention to his phone, where a text from Iida blinked up at him from the screen, asking where he was. 

Shouto didn’t answer, because he wasn’t sure he would be able to explain it, and instead opted for scrolling through the various social media apps that his friends had convinced (read: forced) him to download. There was a picture of Uraraka and Tsuyu at a cat cafe together. On the table between them was a massive milkshake with a straw sticking out of either side. ‘My frog turned into a princess <3’ the caption read. Next it was a selfie taken by a wildly grinning Kaminari, with Kirishima in the background, his head in his hands as the TV behind them announced that Princess Peach had won their game of Mario Kart. Sero was there too, laying face-down on the ground. There was a video of Jirou playing her guitar, her face cut off but her hands on the guitar in focus. ‘Liked by Yao.Momo and 42 others’ the app announced, and Shouto considered screenshotting it and sending it to Yaoyorozu, just to tease her. It passed the time a bit easier, unwound the tight coil of Shouto’s spine, to see the frivolous things his friends felt the need to show the world. He didn’t post anything himself, but he thought about Uraraka and Tsuyu, and wondered if maybe he would get to take pictures like that with Izuku soon. It was a silly thought, but it did well to cheer him up after his conversation with Aizawa. 

It was another couple of hours before they heard a knock on the door, and Aizawa answered it despite the fact that it was still ajar from Mic’s arrival. 

There Izuku stood, eyes all red-rimmed and glassy, cheeks all blotchy, gnarled hands twisted up around themselves like ancient tree roots. Shouto shot up from his seat, his heart sinking. He assumed the worst.

But then Izuku’s gaze turned to him, and he offered a wobbly smile. Shouto exhaled and felt his shoulders relax. 

“How’d it go, Problem Child?” Aizawa asked. 

“Good,” Izuku squeaked, and then cleared his throat, “um, it went really good.” 

Aizawa’s hand dropped into his curls and ruffled them, letting Izuku bat him away halfheartedly as he seemed unable to fight off his smile anymore. 

“Glad to hear that, Kiddo,” Mic said, joining Aizawa by the door and patting Izuku on the shoulder. “We told you it’d be fine, didn’t we?” 

Izuku shrugged sheepishly. “Yeah. I–I really missed her. Thank you, for letting me see her again.” 

Mic and Aizawa shared an unreadable look, while Shouto stepped up to Izuku’s side and put a tentative hand against his elbow, a little silent show of support. Izuku turned his attention to him, and his smile stayed as he grabbed Shouto’s hand and squeezed. 

“Of course, we’ll make sure you get to see her regularly from now on,” Mic assured him. “Now, it’s getting late. I’m sure your classmates are working hard on dinner, whaddaya say we go see what today’s menu is?” 

Shouto saw no sign of Midoriya Inko as they left, the door across the hall closed tight, and he walked hand in hand with his boyfriend the whole way back to the dorms. He only let go when he needed to untie his shoes, and then Jirou was poking her head around the corner with her eyebrows in her hairline. 

“Dinner’s almost ready, where the hell were you guys??” She asked. 

“Just getting some work done,” Izuku lied easily, though Shouto could still tell that he’d been crying, even if most of the signs were gone by then. 

Jirou looked like she didn’t believe him either, but she looked past the two of them at the teachers behind them, then at Shouto, who raised an eyebrow of his own in challenge. Finally, she scoffed. 

“Sure, hey, are you eating with us?” She offered. 

Izuku looked over at Shouto. Shouto looked at Izuku. Their teachers were still hovering behind them, and Shouto shrugged minutely, and hoped that Izuku understood it as a signal to take the lead. 

“Yeah, sure! It smells great, Jirou,” Izuku agreed, grin settling over his face like a mask. Shouto put a hand on the small of his back as Jirou turned and headed back to the kitchen, and Izuku only hesitated for a moment before following. 

The common room was packed. Even Bakugou was there, hitting Kirishima over the head with a rolled-up piece of paper and yelling at him for not listening. Shouto frowned at the noise, but said nothing. Izuku headed straight for the kitchen after Jirou, offering his help if they needed it, and Shouto found himself setting a table for twenty with his boyfriend, laying out plates and chopsticks and glasses. He watched Izuku carefully, but he seemed to genuinely be doing well. It was encouraging to see. 

As always, dinner was loud and boisterous. Izuku was pulled into a conversation with Yaoyorozu about their homework, Iida was scolding Shouto for not responding to his text, and then Uraraka laughed at him for sounding like an anxious boyfriend, at which Iida sputtered and stopped complaining. Shouto gave Uraraka all of his mushrooms, and she gasped delightedly. Kaminari was trying to convince Tokoyami to watch some show or another, and Ashido was holding back her laughter at Tokoyami’s incredulous expression. 

All the while, Bakugou kept shooting looks at Izuku from across the table. Izuku either hadn’t noticed, or was pointedly ignoring it. Shouto noticed though, and snuck a hand out under the table to rest it on Izuku’s leg. Just an anchor point, something for reassurance. Izuku’s eyes flicked to the side, his lips twitched in that way that meant ‘everything’s fine’, and Shouto answered with a minute nod. He turned, and met Bakugou’s eyes. 

