Chapter Text
Bakugou Katsuki didn't like working in a team. When he did, it was because of the circumstances of his bloody fate; however, despite how stressful it was for him, a few months ago, that began to change. Aizawa-sensei decided to leave a certain half-and-half bastard in his charge — or at least that’s what he liked to think, because the alternative was unthinkable.
According to the old man, they’d be good for each other. Katsuki didn’t know what the hell he meant. He was just fine on his own, thanks.
“Oi, Half-and-Half, come here!” he barked, almost growling.
The boy with mismatched hair lifted his head from where he was crouched, like a dazed meerkat, and scanned his surroundings until his gaze met Katsuki’s. Not that Bakugou could say for sure, thanks to the blindfold Todoroki always wore. Katsuki raised an eyebrow, his face twisting into an expression that clearly said, move your ass if you don’t want me to leave you here!
Todoroki looked away and, with an awkward wave, said goodbye to the cat in front of the fruit stand he’d been petting. Then he stood and ambled toward Bakugou slowly and calmly. Bakugou was convinced that not even an ant could hear the blindfolded idiot coming at that pace.
Exasperated by Todoroki’s tardiness, Bakugou rolled his eyes, grabbed him by the collar of his traditional white kimono-style suit, and dragged him along, ignoring his confused murmurs. He was sick of waiting an hour and a half everywhere because Todoroki had to greet every animal he came across.
Damn princess.
“Bakugou, you’re wrinkling my suit,” the bastard complained in his usual indifferent voice. “Is it really necessary to drag me like this?”
Bakugou huffed. The audacity of this bastard.
“You walk like a turtle. If I don’t drag you along, we’ll be too late, and the demons will vanish like the plague they are,” he snapped. “Besides, if I let go, you’ll get lost again, like the curious idiot you are.”
Todoroki hummed thoughtfully, then placed his hand on Katsuki’s wrist — the one gripping his white suit. Bakugou tensed, still not used to his partner touching him so casually, as if he weren’t perfectly capable of biting his hand off.
“I understand, but...” Todoroki hesitated, and then slender fingers brushed against Katsuki’s. Bakugou stiffened instantly, and Todoroki paused, but didn’t pull away. “Wouldn’t it be better if you held my hand?”
Bakugou stopped dead in his tracks. Todoroki halted a few steps behind, for once obeying Bakugou’s silly rule about staying three feet away. Bakugou turned his head slightly, coming face to face with the blood-red blindfold, and for the thousandth time, wondered what his companion’s eyes looked like. Were they expressive? Did Todoroki try to hide his emotions behind them, as he seemed to believe he was so good at doing? What color were they? A single shade, or split into two halves like his hair? Did they look as ethereal as the rest of him?
“Bakugou?” Todoroki asked.
Bakugou blinked and, with a sudden movement, freed himself from Todoroki’s light touch. Todoroki flinched and took a few steps back, the corner of his mouth twitching for a second before returning to normal.
Bakugou swallowed hard. His throat suddenly felt very dry.
He turned his face forward.
“Don’t touch me,” he warned viciously. “I’ve told you a thousand times.”
For a moment, Todoroki said nothing. Then Bakugou felt a subtle tug on the straps crisscrossing his back, the ones that held his two scythes. He shuddered for a second, his hand twitching as if to clench into a fist, before relaxing.
“Is this okay?” Todoroki asked quietly, almost regretfully.
Bakugou relaxed his shoulders and didn’t respond. But that was answer enough for Todoroki, who tightened his grip just a little. They resumed walking, neither mentioning what had just happened. Just like so many times before, when Todoroki had done something socially unacceptable because he was terrible at socializing. And Bakugou withdrew, unsure how to explain that what he said and did wasn’t just an empty threat.
They continued briskly through the bazaar, drawing the occasional strange look. Maybe they did look odd: a demon hunter walking at an almost furious pace, while another with a blindfold tied around his eyes and two quivers strapped to his thighs followed him like a duckling without a family, clinging to his belt with an almost sleepy expression. That didn’t stop Katsuki from glaring at anyone who stared too long — and they all quickly looked away.
They weren’t far from the train station when Todoroki let go of his belt.
Bakugou spun around, ready to unleash a stream of curses at the idiot Half-and-Half. He stopped short when he followed Todoroki’s gaze and found a small soba noodle shop.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
The idiot was going to make them late for their new mission. Again.
