Despite having healed from his cold, Shouto can’t help but feel like his entire body is heavy the way it was when he was fever sick. Even his spirits drag somewhere near his feet as he sighs into autumn’s morning air.
Class 1 A, after a disastrous attempt at a class Halloween party, is now facing punishment for the mess of pumpkin guts and candy wrappers left when things got out of hand. He wishes he could have at least enjoyed it while it lasted, but truth be told Shouto hasn’t been in the mood for such things since finalizing his plans for the Fall Break.
“Todoroki, you doing okay?” Kirishima bumps him lightly.
“I’m fine.”
“You’ve got a weird look on your face, buddy. Like you’re walking the plank. I mean, I know yard work isn’t everyone’s thing but you look like you’ve seen a ghost.” Kirishima is acting casual, but there is real concern in the pinched set of his eyes.
The first hint of warmth blooms in his chest like a balm against the cool wind. He loosens his death grip on the rake in his hands and lets himself take a deep breath of crisp air. “It is the season for ghosts, isn’t it?”
His words leave a crack Kirishima’s worry, and he leans against his rake as he guffaws. Kirishima is one of those people who laughs readily and heartily, and he’s glad for it. Even with the pit in his stomach, the bright burst of laughter is enough to make him quirk his lips up just a little.
Kirishima straightens up, and puts a hand on Shouto’s shoulder. It is both a concession to his change of topic and a comforting gesture. “You know, I never would have guessed you were funny.”
“Thanks,” he says, dry as the leaves underfoot.
“Hey guys!” Uraraka comes bounding up through the leaves, a half full trash bag in her gloved hands. “Bakugou is looking for you, Kirishima. And by looking for you, I mean he’s doing his whole Explodo Kills bit with Kaminari and we need you. Sero can only keep them tied up so long, so...” She gives a half shrug.
“Duty calls.” He nods sagely, his hand slipping down Shouto’s shoulder to squeeze lightly at his elbow before he goes.
Uraraka points him in the right direction, then stoops to collect the leaves from Shouto’s pile. The whole class had started as one large group, but by unspoken consensus seem to be spreading out to cover more ground. He hasn’t seen Izuku in an hour or so.
“Deku is over on the east side,” she tells him unprompted.
Shouto sighs. “Am I really so transparent?”
“Only when you’re sighing longingly and looking around like you’re lost,” Uraraka grins up at him cheekily.
Shouto gives her his blankest look.
“Come on, Todoroki, don’t worry about it. You’re practically together now, right?”
His eye twitches just a little as his face heats, and he goes back to raking leaves before Uraraka can call him out any further. She’s too perceptive, and while he appreciates her straightforward manner, it’s not always easy to be the topic being so bluntly laid out.
“Not exactly,” he tells her after a pause.
“You’d better tell him that, then. He was writing Midoriya Shouto in his notebook last I saw.”
His heart jumps into his throat and he goes very still. He squints over at her while she shoves leaves into her bag. Honest , Shouto thinks through the sudden mess of his train of thought. But not like Tsuyu is honest . Uraraka also enjoys harmless pranks and teasing. He weighs both against the glint in her eye and says
“That’s a lie.”
She pokes her tongue out, caught. “Maybe. But you should go find him. He’ll be able to lift your spirits better than Kirishima or I could. And don’t say you’re fine, Todoroki,” she says when he opens his mouth. “We’re your friends, remember? We care about you, and that’s why I’m telling you that Deku is on the east side.”
Shouto hesitates, full of conflicting feelings. He thought his poker face was better than this, yet he’s almost relieved to know that they can see through it. Itching in his throat are a thousand different thank you’s, but his tongue feels heavy and reluctant.
“Tsuyu is on the west end with Hagakure,” is the closest he can come.
“Just go, you dork,” she says with a blush.
He finds Izuku balanced on the balls of his feet in the dewy grass near a large hedge, his rake abandoned next to him. Shouto softens his foot fall, stepping around the leaves strewn about, and comes up quietly behind him. Izuku doesn’t make a move to acknowledge him. In fact he holds incredibly still, peering into the underbrush, a quiet string of murmuring too light for his ears to catch until he’s right beside him.
“Oh my gosh, you’re so cute. I wish we could be friends,” Izuku tells the bush.
Shouto’s eyebrows furrow. Following his gaze, Shouto leans down and sees in a narrow gap between tangled branches and leaves, a small rabbit with a mottled coat, nose twitching as it chews on the grass.
It is pretty cute, he admits to himself. Almost as cute as the boy cooing quietly over it, holding absurdly still in the grass.
Izuku reaches back to steady himself against Shouto’s leg, startling him. One long ear flicks forward when his heel catches the side of a crunchy leaf. He swallows hard. It isn’t strange that Izuku would have noticed someone coming up behind him, no matter how quiet he had been. What really affects him is that Izuku seems to know that it’s him, specifically, by the familiar squeeze he gives his calf. Shouto takes a deep breath to keep himself from scaring the rabbit off by bursting into flames at the soft brush of his thumb against the back of his knee.
In the underbrush, an even smaller rabbit pokes its pink nose out and Izuku lets out a soft gasp.
He turns to face him with tears in his eyes. “It’s so small.”