They stared at each other from opposite ends of the table. Shouto wouldn’t back down, and Bakugou narrowed his eyes just a little bit, like he was trying to intimidate Shouto. 

Shouto wasn’t scared of him, and eventually, Bakugou scoffed, rolled his eyes, and turned back to his food. 

Then dinner was over, and the common room slowly got quieter as people split off to their rooms, or settled down to work at the couches and tables. Izuku was shooed out of the kitchen before he could even offer to help with cleanup, and then Shouto found himself gently nudging his boyfriend towards the elevator. He pressed the fifth floor button. Izuku didn’t question him. 

Shouto’s room was blissfully quiet. The bright, sunny day had left behind a dusk light that made the whole world feel a little unreal; not quite purple, not quite the grey of dawn, but hazy nonetheless. Izuku eased himself down onto Shouto’s tatami mats and closed his eyes. He breathed in, then out. Shouto sat beside him and waited for him to speak. 

“Thank you for coming with me,” he said quietly, after a long moment of silence. 

“You don’t have to thank me,” Shouto shook his head. 

“I do,” Izuku argued, and his eyes were soft when he opened them. “You do so much for me and I don’t think you even realize it. Or if you do realize, you don’t ask for anything in return.”

Shouto moved closer. Izuku rested his head against Shouto’s shoulder automatically. 

“But I feel the same way about you,” he reminded Izuku. “You changed my entire life. I would have none of the good things I have now without you.” 

Izuku laughed, a little wetly, and Shouto tangled a hand in his hair. 

“I finally have the chance to show you the kind of kindness you showed me,” Shouto explained. 

“I honestly don’t know that I’ve given you anything at all,” Izuku murmured. “In the grand scheme of things, we’ve been apart more than we’ve been together.” 

“I told you, I knew what I was getting into,” Shouto scolded. 

“Yeah, I know, I know.” Izuku relented a little.

“You sacrificed your whole normal life for things I don’t even really know about,” Shouto reminded him. 

Izuku frowned, chewed his lip the way he did when he was thinking hard, and Shouto took advantage of his silence to keep talking. 

“I do things for you because I want to. I want to take care of you, the way you take care of me,” he said. 

Izuku’s eyes were shining again when Shouto caught them. There was wonder there, in the wetness on his lashlines, and his face was soft and open. Shouto loved him. 

“Doesn’t mean I can’t thank you for it,” Izuku responded. 

Shouto didn’t have an argument for that, so he just kissed Izuku instead. His boyfriend laughed a little against his lips, but his hand found its way to Shouto’s waist, and Shouto combed his fingers through coarse hair and springy curls. When they broke apart, Izuku sighed and it was like all of the tension in his body left with his breath. He pressed his face into Shouto’s neck, and Shouto pulled him gently back until they were laying on the tatami floor, Izuku flopped bonelessly halfway on top of him. 

“You’re gonna fall asleep like that,” Shouto warned him. 

Izuku only hummed in response. Shouto suspected he might have already been halfway there. 

Dusk turned to night, and Izuku’s soft breathing turned to snores. When Shouto was sure he was dead to the world, he untangled himself gently to roll out his futon. Izuku was still in his uniform, and Shouto roused him just enough to convince him to at least change. Izuku grumbled about it a little, but did so, and flopped back onto Shouto’s futon in his underwear and socks after shucking his day clothes somewhere to his left. Shouto laughed at him, but Izuku was already snoring with his face buried in Shouto’s pillow. 

Shouto actually managed to brush his teeth before the tiredness took over, and he only had a moment to feel grateful for the coming weekend before he, too, was out like a light.

Chapter Text

Shouto was actually surprised by how long it took for shit to hit the fan. It almost seemed, for a moment there, like Izuku would be able to integrate himself into the class without issue. 

And then, of course, along came Bakugou Katsuki. 

“Hey, Deku,” he said one night, trying to sound conversational and failing miserably. 

Izuku froze, and looked up at Bakugou like a deer in headlights. Shouto thought that, at least as far as he knew, this was the first time that Bakugou had spoken to him directly. 

“Come with me. You too, Half-n-Half,” Bakugou demanded. Then, he turned and started walking away without checking to see if he was being followed. 

“Fuck my life,” Izuku murmured, but he hauled himself up and started following, and Shouto had no choice but to do the same. 

Shouto was tense as Bakugou led them out the front doors of the dorm, down the path and towards the practice gyms. The sun was just beginning to set, it was only a few hours after dinner, but Shouto knew that they definitely did not have permission for whatever the hell Bakugou was planning on doing. His only consolation was the fact that Izuku, as soon as he realized where they were going, pulled out his phone and began typing into it quickly, silently, at his side without looking away from Bakugou. 

They made it to gym gamma with no issues, but the air around the three of them was tense and silent. Bakugou kept his back turned to them, even when he stopped in the middle of the gym floor. 

“What do you want, Bakugou?” Shouto demanded, because frankly, he did not have the patience for stupid games, or Bakugou’s ego. 

