Archive of Our Own ^beta

It starts with Uraraka declaring that Izuku is like a marshmallow one afternoon in the common room as she pokes him in the left cheek, right under his freckles. So soft, so sweet, and look at those cheeks.

The other girls seem to agree, though Tsu mostly observes with an approving ribbit and Jirou is a bit less eager. Mineta turns to Sero where they’re sitting on the ottomans and seems to make a comment—a flippant comment—that gives him a scoff, a roll of the eyes, and a strange spiraling gesture with his pointer finger, all in quick succession, from Sero in return. Bakugou has made an aggravated noise from somewhere in the kitchen—or, rather, somewhere on his way to it—that makes Kirishima laugh.

Either side of Shouto on one of the couches, Kaminari is covering half of his face and Shouji, with one of his dupli-arms, is grinning with such amusement his eyes have closed. Shinsou and Tokoyami are not here, so Shouto cannot gauge their reactions, but he himself is blinking deliberately, and Izuku is red. Very red. From the tip of his nose to the tip of his ears, which is a term of measurement that Shouto is only using because Izuku has buried his face in his own two hands, buckled forward like one would if they were about to be sick.

“Uraraka!” Izuku sounds like he’s choking. And no wonder! If he wants to breathe properly, he should really take his face out of the palms of his hands. That makes the most sense. “Please.”

It doesn’t seem logical, to keep your mouth and nostrils so purposefully covered if you’re struggling to breathe.

“Midoriya,” Shouto calls, because calling him ‘Izuku’ in front of people seems taboo, even if just for now, “is everything alright?”

“Fine,” Izuku says, still so choked, high and squeaky and now quiet enough to barely be heard, “just fine. Don’t mind me – just – embarrassed.”

“Oh? But why, is it really all that embarrassing?” Shouto puts his warm hand to his chin and looks up, giving it a think. “Come to think of it – what’s a marshmallow?” Slowly, he lowers his hand to return to keeping them politely folded in his lap. “Is it lewd?” He blinks again, aware of all the eyes in the room focussing themselves on him, and away from Izuku’s red-faced lament. “Is that why you’re so red?”

“Tch.” Shouto can hear that Bakugou is now behind him. Maybe Kirishima is beside him, behind Kaminari, but Shouto does not turn around to check. The back of his neck gets all twitchy; he does not like it when people are behind him.

“Is that the joke?” Shouto adds to his inquiries, ignoring Bakugou’s presence.

“Todoroki,” Yaoyorozu interjects, very calmly, very sweetly, like the leaves of a maple tree, “do you really not know what a marshmallow is?”

“I do not,” he says, with candour. After a moment, he asks, “Is it a well known item to compare your friends to?... Am I also a marshmallow?”

“Tch –” Shouto does not ask aloud why Bakugou has, in essence, his own catchphrase – “trust Icyhot not to know what all his food groups are.”

“Ah, so marshmallows are a food,” Shouto surmises, perhaps a little too proudly. “Does that mean that Midoriya is edible?”

“Not exact-” Uraraka starts.

“Then I agree, Midoriya is like a marshmallow. I’ve always considered that he seems very edible,” Shouto states, in a way that someone else may list the elements of the periodic table. Shouto has always found that Izuku brings forth the desire to bite him. He’s cute. It’s only natural.

“Gah – Todoroki!” Izuku only flusters more and presses his face harder into his hands.

“Todoroki, if I may,” Iida says, in a manner that’s very considerate but direct. Shouto has always liked that. It’s respectable. “A marshmallow is a type of confectionary item – mostly made out of sugar. They are typically white, cylindrical, and used to decorate desserts or hot beverages, but can very well be eaten alone. Though I do not recommend it – they are, after all, mostly sugar and not a recommended part of one’s every day diet!”

Shouto remains silent for just a moment. “Ah,” he says, evenly, “so Uraraka is saying that Midoriya is sweet.” He frowns, then, because he had excused her calling him edible in favour of agreeing, because he is, but now he’s sure that there is a line being crossed. Surely, he should be saying all of this to Izuku instead of her? Tricky. Very tricky.

“Sort o-”

Bakugou’s hand comes down on Shouto’s head. It’s hard and heavy but not a smack. Still, Shouto grunts at the impact. “What the hell, Icyhot?” he barks, gripping Shouto’s hair. “How come you don’t know what a damn marshmallow is?!”

“Well,” Shouto is cool in his reply, “Iida said that marshmallows are a confectionery. And growing up, I was never allowed to eat any sugary foods.” All the eyes in the room are still on him, and they each blink rather owlishly. “They were never a part of my diet plan,” he explains, idly.

There is silence.

“Jeez, trust you to bring the whole room down,” Bakugou says. Shouto braces himself for another smack, but instead Bakugou just scrubs at his hair, and suddenly there is red hair seen on his right and white hair on his left.

“Yeah, man, seriously,” Mineta chimes in, like he and Bakugou are ones of the same mind. “Give us a warning next time – you’re kind of a bummer.”

“My apologies,” Shouto replies, but he is not offended. He understands his childhood can be rather daunting to those unprepared to listen. When he looks away from Mineta afterwards, he can see that Izuku has pried his hands away from his face, and that he’s looking at Shouto like he’s a chalkboard with an unsolved equation.

“These are marshmallows,” Izuku says, the following day, after texting Shouto to join him in his room. He presents him with two bags: one has tiny little white or pink pieces in—soft and cylindrical, just as Iida had described—and the other, well... “The small ones are usually used to put in hot chocolate, and the big ones are usually used for smores^[🍡].”

Shouto is already inspecting the first big marshmallow he’s plucked out of its packet. He studies Izuku’s face as he samples it and finds that the smaller ones—while they taste the same—are much more palatable, likely due to their size. He finds the larger ones far too cloying near the back of his throat, and he thinks not very much about their overall taste, so maybe they’re just not for him. And with the way that Izuku is looking at him, he figures that that’s okay. At least he can say that he’s tried them.

“What are smores?” Shouto asks, with his mouth half full with big marshmallow.

Izuku’s expression drops. They’ve both come a long way for Shouto to no longer curse himself when that happens. It’s not your fault , he tells himself, as he has countless times before. It’s just the natural reaction .

“Oh, Shouto,” Izuku says, lovingly and emphatically, because they’re in private and that means they’re on a first name basis. It’s lovely. And now Izuku’s holding the left of Shouto’s face, tracing his thumb under his eye, along his cheekbone. It’s over his scar, but Shouto thinks that’s mostly because Izuku is right-handed rather than something more intimate and intentional. “I’m sorry,” Izuku whimpers.

His eyes are watering. His smile is sad.

Now Shouto is sad.

“What for?” he asks, because he is also confused.

“I should have known by now that you’ve never had a chance to try all this kind of stuff, given what you’ve told me about... him ,” Izuku states, like it’s all his own fault. He repositions his own smile, saying, “But don’t worry, Todoroki! Er – Shouto . I’ll make sure you have a chance to try everything you weren’t allowed to! Including marshmallows.” With that, Izuku’s smile brightens enough to be positively blinding, and he holds up a big marshmallow of his own, inviting Shouto to a toast.

Shouto holds up his half of a big marshmallow with a hesitance. “With you,” he says in return, for clarification.

“With anyone you want to!” Izuku elaborates, to be generous, but the way that Shouto looks at him must be pointed, because he’s quick to correct himself: “But with me, mostly, yeah. That is – only if you want to, of course!”

“Good. And I do,” Shouto amends, studying the remaining half of his big marshmallow once more. “That’s nice. I like trying new things with you, Mid- Izuku.”

Izuku beams.

Shouto nibbles the rest of his big marshmallow in silence. His partner has moved onto the small marshmallows with an expression that Shouto deciphers to be of both guilt and excitement. He watches him with a single, cattish blink.

“It’s been forever since I’ve had some of these,” Izuku explains. Shouto notices that he’s only picking at the white ones. “All Might’s diet plan doesn’t really leave much room for sweets.” Bit by bit, Izuku has told Shouto more about his being under All Might’s personal tutelage as they’ve grown closer, but Shouto still isn’t privy to all the details. He isn’t too bothered; he knows he’ll learn everything in due time.

“Sweets are bad for you,” Shouto says, considerately. He’s trying to console Izuku and reassure that such a loss was really a good thing all at once. Perhaps he’s succeeding. “They’ll only inspire your body to produce excess fat, instead of muscle.”

“Yeah, but –” Izuku runs his tongue across his back-teeth, cleaning them of small marshmallow residue – “ some sweets are okay. And you’ve got a lot of catching up to do!”

“I’m not sure if I like the big marshmallows,” Shouto comments. “They’re too much.”

“Try the smaller ones,” Izuku says, and Shouto picks one of each colour out of the proffered bag. He’s already eaten some of the small marshmallows with a sparing interest, so he only really takes these ones to be polite. “The white ones are the best.”

“They taste the same,” Shouto replies, only because it is true.

“As the big ones, yeah, but I thought that maybe you’d like the smaller ones because there’s not as much-”

“They all taste the same. The pink ones and the white ones.”

Izuku frowns with a little hum, and turns the bag around to read the fine print on the back. Perhaps he’s trying to prove Shouto wrong. Perhaps he’s trying to prove him right. Shouto isn’t sure, but he waits with a small portion of anticipation all the same.

“They haven’t flavoured these ones,” Izuku explains, at last. “Normally they flavour the pink ones with strawberry or raspberry or something like that, but these are just dyed.”

“But what are the white ones meant to be?”

“Vanilla.”