Fuck. Fuck. He looks down into watery green eyes, freckled cheeks flushed from the cold or from crying, he doesn’t know but it’s twists him up just the same. Shouto feels fire tickle along the left side of his face and smothers it quickly.
“S-ugh.” Izuku hurriedly wipes at his eyes, ears turning pink. “Sorry, Shouto that’s- don’t... tell anyone about this, please,” he says with heavy embarrassment.
Shouto helps him to his feet and nods solemnly. He’s going to revisit this memory a lot during his fall break: Izuku crouched in front of a hedge talking to rabbits. Something soft to hold close while he is hardened.
He smiles gratefully and Shouto thinks there is very little he wouldn’t do for a face like that. Uraraka was right, already the wave of dread that’s been coming towards him feels further away with Izuku next to him.
The green in his hair is darker in the misty morning light, and it looks a bit like the top of a pumpkin with the flush painting the tops of his cheeks. His hoodie is supplemented by a bright scarf, and without much thought Shouto reaches forward with his left and tucks one stray end into the hood to cover the small gap of skin exposed to the cold. It comes naturally to him to heat his fingers just a little as they brush the delicate freckles of his neck, but Izuku shivers head to toe at the touch and he pulls away.
“Sorry.”
Izuku shakes his head quickly, blushing even darker. Shouto hopes to god he doesn’t match.
“You know I never mind, Shouto,” he whispers.
His heart skips.
The east side of the campus is mostly deserted, and since none of their classmates have come around to clear this section yet it’s absolutely covered with fallen leaves. It’s a sea of orange and red and brown that shivers and crinkles in the wind; the earthy scent of fall hangs thick in the air. It’s peaceful. He thinks that as far as punishments go, raking leaves on a nice day is hardly the worst one he’s ever faced...
His stomach roils at his wandering thoughts dipping into the well of memories labeled ‘worse’ . Barely a week left until fall break.
His father had proposed the training, and his first reaction had been a powerful and visceral no. But his resolution had come to haunt him, like a ghost out of the Halloween special from last movie night. Shouto had decided to use his father, to use Endeavor’s experience and knowledge as a hero to further his own goals, and he was about to turn down the opportunity to work on his weakest point for what? To sit in the dorms for a week?
Temperature control is one thing, warming Izuku and playing with the thermal patterns on his favorite cup, those were simple and easy and nice. But Shouto wasn’t made for nice. He was made to be a hero - he wants to be a hero. And heroes use everything at their disposal.
Izuku had taught him that.
Its these thoughts that take the edge off when the cold fear clawing up his throat threatens to choke him.
“Shouto?” Izuku calls and he realizes he’s not moved an inch. His hands ache as they unclench around the wooden handle of the rake. “What’s wrong?”
He swallows hard, his voice a rough rasp. “Nothing.”
“It’s your dad, isn’t it?” Izuku’s eyes are dark and worried, and he’s reminded that of all of his classmates, friends , he corrects himself, Izuku is more than that to him. There is trust and honesty and openness between them.
“Yes,” he admits without preamble.
Izuku breathes deeply, and the anger on his face is plain even through his attempts to mask it. Open book, you need to control your expressions or you will be taken advantage of - Shouto winces.
When he had told Izuku about his plans for the break, there had been nothing but stunned silence for a few daunting moments. Shouto had worried, just for a second, that he would storm out and leave him there in the dark kitchen with two cups of cooling tea. But of course he wouldn’t, not Izuku. Instead, he had reached out and held on to Shouto’s wrist with carefully measured strength.
His hand was shaking.
“You don’t have to,” he’d said, eyes boring holes into him.
“I know.”
“You could stay with me. With my mom and me, at home.”
That… gave him pause. But he pushed the possibility away with guilt and longing in equal measure.
“I’ve already decided.”
Izuku made a noise that rumbled through his chest, jarring for the barely contained aggression in it. Not at him, not when his fingers made a delicate loop around his wrist. He’s angry for him. Shouto's skin prickled at the heady feeling of being cared for. There was the same stony resolve in the set of his eyes that he had seen in Hosu and every battle after, and he wasn’t sure how to respond to that level of interest in his wellbeing. His gut churned with regret at not being able to accept the hand that Izuku offered him.
“I know I can’t make you change your mind,” Izuku said, and Shouto felt the knife twist between his ribs. “I… I know what this means to you. Learning how to use your left side, the technical aspects of it, the applications of your quirk- he can help you with that. But I can’t stand to think about how he wants to teach you those things, or why.” He bit down on his lip until it went white. “You’re so strong already, Shouto, I- I know you can handle anything. I wouldn’t stop you from making that choice, even if I could. It’s up to you. But,” his breathing stuttered. “You could stay with me. With us, we could-”
“I-” he began, heart in his throat. Why does he have to be so kind?
Izuku’s grip on his wrist softened. He couldn’t meet his eyes, so he watched his thumb stroke over the inside of his wrist, rough rough and dark against the pale skin of his pulse point.
“Okay,” Izuku said softly. “Okay.”
Standing now, completely alone for the first time since that night, there is a heavy quality to the silence stretching between them, and Shouto knows they’re both remembering how Izuku’s hand had stayed on his for the rest of that night. Awkwardly, Shouto clears his throat and Izuku kicks at the leaves at his feet before shaking open a trash bag from where it was stuffed into his belt.