“I want you to fucking tell me why you know Deku,” Bakugou growled. He looked over his shoulder, and shot Shouto the iciest of glares. “If you lie to me, I will pulverize you, and your stupid boyfriend.” 

Shouto had to bite his tongue to stop himself from laughing. He couldn’t tell if Bakugou was trying to insult him and Izuku, or if he was just the only person in the class, besides Jirou and Shoji, to have caught on. Either way, he felt no inclination to actually tell Bakugou anything. 

“Kacchan, come on, this is unnecessary,” Izuku said. He stepped forwards, so that he was closer to Bakugou than Shouto was.

Bakugou finally whirled around, pulling himself up to his full height (which was still a decent amount shorter than Shouto, but taller than Izuku.) he was visibly grinding his teeth, explosions popping against the bare skin of his arms. Outside, Shouto heard the wind pick up. 

Izuku flinched back, eyes widening as Bakugou advanced on him. 

“I am not fucking talking to you yet,” Bakugou snarled. “I asked Todoroki a fucking question.” 

“And I’m not answering it,” Shouto cut in, stepping up to Izuku’s side and putting a hand against his arm. He felt a static shock. Izuku’s body was thrumming with electricity like a live wire. 

Bakugou whirled on him, and Shouto kept his expression uninterested and even. 

“That isn’t a goddamn option,” Bakugou said. 

“Sure it is,” Shouto replied coolly. “You obviously have some ideas, why don’t you tell us what you think is going on.” 

Bakugou sneered at him. “Alright, Todoroki, I’ll tell you what I think,” he said. “I think that your supervillain older brother is the link between you two. I think Deku’s conned his way into UA, and apparently, a hero license, and I think that if you can’t see that there’s something wrong with him, then you’re dumber than I thought.” 

Shouto bristled. “You sound ridiculous,” he scoffed. 

“Oh yeah? Then tell me I'm wrong. Tell me that he didn’t get plucked right out of the League of Villains for this brand new rehabilitation program,” Bakugou announced like it was a checkmate, pulling the folded paper out of the pocket of his sweatpants and shaking it out in Shouto’s face, so that it unfurled dramatically in front of him. Shouto snatched the paper from him, and for a moment, Bakugou’s expression grew triumphant. 

Without looking at it, Shouto handed the paper to Izuku, who took it with a shaky hand. 

“You missed the point entirely you dumb motherfucker,” Shouto snapped. 

Bakugou stared at him, like Shouto had just confirmed to him that he was some sort of traitor. 

“It’s a vigilante rehabilitation program,” Izuku said from behind Shouto, voice small but unmissable. 

The tension in the gym could have been cut with a knife. Bakugou stared at Izuku, then his eyes flickered to Shouto, who did his best not to react in any way, then back to Izuku. 

“That’s impossible,” Bakugou said. It sounded almost strained. 

“Why?” Izuku asked. 

Shouto looked back at him. There was a determination in his eyes–they seemed to glow faintly, even under the fluorescent lights. 

“You’re quirkless. You can’t be a vigilante, you’d be dead by now.” Bakugou answered. 

“I’m not quirkless,” Izuku corrected him, matter-of-fact, and then, as if to prove his point, lightning crackled over his skin, and his veins lit him up from the inside. 

Bakugou stared, and the lightning fizzled out as the light died. The gym was all silent again. 

“What the fuck,” he said finally.

“I’m not a villain. And even if I didn’t have a quirk, I would have found a way to become a hero,” Izuku explained. “Shouto’s so-called ‘supervillain brother’ is not how we met, but I do know him. I think you judge people too quickly, you know.” 

It was like the words were just tumbling out, like Izuku couldn't stop them. Shouto let his eyes flicker between Izuku’s increasingly more panicked expression and Bakugou’s frozen form, staring back with wide eyes and a slack face.

“For the record,” Shouto interrupted, before Izuku could say anything more, “he should not have told you any of that. Neither of us owe you anything, actually.” 

It was silent again. Shouto breathed in through his nose, out through his mouth, and did his best not to exhale steam. It didn’t work well, but it was better than setting himself on fire. 

Bakugou just glared in silence. Shouto, for a second, was really hoping that they’d won, that they could all leave this encounter without black eyes or threats of suspension. 

Or actual suspension. That would be even better. 

But then Bakugou took a step forwards, his jaw twitching, and then another one, until he was right in front of them. Shouto watched Izuku brace beside him, and just managed to avoid being wrestled to the ground. Instead, Bakugou‘s hands were fisted in the front of his t-shirt. 

“Hey!” Shouto snapped, stepping forwards to break them up. He grabbed Bakugou’s wrist, but he didn’t budge. 

“We all thought you were dead,” Bakugou hissed. “I thought—”

“What, you thought I did it? Took the swan dive?” Izuku shot back. 

Shouto’s blood ran cold. Bakugou’s hands were smoking, Izuku’s white shirt was quickly turning a scorched brown. 

“We thought you were dead,” Bakugou repeated, and his hands began popping again. 