They always arrived in time to stop the demon without any losses, but Katsuki liked to arrive early. Demons should never be underestimated. But his partner was the most distractible idiot in the world, and even though he did an excellent job — something Katsuki would never admit — he was constantly sidetracked by a butterfly, a cat, a dog, or even the snow itself. One of the first times they worked together, Katsuki lost him in the forest and spent half the night running around looking for him. He would deny until the day he died how frantic he’d been until he found Todoroki, who had followed a rabbit to its hole.
A sudden, annoying, and familiar noise made him raise an eyebrow. Todoroki rubbed his stomach with one hand, and that red blindfold turned toward him, his lips forming what could only be described as a Todoroki-style pout. He would deny to his dying breath how effective it was.
Bakugou ran a hand through his long hair — tied back in a ponytail like Todoroki’s, though not as long as the uneven-haired idiot’s — and growled in frustration.
“We just ate four hours ago. Is your appetite never-ending? Where does all that food even go?” he asked through gritted teeth. If Todoroki didn’t have that blindfold on, he was sure he was staring at him with bright, longing eyes. It didn’t matter, though, because Bakugou was already giving in. “STOP LOOKING AT ME, HALF-AND-HALF. Fine! Let’s go get that stupid soba.”
He stomped ahead and heard a soft snort behind him before the fool hurried to catch up.
“You wouldn’t know if I was looking at you,” the idiot hummed, one of the braids in his ponytail bouncing as he walked.
“I don’t need to. I can feel your stupid, intense stare on me,” Bakugou snapped, and Todoroki let out an inquisitive hum. Looking at him. “I TOLD YOU TO STOP LOOKING AT ME!”
Todoroki let out another one of those little snorts, the kind that made Bakugou’s teeth grind because they were (cute) insufferable.
“Thanks for waiting for me, Bakugou,” the uneven-haired hunter said unexpectedly, flashing one of his small, peculiar smiles. “I know you like to arrive early for our missions.”
Katsuki looked away, feeling his ears burn.
“Tch. Whatever.”
They entered the small restaurant and were greeted by an elderly woman and a young girl at the counter, who both looked at them with equally surprised expressions. They exchanged glances before offering weak smiles. It wasn’t unusual for people to react that way — the arrival of demon hunters rarely boded well.
“Good afternoon, young hunters,” the old woman greeted, hesitating slightly on the last word, as if she knew that despite their apparent age, they were much older because of everything they’d seen. “What can I get for you?”
He pointed at Todoroki, who bowed politely to the two women before going back to what he was doing — craning his neck to observe his surroundings like the walking social disaster he was.
“A plate of cold soba for this idiot,” Katsuki muttered, then shrugged. “I’ll have the spiciest dish you’ve got.”
“And drinks?”
“Tea for him, if you have it. Water for me.”
The old woman jotted down their order and invited them to find a seat before disappearing behind the curtain leading to the kitchen. The young girl followed her, looking nervous.
Bakugou huffed. It wasn’t like he was planning to pull out his scythes and threaten her or anything.
A sudden touch on his hand pulled him from his thoughts. It was Todoroki, playing with his fingers again, oblivious to how strange it was. He considered pulling away. He’d already told him several times he didn’t like being touched. But his companion’s concentrated expression, his pink lips pursed in focus, made him hesitate. He looked away, doing nothing. Feeling like he’d lost another battle. Katsuki hated losing.
He squeezed the fingers playing with his — a stupid excuse to let his companion touch him — and pulled him toward the tables. Todoroki followed without hesitation.
Suddenly, Bakugou remembered how cautious his partner was, despite being so absent-minded, and pressed his lips together.
He didn’t know what he’d done to earn that trust, but he knew he didn’t deserve it.
He had to remind himself again and again that Todoroki didn’t know him. Not really. Besides... he glanced at the red blindfold covering his companion’s eyes. He reminded himself that he didn’t know much about his partner either.
They sat at a small wooden table near the exit, just in case they needed to leave quickly. Bakugou always made sure to take those seats. They both leaned their weapons against the wall beside them.