“So uhm. You rake and I’ll pick up?” He shrugs like a peace offering.
“Good, yeah.”
They fall into a system together, and somewhere in between the second and third trash bag full, Izuku bumps into him and nearly knocks him off his feet. In the awkward scramble to right him, Izuku breaks any leftover tension between them with a bark of laughter and a hand at the small of his back. By the fifth bag, they’re stepping around each other with practiced ease.
“You know, when I was a kid I used to love going to the park around this time of year.” Shouto looks up to see a wistful smile, cheeks flushed from the slight chill. “This one tree always dropped a lot of leaves, so I would make one huge pile and just-” He cuts himself off with a laugh. “Well, you know.”
Shouto does not know. It must show on his face, because Izuku gives him a curious look. “Haven’t you ever-?” He’s definitely missed something in this conversation. “Wait, wait, I can fix this,” Izuku says under his breath, casting around for something.
He holds up his hands in a wait here gesture and jogs over to the filled trash bags, brings them over one under each arm and starts dumping them out-
“What-”
“Just trust me.”
Looking over his shoulder, presumably for anyone who might wonder why he’s ruining almost an hour’s work, Izuku creates an enormous pile of leaves, five bags of leaves emptied at their feet and stacked tall enough to come up to his hip. With a self satisfied nod, he turns and tugs on Shouto’s sleeve until they’re both standing in front of the massive accumulation of red, orange, and brown.
“Do you trust me?” he asks.
Shouto looks at him. Looks at the pile of leaves. “Always,” he says with exasperation, but it probably comes out sounding too fond.
Izuku blinks, his breath puffs out in front of him in a quick burst before he gives a shy grin. “Alright then. Get ready.”
“Ready for what-”
With a hard shove to the chest, Izuku sends him flying backwards, arms pinwheeling as he falls.
The symphony of crackle is loud enough cover the noise he makes when he lands softly but abruptly on his ass in the pile of leaves, half submerged and instantly filthy. He sits dumbfounded, up to his shoulders in leaves, heart pounding. Izuku is keeled over with the force of his gasping laughter.
“Y-your face-”
Shouto recovers in record time and sweeps Izuku’s feet out from under him so that he comes toppling down into the pile next to him. Unlike his own harmless landing on his backside, Izuku flops down face first.
He comes up sputtering, broken bits of leaves stuck to his tongue.
Before he can truly relish his revenge, Izuku pushes a wave of leaves at him like he’s trying to bury him.
Shouto tries to sit up but the leaves slip under his hands, and before he can right himself Izuku shoves a bunch of them up under his shirt to tickle against the skin of his stomach with chilly fingers that make him yelp.
It’s muscle memory that makes him catch Izuku’s wrist as the boy comes at him armed with the next handful of leaves, but Shouto’s response of stuffing them into Izuku’s scarf is just a natural reaction to the raw playfulness Izuku radiates.
Izuku’s grin is contagious as he shrieks with laughter; the flush of exertion in the cold, the mussed curls of his hair tangled with leaves and grass alike, the bright flashing of his eyes all make him look wild, and Shouto is swept into a ferocious battle.
It reminds Shouto of when he threw flour into Izuku’s face, after the baking incident. He’s caught in a rising tide of energy and reckless abandon and it’s almost like adrenaline in a fight, without the fear of pain or failure. He is breathless and giddy and so, so smitten with the boy covered in leaves and freckles and laughter.
“This,” he pants when they lay side by side in the decimated pile, the crackle of leaves loud in his ears. “This is what you did as a kid?”
“Hah,” Izuku pauses to catch his breath. “Not this exactly. I don’t remember it ever being this fun.” He turns his blinding smile over at him, and Shouto’s spine tingles. Though, that could be from the tickling scratch of leaves crumbled into pieces under his clothes.
“We should clean this up before-”
“What is going on here?! Midoriya-kun, Todoroki-kun, please explain yourselves!”
“Fuck,” Izuku says under his breath, and it startles a laugh from Shouto.
“Leaf war!” comes a battle cry from somewhere to their left, and a fresh bag of leaves is dumped atop them.
Izuku really does feel bad when Aizawa finds them, every one of them covered in fall debris and dirt, but at least they had put the campus back to rights before they got caught.
Thank heavens for Iida and Yaoyorozu, who, after realizing that scolding would not tame their wild classmates, had adopted a “beat them by joining them,” attitude and absolutely destroyed the rest of 1-A with strategy and speed worthy of being jotted down in his notebook.
“I don’t want to know what happened, just take care of it. If I find one leaf in the dorms, you’re all staying for remedial lessons.” They straighten their backs under Aizawa’s hard stare. “I don’t want to see any of you over the break, so get to it.”
Aizawa’s glower rests a beat on Shouto, and for a heart stopping moment, Izuku thinks maybe he might see the tension seeping back into him at the mention of the upcoming break. Yes, there is something wrong here, you’re not imagining it. But then he stalks away, and under his breath Izuku thinks he hears something about ridiculous, and just like herding cats .
The class gives out a collective sigh and begin to straighten themselves, picking things out of their clothes and hair. Tsuyu combs her long fingers through Uraraka’s hair and Bakugou shakes his head like a dog when Kirishima gets too close, showering him in bits of leaves.
