Work Text:
*Izuku’s crooked hands are covered in a myriad of paints.
There’s a light, delicate shade of pink paint splattered on the palms of his hands that’s meant to mimic the complexion of Mina-chan’s skin. There’s bright, fiery orange paint on his knuckles, meant to replicate the brilliance of Kacchan’s explosions. Near the tips of his shaking fingers and under his nails is a vibrant and intense red that does not remind Izuku of blood, but Kirishima’s spiky hair.
He turns to observe his class, and their hands, too, are covered in brilliant splatters of paint as they all try to breathe life into the drawings on the walls.
Their common room is covered in brilliant pencil sketches of Class 2-A, their mentors, their favourite heroes, and things that are special to them. The mural on the walls is a collage of love, friendship and mentorship. Izuku’s green eyes burn with tears of pride. It’s beautiful.
Ochaco-chan and Tsu are giggling as they dunk their paintbrushes in overflowing cans of paint and confidently brush light grey paint onto the drawing of Thirteen. Kaminari and Kirishima are bickering loudly about if Midnight’s hair is navy blue or black. Yaomomo is carefully painting Jirou’s purple hair with a small brush, eyes squinting in concentration. Across the room, Shinso and Eri work quietly on painting Aizawa-sensei’s capture weapon, its image wrapping and travelling along the common room’s walls in a grand wave.
Everyone is sweating from the summer heat, loud pop music is beating against the walls and Class 2-A is giddy from the joy of working on their long-awaited project.
Convincing Aizawa-sensei to approve a project like this was no easy feat. Over the course of three months, they followed and harassed and begged the man. They provided him with carefully gathered evidence of budget plans, fundraisers, sketches, and a promise to be on their best behaviour.
It all came to a head when Eri-chan beseeched their sensei for his approval with big, wet tears in her eyes, did he finally agree.
As Izuku wipes sweat off his brows, and looks at the story that’s unfolding through the art plastered on the walls, he does not regret starting this project one bit.
After the conclusion of the war, Class 2-A did not know what to do with themselves in the months that followed. Their nights were filled with inescapable nightmares that pounded on their psyche, making the common room a space where they tended to spend nights silently sipping on tea and drowning in thoughts that children had no business having. Where their days were no longer filled with adrenaline-filled running across battlefields, and instead with Algebra and English translations; Class 2-A ached for something to do.
This mural was their escape.
“Midoriya-kun, you’re mumbling.”
Izuku jumps, scarred hands spasming, as he quickly turns to look at Todoroki who has a pensive expression on his face.
*Which is something only Izuku would really even pick up on.
Heat rushed up his cheeks, and he fought the urge to cover his face by sheer force of will (and a mental reminder that he didn't actually want half dried paint on his face). "I was?" The question was stalling, he knew that, but he needed a second to come up with a good excuse. It had been a while since he'd been caught mumbling to himself.
Todoroki nodded, just once, his face not changing at all. "You were."
That was not nearly enough time. "I... umm... I was..." He had been doing so good, too.
"I was just saying," Todoroki told him, practically monotone. A tick of his eyelid told Izuku he found the situation amusing, however, and suddenly he found himself doubled over in laughter.
What was so funny? He had no idea, but the relief of knowing he wasn't being judged lifted an immense weight off of his chest. After taking a few moments to catch his breath Izuku smiled at his friend.
"I thought it was annoying you, to be honest," he admitted, much less awkwardly than he had been speaking a moment ago. Todoroki shrugged, enough of an acknowledgement to satisfy Izuku, and then turned to look at the section of the mural Izuku had been working on.
He studied the lines of Kirishima's hair Izuku had been working on, then looked at his red tipped fingers. "Get in a fight with the paint?"
Shaking his head, Izuku reached up to demonstrate how he had been smoothing out a glob of paint with his hands. "Then I kinda stumbled and caught myself with my fingertips." The proof was there, five little smudges right in the middle of the spikes. "Guess I wasn't paying attention to where I was stepping."
Todoroki looked down, pushed his foot out in front of Izuku, and smoothed down a scrunched portion of the plastic they had laid down to protect the floor. "There, now you won't be tripping again and messing anything else up."
Again, Izuku found himself laughing, Todoroki's humor was the best when you understood it. "Thanks. I'd hate to mess up my Mina hands with red Kirishima paint." To show what he meant, Izuku flipped his hands palm-side up so Todoroki could see.
Nodding sagely, Todoroki held out his own hand, which Izuku now realized looked like it had been dipped palm down into a tub of green paint, a very similar green to Tsu's hero uniform. "I never got to finger paint as a kid," Todoroki told him, and despite the slight pang of sadness that caused Izuku, he smiled as he got an idea.
"Want to finger paint together? We could outline Kirishima's abs or part of his costume?"
Todoroki blinked, looking confused now with the slow, miniscule tilt of his head. "Won't it look wrong if we're using our fingers?"
Izuku shrugged. "We can always paint over it again later, or someone else can if we really muck it up.”
*Todoroki’s eyes drifted to the left instead, and he hummed, an unholy glint appearing in his eyes that Izuku was now familiar with.
Following his gaze led him to the half-finished mural of Kacchan, his outline standing there proudly with his fists raised but lacking in color. He looked back at Todoroki, and choked on a laugh.
“No,” he said, shaking his head as he laughed. “We shouldn’t,” he added, and then, just to check, looked around for a familiar spiky blond head.
Todoroki was already eyeing the black paint though, and before Izuku could react, had plunged his hand inside.
“Huh,” he said, pulling his hand out, fingers dripping. He gave his hand such a betrayed look that Izuku couldn’t help but laugh again.
“This seems wasteful,” he added, dubious, as more paint dripped onto the ground.
“It’s fine,” Izuku replied, his lips twitching. He gestured toward the larger than life Kacchan on the wall — the outline was actually surprisingly realistic, whoever had done the face had really captured the ‘I’m going to blow you up’ eyes Kacchan got in a fight — and said, “Just… go ahead.”
Todoroki hummed again and frowned, staring between his hand and the drawing. Izuku was half-thinking he might need to encourage him again when Todoroki suddenly moved, slapping a hand right across painting Kacchan’s chest.
His hand unglued from the wall with a low schlorp, leaving behind a perfect handprint, which Todoroki ruined moments later by wiping the back of his hand next to it.
He took a step back to look at his work and Izuku, biting back more laughter somehow, had to ask how he’d liked it.
*“It’s perfect.”
“Hm?” Izuku asked, half distracted by the glops of red paint splattered on Endeavor’s less than stellar duplicate.
Todoroki gestured grandly to the walls covered in messy paint, and admiration, and love.
“It’s perfect, Midoriya.”
“I suppose it is.”