Facing each other, Todoroki tilted his head again, the teardrop-shaped pendant in his right ear jingling softly. At night, by the light of a campfire, that teardrop shone as fresh as a real tear. Sometimes Katsuki wanted to reach out and touch it, as if he could erase the pain it seemed to represent. Instead, he’d shift on his futon, turn away, and suppress the urge.
“Don’t you have anything more interesting to look at, princess?” he asked, smirking.
Todoroki turned his head gently, a faint blush dusting his pale cheeks. He raised a hand to touch his earring — a habit he had whenever Katsuki called him by that nickname.
“Your red eyes are very intense.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
Todoroki looked at him again. Katsuki knew it. He could feel it.
“Actually,” his companion murmured, “I think it does.”
Bakugou frowned. He parted his lips to ask what he meant, but a movement in his peripheral vision interrupted him. The girl from the counter was approaching with a trembling tray, her face twisted with fear. He was about to stand, sensing something bad was about to happen, but before he could, the girl slipped.
It all happened in a second. The tray wobbled, a glass fell — and before it hit the floor, Todoroki reached out his hand. The glass landed in his open palm, not a single drop spilled.
Bakugou scoffed.
“Show-off.”
No one else noticed Todoroki’s crooked smile that lasted only a second — but Bakugou did. The blindfolded hunter placed the glass on the table and slid it toward Katsuki. He grabbed it effortlessly, barely glancing at it, instead watching his partner’s lips.
“I think that’s what you ordered,” Todoroki explained. “I’m not used to drinking water.”
“I know,” Bakugou growled, downing a mouthful of water as if it were alcohol before slamming the glass back on the table. “You’re spoiled, and so are your taste buds.”
Todoroki pouted.
“Water has no taste.”
“You still need to drink it,” he retorted.
“I do,” the uneven-haired boy argued as the girl silently served the rest of their food. “Tea has water. Juice also contains water.”
“That doesn’t count!”
“My body is living proof of that theory.”
“You— AGH!” Bakugou rubbed his forehead as if he had a headache. “Arguing with you is like arguing with a wall!”
“That’s ridiculous,” Todoroki frowned. “Walls don’t talk. There wouldn’t be a discussion in the first place. For a discussion, you need two people talking.”
Bakugou whimpered, exhausted. He ran a hand through his hair to ground himself.
“Shut up,” he muttered. “Just shut up, Halfie.”
The girl watched their exchange like it was a ping-pong match. Little by little, she relaxed, no longer trembling as she had been. If Katsuki noticed, he didn’t say anything. If he also realized that Todoroki had started this ridiculous argument to calm her down, he didn’t mention it either.
“Do you need anything else, gentlemen?” the girl asked, now smiling with what seemed like a knowing look.
Katsuki narrowed his eyes.
Maybe he should’ve let her keep fearing them.
“No,” Todoroki replied cordially, oblivious as always. He bowed his head like the polite creature he was. “We’re fine, thank you.”
The girl nodded and left with a smile on her face. Katsuki tried to ignore his companion’s smug little smirk as he unwrapped his chopsticks.
“See? I can socialize,” he said proudly, lifting his chin.
Bakugou raised an eyebrow, grabbing the chopsticks offered to him to eat his spicy noodles. He swallowed a bite, made a satisfied sound, and shrugged.
“Congratulations,” he said sarcastically. “You managed to say more than three words to another human who isn’t me.”
Katsuki ignored the resulting pout, just as he ignored the amusement bubbling up when his companion grumbled quietly to himself, muttering words like cruel, evil, and grumpy before grabbing his own chopsticks to eat his cold soba. It was almost a tradition now: in every city they visited, at least once, they’d eat something spicy (for Katsuki) or cold soba (for Todoroki).
He knew the uneven-haired hunter was enjoying his meal when, after taking a bite, he filled his cheeks like a greedy squirrel, chewing enthusiastically. Katsuki hated it when he did that, because it always gave him the sudden urge to lean over the table and bite those same cheeks. Not hard enough to hurt, but just enough to make the area redden. To leave a little piece of himself on his partner.
Instead, he slurped his noodles and looked away.
They were nearly finished. Todoroki took a sip of tea, looking delicate as he hid half his face behind his sleeve, as if he’d been born into royalty or something. Then a small whirlwind burst into the restaurant, making them both tense. Katsuki instinctively reached for the handle of one of his scythes.