He spares a quick glance around and turns his attention to Shouto, takes a moment to mourn the loss of the beautiful upturn of lips. Just a while ago, his eyes were practically glowing, striking blue and warm gray brown sparkling… now he just looks tired.
He’s been turning over options in his head for days, but there’s only one plan that’s a decent middle ground, the only one he might have a shot at convincing Shouto to go for. It’s not perfect, just a temporary distraction, but it’s something, and Izuku would do anything to ease the tension he’s been carrying all by himself for so long.
Shouto dusts himself off as best he can, but doesn’t notice the collection of leaves stuck to the back of his jacket.
“Here, let me,” Izuku says, waiting for Shouto’s nod to reach around him and brush him clean. With an asking look, he tugs lightly on a lock of red hair. Shouto bows his head slightly and Izuku cards his fingers through his hair. First red, then white, he combs it through and picks out debris. When he’s finished, he tucks a bit of white hair behind one ear and lets his fingers linger for a moment against his neck, bites back the urge to caress the soft skin there.
Shouto leans into it, just a bit, but moves away too quickly.
“You too,” he says lowly, and Izuku ducks his head to let him at his rat’s nest hair. He should really be using a brush for this, but Shouto’s fingers are diligent and delicate, tugging through the tangles with cool efficiency. It feels more mechanical than usual, and Izuku misses the tenderness until, just as he finishes, Shouto runs his fingers through his smoothed hair, coming to rest as he cups the back of his neck.
It’s fleeting, but he thinks for a heart pounding moment that Shouto is going to pull him forward. But then the hand is gone, the skin of his neck cold even under his scarf.
Izuku looks up quickly and sees something in Shouto’s eyes, just a flicker as it’s hidden away, and he chases it desperately, blurting out
“Come over this weekend!”
Shit.
Shouto takes a half step back, catches himself and adjusts his stance to be more grounded. His face is closing off rapidly- he has to do this quickly .
“Izuku-”
“Not- Not for the whole break! I know you’ve already made up your mind and I told you, I won’t stop you. But… just for one day?” Izuku takes a rushed breath, gaining speed as he pleads, “Spend Sunday with me. You can stay the night! My mom will feed you pumpkin bread until you puke and you can have at least one good memory from the break. Please?”
Shouto looks down at him and he holds his breath as he thinks that maybe a little bit of the light from earlier is returning to his eyes.
You get one day, Shouto tells himself firmly when the butterflies threaten to overtake him.
Izuku stays patiently in the hospital waiting room as Shouto tells his mother about the week ahead.
She is less horrified and more… resigned. But she still smiles softly at him and tells him that she’s proud of him, and the strain on him lightens just that much more. He knows he made the right decision to stay the one night with Izuku when her shoulders relax at the mention of it.
“This will be good for you, Shouto. It’s the Midoriya boy, right? The friend you’ve been telling me about?”
Shouto nods slowly, and wonders if now is a good time to tell her that his feeling were a little bit more than friendly by now.
She gives him a soft look. “I’m glad. I would love to meet him someday, this boy who makes you smile like that.”
Schooling his face as best he can, he wonders if he really needs to tell her at all.
“Soon,” he promises.
They part ways and she takes a moment to squeeze his hand in hers, a quiet reassurance, a show of solidarity. Slowly he is building a wall around himself in preparation, each small gesture of care another layer between himself and the hardship coming.
Izuku stands and stretches as he approaches.
“Thank you for waiting.”
“Of course!” He smiles, and Shouto adds it to his armor.
The backroads aren’t terribly crowded for early afternoon on a weekend, and the midday heat has yet to set in, so they enjoy the cool breeze as the sun warms the back of their necks. The smell of autumn is on the wind, a barely there hint of spice and decaying leaves.
It’s mid fall already, and the nights are cold enough to turn the leaves of the trees they walk under brown and yellow at the edges, though there is less on the ground than there was at the school. Izuku points out the sunlight streaming through the trees in glowing shades of auburn red, and Shouto feels his chest warm.
Izuku swings his arms as he talks animatedly about anything and everything, and Shouto watches raptly as his hands fly through the air. Izuku talks with his hands, he’d noticed long ago. Like Iida, but less robotic. He probably wouldn’t appreciate it if Shouto interrupted his movements by taking his hand into his.
Would he?
They come to a crosswalk and Izuku’s hand, for one moment motionless at his side, brushes his. The light scrape of rough knuckles makes his fingers twitch.
He could reach over now, lace their fingers together like he’s wanted to for weeks. It should be simple; they’ve done more intimate things than just holding hands for far longer than their confession, and Izuku has never minded his touch. But things are changing, now, uncertainty warring with want and something as small as holding hands just doesn’t seem small at all.... Somehow being the one to reach out and initiate it seems an awfully big gap to bridge.
He remembers the soft brush of lips over his knuckles, and his breath stutters and his skin is too hot, his hand frozen halfway to reaching out with steam curling from his fingers-
The light changes and Izuku walks a little ahead of him as Shouto drags his feet. Too late again.
They arrive at Izuku’s building too soon and not soon enough. The reality of having a friend, having Shouto in his home has set in and he is positively buzzing with nerves.
