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His first encounter with Midoriya finds him caught between a tree and his sword, shaking and panting with fear as Todoroki inspects him the way a spider inspects the fly it’s caught for dinner- a cold assessment, with just the tinge of something smug around the edges.
Todoroki narrows his eyes as he watches him breathe, frantic and heavy, wondering what exactly to do with this thing on the end of his sword that babbles incessantly even as sharp metal pricks at his foolishly bare throat, eyes darting frantically around in an obvious attempt not to stare at the poorly-healed gash that streaks across the left half of Todoroki’s face.
“Please don’t kill me, I don’t mean any harm!” the boy chokes out, and he shivers as Todoroki’s sword catches the light and shines bright into his eyes. “I only came to ask for your help!”
His help? He came to Todoroki, of all people, for help? He must be even more of an idiot than he seemed at first, which Todoroki would have thought to be a remarkably difficult task. But this, at least, can help Todoroki figure out exactly what kind of idiot he’s caught- some sort of noble. Only a noble would be stupid enough to try and get Todoroki on his side, considering that nobles are the exact sort of reason he chose to become a hermit. Not only that, but it would explain the strange feeling of recognition he has, like the terrified face he sees is one he’s seen before, time and time again until he knows it as well as he knows his own.
“I will not kill you.” Todoroki says, and the boy stops speaking and sags with relief. “If you leave immediately and stop bothering me. I have no interest in aiding the likes of you.”
The idiot starts to talk again. “Please, you must help me! I-”
Todoroki presses the point of the sword harder, and his voice cuts off into a gurgle of fear as the steel jabs into the meat of his neck. “You don’t know when to give up, do you?” Todoroki smirks, and smothers the amused laugh that rises in his throat when the boy’s face morphs from horror to indignant anger at Todoroki’s obvious boredom.
“I have come in the name of the Queen.” says the boy, and Todoroki immediately knows where he’s seen that face before. A portrait of it hangs in the tavern he haunts whenever he feels he can stomach society, sitting beside the stern, painted face of the Queen. The old King's portrait hangs there too, although now it's mostly used as target practice for throwing knives and bits of rotten food.
Oh, God.
This is far worse than a noble. This is a royal, and they are always infinitely more stupid and less self-aware than even the members of the nobility.
But despite his hatred for royalty, Todoroki has a grudging respect for the Queen. The King was a bastard, anyone with more sense than a noble knows that, and the Queen must have had the patience of a saint to put up with him long enough to have a son by him before his “unfortunate” and “mysterious” death, which Todoroki is certain she had nothing at all to do with. She’s kept the country running smoothly since the King’s passing, and has managed to stay on the throne, despite her sex and the constant threat of enemies knocking at her door. She herself has commanded the army in battle many times, from a comfortable distance, of course, and although Todoroki can see flaws in the drunken descriptions of battles relayed back to him at the tavern he must admit that her strategies are remarkably sound for someone that has never been personally involved in war. What he admires most about her is that she leaves him alone, or at least has left him alone until now, and seems to encourage others to do the same.
What could possibly have prompted her to send someone to him now, especially her own son, Prince Midoriya?
He doesn’t draw the sword back completely, but he does relieve some of the pressure on the Prince’s neck. “Talk.” he says, and the Prince complies.
The Queen is ill. Very ill. Death hangs over her bedside as she sleeps and stalks behind her when she wakes, slips its fingers into her mouth and leaves scratches along her back. A war is looming beside it, one that looks as though it will be long and destructive. The men beneath her grow restless and seek a leader, one that will fight alongside them and shed blood and tears with them rather than call hoarse commands from a sickbed.
“I refuse.” Todoroki says immediately. If the Queen thinks he will command her army again, thinks that she can hook him up and make him dance, then he has no more respect for her than he did for her bastard husband.
“I haven’t finished yet! Please listen.” the Prince implores, and, well. It couldn’t hurt to hear more, and it isn’t as though he has better things with which to occupy his time.
The Queen doesn’t want Todoroki to lead her army. She’s smart enough to know not to ask that of him. What she wants him to do is teach her son in battle strategy and train him to fight, show him how to lead an army and how to lead it effectively.