Shouto had had enough by that point. He froze Bakugou’s forearm completely, enough that he was forced to let go of Izuku from the biting cold. He stumbled back and Shouto helped, by throwing his weight into a hard shove that landed Bakugou flat on his ass. 

Bakugou growled, “Fucker,” before he launched himself off the ground and straight at Shouto. 

Shouto actually had plenty of experience kicking Bakugou’s ass. Bakugou had raw power, and enough finesse to get by, but Shouto had a whole life’s worth of training and a burning hatred for people like Bakugou Katsuki at his back, and he knew how to use both. 

Bakugou’s fist nearly collided with Shouto’s jaw, but Shouto leaned away just enough, and stayed in Bakugou’s space enough to use his height and the length of his limbs to his advantage. Bakugou was shorter and stockier. Shouto was long, lean muscle, and it came in real handy in times like these. He drove his knee into Bakugou’s stomach, encrusted with ice for a little extra oomph, as Izuku would say. Bakugou stumbled back, coughing and steaming, and Shouto felt alive. 

“Do you understand, Todoroki, that I will beat the shit outta you?” Bakugou taunted. 

“I’d love to see that,” Shouto drawled. “You haven’t managed it since our first year sports festival, have you?” 

“Both of you, stop,” Izuku pleaded, holding up trembling hands between them. 

It was too late. Shouto knew he had just uttered fighting words, and Bakugou never backed down from a fight. Explosions rumbled through the gym, and Bakugou was throwing himself at Shouto again. Shouto deflected with a thick wall of ice, getting out of the way just in time and leading Bakugou far away from where Izuku stood, frozen like he wasn’t quite sure what to do. 

Shouto sent a silent apology his way, and then a wave of fire, then ice, then fire again, in Bakugou’s direction. One of Bakugou’s explosions caught Shouto in the side, and Shouto’s frozen right-hook caught Bakugou in the jaw. 

It was a sloppy fight. Shouto was angry, and frankly tired of Bakugou’s shit. Izuku was still yelling at them to stop, mostly hovering at the edges of the battlefield, but he was all lit up from the inside again soon enough. It seemed like that was the only signal Bakugou needed to shift his attention, because suddenly, a kick that was meant for Shouto was changing direction and heading straight for Izuku instead. 

Izuku’s eyes widened, incrementally, and he ducked out of the way as Bakugou crash-landed against the concrete floor. 

“I can’t fight you!” Izuku pleaded. “This isn’t going to solve anything!” 

Bakugou gave what Shouto could only describe as a battle cry, and charged him anyways. 

Izuku dodged, ducked, and wove expertly, until Bakugou got him cornered against a wall, and then he fucking did a handspring off of Bakugou’s shoulder to land behind him, knocking Bakugou off-balance in the process and taking advantage of this to sweep his legs out from under him. He planted his foot in the middle of Bakugou’s back. 

“STOP!” He demanded. “Fucking—stop! Everyone stop!” 

Shouto froze where he was, ice still crusting over his right side and flames licking at his left, and Bakugou looked murderous, but—to everyone’s shock—paused for a moment. 

“Thank you,” Izuku breathed. “Fucking hell. Katsuki, I am not going to fight you because if I fuck up here, I go to fucking jail, or worse, okay?” 

Bakugou glared, his jaw all clenched and tight, but he said nothing. 

“Shouto, you are not fucking helping,” Izuku snapped. 

Shouto extinguished his fire immediately, dropping his fighting stance and giving Izuku an apologetic look. “I’m sorry,” he said. 

Izuku steepled his hands in front of his mouth and his shoulders heaved up, then down once. 

“Okay. No more fighting, alright?” Izuku gave each of them a sharp look, and Shouto rarely saw him look that way. He found himself a little unsettled by it. He wondered how any villain could have faced Izuku without immediately giving in, but then again, him being head over heels for Izuku probably didn’t help much at all. 

“Looks like I missed out on all the excitement,” drawled a voice that made Shouto’s blood run a little cold. Or, even colder than usual. 

Aizawa stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest and expression completely unamused as his eyes scanned the scene in front of him. 

Izuku immediately took his foot off of Bakugou’s back and stumbled several feet back from him, his expression completely shuttering, though not before Shouto saw the flicker of fear over his eyes and in the twitch of his mouth. 

“Relax, Problem Child. I got your text,” Aizawa said, and Izuku’s shoulders dropped. 

“Sir, none of this was Izuku’s fault. He was putting a stop to the fight that I started,” Shouto said immediately, stepping up to his boyfriend’s side. 

“I know,” Aizawa shrugged. He held up a tablet next, displaying a high-quality security feed of the gym. 

“Oh,” Shouto said smartly. 

“So, should I ask what all of this is about?” Aizawa asked, shifting his gaze from Izuku, to Bakugou, who was pushing himself up to his feet by then, to Shouto. 

No one said anything. Izuku looked like he wanted to, but couldn’t quite find the words. Bakugou looked murderous, but he usually looked that way. 

“Bakugou feels entitled to our life stories, I think,” Shouto explained snidely, when the silence continued to stretch. 

Bakugou scoffed. “I don’t give a shit about that.” 