Shouto is going to see his house. He’s going to see his room and the All Might stuff he hadn’t brought to his dorm. He’s going to see every nook and cranny of the home he grew up in. Will he notice the chip in the table where he fell and knocked out his first tooth? Will he see the door jam with penciled lines marking his height at different ages? It all seems so very personal, and he’s nearly shaking with the need to show Shouto everything, every piece of himself stuck between the walls of his childhood home, twisting up alongside the fear of being exposed.
“H-here we are!” he says too loudly when they stand in front of his door.
Shouto wrings his hands around the strap of his bag, and the slightly stiff nod he gives lightens the grip of anxiety on his lungs. He looks almost as nervous as Izuku feels beneath that cool expression; something in the strain around his eyes, the twitching of his fingers, gives him away. It’s different from the anxiety he’s been seeing in Shouto all week, less poisonous. He’s not thinking about his father, Izuku realizes with relief.
Maybe he’s onto something after all, with this distraction method. Izuku gives him the best smile he can muster and wiggles his key into the lock.
“My mom won’t be home for an hour or so, so we have the house to ourselves. Plenty of time for me to clean up a bit, if you don’t mind waiting for me.”
“I’ll help.”
The apartment is modest but homey, more lively inside than the domino rows of gray buildings had made it seem. From the second he steps inside and takes his shoes off Shouto thinks that this is exactly the kind of home he imagined Izuku to live in. Comfortable, warm, and full of well loved items that tell stories about the inhabitants instead of being merely decorative. Nothing here screams for attention or praise. Izuku welcomes him inside and he feels welcome, despite his nerves.
“You can leave your stuff in here. This is my room,” he says unnecessarily. The All Might nameplate would have given it away even if it didn’t read ‘Izuku’ in bold white letters.
Shouto is neither surprised by nor minding of the overwhelming presence of All Might, far too used to seeing the piercing blue eyes immortalized in plastic looking at him from all sides in Izuku’s room back on campus. Izuku seems at least mildly embarrassed about it, though, despite the fact that Shouto’s been in his dorm, has almost set fire to his All Might posters before so really, isn’t he the one who should be embarrassed?
There’s a small disagreement during which Izuku tries to convince him that he doesn’t have to help him clean, to which his response is a practiced arch of his brow.
It’s a look he had accidentally cultivated through his many conversations with Kirishima, and he’s grateful for it now for the way it makes the back of Izuku’s neck flush as he turns on his socked heel and leads him around the house.
“I-I guess, if you wouldn’t mind doing some dusting? It’s not usually that bad, but some of the picture frames need to be wiped down, and then we can do the kitchen together. I’ll vacuum the floors and after that we should have time to take a quick break before-”
Shouto listens to Izuku’s schedule even as his words turn to muttering under his breath, and takes a moment to relish the simple calm of the quiet apartment. He’s thankful to have some time to acquaint himself with this new environment before he meets Izuku’s mother.
It’s not that he doesn’t want to meet her, he thinks. Izuku talks about her often enough that she’s already a vaguely familiar shape in his mind. Shouto recalls the nights in the kitchen when Izuku confided in him about his overprotective mother, and their shifting relationship since moving into the dorms. Though he doesn’t know exactly the what or why of it, there are strong emotions running there. The one thing he's certain of is that his mother loves him very much.
Would she hate him for the scars that criss cross in pale streaks up Izuku’s arm? He wouldn’t blame her.
The boy in front of him stops so abruptly that he almost walks into him. Izuku crouches and opens the cabinet under the kitchen skin, green eyes pinning him with an assessing look.
“You really don’t have to help if you don’t want to. I can get this done in twenty minutes-”
“You said that your mom has trouble keeping up with the chores since you left, didn’t you? We should do a good job of it so that she doesn’t have to worry for a while.”
Izuku huffs, but he thinks it sounds affectionate. “I finally have a friend over and I’m making him clean my house. What kind of host does that make me?”
“A practical one,” he responds as Izuku hands him a dishcloth and a spray bottle of cleaner. “It’s not wrong to take advantage of a willing and able volunteer.”
“I’m going to put some music on, if that’s okay. Any requests?”
“Anything is fine,” he says, like he always does. Izuku smiles a secret smile as he flicks through the music app on his phone for something upbeat to listen to while they clean, and lands on one of his more eclectic mixes.
He connects it to a small stereo and turns it up as loud as he dares in the apartment, listening for a moment for the telltale sound of a broom handle knocking into the floor from below. The downstairs neighbors must be out right now.
Izuku will admit that he doesn’t really need to clean everything today, though Shouto was right in remembering that he usually does when he comes home. It's a small space, and thanks to his mom’s innate neatness it never really needs much tidying beyond the buildup of dishes when she works too many days in a row. Normally, he would never let a guest clean his house- it's just not good manners. But this is Shouto and...
And there’s something he’s noticed, something he’s had filed away for safekeeping for months; from his immaculate room to the way he washes dishes and dries them right away so that there are no watermarks, Shouto actually likes to clean- especially when he’s stressed. For some reason it centers him to put things to order.
On his best day, Shouto would not be okay with sitting around in someone else’s house without anything to do. With all of the anxious energy he’s got pent up about his training with Endeavor, it would be near impossible.