“My mother is a skilled strategist, and she’s taught me everything she knows. But she can’t teach me how to fight, and I need to know how to use a sword. Please. We will pay you well.” says the Prince, wide-eyed and clearly terrified yet standing as tall as he can, determination keeping him upright. There’s something about the passion in his eyes that Todoroki can’t help but admire, despite his misgivings about the royal family, something about how he seems to truly want to learn to fight, not out of a sense of obligation or a desire for self-betterment, but to lead his country and help his people.
There’s something remarkably un-royal about it.
“How old are you?” he asks the Prince, studying his tense body where it presses against the tree.
“Eighteen.” the Prince replies, and Todoroki concentrates on keeping a neutral expression and not showing his surprise. It appears his assessment of the Prince as a boy was inaccurate, especially considering he’s only about three years younger than Todoroki himself. Or at least, he thinks he is. It’s difficult to keep track of his age in the forest.
If the Queen is truly as ill as the Prince says, then they do not have much time left for him to be trained well enough to lead an army. Todoroki must start teaching him as soon as possible if he is to succeed.
He chooses to begin their first lesson by pulling his sword back and throwing it on the ground.
“Pick that up.” he says.
The Prince’s eyes dart around the forest, showing a surprisingly healthy amount of skepticism for someone that’s been waited on his whole life. Perhaps his assessment of the Prince as a fool was inaccurate.
But then he deems himself safe and turns to grab the sword, leaving his back exposed to Todoroki. He allows himself a brief moment to roll his eyes before he takes two long steps and grabs him, pulling him upright with an arm around his neck.
“Lesson one.” he breathes into the Prince’s ear for the sole purpose of watching him shiver. “Never turn your back on your opponent.”
The Prince squirms and kicks and Todoroki tightens his hold around his throat, grabbing his wrists with his other hand for good measure. “That was a foolish move, Your Highness.” he says, low and dangerous. “You should really be more carefu-”
His voice cuts off mid-gloat as a searing pain erupts in his left foot.
The Prince has just stomped on his toes.
The Prince uses his second of shock to throw his head back so the base of his skull collides with Todoroki’s nose, cracking against it so hard that he drops him and clutches at his face as his scar screams in agony. The Prince spins and shoves him so he sprawls on his back, then leaps at him and lies over his body, hands pressed to either side of his head as he sits on his stomach.
“Is lesson two not to underestimate your opponent?” the Prince asks, not stiff and formal now but wild, almost teasing. “And please don’t call me ‘Your Highness’. I hate it. My name is Midoriya.”
Todoroki stares up at him, watching his flushed face and tight smile. As much as he hates to lose, especially hates to lose to anyone from high blood, he must admit that the Prince- Midoriya- is not a bad fighter. Not bad at all. He lacks technique, of course, and he needs to work on his strength, and he most likely has no idea what to do with a sword in his hands. But the Queen has indeed taught him well when it comes to strategy, and he has good sense and a quick wit, which is something Todoroki can’t teach him, something that is clearly entirely his own. The foundation for an excellent leader of an army is already there. All Todoroki needs to do is build on top of it.
“That would have been lesson three, had you not already been taught it.” says Todoroki, and then reaches his arms up and easily shoves Midoriya off his body, letting him roll off to the side as Todoroki stands. “What we need to do next is work on your strength, and your reflexes.” He dusts himself off and drops into a defensive stance, waiting for Midoriya to do the same. “Again.”
Midoriya smiles, wide green eyes bright as though a lantern shines behind them, and throws himself towards him.
They train until the sun says farewell and disappears for the night, until Midoriya is sweating and heaving and bleeding slightly. Todoroki leans against a tree, chest rising and falling as he watches Midoriya double over from exhaustion. It’s been a while since he’s had to fight like that, to actually use his mind as well as his body to defend himself. The Prince lacks muscle, but his instincts are very good. Perhaps training him will not be as difficult as he first thought.
“Don’t waste your energy going back to the castle.” he says, and Midoriya goes from being bent with his hands on his knees to falling flat on his face. “The road is dangerous after dark, and it would be a shame if the future king were to be killed by a bandit for loose coins. You can stay with me for the night. My home is no palace, of course, but it will do.”