“Ah. They just taste like sugar to me.” Shouto silently rejects the bag of small marshmallows when Izuku kindly offers them again. “I don’t know if I like how they feel.”

“That’s completely fair, Todo- Shouto ,” Izuku smiles again, at last. “After all, this is all so new to you! I’m sure it’s a lot to get behind – but don’t worry! We’ll find something that you’ll like, eventually.”

“Thank you, Izuku.” Shouto returns the smile, but he knows that it cannot live up to Izuku’s. No one’s can. He looks back down to the half of big marshmallow in his hand. Its white inside is sticky and shiny and starting to run, but the outside is still mostly dry and a little powdery. “Izuku?”

“Yeah, Shouto?”

“I asked before, so I apologise for repeating myself, but what’s a smore?”

“Oh!” Izuku swallows quickly and smiles. “Sorry. A smore is...”

“You know, Uraraka may have had a point,” Shouto says, quite some time later, though not more than an hour.

“Mmph?” Izuku looks back up at him with a mouthful of marshmallows. Shouto isn’t too sure if they’re the small ones or the big ones, but Izuku’s already-round cheeks are puffed out like a foraging chipmunk’s, and Shouto finds it very endearing.

He holds up the last of his big marshmallow in his right hand so it’s right next to Izuku’s confused face in his line of sight, and uses the pointer finger of his left to prod at it. “Your face really is like a marshmallow.”

Izuku’s face goes as pink as the cluster of small marshmallows he’d just been grazing on. “Gah! Shouto !”

Shouto moves closer towards him from across the small space between them. He uses his free hand to pry Izuku’s hands from his embarrassed, marshmallow-like face and cup the cheek that’s most adjacent.

“ So soft .” He pokes lightly at the crest of Izuku’s cheek and watches—completely enchanted—as the skin dimples under his touch, yielding and tender. “ So sweet .” He kisses the place where he just poked. It’s an apology and a promise, even though he hadn’t done it particularly hard. “ Perfect .” He kisses Izuku on the mouth.

Izuku has gone from pink to red. He doesn’t reply with a single word—rendered far too flustered, only really quirming—so Shouto makes it up to him by holding out the last of his own big marshmallow towards his mouth, inviting him to eat it because Shouto knows he won’t himself. To Shouto’s surprise, Izuku takes it. Vaguely, Shouto is reminded that some people feed sugar cubes to horses. He pets Izuku’s pretty green hair as he chews.

The two press their foreheads together in a lovely silence.

“ Shouto ,” Izuku says, eventually, looking right into his eyes. Shouto is looking at him in the eyes right back, and can only think that Izuku has had the shallower end of the bargain. After all, Shouto’s eyes aren’t a mirror. Izuku can’t look into his own eyes like Shouto can. Into that deep green only Shouto is allowed to come so close to. Without a mirror, Izuku is sort of just deprived.

“Mm?” Shouto replies when he realises that he’s meant to. He looks down at Izuku’s lips and swipes a thumb over the bottom one. It’s a little sticky. “You just committed cannibalism.”

Izuku’s lips purse in a way that sets off a scrunch in his whole face. “ Shoutooo !” he squirms, pulling away and hiding his face all over again. And he’s very red, from nose to ears. “I was going to ask something!”

“Then ask,” Shouto says, very simply. He tilts his head, hoping that Izuku will see and understand that he wants their foreheads to touch again. It was nice. It always is.

Izuku obliges. His forehead is so warm, so inviting, like a bubble bath. “You made me forget! Give me a second.”

“Okay.” Shouto then, slowly, prods Izuku’s bottom lip with the pad of his thumb, “ Cannibalism .”

Izuku whines and jitters his feet, toes hammering lightly against the floor from the way he’s sat in his desk chair, in the way that he would if Shouto had decided to tease the pressure points in his sides instead. “ Stooop , Shouto! I’m trying to think!”

“Sorry.” He does not feel very sorry.

“Oh – I remember: what other foods have you always wanted to try?”

“I don’t know,” Shouto responds, perhaps a little shyly. “I didn’t even know that I hadn’t tried marshmallows until yesterday.”

Izuku hums very sympathetically. “Then, are there any foods you were ever told you weren’t allowed to have?”

Shouto thinks for a moment. He’s even shier, maybe even pinker, when he realises that it all must seem so silly, especially when he lands on: “Grilled cheese.”

Izuku gasps, like it’s a crime.

Shouto adds, “Or any sandwich, really. I don’t suppose I’d be very picky if we’re going to try at least one.”

“We’re going to try all of them!” Izuku proclaims, smiling as bright as a lighthouse. Shouto—like a coasting ship—watches him and gives a long, analytical blink. “Well, maybe not all at once . We can make a list! Yeah, a list. And we can check off all the sandwiches you haven’t tried once we’ve tried them! We could rank them based on how you rate them. And who knows! Maybe you’ll even find a favourite!”

“Perhaps,” Shouto says, feeling like he’s in the passenger seat of a car only Izuku knows how to drive. “Will we be trying them together?”

“Of course!”

“Like dates?”

“Like dates!”

“Picnic dates,” Shouto says plainly, as a means to clarify.

“Any date you want.” And Izuku now returns back to his own seat and clasps Shouto’s hands in his own. His forehead is centimetres away from Shouto’s. Shouto feels very loved.

“That sounds pleasant,” he decides to say instead. “It’s something to look forward to between training sessions.”

“It is!” Izuku agrees, in a way that makes it all seem like a celebration to what he must be thinking is Shouto’s second chance at childhood. Their foreheads touch, then. At last. It’s very nice. “Wait – have you had popcorn before?”

“I have,” Shouto nods, a little sorry to disappoint. “Our first year some time after we all moved into the dorms. Ashido made us all have a movie night in the common room and she and Kirishima made popcorn.”

“I remember that.” Izuku perks up, eyes sparkling. “They made a whole lot of different kinds! Did you try all of them?”

“The caramel popcorn was too sweet for me. The salted popcorn was okay. I did try some plain pieces, too, but I don’t miss it,” Shouto recalls, steadily. “Popcorn – I think – just reminds me of Bakugou.”

“Oh.” Izuku has just made a noise sort of like he’s laughing. Sort of like he’s not. His eyes are twinkling, though, with that look only laughter can bring. “Because of the popping?”

“And the smell.” Shouto wrinkles his nose as he remembers how it had smelled when Kaminari had tried his hand at a batch once the first round was growing scarce and ended up burning the whole pan. “But I remember, whenever I looked over to see Bakugou eating all that popcorn, it was kind of like cannibalism, don’t you think?” Sort of like... “Maybe that’s why the two of you became friends in the first place.” Shouto plucks a big marshmallow out of its bag and manages to slide it into Izuku’s mouth with alarmingly little resistance.

“Mmph. Thoutoh ,” Izuku protests, only a little, with his mouth full.

But then, Shouto only whispers, closely, “ Cannibalism .”

“What the hell, you damn nerd?!” Bakugou curses upon entering the kitchen and finding Shouto and Izuku seated opposite one another at the kitchen island. Shouto has his back to the common room, Izuku has his back to the stove, which has the pan used to cook their shared supper—a grilled cheese sandwich each—atop it. Izuku has to turn to smile up at Bakugou, who is glowering. “You gave damn Half-n-half my mom’s grilled cheese recipe?”

“Not exactly, Kacchan,” Izuku replies, moderately. His smile seems so undeserved in the face of something so sour. “Todoroki didn’t see how I made it, he’s only eating it.”

“I’ve never had a grilled cheese sandwich before,” Shouto supplies helpfully.

“ What ?” Kaminari swoops in from the side, partnered by Ashido, both in shock.

“How have you never had a grilled cheese before?” Ashido asks, hands on her cheeks.

“That’s, like –” and Kaminari takes his time in stumbling his way to the right word – “parenting one-oh-one! To make your kid a grilled cheese right after they’ve had a nightmare!”

“Or when they’re sad!” Ashido adds.

“Ah. Unfortunately my father was often the source of most of my nightmares growing up,” Shouto states, factually.

“What’d I say, guys?” Mineta asks. He hops up onto the stool beside Shouto and places an arm on the countertop to lean against it. “ Kind of a bummer...” Sero promptly hits him over the head.

“Not cool, dude, chill.”

“I understand that the circumstances of which aren’t at all comparable,” Yaoyorozu comes in, voice as soft as silk and with that maple-tree-like serenity she so often sports, “but ‘grilled cheeses’ were never a staple of my childhood, either.”

“Nor mine,” Iida agrees.

“No offence,” Uraraka gives a wimpish chuckle, scratching the back of her neck, “but the two of you probably had something similar but more expensive because you had the money for it... heh...”

“Well, yeah, that’s because you two probably grew up with some rich-man’s alternative!” Ashido protests.

Kaminari is quick to back her up, throwing himself against the counter a bit too dramatically for the otherwise laid-back evening. “Like, camembert-un-baguette that’s been lightly charred with julian tomatoes!”

“‘ Julienne ’, you idiot!” Bakugou yells.

“Well, yeah, but, like –” Kaminari is quick to amend – “they were probably made by someone named Julian, right?”

“Where the fuck in Japan are they going to find someone named-”

“Not all of our family chefs are Japanese, Bakugou,” Yaoyorozu interrupts. “Please, don’t be so close-minded!”

Bakugou inhales very sharply, like a whip, through his nose and shuts his eyes. He starts muttering a count to ten, his knuckles white against the counter top. “You’re an idiot,” he says, very pointedly to Kaminari just after a moment.