“Hani-chan!” a little girl whined, running to the counter. “Hani-chan! Hani-chan!”
The girl who’d served them widened her eyes and quickly opened the counter hatch to get out. She crouched down to the little girl’s level as the child crashed into her.
“Kira?” she asked, concerned. The elderly woman also came out of the kitchen to join them. “What’s wrong? What happened?”
“They’ve got Nina!” she sobbed, rushing through the story. “They took her away! We were playing in the woods, and suddenly they came out from the trees! They were horrible and smelled terrible! They said they were going to eat us and laughed! We ran, but Nina tripped, and they took her! They took her away, Hani-chan!”
Instantly, Katsuki and Todoroki exchanged glances. Thinking the same thing. Demons. There was no other explanation — and the girl had a nauseating smell clinging to her, one only demons carried.
They stood at the same time, gathering their weapons. Bakugou easily stowed his two scythes in the straps on his back. Todoroki took a little longer to adjust the two quivers on his thighs before hurrying to stand beside him, bow in hand.
They approached 'Hani-chan' and the girl, Kira. Both looked up at them. Hani-chan had gone pale again. Kira looked hopeful and desperate, her cheeks wet.
“Are you hunters?” the kid asked, and before they could answer, she ran and crashed into Todoroki’s leg, clinging to his pants. Katsuki saw the exact moment Todoroki froze, his hands in the air, unsure what to do. “Please save my sister! Save Nina!”
“Kira!” Hani-chan scolded, trying to pull her back, but the child resisted. The girl lost more color in her cheeks, looking at them apologetically. “I’m sorry, she just—”
Whatever she was about to say was interrupted when Todoroki crouched down to the little girl’s height. She pulled back slightly, wiping her cheeks. Todoroki gave her one of his strange little smiles and, with a wave of his hand, created a small ice figure — a butterfly. The little girl watched in amazement. Her tears stopped instantly. Todoroki reached out and handed the butterfly to Kira, who took it in her small, gloved hands.
“We’ll bring her back,” Todoroki assured her, gently closing the child’s fingers around the figurine. His normally indifferent tone softened into something sweet, a tone he usually reserved for animals. “I promise.”
The little girl opened her palm, looked at the butterfly once more, then looked at the blindfold on his face and nodded.
“Thank you,” she whispered, wiping away the last traces of tears.
Todoroki nodded awkwardly and stood, seemingly unaware of how everyone was staring at him in amazement. Bakugou grimaced. The fool, as always, unconsciously hypnotized others — and once again used his power for unnecessary things, like the time he’d created a cloud of ice just because 'it was too hot.' Yeah, well. After that, it didn’t stop being cold!
Although... he looked at the kid. He wasn’t going to scold him this time.
Katsuki took charge of the conversation then.
“Where exactly did you last see your sister?” he asked with his characteristic growl.
“Near the magic stone in the forest, there’s a shortcut nearby!” The little girl pointed outside as if they magically knew the place she was talking about (they didn’t), and judging by the expressions on Hani-chan and the old woman’s faces, neither did they. The little girl seemed to realize this herself, because she added, “I can guide you there!”
“No way,” Bakugou blurted, just as Hani-chan was muttering—
“Absolutely not!”
Todoroki, on the other hand, didn’t seem to agree.
“I don’t think it’s such a bad idea,” he murmured thoughtfully, and Bakugou gave him an incredulous look.
“Are you kidding?” And before he could answer — because the boy took everything very literally — he added, “We already have one lost girl, we don’t need two more, you idiot!”
“I wasn’t implying that,” his companion replied, almost sounding offended. “I mean, let her show us the way into the forest before it’s too late. Then we’ll go on alone. We don’t have time to waste.”
Bakugou glanced at him sideways, considering the idea. Neither the old woman nor the girl seemed to know the way, let alone the shortcut. If they asked anyone else, they probably wouldn’t want to get involved in a demonic matter, especially not in this town, which seemed to judge them at every turn. He made a decision.
He looked directly at the girl from the restaurant, who shuddered.
“You’re coming with us,” he declared firmly, leaving no room for argument. Todoroki nodded seriously beside him, agreeing. “The kid isn’t going back alone.”
The girl hesitated.