“That’s very kind of you.” Midoriya says, scrabbling with exhausted limbs to get back to his feet, “But I can’t trouble you like that. I am already abusing your kindness by making you train m-”
“You abuse nothing.” Todoroki says, and the leaves under his feet crunch as he crosses the forest floor to offer his hand to Midoriya. “And your mother will have my head if any harm comes to you. For better or worse, you are under my protection now. This is the safest course of action for both of us.”
Midoriya pauses on the forest floor, staring at his hand. And then, he reaches up and takes it, grasps it tight and warm, and together they get him to his feet.
“Thank you.” he says, and it sounds remarkably genuine, considering it comes from a prince.
Todoroki’s home is indeed far from a palace. The best way to describe it would probably be a mess. It’s a single, wide room that he built himself from fallen trees and mud, and furnished with nothing but a bed and a fireplace. The floor is speckled with books that he stole from the castle during his time there, and weapons, and the other various bits and pieces that make up Todoroki’s life. Midoriya stares through the room, taking in the mess on the floor and the lack of furnishings. It’s probably entirely unlike anything he’s ever seen before.
“You can take my bed.” says Todoroki, putting down his sword and the bird he’d caught before Midoriya had arrived. “I will sleep on the floor.”
“No, it’s your bed. I’ll be perfectly alr-”
“You need rest more than I do.” Todoroki interjects, striking a flint and setting the spark to the dry grass of his hearth, watching the fire catch and spread. “You worked hard today. Take the bed, you’ve earned it.” And he means it. Praise does not come easily from Todoroki, even when it’s well deserved.
Midoriya gives in and nods. “Do you mind if I read one of your books?”
“That depends,” Todoroki says, picking up the bird again and tugging at its feathers, “Will you read it to me while I make dinner?”
Midoriya is strangely silent, and he looks up from the bird to see him staring at him with an odd expression on his face. “What is it?”
“Can you not read?” Midoriya asks hesitantly, after a while. Todoroki shrugs uneasily, gripping the bird tight and doing his best to avoid eye contact.
“I can read well enough to get by, but I can only do so very slowly. I haven’t even begun to read half of the books I have.” He barks out an uncomfortable laugh. “You must think me foolish.”
“Not at all.” Midoriya says quickly, and he looks as though he truly means it. “Of course I’ll read to you.”
“Thank you.” Todoroki says, going back to plucking the bird’s feathers. “Start with the green book, please. I like the colour, but I’ve never gotten around to reading it.”
Midoriya finds the book he means, opens it, and begins to read.
Midoriya reads to him all throughout the time he takes to prepare and cook their meal, and keeps reading as they eat as well, pausing to take bites between sentences. He reads until his voice is hoarse and his eyelids begin to fall shut, and Todoroki gently takes the book from his hands.
“Sleep.” he says, and Midoriya crawls into his bed and complies.
He doesn’t sleep on the floor that night. In fact, he doesn’t sleep at all. Instead he sits and watches Midoriya, clutching a dagger in his hands and staring at him, waiting for any signs of movement. The Prince seems nice enough, but there’s still every chance that he’s planning something.
Todoroki knows better than to trust a royal.
Midoriya staying the night becomes him staying two nights, then three, and then they both collectively realise that they essentially live together now. When Midoriya limps silently home after him when they’re done training on their fourth day, Todoroki does not question it. Just passes him the book with the green cover once they’re inside, almost finished by now, and starts chopping vegetables.
Their relationship grows in increments from there.
It takes him a week to start sleeping at night. He reasons that if Midoriya meant to kill him he would have done it by now. In any case, he’s never beaten Todoroki during practice bouts of sparring, and therefore would be easily fought off if he were to attack. Besides that, his exhaustion is beginning to catch up with him, and he’ll have died from lack of sleep before Midoriya even gets the chance to kill him if he continues in this manner.