“My family does not even have personal chefs,” Iida says. “I’m still quite unsure why all of you insist to place me in the same tax bracket as Yaoyorozu!”

“Do pro-heroes even pay taxes?” Sero asks from behind him.

“Why, of course they do!” And with that, Iida begins a long explanation as to why pro-heroes do, in fact, pay taxes just as any other member of society does, and why taxes are integral to the structure of the economy. Sero looks very dazed, being shaken by the shoulders like that.

“I’ve never had a grilled cheese, either,” Shouji speaks up, quietly. He uses his own mouth, not any of his dupli-arms.

Shinsou is now sitting between Mineta and the island’s pillar. He’s leaning lazily against it, head in his hand, looking as tired as ever. “It’s been a while since I’ve had one myself,” he says casually, throwing in his own couple of yen.

From the corner of his eye, Shouto can see Kaminari looking at the transfer student with a pleased glimmer in his eye.

Jirou has slinked into the overcrowded kitchen from behind Yaoyorozu. “I could eat,” she adds, like it’s her turn.

“As could I.” And that would be Tokoyami.

Kaminari and Ashido both turn to Bakugou with identical, pleading expressions. Their hands are clasped together next to each of their faces. “ Pleeease , Bakugou?” they both beg, almost like they’re singing.

“ Please will you make us all grilled cheese sandwiches?”

“Like hell!” Bakugou retorts, with adamance. He’s already crossed his arms over his chest very tightly, and his chin is tucked in, which is all very much the de facto indication to say that his mind isn’t changing any time soon. “If shitty Deku can manage to make a damn grilled cheese without burning the place to the ground, then so can you!”

Shouto puts on an act of wrinkling his nose, just so he can help. “But remember when Kaminari made popcorn?”

“Yeah! Remember when I made popcorn!”

“No,” Shinsou answers, coolly. “What happened when you made popcorn?”

Kaminari immediately goes bright red. “No! You don’t need to know! Guys, no one tell him!”

“The damn idiot –”

“ No !”

“– managed to stink the whole place out when he tried making caramel popcorn for a dumbass movie night back in our first year,” Bakugou finishes, smirking in a way that he could easily deny if he was.

Kaminari cries out in anguish at his ‘dirty secret’ being revealed. “It wasn’t that bad!”

“Like hell it wasn’t!”

“ Bakugouuu !”

Bakugou only snorts. “If it’s such a damn issue just keep Dunce Face away from the stove. God knows what crimes against culinary arts he’ll commit this time ’round.”

“It wasn’t that baddd – Shinsou, seriously – I- hey !” Kaminari takes his hands off of Shinsou’s shoulders and shoots an accusatory glare Bakugou’s way. “You’re not getting out of this, Kacchan!”

Ashido, catching on, agrees. “Yeah! You’re making us grilled cheese sandwiches whether you like it or not, Bakugou!”

“Quit relying on me to make you idiots food!”

“But you’re so good at iiittt!” Kaminari whines, going floppy like a noodle and falling in Bakugou’s direction. Bakugou steps back, but Ashido catches him.

“Come on, Bakugou!”

“Yeah, come on, Bakugou,” Shouto repeats, goading. Bakugou’s head whips around and he’s now on the receiving end of a glare so searing it could melt through any ice that Shouto could pack his way. Shouto only blinks, mournfully slow, in retaliation.

Faintly, Shouto swears he can hear someone scoff. He thinks it’s Shinsou, maybe Mineta, but isn’t too sure.

Kirishima places a firm hand on Bakugou’s shoulder. “Take it easy, Baku-bro,” he says, like a breeze. “Come on, man. It’ll be fun.” And then he’s leaning against the counter so he’s winding around to better face Bakugou’s petulant grimace. “And super manly of you to do this, man.”

Bakugou grumbles.

“ Please , Katsuki?”

Shouto thinks he can see Kirishima’s fingers flex around Bakugou’s shoulder. Maybe a squeeze, just to reaffirm.

“Whatever.” With that, Shouto thinks that it is not Bakugou that turns his back on the crowd to gather ingredients, but rather Katsuki . “Prepare your ass for a real fucking grilled cheese, Icyhot. Not whatever that is that shitty Deku went and made for you.”

“I just messaged Aoyama!” Ashido exclaims, holding up her phone. “He’s on his way up!”

“This is so exciting! I can’t wait! Thanks, Bakugou!” Hagakure cheers. Shouto does not know from where.

“ Whatever ,” Bakugou scoffs.

“There’s a lot to make. I can help,” Satou says, pleasantly.

“You do that.”

“Me too, ribbit. I used to make them for my younger siblings all the time back home,” Tsu chimes in. “So you tell us if you need help, Bakugou. We wouldn’t want you overexerting yourself, ribbit.”

“Shut up, you damn toad! Like I’d need any help making something as simple as a few damn grilled cheeses!”

“Oh, well. Just thought I’d offer...” she sings, and hops her way to the common area with the rest of their dispersing classmates. Ojiro is thanking Bakugou with modest delight as he follows her.

Shouto turns his attention to Shinsou and comments, albeit quietly, “You know, after our war with All For One, I was not aware that Kirishima had been granted your quirk’s ability to easily persuade the stubborn-of-mind.”

Izuku snorts into what is left of his own grilled cheese—which surely has gone cold by now because Shouto’s sure has—and puts a finger to his grinning lips to shush him. “ Sh – he’ll hear you.”

“I already heard him, you damn nerd!”

Somehow, this makes Izuku laugh louder.

And it is then that Shouto realises that his and Izuku’s nice supper-for-two together had just been ruined. But he couldn’t find it in himself to be the slightest bit displeased.

“Cannibalism,” Shouto says when he slides a marshmallow into Izuku’s mouth next. They’re alone. They’ve been kissing on Izuku’s bed and Izuku is against the headboard. Of course, if he was laying down instead, Shouto wouldn’t have bothered: he doesn’t want Izuku to choke!

“Mm, vewy goo’. I’th delithouth,” Izuku says, speech impaired because of the big marshmallow.

Shouto preens, just a little, and tries for another.

Izuku leans away. “No, ’m too full. I’ll choke.”

“Ah,” Shouto says, simply, and picks out some of the small marshmallows instead. “Cannibalism,” he declares, evenly, when Izuku allows himself to be fed them even though he’s still chewing, “of the children.”

“Mm- mmmm !” Izuku’s lips pinch shut and his brow furrows as he whines. It sounds negative. “Shouto!” His cheeks are red. He’s managed to swallow everything so he can now speak clearly. “They’re not children.”

“They’re little ones,” Shouto states, inspecting one thoughtfully. “Is that not another term to refer to children as?”

“Well, yeah , but-”

“Then you’re eating your own children. See? They look just like you.”

“I’m not, I-”

“Eat.” Izuku does, in fact, eat. “Cannibalism.”

“Mm,” he mumbles, face scrunching up in protest. “Do you have to say that every time I eat one?”

“But that is what it is,” Shouto explains. “And what type of hero will I grow to be if I don’t call out a crime exactly as it happens?”

Izuku’s chewing becomes more thoughtful, then. “You’re really taking this joke seriously.”

“It makes me happy.”

Something in Izuku shifts gears. He sits more upright and the quizzical look in his eye softens. “Oh, Shouto – does it really? Make you happy?”

If Shouto had been raised to take more things for granted, then he is sure he would have used this very exploitable revelation to his own advantage. To excess, if he so wanted. “Yes,” he says. He’s only being honest. This isn’t exploiting. Yet.

“That makes me so glad, Shouto!” Izuku beams bright enough that he could likely give Shouto a tan if he so wanted. Figuratively speaking, of course. “I’m so happy you’ve found something you enjoy.”

He’s holding Shouto on either side of his face, kissing him. So softly. This always makes Shouto feel so loved. He can only hope that he makes Izuku feel the same way. Still, though...

“ You’re something I enjoy.” He says this meaningfully, touching the side of Izuku’s face in return. If he mirrors Izuku’s movements, then he’s sure to succeed in making Izuku feel the same way: loved, warm, cherished . Like he’s perfect.

Izuku is perfect, though. There’s no ‘like’ about it. No room for uncertainty.

Bright green eyes are tearing up. Shouto nearly curses, but Izuku is pressing their foreheads together and laughing. They’re hugging now, too. It’s amazing.

“You’re something I enjoy too, Shouto.”

“Even though I’m a bummer?”

Izuku’s smile lessens, though only slightly. “You’re not a bummer, Shouto.” He cards his hand through the right side of Shouto’s hair. It reminds him of his mother. Once upon a time, he felt warm and perfect with her too, even when her hands were so cold and her gaze was so far. It’s nostalgic , Shouto thinks, though only briefly.

“Your words are appreciated,” is Shouto’s reply, because he knows he should be as open as he can with Izuku. It’s essential, if he wants to keep... this . Their partnership. And Shouto wants to keep their partnership for a very long time. For as long as he breathes, if it’s possible. “Thank you.”

Izuku smiles. They kiss again.

Shouto raises another marshmallow to his lips. Izuku gives him a face like he’s surprised at his dextrous stealth, one eyebrow lifted and a frown only entertaining the softness of his mouth. Still, he opens up without needing to be asked, and this time his lips take in the tips of Shouto’s fingers.

“Cannibalism,” Shouto says when Izuku starts to chew. They’re both blushing.

Later into the evening, when curfew is particularly close and it’s time for Shouto to take his leave, Izuku groans miserably. His hand is on his stomach, and he says, “This is the last time I let you feed me this many marshmallows.”

Shouto crouches down beside Izuku’s bed and pats his stomach sympathetically. “This is the last time I let you get away with this many crimes,” he corrects, humorously.