“But—”
“Haniko, you must go,” the old woman interrupted, nodding seriously. She clenched the shawl she was wearing in her fist. “The young men are right. There’s no time to lose.”
Haniko looked at the old woman for a few seconds, seeming to reflect on her words, then nodded. She stood, appearing more determined than her trembling hands would suggest.
“I’ll get my coat.”
After Haniko got ready, they wasted no time. They began climbing the steep mountain that would take them straight to the forest.
It was a good idea to bring the little girl with them. There were several intersecting paths, and they would have wasted time trying to figure out which one was correct. During their journey, they learned several things — including that there had been a recent ban on going into the forest due to several disappearances. Apparently, both Kira and her twin sister Nina had disobeyed orders and entered anyway.
“We didn’t know it was a demon!” the little girl whimpered. “If we’d known, neither of us would have gone in!”
Haniko gave her a light tap on the head in reproach.
“The forest is off-limits for a reason, Kira! Even if it hadn’t been a demon, the warning was clear! The area is dangerous.”
“I know, I know!” sobbed the kid, and Haniko immediately softened. “I’ll never disobey again, just... please bring Nina back.”
“We will,” Todoroki assured her, his tone leaving no room for doubt.
Katsuki watched Todoroki’s clenched fist. The way it moved.
It seemed like he was taking this mission very personally. Even though he understood, it seemed to go beyond mere concern.
“Anyway,” Bakugou began abruptly, changing the subject, “why didn’t anyone report this to the Hunters’ Congress? Disappearances in the forest — three might not be supernatural, but ten in a week...”
Haniko sighed, not denying his point.
“Our town isn’t very open to hunters,” she explained, looking as if she wanted to be anywhere but having this conversation. “We had a very bad experience with a hunter in the past, and we haven’t had a demon sighting in years. You can guess why it wasn’t reported to Congress.”
Bakugou didn’t need to turn his head. He could already feel Todoroki watching him.
“What do you mean by a bad expe—”
Todoroki’s question went unfinished when Haniko suddenly turned around.
“We’re at the edge of the forest!” she exclaimed — too hastily for his liking — and turned to Kira. “This is the way, right?”
“Yes, just follow that path, and you’ll find the magic stone.”
Bakugou didn’t comment on Haniko’s deliberate interruption. Instead, he followed Kira’s pointing finger, trying to spot the so-called magic stone.
On the way to the forest, both of them had explained what was so special about that stone. Apparently, it was a place where lovers carved their names. Legend had it that if you carved your name with your partner’s and returned a week later and their names were still there, your love would be eternal. Kira and her twin loved romantic stories, so they had sneaked off to see if their cousin and her partner’s names were still there. Their cousin was none other than Haniko. Her partner had carved their names before the... catastrophe.
“Alright,” he nodded, turning back toward the path they’d come from. “You can go now. It’s almost dusk, so you’d better hurry.”
Haniko nodded, bowing slightly in farewell. The little girl, however, broke free from her cousin’s grip and walked steadily toward Todoroki. He immediately crouched down to her height and tilted his head in that curious way that made the braids of his long ponytail sway.
“What’s wrong?” he asked softly, and the little girl raised her hand, bringing it close to the blindfold without touching it. No one noticed the slight stiffness that caused Todoroki.
No one except Bakugou.
The child lowered her hand, reaching into her pocket and pulling out the ice butterfly Todoroki had made for her.
“It hasn’t melted,” she murmured, looking at him. “I don’t want it to melt.”
Todoroki hummed softly.
“It won’t melt.”
“What?” Kira blurted, frowning in disbelief. “That’s not possible!”
“It won’t,” Todoroki said calmly. He pointed at the ice figurine. “I put a special spell on it. Unless you hit it really hard, it won’t break. That’s the only way it can be damaged.”
The girl looked at the ice figure thoughtfully, then nodded and put it back in her pocket. She looked back at Todoroki and asked with a bluntness similar to that of his fellow hunter.
“Are you blind?” she asked curiously.
Katsuki froze, and Haniko exhaled what seemed like her last breath. For a few seconds, time seemed to stand still, and everyone waited for Todoroki’s response. Then, unexpectedly, something happened that Katsuki both loved and hated at the same time.
