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The thing about cooking, Shouto discovers, is that he’s not very good at it. Setting the water to boil for his noodles was easy enough, but when he’s approximately two-thirds of the way through chopping his onion, his knife slips.
It’s one of those accidents where you don’t quite realise anything has happened at first. Shouto stares blankly at his finger and the knife for a good ten seconds. Then, seemingly out of nowhere, a large slice appears on the flesh of his finger and blood is dripping onto the small pile of shredded onions.
“Oh,” Shouto says. “Ouch.”
Fuyumi is going to be so cross with him; this is the first time he’s tried using the expensive knife she bought him as a housewarming gift and he’s already managed to injure himself.
Grabbing a clean tea towel, he bundles it over his fingertip and clamps down hard with his other hand, ignoring the sudden burst of pain. Then, standing in the middle of his small kitchen floor, Shouto has a little panic.
What now?
Logically, Shouto knows that he just needs to stop the bleeding, clean the wound, and then patch it up, but when he considers doing that his stomach threatens to turn itself inside out. He never thought he was bad with blood – he’s watched Natsuo patch up their various cuts and grazes over the years without thinking twice – but apparently it’s different when he’s done the damage to himself.
He glances at his phone on the counter, but knows it’s useless. Even if he could manage to navigate it without taking the pressure off his finger, there’s nobody he can call. Shouto very purposely chose to live an extremely generous distance away from the family home, so his siblings aren’t an option, and even if his friendship with Momo was the type to include emergency ‘I cut myself’ calls, which it hasn’t been so far, she’s currently on a luxurious beach holiday with her girlfriend.
Shouto blinks a couple of times. Thinking clearly is getting quite hard past the woozy sensation of blood draining from his face, and he can feel clammy sweat springing out all over his body. He thinks vaguely that he might be going into mild shock.
There’s a sort of ringing in his ears, like someone’s struck a tiny gong inside his head. Even so, as he stands there Shouto can faintly hear the sound of footsteps and jingling keys in the distance, accompanied by a quiet, cheerful sort of humming; his neighbour returning home. Shouto hasn’t introduced himself to his neighbour yet, unable to pin down their chaotic schedule enough to say hello during socially acceptable hours, but from the friendly notes he’s seen stuck to their door for deliveries he assumes they’re nice.
Determinedly not looking at the now worryingly-damp towel clutched to his finger, Shouto stumbles to the door and out into the small hallway. There isn’t anyone else, so this will have to do.
Somehow, he manages a fumbling knock at their door, and stares glassy-eyed at the little All Might sticker by the door number as hurried footsteps sound from within. Just as his vision starts to spark with little black specks, the door is whisked open.
“Hello?”
The face before him is friendly in a confused sort of way. Through his darkening vision, Shouto is just able to note bright, attentive eyes, a smattering of freckles, and a quizzical smile.
“Hello,” Shouto says. “I’m Todoroki Shouto, your neighbour. I don’t want to be a bother, but I think I’m going to pass out.”
He thinks there’s a muffled exclamation, but it’s hard to hear through the ringing in his ears, and then warm, firm hands are grasping his arms and guiding him forward. Shouto lets himself be led and focuses on trying to breathe deeply. He’s somewhat amazed that he’s actually still upright.
The hands gently push him down onto a soft surface. Shouto holds his towel-wrapped hand out awkwardly, worried about getting blood on his neighbour’s furniture, and lies back with relief. At least if he passes out now there’s somebody to witness it. Cold sweat dampens the back of his neck.
“Sorry,” he tries to say. “Sorry.”
His feet are lifted and propped up on what feels like a stack of cushions. A hand pats his ankle reassuringly.
“It’s alright, you’re going to be just fine. My name is Midoriya Izuku, by the way—it’s nice to finally meet you!” Midoriya’s hand pats his shoulder next. “Take some nice, easy breaths for me, and just try to relax, okay?”
Shouto is more than happy to oblige. He follows his instructions, breathing and relaxing until the ringing in his ears has passed and he finally feels able to open his eyes again without seeing black static everywhere.
“Oh, hullo,” he says, when he finds Midoriya kneeling right next to him.
Midoriya smiles. It’s dazzlingly bright and reassuring, like sunshine on his face. “Hi! Feeling any better?”