Izuku groans, “Can we please put the breaks on the corny jokes for tonight? Promise ?”

“Promise.”

“Thank you. I might throw up – please don’t press –”

Too late. Shouto had already pressed into the firmness of Izuku’s tummy (and it’s a tummy now, not a stomach, because Izuku is being particularly cute now), and he covers his mouth to try hiding a small burp.

“Oh, god, I’m so sorry...” He hides in his own two hands. He curls up more.

“What for?”

“‘What for’? I just burped in your face!”

“It was hardly in my face, Midoriya. Besides, releasing gases orally is a natural process every body goes through,” Shouto states. He is intentionally factual, but if it spares Izuku’s feelings in the process then that is only a welcomed bonus. Izuku peaks through his fingers, mortified. “Especially when one eats most of their body weight in marshmallows.” He would have said ‘their own kind’ instead, if not for the promise he’d just made to his sorry partner.

“Do you really have to say it like that?” Izuku asks quietly into his own two palms.

“How else do you suppose I say it?” Shouto reasons. Izuku only groans and covers up his face again. Ah, gottem. “Besides, it’s not like it smelt unpleasant, it was mostly just marshmallow.” Izuku groans again, so much louder. Shouto finds this form of teasing to be very pleasant. “Do you still feel the need to throw up?” he then asks after a moment, with a suggestion of professionalism.

“No, ’m good, thanks...”

“Then it was only a burp you needed.” Shouto intentionally ignores the way Izuku is watching him with very narrowed eyes. He did what was necessary; why the fuss? “Stay here. I’ll go and get you some water.”

When Shouto returns, he has a bottle of water fresh from the refrigerator in his right hand and a bowl half-full of water, kept tepid, in his left. He hands Izuku the bottle, places the bowl on his bedside table. Izuku’s toiletry bag is on his desk, so Shouto grabs it and takes out his washcloth and his toothbrush.

Izuku’s toothbrush is red rubber and clear plastic and there’s half a heart on the crest of its handle, just under the head. Shouto’s, back in his own room, is its twin. Green instead of red, with half a heart that’s meant to complete the one on Izuku’s. Logically, Shouto knows that toothbrushes come and go—it is not wise to value a toothbrush—but he values the sentiment. It is the sentiment that matters, a concept that Izuku has helped him learn all about since attending U.A..

“Shouto, what are you-”

“Allow me,” Shouto insists, as polite as he can sound. “If you’re sick, it is because of me. Allow me to take care of you. It would make me happy.”

Izuku slumps back into his previous position. Shouto knows he’s pushing it, but it will make him very happy to take care of Izuku as he so deserves. So he will, though on occasion, of course. Shouto figures it would be demeaning, otherwise. After all, his partner is more than capable.

He folds up and dampens half of the washcloth in the bowl, wrings it out, and pads it gently against Izuku’s sweet face. He focuses mainly on the areas around his mouth, eyes, and under his ears, though tries to pay mind to other areas, too. Then, he dabs the areas dry with the dry half of the cloth before setting it aside.

“I can brush my own teeth,” Izuku testifies when Shouto wets the head of his toothbrush in the bowl and applies a stripe of his All Might Watermelon Smash toothpaste. “Seriously – don’t worry about it!” He gives a nervous laugh.

Shouto looks to and from the toothbrush in his hand and Izuku’s face contemplatively. “Say ‘ah’,” he suggests, just like a dentist, or when Fuyumi once checked Natsuo for how loose a tooth was after he’d ran into one of the sliding doors leading out to the engawa. He has not thought of that decade-old memory in so long, so he’s a little surprised he has now.

Izuku goes pink. He sits up against his elbows, opens his mouth and does, in fact, say ‘ ah ’. Shouto is sly in the way he checks over the bottom row of his partner’s teeth. There’s a cavity in the back, filled with an off-white, almost silver, material. Shouto doesn’t have any cavities.

Most people have at least one , Izuku had explained when Shouto had first spotted it and grown alarmed from mistaking it for decay. I mean – they shouldn’t – but they do. It’s okay, Shouto, really .

Do the members of our class really all have fillings?

Well, some of them! I know Kaminari and Ashido do, and I wouldn’t be surprised if Satou does, too, given his quirk and all...

Shouto still doesn’t know who exactly has a filling or not in their class, but with how thorough Izuku’s reasoning and approximations had been during that little ramble, he just considers his word as fact. Unless the subject is breached in-person with each individual, he doesn’t need to know.

Izuku lets out a soft nose when the brush comes into contact with his back teeth. His tongue curls—on instinct—so Shouto says, “I’m not going to stick it down your throat, so try to relax.”

“I’ t’y’ng,” Izuku replies around the toothbrush, face going from pink to red.

The process is mostly quite smooth. Shouto is gentle in the same way he’s seen Izuku brush his own teeth countless times before, and Izuku only gags once when he turns the toothbrush horizontally to press down on the back of his tongue to scrape.

“All done,” Shouto states, swilling the head of the toothbrush in the bowl of water. There is something extraordinarily cute about the way Izuku is looking up at him with big eyes and a white, foamy mouth and puffy cheeks. There’s a deep part of him that doesn’t want such a look to end, but he says, “ Spit ,” and it’s over just like that.

Shouto uses the washcloth to clean around Izuku’s mouth. It’s tender and warm even as Izuku lays back down against his pillow. Shouto places the toiletries on Izuku’s bedside table, far behind his alarm clock, and sits next to him on the bed. He arches over Izuku, anticipating a kiss goodbye as they caress one another’s cheeks.

“I can’t believe I let you do that,” Izuku exclaims, still a bit embarrassed.

Shouto runs his thumb over the soft skin below his partner’s left eye. It feels so intimate—a bit taboo—to be able to touch Izuku like this. Especially on the freckles, each as cute and sweet as the next. So perfect. “Why not?”

“Never mind!”

“You’re my –” Shouto stalls on the word ‘boyfriend’. He starts over: “You’re my partner. I’d wait on you like that every day if I knew you weren’t so capable.”

Izuku kicks his feet from under the covers, squirming. “ Shoutooo !” he whines, covering his mouth with his hand in a way that kind of reminds Shouto of Uraraka. “That’s so cute, stop it!”

“No.” He kisses Izuku on the head and smooths out the covers under his chin. “Now, goodnight.”

Izuku looks up at him with big eyes. Bigger than normal, at least. Shouto suspects he’s preventing himself from saying something, which just won’t do.

“What is it?” He puts a hand on his cheek again, because he thinks he’s becoming the kind of person who takes a mile when they’re offered an inch. It should scare him—really, it should—but he’s too addicted to Izuku’s skin to correct it. So sweet, so soft. Like a marshmallow. “Is something wrong? Midori- Izuku?”

“You can call me your boyfriend if you want,” Izuku says, in a very soft way. A comforting way. “I noticed you didn’t want to say ‘boyfriend’ – you called me your partner instead. Why is that?”

“I don’t know,” Shouto says. He really doesn’t and now that it’s gained traction, he loathes it.

“Oh. Well, just know that you can if you want. I don’t mind – it’s nice.”

Izuku looks so earnest, it pulls on something in Shouto’s chest. Izuku nuzzles the palm of his hand when he goes to cup his cheek again.

“Or not! I mean really, it’s up to you and what you’re comfortable with! Don’t let me decide-”

Shouto smiles. Izuku is silenced. “Gods,” he sighs. His boyfriend— what a thing to say! Shouto feels almost scandalous, like members of a paparazzi only in his own head but otherwise built up by his father were ready to leap out of Izuku’s closet and snap pictures of them together in this way with the flash on—blinks up at him with those honest, green eyes he so adores. “I’m in love with you.”

Izuku smiles back, but Shouto doesn’t miss the way he gasps lightly through his nose. “I know,” he replies, in that warm way only Izuku can hone. “I’m in love with you too.”

And gods , does Shouto almost cry. It’s about the same reaction as when they’d last said it to one another. It does not get easier in the slightest . Luckily, Izuku’s giggle snaps him out of it.

“You know – with how you brushed my teeth and kissed my head, it sort of feels like you’re going to tuck me in.”

Shouto feels lightheaded from the way Izuku is thumbing his cheekbone. Such a lovely, ageless feeling. Still, he pauses, “Do you want me to tuck you in?”

“Oh, no, I’m-”

“I can tuck you in.” He stands.

“Really, I’m fine!”

“I’m tucking you in.”

“ Shouto .”

“It would make me the happiest man in the world,” he protests, like it’s a form of punctuation. It’s a statement, a factual one, and really, he knows he’s pushing his luck now.

Izuku knows it too. He gives him a flat look. “You know, it’ll get to a point where that won’t work on me anymore.” But Shouto can tell by his eyes that he’s lying.

“Do you want it under your body or under the sides of your mattress?” he asks instead of acknowledging the... well, he’s not sure what it is. A tease? A threat? It mostly feels like a threat. Insinuating that one day there will be a time when Izuku no longer cares for his happiness? Yes, most certainly, it is a threat.

What a bleak future. Shouto believes it doesn’t bear thinking about.

“Under my body’s fine,” Izuku chooses, at last.

“Ah, a swaddle. A tactical choice,” Shouto approves. He makes quick, tactful work in tucking Izuku in and checks twice to make sure there is no missed bunching that could make things uncomfortable.

Izuku insists that he is very comfortable. Shouto thinks that he sort of looks like a caterpillar, with how he’s all wrapped up.

“Just like how my mom does it,” Izuku says. Shouto thinks it’s a joke.