It takes him two weeks to stop sleeping on the floor. Midoriya has been insisting he share the bed with him ever since it became obvious that he was a permanent resident in Todoroki’s home, saying he feels awful forcing him out of his own bed. Todoroki argues that he wasn’t forced out, he willingly gave the bed up, but it falls on stubborn, deaf ears. The winter is really getting very cold, and the floor is quite uncomfortable to sleep on. So one night, after Midoriya puts down their book and blows out the candle, Todoroki slides into bed next him.
For a second, there is a frozen silence.
“Put your cold toes on me and you are a dead man, prince or no.” Todoroki growls, and Midoriya laughs, shoulder that presses against Todoroki going from tense and still to slack and shaking before he rolls over with a quiet “Goodnight.”
“Goodnight.” Todoroki mumbles in reply, and tries his best to ignore how warm Midoriya is by his side.
They’ve been together for three weeks when Midoriya finally works up the courage to ask about Todoroki’s scar.
“I’m surprised no one’s told you the story.” Todoroki replies, gently poking the contents of the pot bubbling over the fire with a ladle. It’s rabbit stew tonight, with a rabbit that Midoriya managed to catch entirely alone, although Todoroki had to be the one to actually kill it and skin it. Midoriya has always been determined, and Todoroki’s given him the agility and strength of an army’s leader, but he’s still not a killer.
They’ll have to work on that.
“There are many stories about you.” Midoriya says. “All of them contradicting each other. And none of them really sound accurate now that I’ve met you, if I’m honest. I was alive when it happened, whatever it was, but no one would tell me what was going on.” His hands clutch at each other, bruised knuckles forming knots as he waits for a response.
“Would you like to know the truth?” Todoroki asks, setting the ladle aside. Midoriya nods so hard that Todoroki is afraid that his head will come off, and so he puts a lid on the pot and begins his story.
Once upon a time there was a knight. Not a noble knight, though, not a knight woven with gold and silk and raised on tales of dragons and damsels in ivory towers. No, this knight was one that grew with the weeds, a knight that was born yelling lungfuls of fire into muddy earth. This knight was never given the luxury of stories. He tilled the earth from sunrise to sunset the moment he could raise a scythe, harsh and heavy in his small hands, and swing it through whispering grain. He grew the kind of muscles that only come from years of sunshine and hard work, grew quiet and clever and watchful in the way no one expects a commoner to be. He learned to sneak into taverns to hear the stories of knights already grown, hear how battles are fought and won. He played at war with a wooden sword in the dust of the village streets, struck at his own shadow as it spun and laughed in the fiery gaze of the late afternoon sun.
That was where the King found him while riding through the village one day, freezing his procession with a wave of his hand and pulling his horse to a halt as the boy whirled to a stop, panting and heaving and staring up at the man in the golden crown.
The King watched him for a moment with his viper’s eyes, a cold thought rising in his mind.
He flicked his tongue and offered to make him a knight.
The boy's options were these: accept the offer or stay a peasant forever.
He made the obvious choice.
The boy’s farewell was a hug for his silent father, a kiss on the cheek for his crying mother. He left the weeds and dust with laughter in his heart, a golden palace with promises of dragons and silk looming high in his future.
The boy felt no fear in his heart, of course. The boy knew he could trust the King. For if the King was not there to protect him, who was?
Years passed. The boy trained, stayed quiet and clever and watchful, stayed strong in a way the other knights-to-be were not and grew stronger still, mind and body. He no longer breathed fire and sunshine into the air. The knight became cold, and withdrawn, studying the knights and their skills in a way that chilled each and every one of them in ways they found difficult to describe. The knight grew powerful, powerful in a way commoners are not meant to be. He was the very best that there was.
Eventually, the man that once led the army was slain in battle. A successor was needed immediately.
The knight was chosen, of course.
And, of course, he destroyed his adversaries. He protected his King. He led his men and led them well. Not to bring glory to himself, never to bring glory to himself, but to protect. Always to protect.
But the other knights did not see this. They saw an uppity commoner, a peasant that rose too high, a fool who needed his wings clipped.
And one day they had enough of his song.
They waited until night to attack. They snuck into his tent as he slept, pinned him down and struck him with steel and fists, taunted him and tormented him until he bled. The slash across his face was the final insult, a cut to mar the cold expression that watched contemptuously over each and every one of them. They meant to kill him that night, meant to leave him in his tent to bleed out.