He can see Shouto’s shoulders drop little by little, tension in his posture seeping out as he tilts his head to the side and rubs a smudge from the glass of a picture frame, using his fingernail to get under the edges and straightening them to within an inch of their lives.
Izuku smiles even as he sighs in relief. So, maybe he would feel worse about it if he didn’t know that the mindless task of cleaning would help Shouto settle his nerves and get comfortable in his house. He’s almost positive that he’s not supposed to know that Shouto stress cleans, and absolutely certain that him having such knowledge would embarrass him deeply.
He’ll never have to admit to it, though, because Shouto is already leaving a trail of sparkling cleanliness behind him.
From the corner of his eye, he sees Shouto’s lips shaping lyrics. Izuku acts casual while he adds this song to the playlist he keeps just for him. He can’t quite keep his giggles to himself though when he hears him humming along to a cheesy pop song.
Shouto huffs at him with pink in his cheeks, and Izuku feels like there are bees bumbling around in his chest for the happy buzzing that fills him head to toe. This was definitely one of his better ideas.
Letting Shouto into the cupboard with the cleaning supplies… might have been a mistake…
Izuku wrings a cleaning rag in both hands and frets.
The apartment has never sparkled like this before, every nook and cranny clean and reflecting light in ways he didn’t know it even could.
He might have underestimated the amount of stress Shouto was carrying.
“H-hey, Shouto? I think that’s… probably good enough for now?” he says carefully.
Shouto blinks at him, looks down at the cleaning toothbrush in his hand with bewilderment, like he doesn’t know how it got there, and Izuku pulls it gently from his hand and helps him up off his knees.
“You've done quite a number on the place, Shouchan,” he says with a wry twist of his lips.
Shouto's eyes slide away. “Sorry.”
“Don't, it’s- are you feeling better?”
He cocks his head to the side and Izuku thinks he might have given himself away with that one because Shouto is looking at him now, assessing. He has less than a second to squirm though because the sound of keys jangling in the door ring out, and he steps away with a sheepish grin.
“I’m home!” calls a familiar voice.
“Welcome home, Mom!”
Shouto shifts his weight next to him, and Izuku flashes him a quick smile as his mom shuffles in. She sets down her bag and pulls him into a tight hug before turning to take in their guest.
“Mom, this is my-” uh. His brain short circuits, reloads . “...Shouto.” He bites down on his tongue as hard as he dares and tries not to look over his shoulder at the boy standing right behind him.
“Your Shouto?” his mom asks with eyebrows raised. Shit shit shit shit shit. Too late, the perfect replacement springs to his mind. Friend. You could have called him your friend.
“A-ah! No! I mean, this is Shouto, just Shouto, uhm. Todoroki-kun. From school. Remember the sports festival, Mom? That one.” Oh god, he just wants to jump in a hole, because he’s now called Shouto my something and that one, and honestly he can’t decide which is worse.
He hopes with vicious anxiety that Shouto isn’t bothered by his slip up, in all of the ways it could be interpreted. The idea of Shouto as a possession is definitely the worst of them; he is revolted when he sees Endeavor in his mind. But then, a slow blush creeps up his neck because- “my boyfriend” had been about to slip out, and that’s… not possession, but… The idea of Shouto as his, his anything, but especially his boyfriend makes his pulse jump.
“Oh I see, that one, is he?” His eye twitches just slightly, he can see the corner of her mouth wobble in silent laughter even as she smiles warmly at Shouto. He would be hearing about this later.
This is what I get for telling my mom about my stupid crush, he thinks. With all of the things he had to keep secret from her, he did his best to pad their conversations with as many happy moments about his friends as he could and Shouto had just… come up fairly frequently, by some strange coincidence.
Thankfully Shouto steps forward and introduces himself before either of them can burst out in awkward laughter or uncontrollable screaming.
“Todoroki Shouto, ma'am. Thank you for having me on such short notice.” He bows deeply.
“Oh! My, what a polite boy. No need for that, please, make yourself comfortable.”
She slowly moves forward and enfolds Shouto into a soft but sturdy embrace. Shouto blinks at him from over the top of her head.
“Goodness, it’s wonderful to finally meet you- Izuku has told me so much about everyone, of course.”
He should have warned him, he thinks as he watches his two toned eyes round. He can see the slight tremor in Shouto’s hands where they’re suspended just above his mom’s shoulders, like he’s not sure how to respond. Briefly, a sliver of panic spikes in his mind and he thinks maybe this is going to be too much for Shouto. But then his mom squeezes him around the middle and rubs a hand down his back in a way Izuku recognizes, and he can see the tension leave in jagged pieces.
Izuku sighs in relief when the taller boy stoops a little to return the embrace loosely. He knew he could trust his mom with him. Shouto deserves to be held, and his mom is good at hugs.
Shouto pulls away slowly and blinks rapidly. “T-thank you. It’s nice to meet you, Midoriya-san.”
His mom beams up at him and Izuku can’t help but smile at the dazed look on Shouto’s face.
“You too, dear. Make yourself at home, now. I’ll just change out of my work clothes and I’ll be back to start dinner in a bit.”
“Thanks mom.” Izuku blushes a little when she pulls him down to kiss his cheek with Shouto watching.