“My mother hasn’t tucked me in since she was hospitalised.”

A small expressional shift; a twitch. “Then I’ll tuck you in tomorrow!”

“I look forward to it,” Shouto says, before adding thoughtfully, “I’ll be counting down the hours.”

Izuku snorts. Then, after some amatory silence: “You’d better hurry before a teacher catches you sneaking out!”

“I’ll just tell them I was busy tucking you in and lost track of time.” A light tease; Izuku squirms enough to make Shouto wonder if he’ll undo all of his hard work.

“Now goodnight. Boyfriend.” Shouto kisses him on the head again and smooths out the section of blanket under his chin.

“Goodnight, boyfriend.”

The following day, Izuku and Shouto have snuck into Izuku’s room during their lunch break to make out. It’s a small act of rebellion, Shouto knows, and it’s glorious. He’s straddling Izuku and their hips are meeting in that very splendorous way, but they’re on borrowed time, which makes the act of making out all that’s needed for now. Izuku’s hips, elevating up now and then, though, are a promise. Izuku is very good at keeping promises, dirty or clean; Shouto loves it when he makes promises.

The window is open, and the scent of freshly mown grass drifts into the room in heady waves. It’s the end of spring, after all, and the gardeners have just cut the whole grounds since the lawns have gotten too long. Stealing a glance out the window, Shouto can see that they’ve yet to bag up all the clippings. It’s why the smell is so strong, still.

That gives him an idea.

“Izuku,” Shouto pants, just a little delirious from the limited oxygen and oral cardio. “ Izuku .”

“Mm?” Izuku is a little dazed—but he listens—pulling back when Shouto does. Because of course he does. He’s amazing in that way. In every possible way beyond these specific contextual confines, too. Izuku is just... just amazing .

“I’ll be back,” he says to his boyfriend—the paparazzi’s cameras flash in his mind again and the scandal of such a term is delicious—and stands up, back, before patting his thigh and saying, cheekily, “keep my seat warm.”

When Shouto comes back, he’s perhaps a pound worth of grass clippings heavier and busies himself with retrieving a big marshmallow from its packet (which, he notes, is close to empty – there’s only four left after this one. The abject horror!), and finding a black marker and brush-on bottle of superglue somewhere in the drawers of Izuku’s desk.

“Hang on.” And he’s gone again after finding he hasn’t gathered all the necessary tools. Eventually, he finds himself asking Shouji—who is dining on a bento box with Tokoyami, who’s doing the same, in his own room—for a pair of googly eyes out of the bag of them he knows he has somewhere in his room, but not exactly where.

He returns to Izuku’s room a bit smugly. He’s holding his new, ingenious creation behind his back. Izuku is looking at him, eyes asking a million questions his mouth has yet to catch up on.

So he shows him. The chosen marshmallow is six dots—three symmetrically on each side, each set outlining the three points of a triangle—and a pair of googly eyes richer. The grass clippings Shouto had gathered are now a mop sturdily atop the marshmallow to form hair.

Izuku blinks.

Shouto’s heart leaps uncertainly.

“Is- is that me?” his boyfriend asks. His eyes—big, green, confused and adorable—are fixed on his lookalike as though it will move if they aren’t.

“It’s something that looks like you,” Shouto replies, as clarification if anything.

It isn’t surprising, though it is highly welcomed, when Izuku laughs. It’s a slow, building thing, but it’s a laugh all the same, and it’s so grand and open that Izuku feels the need to cover his mouth . Such a detail enriches the accomplishment thusly.

“Sho- Shouto!” Izuku gasps in the midst of his laughter. “What- why- how did you even- haha!”

Shouto soaks in his own pride like it’s a bubble bath.

“Where did you even get those googly eyes from? Oh my gods!”

“Shouji,” Shouto supplies. “He used to put them on his dupli-arms a lot before he came to U.A..”

Izuku’s joy stills for a moment, and his lips twitch, but one look back at what Shouto now thinks should be called Marsh-doriya (or, perhaps Midori-mallow) has him guffawing once more.

“So, in this world where tiny marshmallows are children and I’m a cannibal –” Izuku begins once he’s calmed down enough. He wipes a cheek and eye with his palm. “– what is this now meant to be? My grandfather, or something?”

“Or something,” Shouto repeats, wistfully. “Your brother, maybe. Your twin, that is.”

“Oh! But you made him,” Izuku exclaims. Shouto looks at him to find his eyes twinkling so beautifully. “He might look like me, but you made him. He’s like –”

“– our son,” Shouto finishes, chest a little tight. Their son ... that’s a big step, it feels like, even if it is just a fancied-up marshmallow.

“Our son,” Izuku breathes, smiling.

“I was pregnant.”

“No, I didn’t mean – ah! Shouto !” He’s red. He’s always red, it seems, if the past few days are anything to go by.

“I was pregnant, and I gave birth to our son: Marsh-doriya .” Shouto holds up the newly anointed Marsh-doriya in both palms like he’s the future king of the Pridelands. (Ashido had shown him that movie, though it was some time ago by now. It was very good, and the music was catchy.)

“ Marsh-doriya ...” Izuku repeats, under his breath. He seems incredulous.

“Marsh-zuku Marsh-doriya!” Shouto declares. He’s not very good at puns, but he’s proud of this one. Izuku makes a face that makes him wonder if he should be, but the doubt is quickly dismissed. “Marsh-doriya for short,” he adds.

“I see...”

“Are you not happy? Does it make you uncomfortable?”

“A little – not really – I don’t know ...” Izuku is hiding behind his hands. Shouto sets Marsh-doriya on the desk next to them and straddles his boyfriend’s lap once more.

He lifts his cherubic face from his scarred hands. The contrast is sometimes jarring, but Shouto makes do every time. Most days, he doesn’t even notice Izuku’s scar , and while that’s not something worth writing home about, he does sometimes wonder if the same is said for his own in Izuku’s eyes. Shouto would like to think so, but has long since braced himself for otherwise. For the day when Izuku will trace it with a finger or thumb and retract from it in disgust, but such a day has not come. Shouto likes to believe it never will. If an end does ever come to their relationship, he has faith that it won’t be for something so superficial. It will be unfortunate but for practical purposes, he figures, and while the idea of no longer being with Izuku is very disheartening—undesirable and suffering, like hellfire—he somewhat finds comfort in knowing it will be over something objective, not subjective.

The subjective seems... finicky. Horrid. Shallow. Shouto is glad Izuku is not shallow. He likes to think that it is a shared trait between them.

“If you’re ever uncomfortable,” Shouto starts, ghosting his lips over coarse knuckles, “you’ll inform me immediately, won’t you?”

“Of course,” Izuku whispers, seeming just a little spellbound.

The idea that Izuku feels as wholeheartedly smitten with Shouto as Shouto does towards him seems so improbable. But Izuku’s actions, most of the time, seem so undeniable towards the fact. Shouto has to accept it as fact, lest he wishes to consider Izuku a great liar.

“Good,” he says, with a finality. He kisses Izuku’s knuckles, then, as though in confirmation. “ Good .”

That night, Izuku makes keen work in keeping his promise to tuck Shouto in.

“ There .” He gives the final tuck and sits on the edge of Shouto’s futon with a soft smile. “How’s that?”

“Very good, Izuku,” Shouto commemorates. His arms are tucked in with the rest of his body, so he can’t reach out to touch his boyfriend’s face in the way he wants to, but the two are staring very intently—very longingly—into one another’s eyes, so he supposes it doesn’t matter too much.

“I learnt from the best!”

“Your mother?”

“My mother!” Izuku confirms, with that Izuku-typical joy. Shouto basks in the light of his smile. “Oh – she’s asked if we’re coming home for the weekend together. Should I tell her to expect the both of us?”

“That would be nice,” Shouto assents, warmly. It feels sort of ridiculous, to be talking of such things when he’s swaddled like a newborn baby, but it is what it is. “We could pick up a cake on the way, to have over tea.”

“You’re right, Shouto, that would be nice!”

“Should I see if my mother would care to join us as well?”

“You can.” It’s neither a persuasion or a dissuasion, merely a reply.

“Perhaps I will – then I can tell her all about Marsh-doriya,” Shouto explains. “She’s never expressed it deliberately, but perhaps she’ll be pleased to learn she’s now a grandmother.” Izuku snorts. A wonderful noise. “Your mother, too. Has she ever expressed a desire for grandkids?”

“Once or twice,” Izuku hums, busy stroking the left side of Shouto’s hair with deft fingers. It’s pleasant.

“Then she’ll be glad to learn that we’ve successfully produced an heir to the Midoriya family fortune.” Shouto tilts his head to the side after speaking so wryly to kiss the inside of Izuku’s wrist.

Izuku snorts, again. “ Fortune ,” he repeats, like it’s unfathomable.

They fall into silence, eye contact and hair-petting still prevalent.

“You are comfortable, right?” Izuku asks after some time.

Shouto replies with a Yes, very , but his mind has been lingering on the word ‘fortune’. “Were you aware that fortune is often associated with the colour green?” he implores, eyes drifting to his boyfriend’s wily hair and beautiful eyes.

“I think I’ve heard something like that before,” is the reply. Shouto has learnt over his time knowing Izuku that the tone he’s using now insinuates that he should continue. That he’s being listened to.

So Shouto elaborates. “Meaning both luck and wealth. As far as I’m aware, it can also mean stability. The latter two are the reasons why most forms of currency are green, as well. And leprechauns.”

Izuku grins, like it’s all very silly. “Leprechauns?”

“Yes, leprechauns. A symbol of fortune.”