But he did not die.
What the fools did not realise was that he kept cloth within his tent, never needed to see a healer after battles because he could heal himself. He bandaged himself up and limped away in the cold early morning as they all slept, found his horse and rode back to the castle to tell the King of the men’s treachery.
The palace gates were closed in his face.
The King cared nothing for the commoner that had saved him so many times.
And so the man, a knight no more, took all that he had under night’s dark cloak and left. Left the army, left the palace, left the life that chewed at him and spat him into dust. He disappeared into the forest, built himself a home to crawl into, made a life for himself in trees and earth.
And stayed there.
Alone.
Midoriya does not cry when he finishes his story, but he looks as though he could. “Those bastards.” He hisses, uncharacteristically harsh. “Who were they? Tell me their names. I-”
“No.” Todoroki says, cutting him off before he can work himself into a frenzy. “They have been dealt with. I made sure of that personally. In any case, it was a long time ago. My wounds are all healed over now.”
Midoriya stares up at his face, stares at the long cut across his eye, and reaches out with a shaking hand. Todoroki does not flinch when it comes to rest on his face, thumb stroking over his cheek.
There is a thick, heavy, silence.
Then, Midoriya leans forward and presses his lips gently to Todoroki’s scar, slow and soft and warm like a candle melting into pools of wax.
Todoroki blames the sudden heat of his face on the fire and not the way Midoriya’s mouth feels on his cheek, although he is willing to admit that his kiss ends far too quickly as Midoriya pulls away to watch him hesitantly.
“Despite what your mother may have told you, kisses can’t fix everything.” Todoroki says, breaking the silence, pretending to suddenly be very occupied with transferring the contents of the pot into bowls and not at all staring at those lips that just kissed his face as they curve into a gentle smile.
“No.” Midoriya replies. “But they can’t make things worse, can they?”
Todoroki has no answer for that. “Shut up and eat your stew.” He mutters, shoving the bowl at him, and for once Midoriya listens to him.
It’s another week before Midoriya kisses him again.
This time they’re back in the forest, back where the trees tower up to block the sky and the forest floor is covered in dead leaves. Now they spar with swords, real ones, and Todoroki shows no mercy as he swings and slashes and ducks and rolls.
Midoriya has never beaten him before.
But today he moves his arm like the wing of a hawk and Todoroki’s sword easily crashes into the dirt. Hands empty, he kicks Midoriya hard enough to make him drop his blade, and so Midoriya rushes at him and knocks him over, sending them both tumbling through the forest.
None of this is anything new.
But then Midoriya stops them and shoves his arm against his throat and presses hard, presses until their faces are centimeters away as Todoroki kicks fruitlessly at him.
One, two, three, four, five. Todoroki counts in his head between half-breaths.
Midoriya must have been counting too, because he leans back then, moves his arm off Todoroki’s neck. “I did it,” he says, flushed and panting, wild and bright, “I got you.”
“You got me.” Todoroki confirms, with no anger or disappointment, only pure pride.
Midoriya’s face cracks open into a smile.
And then he’s kissing him, quick and hard and messy, a kiss that was clearly meant to be longer, cut off as soon as Midoriya realises exactly what it is that he is doing and pulls away like Todoroki’s mouth is fire.
They stare at each other for a moment, terrified green eyes watching calm, mismatched blue and black.
“I apologise!” Midoriya squeaks, moving to clamber off Todoroki at top speed. “I shouldn’t have. You must think me so-”
So what, Todoroki never finds out, because then he’s grabbing the back of Midoriya’s head and pulling him close. “You’re right to apologise.” He tells Midoriya, who looks absolutely horrified. “That was awful. Here, like this.” He says, and drags his mouth close, kisses him slow and soft with just a bit of teeth. It’s longer this time, and not quite as messy, despite Midoriya’s hazy attempts at replicating his actions, artless and graceless and unpractised but very, very good all the same.
“There.” Todoroki tells him once he’s done, although he’s not sure if Midoriya hears him. He looks as though he’s been hit over the head with a fish, his body limp with unfocused, half-shut eyes and just a hint of a smile where his mouth hangs slightly slack. “That’s how you do it.” He sits up a little, readjusts their positions so that Midoriya isn’t squashing him as much, bringing his hands to either side of Midoriya’s face rather than leaving his palms flat on his back.