“So uhm. That was my mom,” Izuku says, twisting the hem of his shirt in his hands.
“She’s just like you.”
Izuku hums. “How so?”
Shouto considers. From the moment the plump woman had come through the door, he’d been thrown off balance.
It’s all still so new to him, mothers and touching, but Midoriya Inko had embraced him like it was the most natural thing in the world, and he’d been utterly paralyzed, gripped by sudden and vicious fear. She could push him away at any moment, decide she was angry about Izuku's fingers after all, she could take another look at him and think he’s unsightly-
But then she’d rubbed a hand down his back, just how Izuku does, and his nerves had fallen to pieces. Seeing Izuku’s eyes on him had broken the last of his hesitation, had made him feel secure rather than exposed, had given him the courage to hug the woman back, even as images overlapping, flicking like a flipbook, made him swallow thickly. He’d known that Izuku had to have inherited his kindness from somewhere, but he couldn’t have imagined such open affection from a relative stranger.
“Warm,” he says simply. "And... surprising." Shouto runs his rag across the surface of the bookshelf to distract himself from the shade of pink that rises on Izuku’s cheeks.
“Oh! That’s- thanks.” His voice comes out just a little high, and Izuku angles his face away while he collects the dusting rags and cleaners from the coffee table.
“It seems foolish now,” he begins, lowering his voice. “But I half expected her to despise me, after what I did to you at the sports festival. On live television.”
“It was a fair match,” he says, eyeing Shouto. “You lost your shirt.”
“You broke every bone in your hand.” He blinks at him and Shouto winces, glancing over at his crooked hand wrapped around a spray bottle. He wants desperately to lace their fingers together and brush his thumb over the scars.
Shouto unclenches his jaw and rips his eyes away. Did he already get to the side table? He lifts a lopsided tower of books to wipe it down. As an afterthought he dusts each book, then stacks them neatly, aligning the spines.
“She knows it’s not your fault, you know,” Izuku says softly. “She doesn’t see you as a bad person, Shouto. I’ve talked about you before tons of times.” His smile leans just towards impish. “In fact, it’s more likely that she remembers you as the one who can bake cookies on his hand and sleeps in the nude.”
His thoughts come to a screeching halt.
“...What did you just say?” he asks with no inflection.
Izuku coughs, but it sounds suspiciously like laughter. “The baking thing or the sleeping in the-”
“Let’s start with that last one.”
“Oh, well...” His eyes trace the ceiling, flicking down at him briefly, looking like the picture of mischief managed. “You remember that rumor floating around after you told Uraraka that you don’t own pajamas?”
“I remember it.” How could he not? People from all classes had undressed him with their eyes for weeks. “Izuku,” he begins with trepidation. “You told your mother I sleep in the nude... And then invited me to stay the night? In her home?”
Izuku smothers a smile and tries to look guilty under Shouto’s hard stare. “She knows it was just a rumor! I only mentioned it in passing because it was funny. Don’t worry, we know the truth. I’ve seen your pajamas before, Shouto, even if they weren’t terribly interesting until we intervened.”
“Sweatpants are practical. At least they have pockets.”
“Leggings don’t weigh you down!”
Shouto wouldn’t ever say, but the fact that Izuku wears leggings is almost as cute as the fact that it embarrasses him to do so.
“Mmm. Unless you count being a distraction to everyone around you.”
“Are you saying I distract you?” Izuku asks with an astonished laugh.
“I’m saying you could probably cause an accident if you decided to run closer to the street.”
The bottles in Izuku’s arms start slipping through his grip and he scrambles to catch them. “Sh-Shouto! How can you just- you can't just-say things like that!” He is bright red all the way to the root of his green hair. Shouto shrugs at him, unrepentant and absolutely unwilling to let on that his heart is racing.
A door at the end of the hallway opens and closes with a soft click, and Izuku has to juggle the bottles in his arms as his mother pads into the room trailing an excited string of commentary.
They store the cleaning supplies as she ties an apron around her waist and starts setting out pots and pans, pacing the kitchen and talking under her breath until, almost absently-
“Would you two boys get the spare futon out? I’d do it myself but you know that old closet door sticks. Todoroki-kun, you’re a strong young man, would you please?”
Shouto pauses awkwardly. Does she not know that her son can bench twice his bodyweight? Without his quirk? He stands stock still, waiting for a cue from either of them. In the ringing silence that follows she snaps back to attention and looks over at them with the kind of half panic that comes from a slip of the tongue. “Izuku…”
Izuku gives a tight lipped smile but doesn’t comment.
Shouto follows the boy into the hallway to a linen closet, and watches a range of emotions almost too quick to catch flash across his face. Shouto crosses his arms and leans against the wall, flicking his eyes over to the closet in open invitation.
Izuku’s lips twitch. With little effort, he jerks the closet door open, a loud snap that is probably the resistance his mother had been talking about ringing out like a small victory. Then, in a move that comes dangerously close to showing off, Izuku stands on tiptoes to grab the thick rolled futon on the top shelf, shirt riding up to expose the small of his back, and props it on one shoulder to carry with ease. Finally, he closes the closet door with a well placed kick. Shouto tries to at least pretend he isn’t staring at the hard muscles of his arms. How anyone could forget a thing like that is beyond him, but then, he didn’t know Izuku as a skinny quirkless kid, either.