“Oh, like with their pot of gold?”

“Luck and wealth,” Shouto says again, with a dry relish. His eyes travel back up to Izuku’s hair. “I’m reminded of the colour green whenever I look at you.”

Izuku’s expression flattens. “Oh, really? I can’t imagine why...”

“You’re thinking superficially,” Shouto chides, though gently and without any malice. “Your hair and eyes are green, yes, but my way of thinking is more in line with how lucky I am to have met you.”

Izuku’s face lights up, red and happy and embarrassed and surprised . “O-Oh?”

“I consider myself very fortunate to have met you,” Shouto nods. “Both in riches, and in luck.”

“ Shoutooo !” And there’s that exceedingly familiar covering of his face with his hands. Abominable ; Shouto can no longer see him!

“You, Izuku, are a fortune in-and-of itself.” Shouto licks his lips, studying his boyfriend meticulously. “Not only to myself, but to everyone else around you as well.”

Izuku’s writhing crescendos until he squeaks, not unlike a rubber duck, and collapses face-first into Shouto’s torso. Shouto regrets being unable to wrap his arms around him in turn and play with his hair in the comforting way he’s used before.

“ Shut uuup ...” Izuku’s voice is muffled against Shouto’s comforter and there’s no bite to his words. His hot breath seeps through into the skin atop Shouto’s sternum. A moment passes in which Shouto says nothing— unintentionally , that is; there’s just not much else to add after that—but then Izuku lifts up his head and peers bashfully up at Shouto, who has been looking down at him with great intent since his collapse. “Thank you,” he mumbles.

“A thank you isn’t needed, but you’re welcome.”

With that, Izuku pushes himself up like he’s doing a push-up. He grunts as he does so, which is peculiar but otherwise unnecessary to pore over. Blushing like a virgin (Sero had said that once, but Shouto didn’t find much merit or logic to it at the time—though, what else is there to compare one’s incessant blush to?) must take a lot out of a person.

“I better leave before Mr. Aizawa catches me sneaking out.”

“You can just tell him you were busy tucking me in,” Shouto says plainly as Izuku makes haste in kissing him on the forehead.

Izuku snickers, then. “Oh, I’m sure that’ll go over so well.”

“Hmph,” Shouto over-pronounces, only pretending to sulk. “If you say so.”

“Goodnight, Shouto,” Izuku grins, trying to hold back a couple of laughs to better wind down the mood.

“Goodnight, Midoriya .”

Izuku rolls his eyes with exaggeration, shakes his head, and turns to leave.

“Before you do,” Shouto interrupts the departure, not at all apologetically, “I’d like for you to place Marsh-doriya at my bedside.”

“What? Why?”

“So that I may feel his presence near me at all times during the night,” he says. “I’d hate to be separated from our son for so long.”

Izuku stares at him.

Shouto stares back, cattishly, daring him to protest. “I am, after all, his mother.”

Izuku grumbles, somewhat miserably, before answering Shouto’s request. Marsh-doriya, their precious ‘son’, is placed at his bedside with his dumb face directed right at Shouto. It’s not unnerving, or unpleasant, but it isn’t the most welcomed thing the world could offer. The googly eyes make him look very wall-eyed.

“There,” Izuku says, both with the utmost care and an air of finality. “Happy?”

“Very. Thank you.”

Izuku rolls his eyes again, exasperated. While Shouto is uncertain if he’s playing it up or not, it doesn’t sting. The context makes it inconsequential. It’s okay, he tells himself. “Goodnight, Shouto,” Izuku then says, already arching over to kiss him on the head again.

“Goodnight, Izuku,” Shouto replies, pleasantly. He lifts his head at just the right angle to catch Izuku’s lips with his own. When they part, they’re looking at each other with wholesome longing once more, with the same severity as they had before. “I’m in love with you.”

“I’m in love with you too, Shouto.” With another kiss, he leaves, turning off the overhead light on his way.

That morning, Shouto is presumably the last one to arrive for breakfast. He’s drying his hair with the head towel that’s draped along his shoulders to keep his uniform’s shirt dry, and a glimpse towards the seating area gives attention to the way Mineta rolls his eyes, perhaps with a grimace of sorts, and then Sero is subsequently smacking him upside the head.

Shouto sits opposite Izuku at the kitchen island, magnetised. He’s eating toast, not yet dressed for the day ahead as Shouto is, but has left a slice unguarded on his plate as he scrolls on some platform of social media on his phone.

“Eat it,” Izuku says absently, when he senses Shouto looking. “I’ll make us each a second slice after, if you want.”

“No, Midoriya,” Shouto smoothly answers and gets back up, “have it. I’ll make my own.”

“Like hell you will!” Bakugou retorts from further in the kitchen, near the toaster. He, like Shouto, is dressed. As is Iida as he powers through to place his plate in the kitchen sink and then in the direction of the bathroom to brush his teeth. It’s all clockwork by now. “We all remember the last time you tried making toast for yourself, Icyhot. You’re as bad as Dunce Face half the time, I swear.”

“Hey!” Kaminari butts in to come to his own defence, not dressed either and scrubbing at his eyes with the back of his knuckle. Several hairclips in his hair have been pulled loose—during the night and not yet removed, one could assume?—and his white and yellow sleep-mask has ridden up, askew, on his head. His white pyjama shorts are polka-dotted with little Pichu’s. His t-shirt reads PEANUT BUTTER in an obnoxious, highlighter yellow.

Shouto’s gaze is only pulled away from the confounding t-shirt when Shinsou enters the kitchen to pour himself a cup of coffee when it’s just clicked to say it’s done. His hair is as messy as it always is, but he’s wearing a white and purple sleep-mask like a necklace and his white pyjama bottoms are polka-dotted with little Espurr’s (and, really, Shouto is rather proud of himself for recognising all these cartoon characters after only having one run-though of them by none other than Kaminari himself shortly over a year ago). Shinsou’s t-shirt reads JELLY in a palatable, greyish purple.

Shouto looks back-and-forth between the two of them for some time. In his mind’s eye, he’s asking them if they’re an item, asking when it happened right under everyone’s noses, declaring that he knows and that it’s undeniable. But, Izuku had told him long ago that it isn’t nice to assume things, nor is it acceptable to push his own agenda—‘conspiracies’, was the word—onto others without several points of evidence. So, Shouto resigns himself to thinking that Kaminari and Shinsou’s similar sleepwear is a matter of coincidence.

It could be the same brand, he wagers. The same stylistic niche. They could have bought them together as a joke between friends. It could be anything, and really, it isn’t any of Shouto’s business unless he’s told explicitly. So, he keeps his nose out. Izuku really has made Shouto a better man; it’s an acceptable truth.

He turns to Izuku just in time to witness him raising his second slice of toast to his mouth, stopping short in time to catch the big marshmallow sitting upright in the toast’s half-melted pat of butter. His shoulders slump, and Shouto is given a flat, unimpressed look derived from what was just a surprised, wide-eyed expression.

“ Shouto ...”

Shouto’s heart doesn’t have time to jump for joy at being called by his given name in front of others. He has a mischievous mood to profess. He clears his throat. “ Bazinga .”

Kaminari gasps around the mouthful of Shinsou’s coffee he’d been allowed to sample. He’s inhaled it, and now he’s coughing like he’s trying to pass a lung into the sink. Shinsou is thumping him on the back before Bakugou’s had time to go do the same. Through the wheezing, Shouto thinks he can hear laughter. Faintly, at least.

He also thinks that Shinsou’s lips are too close to the side of Kaminari’s face for any form of platonic comfort, but he’s quickly pushing that thought out of his head because he is a better man , damnit.

His eyes return to Izuku. Well, perhaps he is not always a better man. He plucks the marshmallow from the piece of toast and holds it to Izuku’s mouth from across the counter. He doesn’t slide it past his lips, though, because as much of a point he has to make, he doesn’t wish to strip Izuku of his modesty in public. He’s a changed man, and that means he’s a gentleman too.

Izuku bites the big marshmallow in half with a defiant expression.

Shouto leans over and whispers, “Your greed sickens me.”

“Yeah – well –” Izuku is not good at trash-talk at all. While Shouto thinks that he can’t be much better, he knows certainly cannot be any worse – “ your greed sickens me .”

“Oh?”

“You- you can’t get enough !” Izuku splutters, voice somewhere between shouting and whispering. It’s a very airy, sharp noise, like steam through the end of a pipe. “You’re always... always...”

“Mm?” But Shouto is already gently teasing the remaining marshmallow-half towards Izuku’s mouth. Izuku leans away from it, resolutely.

“You’re always feeding me!”

“To keep your greed satiated,” Shouto states. “Glutton,” he says when Izuku goes to take a nibble.

Izuku’s cheeks are pink. He pulls back in another display of resolution before the bite is successfully taken. “I’m going to need to work all this sugar off by the end of the week.”

“I’ll join you,” Shouto replies, pleasantly. “Consider it a date.”

“ Hmph ,” Izuku hmphs .

“Oh, but who will watch over Marsh-doriya?” Shouto wonders. They’re still whispering. Izuku’s brow furrows, so Shouto continues, “Don’t you forget, Midoriya, we have a son now. I have to keep your hunger at bay before you turn your attention to him. Then I really would have to leave you.” And with that, he successfully plants the last of the big marshmallow in his boyfriend’s surprised mouth. “ Cannibalism .”

There’s a little gasp from beside them, so they both turn their heads to find Kaminari looking between them with the same kind of expression one would expect a much saner man to bear when witnessing a deliberate act of God. Shinsou, much less inspired, tugs the blond’s ear gently so he’ll follow him in leaving.