“Again.”
Kissing Midoriya becomes part of his life the way Midoriya himself did- like the slow spread of fire through dry tinder. He kisses Midoriya when he first wakes up, kisses him in the pale morning light as they prepare for the day, kisses him to reward him when he does something right as they spar. He kisses Midoriya when he reads to him at night, pressing their lips together between sentences, when he stops to take a breath, even when Midoriya’s halfway through a word, if he feels like it. Midoriya scowls when he does that, bops him on the head with the book he’s holding, but there’s never any bite to it, only mock-stern expressions and pretend complaints. Todoroki just chuckles and kisses him again before going back to whatever he’s doing, listening to Midoriya grumble as a half-smile tugs at his face. He kisses Midoriya at night before they sleep, wraps his arms around him and threatens half-heartedly to murder him when Midoriya grabs his hand with his cold little fingers. And then he dreams of kissing Midoriya when he sleeps, dreams of lips and teeth and eyes that are bright like the sharp gleam of iron.
He’s about to kiss Midoriya as they train one day when a shout breaks through the forest.
Midoriya immediately draws his sword and presses it against the intruder’s neck. Todoroki drops behind him, hand halfway to the hilt of his dagger when the man speaks.
“Your highness!” He squawks, and Todoroki watches a muscle in Midoriya’s jaw jump as he draws the blade back.
The messenger is quick to tell them that the Queen does not have long to live. Even less than she did when Midoriya first came, weak and untrained and determined, so many weeks ago. The warlord is fast approaching the border, and a king is needed once again.
Midoriya must return home.
The messenger leaves them at Midoriya’s command. It’s the most regal Todoroki’s ever seen him, shooing the man away with a quick leave us. It makes his stomach twist, makes his hands clench into fists, makes his emotions threaten to spill out of his body like blood from a wound and engulf them both.
They don’t, though. Todoroki doesn’t let his feelings show. He has let Midoriya see his anger, his sorrow, his joy, and his fear. But he has never let him see his pain
Todoroki will not give him that.
“It’s time for you to leave, your highness.” He says, sheathing his dagger as Midoriya turns to him with wide, sad eyes.
“Todoroki, please don’t call me that.” He says, but Todoroki listens no longer. He knew this was coming, knew that someday Midoriya would have to stop being a prince and start being a king. He was destined to leave Todoroki from the very first moment they met.
Todoroki should have known better. Should have known not to trust a royal.
“Come with me.” Midoriya says, aching clear in his voice. “You don’t have to lead the army. Just stay with me, please.”
Todoroki rubs his hand against the scar on his face, rubs at it like he means to erase it. “I will not.” He says.
I cannot. He means. I cannot trust anyone. Not even you.
Midoriya sighs. He goes to kiss Todoroki one more time, and draws back before he can even make contact. He whistles for the messenger, who returns with his horse, and leaves, with one last, hopeful look that disintegrates into a frown.
And then there is silence.
“Long live the King.” Todoroki says to his audience of leaves and dirt in the empty forest.
The only reply he receives is the squawk of a crow flying overhead.
For what is probably a month, Todoroki is alone.
He tries to forget what it felt like to have another body in his bed, to train himself out of making sarcastic remarks to the empty air beside himself. He tries to read a book aloud to himself at night, but gets frustrated at the way he stumbles over words and ends up hurling it into the fire. When the sudden lack of another person in his home is too much for him he gathers his coins, his own coins and not what Midoriya left as payment for his service, and takes them to his tavern to drown himself in ale.
He doesn’t sit in his usual seat when he arrives. Instead he chooses a table far away from the wall where the portraits hang, one that will make him face away from those lantern-bright eyes and into a dusty corner, waits for his fellow drunken loners to tumble in and distract him from his hollow chest.
But when the townsfolk spill into the tavern, it is with cries of long live the King! The warlord has been vanquished. The battle has been won. Good King Midoriya has saved the people, swung steel on steel and spilled blood on the earth, led the men and led them well. God save the King. They chant, and they toast his honour with overflowing cups.