It wasn’t unusual for him to hear Todoroki’s soft little laugh. To the surprise of some hunters, his stoic partner could actually be very expressive. But most of the times Katsuki had managed to make him laugh; he’d considered it a blessing, it was always accompanied by a strange tingling sensation in Bakugou’s gut that he hated.
Todoroki finished with his little laugh, covering his mouth with one hand. Bakugou never understood why he did that, and he’d scolded him for it, saying things like: “What the hell, are you shy now?! Stop covering your mouth! You’re not going to kill anyone!” To which the very foolish boy had replied, “Really? I won’t kill anyone for laughing?” “Huh, I didn’t think you were vain, Half-and-Half!” “Vain?”
After that, Todoroki had stopped that habit around him. But he continued doing it with other people. Katsuki didn’t scold him for it anymore; it seemed like a deeply ingrained habit, and it was enough for him to know that laughing wouldn’t kill anyone.
“Maybe,” he replied to the little girl’s question.
Both Haniko and Kira just stared at Todoroki, impressed. Katsuki snorted and, not wanting to waste any more time, grabbed Todoroki by the collar of his haori again and pulled him toward the forest.
“Hey — wait, Bakugou!” the uneven-haired boy protested. “There’s no need to be rude. Say goodbye.”
Katsuki grumbled but did as he was told. He stopped reluctantly, without looking back.
“See you later!” he said. But not before adding: “If you hurry enough to avoid becoming demon food.”
To which Todoroki translated:
“He means you should leave soon before something bad happens to you.”
The audacity of this bastard.
“I didn’t say anything like that!”
“... Sure.”
“Tch.”
He could hear Kira and Haniko’s soft laughter. He grimaced.
Because of Todoroki, people took him for a joke.
“You two are such cute partners,” Haniko whispered.
Katsuki stiffens, turning away, ready to correct her. At the same time, Todoroki seemed pleased, stepping forward to speak before he could.
“Thanks,” he said, too cheerfully and obliviously. “I hope to have a long partnership with Bakugou. Even though he doesn’t say it, I know he thinks we make a good team — that’s why they usually pair us up.”
“SHUT UP, YOU BASTARD! That’s not what she means!” he shouted, his ears burning. Then he turned to Haniko, pointing at her in an almost threatening way, furious. “And you, get your head out of wherever you’ve stuck it! WE ARE CO-WORKERS, NOTHING MORE!”
“I thought you’d already accepted that we’re frie—” his dim-witted companion began again.
“I SAID SHUT UP!”
Haniko seemed embarrassed by her assumption. Fine. Todoroki and he weren’t like that. The bastard barely knew what friendship meant. He probably didn’t have any idea what it meant to be in a relationship. Katsuki couldn’t imagine it.
“I’m sorry,” the girl apologized with a deep and unnecessary bow. “You seemed... I didn’t mean to assume—”
“It doesn’t matter,” Katsuki interrupted abruptly with a slight nod toward the forest. “It’s getting late. We have to go.”
Finally, everyone agreed and went their separate ways. Bakugou only stopped for a second to shout:
“OI, BRAT!” The little girl turned around from a distance to look at him. “We’ll bring your sister back!”
He saw the girl’s eyes fill with tears, and then she jumped.
“THANK YOU!” she shouted at the top of her tiny lungs.
That was the last thing they saw before her cousin dragged her toward the village, and they disappeared into the forest.
“Bakugou—”
Night had fallen on the forest, and they were walking almost blindly through the woods. Except Todoroki had summoned a small flame in his left hand to dimly light the way — more for Katsuki than for himself.
They passed the rock of “destiny,” and Todoroki whispered something about Haniko’s name not being written there. It wasn’t that Katsuki would have noticed, but apparently, there were only about ten names, and hers wasn’t among them. He couldn’t resist Todoroki’s hurt look and dragged him away, telling him that a rock didn’t decide destiny.
If they decided to separate because of a silly legend, then their connection wasn’t very strong.
Near the rock, they found marks — as if something had been dragged across the ground — and they had been following them quickly, silently, as they’d been trained to do. Only sometimes did Todoroki decide to speak in moments of stealth, and Katsuki was tired of scolding him for it. He gave up and let him do as he pleased.
He hummed in response, noncommittally, observing new marks near a tree. These looked like scratches.
“—Thank you for what you did back there.” That caught his attention, and he turned to look at the archer’s face, lit by the small flame, creating shadows that made it look like his blindfold was on fire.