Shouto’s plate of toast is set down with a clink of china and a huff of agitation. It’s only then that Shouto’s fingers slip out from between Izuku’s lips (because, just maybe, he isn’t as much of a gentleman as he once thought), and he turns to see Bakugou leaving the kitchen and grumbling colourful profanities, wearing an indiscernable—though certainly not positive—expression.

“Settle down, class,” Mr. Aizawa orders ten minutes into homeroom when he’s finally unzipped himself from his yellow sleeping-bag cocoon. “We have some announcements regarding both mandatory and optional assemblies which Present Mic will be announcing over the announcement system throughout the day, so keep a hear out for those. Now, Iida and Yaoyorozu, is there anything either of you would like to share before I take attendance?”

Iida and Yaoyorozu each give their No, thank yous but Shouto puts his hand up.

“Todoroki?” Mr. Aizawa calls upon him, seeming surprised. “What is it?”

“Actually, Mr. Aizawa, I have something I’d like to present to the class.”

“Oh, really. For what cause?”

“For the sake of mirth and whimsy,” Shouto says.

“ Mirth and whimsy ,” Mr. Aizawa repeats. The two stare at one another, long and hard, from across the room. It’s terse and poker-faced from each side. Then: “No.”

A stalemate , Shouto thinks. But—as he’s heard Kaminari say offhandedly before—he’s at least been eating all the pieces.

“Very well then,” he says in turn, not unlike a cat. “We have English later in the day. I’m sure Present Mic would love to hear all about our whimsical escapades instead, and you can just make do with hearing all about them then. I’m sure you’d appreciate that.”

Don’t get him wrong, Shouto knows it’s in poor taste to challenge an authority figure like this. But exam season is rolling around and it’s guaranteed to be tough for most of the class, and Izuku’s blush is intoxicating. So there’s purpose, and suddenly that makes it all okay.

“Whimsical escapades,” Mr. Aizawa repeats again in that same dry tone. Their terse stare-off persists once more, until: “Very well then,” he relents, already on his way back into his sleeping bag, desk employed as a crutch in the process. “If you promise to inform your next teacher that they need to take attendance, you have until the bell while I take another nap.”

“Duly noted, sir.”

“Good.”

So, with excitement bubbling away under the surface, Shouto makes his way to the front of the class, but not to the lectern. Then he brandishes none other than Marsh-doriya himself, and takes note of Izuku’s red, mortified face, Bakugou’s startled scowl, and even Kaminari’s abrupt snort-and-guffaw combo. The rest of the class all wear expressions of varying levels of concern or perturbation. Or both. Some are definitely wearing both.

“Behold: Marsh-zuku Marsh-doriya.” Everyone, Shouto gathers, is bemused. Except for Izuku—the father of their child—who is busy covering his very red face with a hand. How adorable, he thinks. “I’d say the resemblance is uncanny.”

“I see it,” Uraraka is the first to say, leaning over her desk as though it will grant her a better look.

“Marsh-doriya is inarguably Midoriya’s doppelgänger,” Shouto states. “But we’ve adopted him as our own.”

Ashido gasps when Kaminari wheezes. Bakugou is grumbling fiercely with his chin tucked in enough to produce a second.

“Adoption! Super manly, Bro-doroki!” Kirishima exclaims much to Bakugou’s chagrin, fist raised amicably.

Shouto believes that this might be the first time Kirishima has ever called him that. He finds that he’s not as opposed to that concept as what he perhaps once would have been.

“What the hell ,” Mineta says, eyes wide and leaning over the side of his desk towards either Tokoyami or Sero as though it’s fresh gossip. “The only reason he gets away with acting this crazy has to be because of how good-looking he is, right?”

Tokoyami’s sharp gaze drifts to Mineta in reply, head staying still so there will be no granted satisfaction.

But it’s Sero who shushes him. “That’s actually kinda funny, Todoroki.” He’s giving that familiar grin of his, toothy and triangular.

“It’s adorable!” Hagakure gushes.

“I know, right?” Ashido replies from across the room. “That’s so Midoriya!”

Izuku squeaks, “A-Ashido!”

“Actually,” Shouto starts, lifting his greatest creation up just a little higher, “this is Marsh-doriya.”

“You’re insane,” Shinsou pipes up. He’s been observing flatly for some time now. “This is insane.”

“It takes one to know one, Lord Nagant.”

Shinsou squints, then, but soon sits back in his chair like he’s unwinding. Though, not quite. Quirk aside, Shouto sometimes finds Shinsou a little suspicious, and does now. “Say, Todoroki: do we all have marshmallow versions of ourselves, or is Midoriya over there just special?”

“Midoriya is very special, but that isn’t the point,” Shouto retorts, icily. He’s zeroed in on Shinsou, currently, so he’s only faintly aware of the squirm Izuku releases from the opposite end of the classroom. “The point is that he’s a precious marshmallow. Mind, body, and soul.”

“Really? What a shame.” Shinsou is smiling, but it’s small and wry and, to Shouto, rather irritating. “You know, Todoroki, for a moment there I was sorta looking forward to the idea of you pulling out a marshmallow version of Kaminari to go along with it.”

Shouto sees that Kaminari now is red and covering his mouth much like Izuku, but not as brightly. “No, that wouldn’t be in my best interests. Kaminari simply doesn’t have the likeness of a marshmallow like –” he pauses for a second, nearly saying ‘Izuku’ instead of: “– like Midoriya does.”

Shinsou tips his head forward just so, and suddenly he’s glaring at Shouto through the hairs of his own eyebrows. “Oh?” Dark, goading. Shouto braces himself, ready for him to use his quirk, but it does not come. Yet. “And you’re the expert on people’s likeness?”

“Midoriya is soft, sweet, and has cute cheeks. Like a marshmallow.” He then gives Kaminari, still blushing and floundering in his seat with a few other eyes on him too, a once over. He takes in the yellow hair and lithe frame and thinks about how the black zig-zag in his hair is like a char. The zig-zag—a lightning bolt, technically—reminds Shouto of Kaminari’s quirk. Both its strengths and its downsides. Then, he concludes, “Kaminari reminds me of a piece of toast. White bread, extra butter, and finely cut. When his quirk reaches full-capacity and he short-circuits, it’s like he’s burnt himself.”

Shinsou makes a contemplative face, no longer looking at anything in particular.

“Kaminari is toast,” Shouto recites, for good measure. Kaminari makes a noise that Shouto thinks is one of distress. Right into both hands. Are he and Izuku more similar than he’d initially taken them credit for? Should he and Shinsou (because, really, the evidence is insurmountable now, and he will testify that if Izuku ever questions him over it in the near-future) start a club?^[⚡]

“I see,” Shinsou says, at last. Still, there’s no use of his quirk. Shouto feels some relief over this, though it is mild.

“As in, you see what I mean?”

He sits back and peers up at Shouto complacently. “That – and as in ‘I’m done with this conversation’. It’s kind of stupid.”

“I see.” Shouto is a little smug saying this just to retaliate, but Shinsou only gives him a smug look right back.

They could definitely start a ‘Food-like Boyfriends’ club if they so wanted, but Shouto doubts that it would last for very long if the meetings were private.

Shouto feeds the last of the big marshmallows—other than Marsh-doriya, of course—to Izuku during their lunch in the cafeteria. It’s between bites of his meal which Shouto can’t imagine is too pleasant but Izuku doesn’t comment on the matter or ask him to stop. He’s found a devout supporter of these shenanigans in Uraraka, but Iida is impassive, if not still a little perturbed. Tsu is impassive as well, though not in the same way Iida is. She’s looking over now and then with her large eyes and teasing in her own way, though it is ultimately not to egg Shouto on or to stop him. Jirou and Yaoyorozu are sitting with them today. Their attitudes towards the matter are similar to Tsu and Uraraka’s, respectively.

In fact, Shouto does believe that Yaoyorozu is gushing.

“Cannibalism,” Shouto whispers, sliding the big marshmallow in. It’s the penultimate one. They’re so close. Despite it not being the first time—far from it, in fact—Izuku still blushes like it is. At this rate the joke could so easily become tiresome... but Izuku’s reaction to it? Never.

Shouto admits he’s a little hooked.

“ Shoutooo ! I’m trying to finish my rice, give me a second.”

So Shouto pulls back on the last big marshmallow. He can be patient. He is patient. “Very well,” he says, tepidly. “I can wait.”

“Thank you, Shou-”

“Alright, that’s it!” Bakugou barks from across the room, several tables down. He has gotten up. He’s storming towards them with crackling fingers. Snap, crackle, pop . “Cut it out, Icyhot, you’re making everyone sick with your stupid joke!”

“I was not aware that such an issue had arisen,” Shouto replies. He turns to Izuku immediately, and asks, “Midoriya. Are you uncomfortable?”

“I’m fine.” He’s beaming . Shouto’s heart is thawed at once. How wonderful he is , he can only think, not say. “Really, Kacchan, no one’s said they’re uncomfortable by it, but if they are I’m sure-”

“Shut it, De- ’zuku.”

Shouto blinks slowly up at him. “Midoriya is allowed to talk if he wants to.”

Bakugou sneers, “Argh, of course he can, I just mean- meant- shut up, Icyhot, that part doesn’t concern you!”

Shouto purses his lips and lets himself think before responding. If Izuku wasn’t sitting to his left right now, holding his hand encouragingly— soothingly —under the table, then perhaps he would be quicker to set their aggressor’s hair on fire.