Shouto gives a tiny nod. “Much. I don’t think I can look at my hand, though.” Just the idea makes him feel woozy all over again.
“That’s alright, I can help with that,” Midoriya says easily. “You probably didn’t know, but you’re actually in luck—I’m a paramedic! So you knocked on the right door.” He pats a large green bag Shouto hadn’t noticed until now. “See? I’ve got my kit ready to go and everything. Is it okay if I take your hand and unwrap it? I promise I won’t let anything bad happen to you.”
Shouto nods again, and holds his hand out. The feel of the towel moving over his cut makes his stomach lurch, and even more so when he sees the red soaking the inner layers. “Oh—”
“Whoops—look at me, Todoroki,” Midoriya says. He bends to catch Shouto’s eye, smiling the whole time. It’s a small smile now, but steady, like none of this is phasing him at all. “Just keep your eyes on me, okay? That’s it, now breathe in through your nose… and out through your mouth. You’re doing great!”
“You have nice eyes,” Shouto blurts. It’s not wrong, Midoriya has extraordinarily pretty eyes that he’d be quite happy to look at indefinitely, but he hadn’t meant to say it out loud.
Midoriya’s hands falter. “Oh! Oh, um—thank you, I mean, that’s so nice of you to—” Pink rises under his freckles, and that’s pretty too. “You, um, you have nice eyes too! And a nice face, you’re really, uh—you look like a model, did you know that? Of course you know that, how could you not?” This last is muttered under his breath with a shake of his head.
Watching Midoriya’s face makes it infinitely easier to get through the horrible moment of the towel coming off. Shouto breathes through his nose, focuses on Midoriya’s gently mumbled instructions, and tries to count the freckles on the cheek nearest to him.
“Hey, it’s not that bad!” Midoriya says cheerfully. “I can fix this up, no problem at all! Just a little cleaning and then we can patch you up, okay?”
“Okay.”
“If I were to guess, I’d say you were… hm, cooking, probably?” Midoriya glances up for confirmation, and grins. “Yep, thought so! It’s a classic place for a kitchen knife to slip and cut. I hope your food will be okay—oh, do you need me to go and turn anything off? I don’t want anything to burn while you’re gone!”
Shouto frowns. “I don’t think so. I set some water to boil in a pan, but it hasn’t been very long.”
“We can check it together in a minute, then!” Midoriya offers.
Shouto is worried about feeling faint again, but luckily Midoriya proves to be the best kind of distraction. He cleans Shouto’s finger wound while managing to maintain a constant stream of chatter in his light, characterful voice. It washes over Shouto, soothing and holding his attention all at once. His finger is sore, but he was never really worried about the pain.
“I can’t believe we’ve lived right next to each other all this time and never managed to meet!” Midoriya says, as he finally covers Shouto’s finger in a neatly wrapped bandage. “Another All Might fan, right next door!”
“I’m glad we finally met,” Shouto agrees. “It was worth the cut, I think.”
Midoriya flushes pink again, rambling denials as he helps Shouto slowly to his feet. His hands are pleasantly warm. Shouto is beginning to realise that Midoriya blushes a lot—and that he likes it a lot.
“Would you like dinner?”
Midoriya starts. “What?”
Shouto smiles. It’s only small, he knows, but it feels large and warm inside. “Would you like to have dinner with me? I’d offer to cook, but I think that’s probably not a good idea, so I’ll have to order something in.”
“Dinner with you?” Midoriya repeats, eyes round and shiny with surprise. “Tonight? Now?”
“Yes, as thanks for all your help. And because I’d like to spend more time with you.”
Midoriya makes a noise that can only be described as a squawk. “Oh! Wow—you, you’re so direct! Not that I mind, I am really—I mean, I’d really like that, of course I would!”
“Good.” Shouto smiles again, with great satisfaction.
He can walk perfectly well now, but that doesn’t stop him from leaning on Midoriya as they move through to his apartment, enjoying the feel of his warmth and strength. Midoriya is shorter than him, but comfortingly sturdy.
“I think,” Shouto says, as he watches Midoriya take a seat at his breakfast bar, an uncertain smile plumping his cheeks. “This is what they call a happy accident.”
He’s already looking forward to attempting to cook again.