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It started with a conversation he wasn’t meant to hear.
Shoto Todoroki stood by the fridge just down the hall from the common room, half-listening as Mina and Kaminari chatted nearby, sipping their before-dinner drinks.
“I’m telling you,” Kaminari laughed, “relationships don’t last when only one person does the work. Like, if your partner never puts in effort, it gets exhausting. That kind of laziness builds resentment.”
Sero nodded, dramatically. “Totally! Like if you’re always the one planning stuff or putting the effort to text or whatever, you’d totally burn out.”
Kirishima adds in nodding, "It feels like only you want the relationship which is not manly."
They didn’t notice the way Shoto froze, his drink in hand. He waited a few more seconds, then turned away quietly and made his way down the hall to the dorms.
"You guys seem quite invested in this telenovela." Jirou says chuckling.
Shoto didn’t see the way Mina followed his retreating back with a puzzled look.
---
Back in the dorms, he paced in his room. He usually overthinks things people said, but this—this lodged in his chest like ice. Bakugou always cooked for them. Bakugou cleaned up. Bakugou carried the relationship on his shoulders without ever complaining.
And Shoto? He just... existed next to him. Comfortable. Loved. Safe.
But what if that safety was temporary?
Katsuki always cooked. Every dinner they had alone, every breakfast when Shoto was groggy from patrol. He brought bentos to study dates and made sure Shoto drank enough water when he got hyper-focused. The thought of Katsuki getting tired of always being the one to take care of things—of him-
The thought made his stomach twist.
--------
That night, while Bakugou trained in Ground Beta with Kirishima.
Shoto stayed behind. In the dorm kitchen.
He stared at the ingredients lined up on the counter: vegetables, rice, some miso, tofu, a few things Bakugou had labeled in neat black marker—probably for his own meal prep.
Shoto tied an apron around his waist and tried to recall the steps Bakugou always mumbled while cooking. He didn’t want to mess up. He wanted to make something good. Something worthy.
He wanted Katsuki to come home and see him doing something for once.
But his fingers trembled a little as he worked the knife. Not fear—just nerves. He was fine until he slipped. The blade nicked his palm. It wasn’t deep, but the sudden sting and sight of blood pulled a small gasp from him.
He turned to rinse it under cold water, wrapping a napkin around it quickly.
The soup was burning.
He forgot to lower the flame.
He turned back to the stove too fast, hit his hip on the counter, dropped the ladle, and burned his hand grabbing the pot handle without a mitt.
Everything was falling apart.
---
By the time the door burst open minutes later, Shoto was sitting on the floor of his room, head in his hands, the wrapped napkin stained red, the smell of smoke still clinging to his clothes.
"WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU?"
Katsuki’s voice cut through the silence like a thunderclap.
He stormed into the room, eyes wide and furious, the door left swinging behind him.
"YOU CUT AND BURNT YOUR DAMN HAND AND DIDN’T SAY A WORD? WHAT WERE YOU EVEN THINKING, TODOROKI? JESUS—ARE YOU TRYING TO GET INFECTED?"
Shoto didn’t look up. His shoulders were trembling, and Katsuki hadn’t even noticed.
"You know I could've patched it up in ten seconds. You just—why the hell would you be so irresponsible—"
He stopped.
Shoto’s shoulders were shaking. Barely. Quietly. But shaking.
“…Shoto?”
Shoto looked up, eyes rimmed red, tears sliding silently down his face. His lips parted, struggling to breathe past the tightness in his chest. “I was just... trying to do something for you.”
Katsuki’s mouth opened, but no words came.
"I wanted to make you dinner," Shoto said. "Because you always do. And I never... I never do anything back. I just eat and smile and go to sleep and repeat it the next day. I’m useless. And I thought maybe if I did something for once, it’d be okay. And I thought... if I tried... maybe you wouldn’t…” He inhaled sharply, voice cracking. “Maybe you wouldn’t get tired of me.”
Katsuki’s heart dropped.
“The others said people leave when their partner’s lazy,” Shoto continued, tears now dripping freely. “And I don’t want you to leave.”
There was silence.
Katsuki blinked.
For a moment, he looked utterly lost. Like someone had just knocked the wind out of him.
Shoto looked away.
“Princess,” Katsuki said, stunned. “No. No. I’m not going anywhere. You—dammit, I should’ve—”
He rushed to kneel in front of him, hands hovering, unsure where to touch.
“Do you think I cook for you because I have to? I want to. Because I love you. Not because you’re lazy or useless or some dumb weight around my neck.”
Shoto stared, lips trembling.
“I’ve never thought that,” Katsuki whispered fiercely. “You make me feel seen. Like someone gives a damn about me, not the image. Not the quirk. Not the hero.”
"I know I’m not good at this. At relationships. I’m not loud or warm. I don’t always know the right words. You do everything, Katsuki. You carry so much. I hear people talk—how love is effort, how it’s give and take. But I don’t do anything—"
"Shoto," Katsuki said, quieter now. He stepped closer. "You dumb, dumb, wonderful idiot." Leave it to Katsuki to insult you while professing how much he loves you.
“You do everything!” Katsuki’s voice cracked. “You listen. You sit with me when I need quiet. You hold me when my brain won’t shut up. You look at me like I matter, even when I’m being a bastard. You’re not lazy, Shoto. You’re just… you. And that’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
Shoto blinked.
Katsuki knelt in front of him, his voice no longer harsh, but heavy. Gentle.
"You think I’m gonna get tired of you because you don’t cook miso soup? Seriously?"
Shoto’s bottom lip trembled.
"It’s not just the soup."
"I know."
Katsuki took his hand—gently, gently, cradling the bandaged fingers like they were made of glass.
"Look at me. You’re not a burden. You’re not some lazy partner I have to drag around. You’re the guy I fell in love with because of how you see the world. How you listen. How you show up when it matters. You’re there every time I need you—even when you don’t say anything. That’s your way. And it’s enough. It’s more than enough."
Shoto’s throat tightened.
"But I want to be better."
"Then we’ll get better together. But don’t you ever think I’d leave you because you’re not doing things like me. We’re not the same. I don’t want us to be. I love you as you are."
Shoto leaned forward into Katsuki’s chest, the ache in his chest unraveling in slow sobs, muffled against a warm hoodie that smelled like burnt sugar and citrus shampoo.
Katsuki held him.
Not like a porcelain doll, not like someone fragile—but like someone worth holding onto. Strong arms wrapped tightly, protectively, around his back.
They stayed like that for a long time.
Eventually, Katsuki tugged him gently toward the bed.
Katsuki kissed his temple. “Next time, just tell me if you’re feeling weird, alright? Don’t try to julienne onions with a sword hand.”
Shoto sniffed, hiccuping a soft laugh. “Noted.”
“I’m serious,” Katsuki grumbled. “You scared the hell out of me.”
You’re not mad?"
"Only at the soup. And maybe the knife. But not at you. Never at you."
Shoto laughed softly through his tears.
Later, after Katsuki finished re-wrapping his hand with the careful skill of someone who’s done it a hundred times, they lay curled together on Shoto’s bed, legs tangled, Katsuki’s hand in Shoto’s hair.
Warmth bloomed between them like spring after a long winter.
No need for grand gestures.
Just this.
Just them.
Enough.