“Bakugou,” he continues, just as slowly. He rubs his thumb in a circle over the back of Izuku’s very lovely hand. It’s rough and scarred and much broader than his own, but it is Izuku’s . Shouto’s mind, overall, feels like it is in a good place right about now, if not a bit over-assured.

“ What !?”

“Perhaps it is you our joke makes uncomfortable, because your sense of humour is yet to catch up with the likes of ours.”

That’s it. Shouto braces himself to the side, between the succeeding explosion, hot and sizzling, and then Bakugou is storming off in the exact way he’d arrived, if not somewhat louder. Shouto and Izuku and perhaps the rest of the table as well are left staring at the marshmallow, torn in two and hot and sizzling, in Shouto’s palm. The second piece had been thrown on the table between their two dinner trays, looking snotty but cooling.

Shouto tilts his head up to look at Izuku. He’s feeling something like sheepishness and annoyance and wonders if his boyfriend can see it on his face.

He doesn’t comment on it specifically, but he does say, “You shouldn’t have said that, Shouto.”

Shouto’s nose scrunches up. “He shouldn’t have done that , either.” As he gets up and wipes his hand with a paper napkin, Izuku’s mouth forms a thin frown. “I’ll be back.” He kisses Izuku on the cheek.

He makes his way across the cafeteria, deathly glare fixed on Bakugou at his table. There’s a bowl between him and Kirishima with strawberries in it. Shouto hadn’t been paying any attention to them at all until now, but he thinks they might be sharing them.

Shouto doesn’t understand why Bakugou wants his cake and to eat it too, like he wants to have Izuku even after everything when he has Kirishima right beside him. It’s not really an achievement—only gaudy—to have a person on each arm. Of course, he’s coming to his own conclusions, but it still makes him mad. Sometimes.

“Bakugou.” Shouto’s tone is firm, with no room for disputing.

“What now, Icyhot?” Bakugou’s tone is like an icepick, intending to smart.

“I’d watch yourself if I was you,” he warns. “You should take better care of my marshmallow, otherwise something might happen to your strawberry.” His eyes skirt to Kirishima involuntarily, from the bowl of red fruit to the highest point of his hair^[🍓].

Bakugou’s fists slam down on his table. The group around him—Kaminari, Shinsou, Sero, Ashido, Mineta, Kirishima, the usual —flinch, the effect varying amongst them. Bakugou starts shouting, and Shouto freezes his hands to his lunch tray. Bakugou’s calling out curses and threats and other discourteous profanities unbefitting of a future pro-hero. But Shouto is walking away from him, back turned, soon to replace himself next to his precious marshmallow of a boyfriend.

Izuku is looking at him with that same thin-lined frown. Shouto smiles, doting but cheeky, in turn. He kisses Izuku on the cheek once more; Izuku lets him, so if he’s mad at his actions in any way, he does a poor job in showing it.

With the big marshmallows all gone—save for Marsh-doriya, of course —they use what’s left of the little marshmallows to melt into filling for smores later that evening. Izuku plates them up two each (no help needed, wanted, or even provided from Bakugou, thank you very much) but there’s enough for extra. Izuku, the kind and precious soul he is, tells the nearest classmates to them that they can help themselves, and to feel free to.

Ashido, Kaminari, and Uraraka take that with far more than just a pinch of salt the moment Izuku and Shouto make it to the couch.

“You’re a cruel man, Izuku. A sadist as well as a cannibal, melting your own kind down like this into a paste to serve to your unassuming guests.”

“Oh, shut up,” Izuku retorts, good-naturedly.

After his first bite, Shouto mostly just picks at it, chewing slowly and deliberately and swallowing with effort. If he thinks about all the fat and sugar that must be in such a simple thing, and how much it makes teh image of his father loom over his shoulder, shaking his head at the plate in unbridled disappointment, he thinks he might make himself sick. So he doesn’t think about it. He wills himself not to.

Izuku blinks, licking melted marshmallow and chocolate from the corner of his mouth. “Not a fan, Shouto?”

“I don’t know if it’s too sweet or if I’ve convinced myself it really is cannibalism with all our teasing, but unfortunately I do not. I’m sorry, Izuku – you went through the trouble of making all of this for me, and here I am about to waste it.”

“None of that,” Izuku scolds, lightly. He looks down at Shouto’s plate, then, for a moment or so, before trading the nibbled smore for the untouched one from his own. Shouto looks back at him, confused. “A peace offering,” he whispers. “To Kacchan.”

Izuku gestures across the room. Shouto follows it to see Kirishima leaving the common area in the direction of the dorms. Shouto sighs but gets up without further protest.

“Kirishima,” he calls. They’re at the bottom of the first set of stairs; Kirishima has already ascended a few, so he has to stop and turn to look down at him, hand on the rail. “I’d like to apologise for my behaviour earlier in the cafeteria. Bringing you into our unnecessary bickering was uncalled for.”

“Aw, nah, man. I get it – Bakugou was being a dick. It’s cool, trust me.”

“Still, though,” Shouto says. He diverts his gaze from the bright, spiky grin that Kirishima is giving him and holds out the plate of two smores. “I hope you know that what I said was in the heat of the moment, and that I’d sooner inflict harm on actual strawberries than you. Here, take these – as a peace offering to the pair of you.”

Kirishima looks down at the plate with eyes wide enough it’s almost comical. Then, he smiles. “Thanks, man! But... why would I think you wanted to hurt me if you were talking about strawberries?”

Shouto’s eyes flick quickly to-and-from Kirishima’s hair. “No reason,” he lies.

“Er, right. Well, then – still, man. Thanks for these. I’ll see if I can talk to Bakugou for you, you know? Put in a good word.”

“Thanks, Kirishima. You’re the man.”

Kirishima smiles through the strange look he’s giving. “What?”

“I’ve heard you say that before. Is that not how it’s meant to be used?”

He huffs. An amused noise. “Thanks man, I’ll see you around. Wait –” and as quickly as he’d turned back around to go further up the stairs, he’s back facing Shouto with another strange, smiling look – “did you say that thing about the strawberries because of my hair?”

“Yes,” Shouto exhales in relief. He doesn’t like lying to Kirishima. A newfound thing. “Izuku is a marshmallow, Kaminari is a piece of toast, and you’re a strawberry.”

Kirishima snorts and restarts his journey up the stairs, but it’s slow. Only one step at first before he pauses. “Whatever, man. Shinsou was right, this is insane.” Five more steps. “Hey, maybe that makes Mina cotton candy!” he shouts down.

“Maybe,” Shouto agrees with a courteous smile.

“Okay, man, see ya!”

“See you.”

He makes his way back to Izuku. The whole interaction has left him feeling pleased. It went well. And, if Bakugou does come around from the peace offering, then maybe he could also be added to the sign-up for ‘Food-like Boyfriends’ club.

“How was it?” Izuku asks as Shouto encroaches. There’s chocolate and gram cracker at the corner of his mouth and he has half a smore left.

Shouto uses the face of his thumb to clean up his boyfriend’s lips and licks it off with a pleasant hum. He sits. “It went well.”

“That’s good, Shouto! I’m glad to hear it.”

“Say, Izuku?”

“Hm?”

“What’s cotton candy?”

Izuku frowns.

“Okay, I’m back from the store,” Izuku announces as he steps foot into Shouto’s room, closing the door. It’s a few days later and it’s now the weekend. For a few hours now, Shouto has been waiting for Izuku’s long-desired return as he’s done his homework at his desk. Izuku now is busy putting down a plastic bag and pulling out bag after bag of confectionery and miscellaneous ingredients, muttering to himself.

“What are you doing?” Shouto asks idly, turning his head.

“This is cotton candy. That’s for later,” he adds, putting a large bag of something fluffy and pink to the side and approaching Shouto to kneel at his side.

Shouto’s eyes, however, have been fixed to the bag in his hand since he’d realised Izuku hadn’t put it down like he’d done with the rest. “What’s that?”

Izuku smiles. It’s sweet, but deceitful. “My revenge.”

Shouto blinks, eyes lowering from Izuku’s face back to the bag in his lap. It’s filled with red and white striped candies that remind him of either a pool float without the donut hole, or maybe a flattened beach ball. They glisten in a way that makes Shouto put together that they’re individually wrapped. On the bag reads, in hiragana, PEPPERMINT STARLIGHTS / approx. 75 .

“These are peppermint starlights,” Izuku explains. “Some people call them peppermint pinwheels, or just peppermint candies.”

“I see.”

Izuku’s smile only grows, but it also becomes softer. He pulls open the side of the bag with a rustling pop , and takes out the first of many. He pulls at the twisted ends of the wrapper until the candy is free, and places the wrapper on the very end of Shouto’s desk. The litterer.

“There’s a bin right there,” Shouto says, but really it’s on the other side of him than where Izuku is, so he picks it up and hands it over for Izuku to better himself as a person. Once the wrapper is safely and assuredly recycled, Shouto places the can behind him for Izuku’s easier access.

“My apologies,” Izuku had said, a little pink.

Shouto runs a thumb over the swell of his left cheek, almost pinching. So soft. So precious. So perfect.

“Say ‘ah’.” Izuku lifts the bare candy to Shouto’s mouth.

Shouto doesn’t give in that easily. He licks it first, testing the waters.

“How is it?”

“Minty. Not too sweet. I like it, it’s not bad.”

“Good.” With that, Izuku places it in Shouto’s mouth with a grin.

Shouto sups it, thoughtfully. It’s too hard to crack just yet.

He notices Izuku looking at him intently. “What?”

“Nothing... cannibal .”