Shouto watched Izuku’s jaw clench in irritation, and wisely made no other comments. 

“Well, I’ll have to review the security footage either way. Now, I’m going to escort the three of you back to the dorms, and no one is going to attack anyone, verbally or otherwise. Am I making myself clear?” Aizawa commanded. 

“Yes, Sir,” Izuku responded stiffly, the first of the three of them to answer. 

Shouto nodded his own understanding, and Bakugou just grunted. 

The walk back to the dorms was… awkward, maybe? Shouto wasn’t sure what the right word was. Izuku was silent, and even when Shouto stepped up to walk at his side, he didn’t look at him. Shouto thought it was probably wise to keep his mouth shut. 

He could almost hear the grinding of Bakugou’s teeth, where he walked behind the two of them with Aizawa, who had also made no move to try and ease the tension. The wind wasn’t cold, but it was strong, and Shouto was relieved to step inside and have the air no longer rushing past his ears. 

“I want to talk to each of you alone,” Aizawa finally said. “Bakugou, you first. Todoroki, Izuku, you can wait outside my office in the meantime. 

There were a few people milling around the common room still, night owls with nothing better to do than be nosy, whose eyes followed the four of them towards the teacher’s side of the dorm. Shouto kept his shoulders back and his head high, even after they turned the corner and were hidden from their classmates’ views. 

The door to the office closed behind Bakugou, and then Shouto was left in the hallway with Izuku. The silence between them was charged, and not in a good way. Shouto braced for impact. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Izuku said tersely, finally. 

“I know,” Shouto conceded. “I’m sorry, Izuku, I didn’t mean to get you into any trouble.” 

“I am walking a tightrope here, Shouto, I don’t have the privilege of fucking around and finding out,” Izuku explained. 

“I know, Izuku, I get it,” Shouto snapped, and then immediately felt a little bad about it. Izuku stared at him, hard, brow furrowed and face a mask of faux calm. “What did you mean by ‘jail or worse’?” 

Izuku didn’t answer him for a long moment. Finally, he sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. “People don’t really bat an eye when a vigilante turns up dead, you know. It’s just a risk of the job,” Izuku answered carefully. 

It took Shouto an embarrassingly long time to figure out what he meant, and when he did, he felt kind of like a bucket of ice-cold water had been dumped over his body. “You mean–” he started, only to cut himself off. 

“The HPSC has seen its fair share of accidents,” Izuku nodded. He was grimacing now, the corners of his mouth downturned and a slight waver to his voice. If Shouto hadn’t figured out what he meant yet, he knew exactly what Izuku was referring to by then.

“That isn’t going to happen to you,” Shouto told him firmly, when he regained his voice. “Izuku, you know I would never let that–”

“It doesn’t work that way,” Izuku insisted. “No offense, but if they barely listened to Present Mic, Eraserhead, and All Might, they’re not going to listen to you.” 

Shouto wanted to be offended by that, but honestly, he was kind of distracted by the other thing. 

“All Might?” He repeated, incredulously. 

Izuku just gave him a glare full to the brim with wariness, but at the very least, he looked less pissed off with Shouto than he had before. Shouto counted that as a win. 

For a moment, the silence stretched between them again. Shouto put aside his pride and cleared his throat. 

“I really am sorry. It was stupid, you’re right.” 

Izuku pursed his lips, but nodded just once. He even let Shouto take his hand, and when they both sat down against the wall to wait for Aizawa to be done with Bakugou, he put his head delicately on Shouto’s shoulder. 

The thing about it all was that Shouto knew he was just one kid. In the grand scheme of things, though, so was Izuku. They were both just kids thrust into positions they didn’t really belong in, standing in shadows far bigger than themselves. Shouto put an arm around his boyfriend, and thought about the axe hanging over his head, the threat of punishment for his good deeds. 

Shouto had never questioned whether or not Izuku’s actions were just. In his mind, they could never be anything but. It was why he had been so exasperated by Bakugou and his ridiculous tirade against Izuku, his desperate bid to out him as some sort of evil mastermind. 

(Very privately, Shouto thought that if he was, he had no doubt that he would follow Izuku into the depths of hell, but that was a conversation for another time.)

Maybe it was Shouto’s own disillusionment with the hero system, the years of growing up in that god-awful house. Maybe it was the absolute love and adoration he felt for Izuku, or just an intrinsic knowledge that not every ruling party was good, the understanding that a system which seemed to work may also have many, many loose screws rattling around in its underbelly. It may have had a little to do with a lot of things. 

Shouto was pretty damn confident, though, that he would do any and everything he could to keep Izuku safe. 

“Sorry for snapping at you,” Izuku murmured, picking at a small hole in the knee of his sweatpants.

“I deserved it a little bit,” Shouto shrugged. Izuku snorted, and they lapsed into silence again, much more comfortable this time. 

Shouto kissed the top of Izuku’s head. Things would be alright, he thought, because he was going to make sure of it.

Chapter Text

It turned out, even when he didn’t have to slip away before dawn, Izuku was a morning person. Shouto woke to sunlight in his eyes, and a note telling him that Izuku had gone for a run. It was six, and there was no sign that he had even been in Shouto’s room the previous night except for the hoodie that he had left behind. 

Shouto was very much not a morning person, but he trudged down to the common room at quarter past six anyways, to find Izuku and Iida chatting idly over cereal and orange juice. 

Shouto got a bit of tunnel vision sometimes, when it came to Izuku. There was a time when he only ever saw him in the night, by yellow lamplight or silver moonlight, against dark clouds and in flashes of lightning. That morning, he had sunbeams caught in his hair and eyes, in his tight running shirt all visibly dampened with sweat. Shouto made a beeline for him, and wrapped him up in his arms from behind, breathing in the scent of sweat drying on his skin and that ozone that was so distinctly Izuku, with his face in Izuku’s neck. 

“Good morning,” Izuku greeted him, lifting a hand to scratch at Shouto’s scalp. 

Shouto grumbled something that sounded close enough to ‘it is now’ and hummed his contentment. 

After a moment, Iida cleared his throat awkwardly. 

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt you,” Izuku apologized. “Go ahead, I’m listening.” 

“It’s—well, firstly, U.A. has rules regarding PDA…” Iida started awkwardly. 

“No one gives a shit about those rules, Iida,” Jirou said, and Shouto was starting to think he might owe her a gift basket. He hadn’t even realized that she was there, but based on how grumpy she sounded, he assumed she had just woken up and trudged into the kitchen, like he had. 

“Jirou, please mind your language,” Iida pleaded. 

“It’s way too early for that. Let them do whatever they want, literally no one cares,” she grumbled, and Shouto heard her yank open the fridge door. 

“Motherfucker,” she swore. “Someone drank all the cold brew and put the damn bottle back in the fridge!” 

Shouto raised his face from Izuku’s shoulder and rested his chin against it instead, so that he could look at Jirou and Iida properly. 

Iida looked kind of like he had taken a bite of a lemon and was trying not to show it. Jirou looked like she had just rolled out of bed, and the murderous intent in her eyes was a little concerning. 

“There’s more in the pantry, Jirou,” Uraraka said as she stumbled in, bleary-eyed and bed-headed. 

“God bless,” Jirou grumbled, throwing the empty jug at the recycling bin with a little too much force and trudging off. 

“Hey Iida, Midoriya, Todoroki,” Uraraka yawned in greeting, getting her pink Kirby mug down from the cupboard and turning on the stove before apparently realizing what she had seen, and doing a double-take. 

“Good morning, Uraraka,” Shouto greeted her without moving. 

She stared at them. Izuku’s skin was warming, turning pink again. 

“You know what? I’m actually finding it hard to be surprised,” Uraraka said finally. 

“Wh—were we obvious??” Izuku stuttered. 

“Noooooooo, definitely not,” she drawled teasingly, going back to making herself her usual dirty chai. “Does anyone want coffee?” 

“No, thank you, Uraraka,” Iida declined politely. 

Shouto made a face, which she caught and laughed at. 

“Um—sure, I’ll have some,” Izuku agreed, to which she hummed and grabbed him a coffee pod. 

“How do you take it, Midoriya?” She asked. 

“Just black is fine,” Izuku assured her. She made a disgusted face, but made him his coffee while her tea was brewing and handed him the mug, plain and white except for the blue U.A. logo in the center. 

Tsuyu was the next to join them in the kitchen, and she barely even bothered with glancing at Izuku and Shouto, greeting them as if nothing was amiss and kissing her girlfriend, accepting the matcha latte she had made her with a little hum of contentment. Jirou rejoined them promptly with a huge tumbler cup, which she filled to the brim with ice and black-as-night cold brew coffee. 

When Kirishima returned from his morning workout and fell flat on his face in surprise, Shouto decided it was probably time for him to disentangle himself from Izuku and get some food. 

“This is, like, the most emotion I’ve ever seen from you,” Kirishima commented, standing beside him at the counter as he put together his protein shake. 

Shouto hummed in acknowledgement. 

“You and Midoriya, huh? So, you know what his whole deal was before U.A. then?” He prodded. 

Shouto exhaled and lightly froze Kirishima’s hands to his shaker. “Nice try,” he said. 

“Dude!” Kirishima exclaimed. “So not manly!” 

———— 🌩️ ————

Shouto enjoyed free gym periods. He also enjoyed looking at Izuku wearing the U.A. standard issue gym jumpsuit. Apparently, he’d ordered it to be tight and extra stretchy, so that he could practice acrobatics, and Shouto was starting to run out of gods to thank. 

Gym Gamma was set up to accommodate as many types of workout as possible. Everything from yoga mats to wrestling mats, weights to ropes, a clear track around the outside perimeter and steps and dummies. 

Shouto took his usual spot in front of one of said dummies, and watched his classmates disperse. Izuku picked out a yoga mat and began stretching, and Shouto had to look away before he caught on fire. 

Otherwise, though, Shouto did his best not to be distracted. He warmed up as he usually would, stretching in place in front of the dummy, and he nodded when Ojiro greeted him softly as he took up his own spot. 

All the while, Shouto kept one eye on Izuku. He had his earbuds in, and other than a few friendly greetings, it seemed he was being mostly left alone. Shouto got a few rounds in with the dummy before he noticed Izuku roll up his mat and move across the gym. 

He stopped in front of the aerial silks, and Shouto was already beginning to experience all five stages of grief at once. 

He watched as Izuku talked to Uraraka, who stood at the bottom of one of the silks. Shinsou was already at the top of another set, hanging upside down effortlessly and watching them with his usual tired eyes. 

Finally, Izuku stepped up to his own set, royal blue, and wrapped himself up in them. Uraraka followed in the red set beside him. 

It took Shouto a moment to realize he wasn’t the only one in the class who had stopped to watch the aerial silk display. Many of his classmates were staring at the three, each of whom seemed to be performing their own routine, completely unchoreographed and yet somehow not entirely out of sync. Shinsou’s purple silks hid him from view most of the time, and Uraraka seemed to be focused on flowing movement through the air, as Shouto watched her float upwards and then fall back into the silks with her quirk at times. 

Izuku, though, seemed to just be in it for the strength training, and it was making Shouto a little lightheaded to watch. 

Up and down, twisting and curving, single-mindedly focused on his task, he was breathtaking. While most of the class managed to get themselves back to work, Shouto could only stand at his station on weak knees and stare up at Izuku. 

After Hosu, he had never truly gotten the chance to see Izuku at work, in his element. He wondered if it would be anything like this, though. 

“Everything alright, Todoroki?” Aizawa’s gruff voice cut through his reverie. 

Shouto struggled to swallow with his dry mouth. “Yes, sir,” he replied. 

“If you’re not going to use the dummy, move on,” Aizawa advised him. 

Shouto nodded and did his best to return his attention to the dummy, though he couldn’t seem to keep it there. His eyes just kept drifting. 

When he agreed to spar with Ojiro, he had done so in the hopes of forcing himself to focus again. He thought that, maybe, the threat of an actual opponent would force him to stay on task, and for a while, it worked. Uraraka had come down and stood at the edge of the ring, ready to switch out with one of them every other round. Tsuyu had taken her spot on the silks. Shouto was annoyed at himself for even having noticed that. 

It was his turn to fight Uraraka, and he thought that he was doing a pretty good job of staying present. Sure, he could still see the silks from over Uraraka’s shoulder, but not always. They switched positions enough. It was fine, he told himself. 

Izuku, flawlessly and effortlessly, twisted himself up in the silks, held himself upside down for a moment, and then tumbled with purpose until he was right side up again, stretching his legs in front and behind him until he stopped in a full split fifteen feet in the air. 

Shouto took a good, hard roundhouse kick to the head for his ogling. 

“Oh my god, Todoroki!” Uraraka gasped. “I’m so sorry!!” 

Shouto’s ears were ringing. “It’s fine,” he grunted, “It was my fault.” 

“I thought you’d dodge,” she said, crouching beside him. 

“Do you think you gave him a concussion?” Ojiro asked. 

“I’m not concussed,” Shouto tried to assure them, but his eyes were actually a little blurry and he wasn’t sure he was very convincing. 

“Well, we should get you to Recovery Girl anyways,” Uraraka insisted. 

Shouto wanted to argue, but the two of them were already hauling him to his feet. Uraraka shouted something to Aizawa, and Shouto did his best not to wince at the volume. 

Needless to say, Recovery Girl was not happy with him, though she healed him as usual. 

“Are you sure that you’re okay?” Uraraka prodded him, as they made their way back to class. 

“Yes, I’m fine,” Shouto assured her. 

“That was a pretty good hit, Uraraka,” Ojiro commented.

Uraraka huffed. “I put more power into it than I should have because I thought he would dodge it.” 

“Yeah, he’s been distracted all day,” Ojiro commented. 

Uraraka hummed her agreement, though the sly look she was giving him implied that she knew exactly what he was distracted by. 

“I’ll pay better attention next time,” Shouto said, if only to get her off his back. 

“Uh-huh, I’m sure you will,” Uraraka snorted. 

Shouto glared at her half-heartedly, and she pretended not to notice. 

“I feel like I’m missing something,” Ojiro commented. 

“Well, its a bit obvious, but Todoroki’s been distracted looking at his boyfriend,” Uraraka singsonged, elbowing Shouto a little too hard in the ribs. 

Ojiro chuckled. “Midoriya, right?” 

Shouto glanced over at him, doing his best to conceal his surprise. 

“Sorry, Todoroki, you’re not very subtle,” Ojiro gave him an apologetic smile. “But hey, you know I won’t say anything.” 

“I don’t care who you tell. We already agreed we didn’t want to hide it,” Shouto shrugged. 

Ojiro tripped over his own feet. “Wh—what?! I thought Uraraka was just messing with you. We met him, like, three days ago!” 

“You met him three days ago,” Shouto corrected him. “I’ve known him for nearly two years.”

His two classmates stared at him, wide-eyed and gaping in shock. They had stopped walking, letting him pull ahead of them. 

“Wait, I didn’t know about that!” Uraraka cried. “What the hell!” 