“She knows,” Izuku responds to the unspoken question, voice low so as not to carry down the hall as they make their way back to his bedroom. “She just forgets sometimes. I try not to hold it against her.” He bends to balance on the balls of his toes, still holding the futon with one arm as he makes room on the floor next to his bed. Shouto doesn’t offer to help. “It’s been an adjustment for both of us.”
He nods and leaves it at that.
“Izukun!” The boy’s head turns at his mother’s call and Shouto waves him off, taking the sheets from him. As their hands meet, he grazes his fingers along one pale stripe of a scar with purpose. Izuku looks up at the touch, and Shouto meets his eyes, holds them for a moment, then tilts his head towards the door to usher him out.
As he stretches the sheets over the futon, Shouto takes a deep breath to steady himself.
Izuku pads into the kitchen, rubbing at his crooked hand to allay the warm drumming of his pulse under his skin where Shouto had touched him. His mom flits back and forth between the stove and the cupboards. She pauses when he comes in, setting the spices down on the counter and anxiously wiping her hands on her apron.
“Would you mind cutting some vegetables for me?” she asks, and the gentle squeeze she gives his arm feels like an apology.
He gives her a half smile, she gives him the sharpest knife they have, and they call it even.
"I can't believe you finally have a friend over, after all this time! I've been waiting for you to bring one of your new friends from school home. I'm," she sighs with a hand over her heart. "I'm so proud of you, Izuku. I was scared that you had given up on all of that, but now look at you."
"Yuuei has done a lot for me. I've... met a lot of people who've helped me," he says quietly.
His mom smiles a little melancholy. "I can see that. You know I've had some mixed feelings about you going to school there, and- well I still do but... I know how important this is to you. And your friends!" Her smile turns a shade brighter. "Anyone who puts a smile like that on your face is alright in my book."
Izuku feels his face heat and focuses on his hands. "Shouto's... special."
“He’s cute,” she says, conspiratorial.
“You should see him light himself on fire,” Izuku mumbles, cheeks tingling at the memory of every close encounter that ended in blazing light.
His mom clicks her tongue at him fondly. “Just like your mother, Izukun. You know your father just about cooked me the first time we kissed. You boys be careful.”
“M-mom!” he sputters, too loud.
From the corner of his eye he sees a flash of red and white, and Izuku whips his head back to see Shouto standing right there, eyes darting between them and oh god he didn’t hear that did he? His mother sends him an apologetic look as he resists the urge to crawl into the earth and never return.
There’s been no mention of kissing since the smallest brush of lips created snowflakes in Shouto’s dorm. That is, until his mom managed the triple whammy of awkward dad mention, kinkshaming her own son, and implying the possibility of kissing the very much present object of his affection.
He’s so distracted by his embarrassment that he nearly slices his fingers right off- the only thing saving him is Shouto’s hand, wrapped over his around the knife.
Izuku looks up quickly at Shouto, who is giving him a half stern look ruined by the slightest upcurve of his lips and the slow raise of an eyebrow. Cheeky.
“May I?” he says softly, and Izuku’s heart gives a hard thump against his ribcage. He steps to the side and offers him his spot at the cutting board with a flourish.
Shouto takes the knife from him, swipes a finger from his right hand across the blade to cool it, and proceeds to blow his mediocre cutting skills out of the water.
Oh, he thinks as he watches Shouto’s long fingers work. That is…. Definitely something isn’t it? His face feels impossibly hot.
Is it… is it the cooking savvy? Or the unabashed use of his quirk? Or maybe just his hands, clever and graceful and smooth- he doesn’t know, but he has to do something else, right now, immediately. He grabs up a stack of plates and a handful of utensils and swivels over towards the table on his heel.
“Todoroki-kun, you have excellent cutting skills!” his mom praises, looking at the much more uniform slices. “Who taught you to handle a knife like that?”
Izuku sees the smallest hint of color at the tops of Shouto’s ears at the earnest compliment. “My sister,” he answers quietly.
She’s just the right amount of kind and attentive, asking questions and gently prodding without prying, and Shouto meets her enthusiasm with small smiles that send him over the moon as he sets the table. He thinks it might be because Shouto is naturally susceptible to the maternal wiles of his mom, or else he’s chosen a neutral topic as a safe point of conversation, but he shares more about Fuyumi than even Izuku had known.
“What a wonderful young woman. You two sound close.”
Shouto hesitates just long enough for Izuku to notice, then nods in a jerky motion. “I suppose we are.”
His mom glances up from her cooking and he can see her taking in Shouto’s expression.
“Well, she sure did right by you if those vegetables have anything to say about it. Next time you’re over maybe we’ll have you cook,” she teases gently.
“I’m not that good,” he says modestly.
“That knife skill is nothing to sneeze at young man, I’m sure you’re just fine. As for our Izuku, he can’t be trusted unsupervised in the kitchen,” she says without venom, laughs at the melodramatic face he pulls. “Not that he can’t cook, quite the opposite, but he’s rather, hmmm,” she pretends to consider. “Let’s call it adventurous, with the seasonings.”
“You love my spicy curry,” