Work Text:
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･
The longest day of the year refused to end.
The sun had been threatening sunset for nearly an hour now, hanging low over the city and turning every window gold. Shadows stretched across the grounds, but the light lingered and nobody wanted to go inside.
The roof of Heights Alliance had become occupied sometime after dinner.
Blankets appeared first. Then snacks. Followed by an entire cooler that Kaminari absolutely should not have been trusted to transport without supervision. Then Uraraka, Momo, and Shoji carried up all the flower planters the girls had put together the weekend before.
Shouta had no idea where the stakes had come from, but they were stuck securely in the planters, supporting strings of lights. Lanterns were scattered about, creating little pools of soft golden light where the shadows tried to gather.
Somehow they'd acquired strawberries. Several pounds of them.
"They were on sale," Yaoyorozu explained when he asked.
He wanted to question further because he wasn't certain how she got them on campus, but nothing had triggered an alert, and he decided to let it go.
All together, the rooftop looked less like a hero dorm and more like a summer festival assembled haphazardly but with great enthusiasm. Students sprawled across blankets. Shoes abandoned. Music playing quietly from someone's phone.
The air was warm. Sultry. The kind of warmth that settled into your bones and eased all your tension.
Near the center of the group, Midoriya sat with his back against Todoroki's chest. Todoroki's legs bracketed him on either side, arms loose around his waist, chin resting near Midoriya's shoulder. They were talking to Tokoyami and Shoji — or Midoriya was, animated and gesturing, while Todoroki listened with his cheek nearly touching Midoriya's. The posture, the closeness, had become habitual. Unselfconscious. Iida had giving up on reprimanding them.
Shouta turned away to look over the rest of the group.
He sat near the stairwell door with a cup of coffee and did his best to ignore the time.
They weren't really supposed to be on the roof. There was a courtyard for a reason. Curfew was creeping up on them, and no one was moving.
Nemuri had wandered up earlier, taken one look at the gathering, and left with a smirk after stealing half a container of strawberries. Hizashi was expected at any moment.
"We should stay up all night." Kaminari's declaration prompted a slew of cheerful responses.
"No," Aizawa answered, cutting through the noise but holding no heat.
"But it's the longest day of the year."
"The day is already ending."
Kaminari pointed accusingly toward the horizon. "Not fast."
A chorus of agreement rose around him. Several students booed the concept of sunset itself.
Shouta took a slow drink of coffee. Months ago, he would have broken this up. Not because they were doing anything wrong, but because rules were rules. Because schedules and structure mattered.
He still believed those things.
Just not at the expense of everything else.
The memory of Midoriya lying in the snow still arrived uninvited sometimes. Twenty-three days. Then weeks. Then months. The passage of time hadn't dulled it so much as changed its shape. It arrived alongside other memories. Of hospital rooms and routine training that, with a single change, went from silent and worried to eager and boisterous. Of students laughing.
The impossible relief of hearing a voice he'd almost lost.
The kids deserved this. They needed it.
Maybe he did too.
The stairwell door opened. Several students glanced over, worried groans immediately shifting register with their relief.
"It's just Present Mic."
"JUST?" Hizashi demanded dramatically. "The disrespect."
He emerged carrying two grocery bags.
The rooftop erupted.
"YOU BROUGHT FOOD."
"I brought more strawberries, too."
The cheering intensified. Hizashi grinned, doling out chicken wings before he dumped several containers of fruit onto a blanket.
That finally drew Midoriya's attention away from whatever he'd been discussing. His eyes widened. He shifted forward, and Todoroki's arms tightened once before releasing — a brief squeeze that said go, I'm still here. Midoriya leaned into the motion as he reached for one of the containers, and Todoroki's hand found his lower back, palm flat, resting there like it belonged.
"Those are huge."
"They're amazing," Uraraka agreed.
"Are these normal?" Sero sounded suspicious.
Shouta watched the students swarm the new arrivals, laughter rippling through the group. They rearranged and settled. Todoroki separated several of the best berries and placed them beside Midoriya before taking any for himself. Midoriya immediately pushed two back. The exchange happened without words, as natural as breathing.
Hizashi dropped down beside Shouta. "You gonna kick them out?"
"No."
The answer came easily.
Hizashi smiled. "Look at you."
Shouta ignored him.
The sky deepened slowly. Blue fading toward indigo, bruised with the coming night. Reds and golds flared brilliantly along the edges of the clouds and slowly faded as the sun finally dropped below the horizon.
The first stars appeared.
Iida cleared his throat from somewhere near the center of the blankets. The sound had a particular quality — the prelude to an announcement.
"Now that we're all settled," Iida said, "I thought it might be prudent to discuss the upcoming final examinations."
The groan that rose from the group was immediate and unanimous.
"Iida." Ashido threw a strawberry at him. It bounced off his shoulder. "No."
"I'm merely suggesting—"
"Dude, not tonight." Kaminari flopped backward onto the blanket, arms spread. "Tonight is for vibes, class rep. Vibes."
"Vibes," Sero echoed, solemn.
"The examinations are in three weeks—"
"THREE WEEKS," Kaminari howled, sitting up. "Three weeks is a lifetime. I could learn a whole new language in three weeks."
"You can barely speak one," Jiro muttered.
"I speak two. English and—" Kaminari paused. "Okay, just English. And it's shaky."
"But Iida has a point," Yaoyorozu said, though her tone was gentle. "The practical exams are structured differently this year."
"We're on a roof," Ashido said. "There are flowers. There are strawberries. There is a MOON. I refuse to think about practical exams."
"I've made a study schedule," Iida continued, undeterred, "that accommodates everyone's—"
Kaminari grabbed a strawberry and shoved it toward Iida's mouth.
"Eat."
"Kaminari—"
"Eat the strawberry, Iida."
Iida took the strawberry. Ate it. The gesture had the effect of halting his momentum, if only temporarily. He chewed with the dignified resignation of a man who knew he was outnumbered.
Shouta took another drink of his coffee, watching. The corner of his mouth might have twitched.
The class settled again. Conversation picked up where it had left off. The warm air carried the scent of flowers and the sweet crushed smell of strawberries.
Then Uraraka stood.
She picked her way across the blankets, stepping over legs and around coolers, until she reached one of the planters. A cluster of small white blossoms — jasmine, maybe, or starflowers — caught the lantern light. She knelt, selected several, then turned.
She approached Midoriya from behind. He was tucked back against Todoroki again, half-turned to say something to Tokoyami, unaware.
Todoroki saw her first.
Something passed between them — a question, an answer, permission given without words. Todoroki's chin lifted slightly, a gesture of welcome.
Uraraka knelt beside them. "Hold still."
Midoriya turned, confused, and she tucked the flowers into the spring of his hair with practiced ease. White petals against green curls. She adjusted one stem, sat back to look, and smiled.
"There."
"What—" Midoriya reached up, fingers brushing petals. "What did you—"
"You look like a summer festival," she said. "It's cute."
His ears went red. "Ochaco—"
"Don't take them out." She swatted his hand away playfully, and he let it drop. She placed another stem carefully and then skipped away, satisfied.
Todoroki looked at him. At the flowers. His expression didn't change, but his hand moved — came up to brush one of the petals with the lightest touch, as if checking that it was real. Then his fingers drifted to trace the shell of Midoriya's ear, just once, before returning to rest on his hip.
"Keep them," he said.
Midoriya made a small sound. Not quite a word. His ears were dark now, but he didn't pull away.
Shouta looked away.
The city lights flickered on below.
Above them, the moon climbed. Full and bright. Faintly tinted with gold and rose.
"The Strawberry Moon," Yaoyorozu said softly.
Several heads tipped back.
The rooftop grew quiet. Peaceful. Content.
Midoriya shifted, settling more heavily against Todoroki's chest. Todoroki's arms tightened around him, one hand finding Midoriya's and threading their fingers together on his stomach. The flowers in Midoriya's hair caught the moon. White petals. Green stems. The world laughing.
A cool breeze crossed the rooftop, and the calm settled like a weighted blanket.
No one moved to leave.
The moon continued climbing. The longest day finally surrendering, yielding to the shortest night with reluctance.
For a moment, Shouta looked across the students. At Ashido laughing. At Iida, finally relaxed, a strawberry in each hand. At Tokoyami and Dark Shadow quiet and sharing. At Bakugo, sitting near enough to be included and far enough to pretend he wasn't.
At Midoriya.
Alive.
Warm.
Happy.
Flowers in his hair, safe in someone's arms, the shape of his smile visible even from here.
The sight caught unexpectedly in his chest. Not guilt this time. But something hopeful.
"They've earned a break."
The words escaped before he thought about them.
Hizashi glanced over.
Shouta shrugged. "They work hard."
Hizashi's smile softened. "Yeah."
Around them, the students remained sprawled beneath the summer sky. Talking. Laughing. Existing together. Nothing dramatic or urgent. Just a group of kids refusing to go inside because the day was beautiful and they weren't ready for it to end.
For once, Shouta decided that was reason enough.
The moon climbed higher. The city lights steadied.
Then Ashido yawned — a jaw-cracking, full-body affair that ended with her blinking like she'd surprised herself. The sound broke something in the air. The spell of endless night.
"Okay," she admitted. "I think I'm actually tired."
A ripple of agreement moved through the group. Stretching. Checking phones. The slow, reluctant emergence from blanket cocoons.
Shouta set his empty cup aside and pushed to his feet. "Alright. Inside. You've had your night."
The groans were theatrical but soft. No real protest in them. The students moved — heavy-limbed and satisfied, the kind of tired that came from being full of good food and good company.
Blankets were gathered. Lanterns extinguished. Containers stacked into precarious towers that vanished handful by handful. The rooftop slowly returned to itself.
Shouta stood by the stairwell door, counting heads as they filed past.
Four.
Twelve.
Eighteen.
A beat.
He looked up.
Two figures remained on the blanket near the center of the roof. Midoriya was sitting up now, looking caught — like a child who'd stayed past bedtime. Todoroki was unapologetic, hand still resting on Midoriya's back, thumb tracing an absent pattern against his spine.
"Sensei," Midoriya started. "We were just — packing up, we —"
"It's nearly eleven."
Midoriya's shoulders dropped.
Todoroki's expression didn't change. But his hand pressed flat against Midoriya's back — a grounding weight. Protective. Unconscious.
The stairwell door held its weight against his palm.
Shouta looked at them for a long moment. At the way Todoroki had positioned himself slightly forward — between Midoriya and the door. At the way Midoriya's hand had found Todoroki's knee, gripping without thinking. At the pale flowers still tucked in Midoriya's hair, catching the moon.
He remembered Midoriya in the snow. Todoroki's face in the hospital hallway. Not crying. Worse. The look of someone who'd already started calculating how to live in a world that had taken something essential.
He knew how that felt.
He thought about rules. About structure. About all the things he considered reasonable and necessary.
Then he thought about trust.
About letting go.
About the shape of recovery — how it wasn't linear, how it wasn't about fewer rules, but about knowing when the rules were doing more harm than good.
"Don't make me regret this." He turned, allowing the door to close quietly behind him.
"Shouta."
Hizashi stood just inside the stairwell. Eyebrows climbing toward his hairline. Arms full of blankets and the last bag of trash.
Shouta stepped past him.
"They're fine."
"They're —" Hizashi glanced back at the rooftop door. "They're alone. Up there."
"I know."
"You're just — leaving them?"
Shouta stopped on the landing. The question hung between them.
"I'm trusting them," he said.
The words felt strange. It was a sentiment he'd have called naive six months ago. But he'd learned his own lessons in these six months.
Hizashi studied him. Long enough that the silence started to push. Then his expression shifted — not teasing, not surprised. Something soft.
"Look at you," he said again, quiet.
On the rooftop, the silence settled differently.
Lighter. The absence of their classmates and teachers almost a release of physical pressure.
Midoriya let out a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"Did that just happen?"
Todoroki's hand found his, threading together on the blanket between them. No hesitation.
"Yes."
The moon hung above them. Full and gold-rimed. The city hummed below — distant traffic, a train rumbling through the night. The air was still warm , laden with the smell of the flowers the girls had so carefully chosen, and still a faint note of strawberries.
"We should probably —"
"We should stay."
Midoriya turned to look at him. Todoroki's face was calm, but his grip was certain. His thumb pressed against Midoriya's knuckles like he was taking a reading.
"We should stay," Todoroki repeated. "Just a little longer."
Midoriya's throat moved as he studied the boy beside him, whose hand hadn't let go.
"Okay."
They lay back down together. The blanket had cooled, but the warmth between them held. Todoroki's arm slid under Midoriya's neck, pulling him closer until Midoriya's head rested in the hollow of his shoulder. Their legs tangled. Their joined hands rested on Midoriya's chest, rising and falling with his breath.
A single white petal came loose from Midoriya's hair and landed on his cheek. Todoroki brushed it away, slow, his fingers lingering against Midoriya's skin.
The rooftop was quiet. The stars faint against the bright moon.
"Hey, Shoto?"
"Mm."
"Thank you. For —" He stopped. Started over. "For being here."
Todoroki turned his head. Their faces were close enough that Midoriya could see the way the gray and turquoise of his eyes caught the moonlight differently.
"Where else would I be?"
It wasn't a rhetorical question. It was factual. Like he couldn't imagine an alternative.
Midoriya's chest tightened.
The longest day had ended. The shortest night had begun.
And neither of them was ready to let it go.
°❀⋆.ೃ࿔*:･