“How is that even possible,” Ojiro mumbled. 

Uraraka caught up to him and grabbed his arm. “Todoroki. Todoroki, be honest, is he a spy?? A criminal??? What is his fucking deal, I need to know!!” 

Shouto stayed tight-lipped the whole way back to the gym. 

And then he pushed open the doors and nearly combusted, upon seeing Izuku, having apparently abandoned the silks, with the top section of his gym uniform peeled down to his waist revealing his black tank top, hands wrapped, beating the ever loving shit out of a punching bag. 

“You know, in hindsight, Todoroki really is not subtle,” Ojiro commented. 

“Yeah, its pretty obvious once its pointed out,” Uraraka agreed. 

“You’re both the worst,” Shouto huffed. 

“You’re steaming,” Uraraka teased in response. 

———— 🌩️ ————

Izuku had gotten better at lying since Shouto first met him. Unfortunately for him and his self-sacrificial tendencies, Shouto knew all of his tells. 

Izuku’s hands were trembling just slightly, his jaw tightened just a little too much, as he worked away dutifully at his essay. Shouto sat beside him, Shinsou and Kaminari across from them. 

“Izuku,” Shouto murmured. “Let me see your hands.” 

“I’m alright,” Izuku fibbed, without looking up from his notebook. 

“Izuku,” Shouto repeated. 

Izuku actually looked up that time, and though he paused, he didn’t put down his pencil. 

“They hurt, right? They’re shaking,” Shouto held out his left hand expectantly. 

Izuku pursed his lips, and for a moment Shouto thought his boyfriend might fight him on it. 

Instead, Izuku huffed, set down his pencil, and held out his hand. 

Shouto took it gently, and feeling the tremors made his chest ache a little bit. He had a pretty good idea of Izuku’s pain threshold. He wondered how much it must have hurt, if Izuku was showing it outwardly. 

Shouto raised the temperature of his left hand slightly, and used the right hand to massage Izuku’s palm, his fingers, his knuckles. They were stiff, and when Shouto hit a nerve, he twitched slightly, but it seemed to be helping, so Shouto didn’t stop. 

Izuku sighed in relief as the pressure in his crooked joints was released. Shouto moved from his hand up to his forearm, dragging his thumbs down the length of it along the muscles, then up to his elbow, where he was careful to press lightly around the joint with a slow, simmering heat. Izuku’s shoulders were slumping more and more with each passing moment. 

“How’s your shoulder?” Shouto asked, as he worked up from Izuku’s elbow to his bicep. 

“It’s okay,” Izuku mumbled in response. 

Shouto assumed that to mean it wasn’t as bad as his arms, so he moved on to the other arm. Only Izuku’s left hand had been completely shattered, but both arms were scarred and damaged, and that meant bone-deep pain. Shouto repeated his movements, starting with the hand and then the forearm, elbow, bicep. By the time he was done, Izuku was leaning most of his body weight into Shouto, his forehead against Shouto’s shoulder. 

The moment was broken, very rudely, when Shinsou spoke. 

“Uh… should we leave?” 

Izuku sat back up immediately, and the embarrassment on his face was clear as day. 

“No? Unless you want to, I suppose,” Shouto shrugged. 

“I’m so sorry,” Izuku cringed, “I didn’t mean to—“

“Hey, no worries,” Shinsou assured him. “Those look like some nasty scars, I get it.”

Meanwhile, Kaminari was staring at Shouto like he had grown a second head. 

“What do you want, Kaminari?” Shouto said, and it was more like a demand than a question. 

“I—you—guys, don’t take this the wrong way but that was, like, one of the gayest things I've ever seen,” he responded in awe. 

Izuku’s cheeks turned a little more pink, and Shouto just looked back at Kaminari blankly. 

“You’re sort of an idiot, man,” Shinsou sighed. 

Kaminari sputtered his offense. 

“They’re dating, you dolt.” 

“How?!” Kaminari squawked. “What the hell?!”

“I can confirm that we are, in fact, dating,” Shouto agreed, and then for good measure, he added “you dolt,” to the end of it. 

Shinsou gave Kaminari a look that very plainly said ‘see?’ 

Kaminari put his face down on the table and groaned. “Maybe everyone’s right. Maybe I am an idiot.” 

Meanwhile, Izuku sat still and awkward, looking between his three table mates as though unsure whether or not he should add anything to the conversation. 

“Are you done?” Shouto asked. “We have essays to write.”

“Of course you would manage to get a boyfriend in a week flat,” Kaminari sighed miserably. 

“What does that mean?” Shouto almost huffed. 

“Recognize your pretty privilege, dude, I beg you,” Kaminari whined. 

Shinsou pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and pointer finger and sighed. 

“Come on! You’re not curious?!” Kaminari scoffed. 

“Most people would put two and two together and realize that they’ve probably been dating for a lot longer than a week,” Shinsou deadpanned, “you know, because they knew each other before this.” 

Izuku looked over at Shouto, like he didn’t really know what to say. 

“It’s complicated,” Shouto said by way of explanation. 

“That actually doesn’t help, Todoroki.”