Todoroki slips out of the tavern as they drunkenly revel, disappears into the night like smoke.
Their celebrations have burnt his ears.
He’s lying on the forest floor one night, watching the stars, when they attack him. Bandits. Usually they don’t come this far off the road, but there are always a few desperate stragglers that will head deep into the trees to search for victims. Usually, Todoroki’s ready for them. Usually, he has his sword with him, enough to encourage them back out of the forest, or enough to lop off fingers or an arm in warning.
But ‘usual’ is not something he knows anymore.
Tonight, he came out without a sword, or a dagger, or anything else, really. Just wandered out into the forest and fell into the leaves, watched his breath and the stars as they floated together, far above the ground. Lay and thought about trying not to think, trying to see only black and white and absolutely not see anything green at all.
There’s three of them. One gets his arms and the other gets his legs while the third helps them haul him up, helps them dig through his pockets as he stands mute. He does not fight back. There would be no point. The bandits have knives and desperation and he has nothing at all, just hollow bones and weariness and a body that has been alive for far too long, seen far too much.
When they’re satisfied that they have all that he owns, the third bandit, the one with the nasty smile, draws a knife and presses it to his throat.
Todoroki does not move. Just closes his eyes and hopes.
One.
The knife draws a pinprick of blood.
Two.
The first bandit, the one that grabbed his arms, lets out a shout of fear.
Three.
The knife falls away from his neck.
Four.
With nothing holding him, he falls back.
Five.
Just before the back of his head tastes the sharp edge of a rock, he catches a flash of green between his eyelashes.
He drifts.
When he wakes he’s back in his home. The fire is on, and somewhere beyond his half-open eyes he can hear Midoriya’s gentle voice, reading something. He can’t tell what. For a moment he hopes that everything that’s happened has just been an awful nightmare, that he’s been in his shack in the forest with Midoriya the entire time, warm and safe where nothing can harm him.
But then the throbbing of his head catches up with him, and so ends his hope.
He peels open his eyes.
“Hello.” He says to Midoriya, who abruptly stops reading.
“Hello.” Midoriya replies after a moment, and sets the book aside.
“You saved me.” Todoroki mutters, more to himself than to Midoriya. “You saved me. You didn’t leave me to die.”
“Of course I didn’t.” Midoriya says. He doesn’t sound offended. Just… Wistful. There’s something of loneliness to it, Todoroki thinks, just catching at the corners of his words, tugging down on the edges of his tired eyes.
“What happened to them?” Todoroki asks slowly, against his better judgement.
“They threw your belongings down. Two of them ran away. They carried the third one with them.” Midoriya swallows and looks away. “He wasn’t moving.”
Todoroki remembers the day Midoriya caught the rabbit, the day he told him the truth about his scar. He remembers the horror in his eyes at the thought of taking a life, the tender touch of his lips on Todoroki’s skin.
Midoriya is no killer. Murder does not interest him. Bloodlust is a foreign concept to him.
But Midoriya is a protector. Midoriya finds what it is that he loves, lets it wrap its bony fingers around his heart, lets it take root within his skin, lets it grow.
And he will do anything to keep it safe.
“Why were you in the forest?” He groggily asks Midoriya.
“I came to speak to you.” He says. “I need you. It doesn’t matter if you come with me, or if I abandon the castle to live here with you. Please stay with me. I know you’re afraid, but-”
“If you plan to finish that sentence by telling me that no one will object to a commoner in the castle, you are wrong.” Todoroki says. Midoriya opens his mouth to protest, but Todoroki continues to speak. “There will always be men like the ones that gave me my scar. But I will not fear them. I know that you will protect me.” Todoroki reaches out and grabs Midoriya’s hand with his own. “You are not like your father, Midoriya. You are a good king.”
Midoriya smiles at him, the faintest hint of tears in his eyes.
“And besides, we still have a lot of work to do. I saw you go after that bandit. Your sword technique continues to be the most hideous thing I have ever seen.”
Midoriya laughs and presses his lips against Todoroki’s. Inside his lungs he feels a spark catch and begin to spread.