Work Text:
It was one of those March days when the sun shines hot, and the wind blows cold.
When it is summer in the light, and winter in the shade.
He had been counting the days.
Twenty-three since the mountain.
The number sat heavy in his heart, and he couldn’t put it down.
Uraraka was waiting at the door. She'd dressed carefully — hair pinned back, bundled in a dark coat to ward away the chill. She cradled a little pot of white flowers in both hands. A thin smile. Lips pressed. The tightness of someone who had run out of things to say.
He understood that.
He fell into step beside her. Through the gates to the train. The lacy orchids bobbing innocently with each step.
Settled into this routine, neither tried to make conversation. Moving in comfortable silence. The social niceties used up, worn through, and returned to the earth.
They’d crossed the street to walk in the sun.
None of them liked the cold right now.
He had checked the date twice this morning. Standing at the window before anyone else stirred. Watching the sky blush before golden light poured over the tops of the trees. Beautiful and oblivious to his hopes.
The first day of spring.
He'd made himself a promise in a moment he wouldn't describe to anyone. Standing in the snow as the van pulled away. Understanding for the first time what loss actually weighed — not the idea of it, but the mass of it, the way it displaced everything else.
First day of spring, he'd told himself. No more waiting.
He had the words. He knew their shape exactly — had turned them over in the dark. Practiced the sounds. Tried again until they'd worn smooth and should slip freely when it was their time.
The air moved between warm and cold as they walked. Open stretches where the sun fell, direct and generous, a stark contrast to where the taller buildings rose and the shadows pooled, sharp-edged and wintered.
Summer. Winter. Summer again.
There was something fair about it. The world refusing to choose.
The building appeared at the end of the block. Indifferent to his turmoil. He'd learned it over the last many days. Its corridors. The elevator that hesitated on the third floor. The particular, careful quality of quiet on this wing.
Outside the door, he stopped.
The class had been going in pairs to visit.
He waited impatiently for Iida and Tsu to leave.
He thought about the mountain.
The terror of frantically searching for Midoriya in the storm.
Almost arriving too late.
Midoriya ice beneath his fingers, dimmed eyes unfocused.
Once they cut the wet gear off, he’d wanted to burn until the room was too warm for Midoriya to be cold. But too warm too fast would be lethal.
So he’d burned carefully.
Using the quirk he hated until Midoriya fought him over it.
Watched as they tended near-frozen injuries. The threat of complications hanging over each movement.
Twelve hours.
With experts in winter rescue.
With all the critical resources.
It had taken twelve hours to bring Midoriya’s temperature up.
Another six before he had stirred.
He’d been confused.
Something about the moon that hadn’t made any sense until he’d opened his laptop back at school. The tab with the movie they had watched was still open.
He still had no idea what, exactly, Midoriya was talking about.
And Midoriya didn’t remember.
He’d apologized.
He didn’t have the words to explain why he didn’t need or want an apology.
Forgetting was reasonable.
Scrambled illogical thoughts were reasonable.
While he was dying, Midoriya had been thinking about him.
He didn’t need an apology for that.
Not when, after the storm had broken, they’d needed Uraraka to gently float him to the rescue van –dire warnings about cardiac arrest ringing in their ears.
Midoriya coded in transport.
They brought him back.
They should have kept him at the lodge. If they hadn’t moved him, maybe he wouldn’t have needed four days in the ICU.
Still another day before he was stable enough to transfer home.
The door opened. Iida and Tsu finally came out; the click of the door behind them was unnaturally sharp. Their voices drawing him back to the present.
To the press of packages against his ribs. His intention for the here and right now.
He stared.
Hesitating.
The others were talking. Iida insisted he and Tsu would wait so they could all return safely together.
He said nothing, leaving the conversation in the hall.
He knocked.
From the other side of the door,
a voice — low, still a little rough,
but unmistakable and alive — said:
"Come in."
He closed his eyes once.
Opened them.
Opened the door.
The curtains were thrown open. Sunlight filled the room in a buttery haze, making the ordinary feel sacred. The light fell across the bed, across the face turned toward him. Causing emerald eyes to sparkle and glow.
He crossed the room.
The freckled smile did more to warm him than the sunshine. Banishing the irrational fear that had clung so stubbornly. Reassuring him that Midoriya would be released tomorrow.
“I brought you hot chocolate.”
He’d kept the thermos in his pocket, warmed by his quirk.
“And these.”
He slid the gifts out from under his jacket. Setting them on the bed, but holding the thermos for now.
“I’m happy to see you. You didn’t need to bring me anything.”
“I wanted to.”
Emerald eyes studied him. Always so kind. Then dropped to the packages without arguing.
“Does it matter what I open first?”
“No.”
He was answered with a hum and a nod.
He watched Midoriya’s hands closely. They had trembled for hours. For days. He felt the need to guard against any chill.
The thick, plush hoodie was the perfect shade of deep royal blue. He’d searched through the colors until he found one that would work with Midoriya’s forest green curls. He knew Midoriya liked red, but he wanted to wrap him in his favorite color.
“Oh,” Midoriya’s soft appreciative sound let his shoulders settle. Pale hands running over the soft, thick fabric. “Help me get it on.”
They were wrangling clothes when Uraraka joined them. Other than a curiously arched brow, she didn’t ask. Setting the little pot of flowers by the window. The frilled edges of the petal wings made interesting shadows.
Joy, attachment, and good luck.
His sister had given them to their mother.
Uraraka had chosen well.
He set the other gift aside and handed Midoriya the hot chocolate.
Uraraka pulled more drinks from her purse.
The visit was peaceful. He let Uraraka do most of the talking. Occasionally showing Midoriya pictures he’d taken of the class and the nonsense going on.
When their drinks were finished, he set his phone next to the unopened gift. Freeing his hands to accept the thermos and recap it securely.
Iida was knocking on the door soon after. Gesturing stiffly for them to bid goodbye faster.
He followed them almost to the main lobby.
“I have to go back.” He informed them bluntly.
“For what?” Uraraka looked confused.
“I left my phone in Midoriya’s room.”
“Todoroki,” Iida started, frowning in disapproval.
He was already turning around.
“Don’t wait for me,” he cut off the scolding before it could get going. “It doesn’t make sense for all of us to be in trouble.”
He didn’t look back. But he didn’t hear anyone following.
Midoriya’s surprised delight let him hope he was about to do the right thing.
“Is everything ok?”
“Yes,” he picked up the still unwrapped gift, holding it out. “I wanted to be here when you opened this.”
Midoriya accepted it, jade gaze soft as it searched his face.
He kept himself calm.
Waiting.
The words resting at the tip of his tongue.
Careful fingers undid the paper, revealing a complicated medallion of green and gold glass. Most of the shapes reminded him of leaves. Some thick and beveled. Others delicately thin. All different greens with stunning gold accents.
“It’s beautiful,” the breathy words gave him courage.
“It reminded me of your eyes,” he admitted, and found himself forced to look away when Midoriya glanced up in surprise. “I almost lost the opportunity to tell you how I feel about you. I am unwilling to make that mistake a second time.”
He took a breath to steady himself. Prepared to assure Midoriya that he understood that the feelings might not be mutual.
“Shoto.”
The wobbly tone drew his attention back.
He didn’t want him to cry.
He brushed the tear away before it could fall.
Midoriya closed his eyes and leaned into the touch.
He stepped closer. Soothed and warmed by the thought that his touch brought comfort.
Midoriya looked up, a small smile crinkling the corners of his eyes.
He closed the distance. His hip against the edge of the bed.
Midoriya's hand found the front of his jacket. Not pulling. Just holding.
He covered it with his own.
"I thought about you," Midoriya said quietly. "At the end. I still don't remember clearly, but I know I did."
He nodded. He'd carried that knowledge since he’d heard the mumbled words and recognized the reference. Precious and fragile and almost unbearable. While he was dying, Midoriya had been thinking about him.
"I know."
He pressed his forehead to Midoriya's. Felt the exhale that followed brush against his face.
When they finally closed the last small distance between them, it was unhurried. Midoriya's fingers tightened in the fabric of his jacket, and he thought about the twelve hours, and the six, and all the days, and how none of that mattered if it ended here.
He pulled back only enough to see Izuku’s face.
The green medallion caught the light from the window. Summer in the sun.
･*.ೃ࿔:⋆°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