He didn’t need an explanation to know what he meant.
During the time he’d known Todoroki, he’d learned that his bandage was a sensitive subject. He never asked about it, sensing the tension around it. Instead, he’d felt Todoroki’s silent gratitude.
But just because he didn’t ask didn’t mean others wouldn’t. Every time someone asked about the blindfold, Todoroki would shrink back, retreat, and become cold. The nickname “Ice Prince” that the hunters had given him began to make sense. Every time that happened, Katsuki would brush it off with some silly excuse. Instantly, the coldness seemed to envelop Todoroki in those moments, and he would crumble.
Time passed, and Todoroki had adapted to the routine. He’d never thanked him for it.
This was the first time Todoroki had ever answered a question. Perhaps he was softening, or perhaps he was just naturally soft-hearted toward children and animals.
Maybe it was because Todoroki had reacted so openly to the girl’s question. Maybe it was because Bakugou’s curiosity had finally gotten the better of him. Maybe it was everything and nothing. But Bakugou found himself asking, watching Todoroki play with the flames licking his fingers:
“Why a red blindfold?” he asked hesitantly. “Wouldn’t something lighter be better? Something that would let you see more?”
It was a ridiculous question. Almost stupid. But it was the first time Bakugou had brought up the subject of the blindfold, and he didn’t want to dive into something that would make Todoroki uncomfortable. Instead, he asked a silly question, testing the waters like a child leaving clues so as not to get lost in the forest.
He could feel Todoroki’s gaze on him and tensed, but he didn’t take back what he said. Why should he? Once something was said, there was no turning back. Still, he didn’t press, leaving the question hanging and letting Todoroki decide whether or not he wanted to answer.
Just when he thought he wasn’t going to respond, that the matter was settled, Todoroki surprised him once again.
“Did you know there’s a theory that owls can only see the color blue?” the uneven-haired boy asked, and Bakugou felt confused.
Even so, he answered.
“I didn’t know,” he grumbled, not happy that Todoroki knew something he didn’t, but he didn’t comment.
“They say the owl became so obsessed with the sky that now all it can see is the blue it reflects,” Todoroki continued, and Bakugou really didn’t know where he was going with this.
Todoroki went on, seemingly unaware of his confusion: “...I’m like the owl in that sense. But unlike him, the color red marked my life in a... different way.”
It didn’t seem like it had been in a good way.
Todoroki agreed with him when he twisted his lips in a way Bakugou could almost compare to disdain on the normally expressionless boy.
“I hated red,” he spat bitterly. “I hated that color red for so long that the blindfold was stained with the only thing I knew my whole life — the only feeling that burned in my heart throughout my childhood and grew inside me like a plague.”
Bakugou clenched his hands into fists and swallowed, looking away. A foolish part of him remembered his red eyes and wondered if Todoroki despised them too. But then Todoroki spoke again and dispelled his doubts.
“But then you came along, and the color red took on a whole new meaning.”
Bakugou’s breath caught for half a second, and he quickly turned his gaze back to Todoroki, who was already watching him.
“What do you mean by that?”
Todoroki looked away.
“...I haven’t hated the color red since I met you, Bakugou.” A beautiful, soft red rose to Todoroki’s cheeks, and Katsuki once again felt like he was standing on the edge of a cliff. “Now I can understand why the owl was obsessed with the color blue.”
“Why?” Bakugou asked in a whisper.
Todoroki slid his hand — the one not holding the flame — over his teardrop earring.
“It was the only thing that made him feel like himself. That helped him see clearly, without the chains that bound him to the earth.” Then he whispered, “The color blue became his most beloved confidant. How could he look at anything other than... blue?”
A second passed in silence before Bakugou cleared his throat.
“We need to hurry,” he muttered, pretending to be annoyed. “You always distract me, Candy Cane.”
Todoroki snorted as he followed him. But he took his task seriously, walking quickly and cautiously.
“I don’t see it bothering you.”
It didn’t.
He would gladly fall off that cliff.
What Todoroki didn’t tell Bakugou, and wouldn’t dare tell him, was how much he didn’t want Katsuki to see his true colors. After all, what would an owl be if its wings — which it was just learning to use — were clipped?
He could not bear to fall back to earth after tasting what heaven was like.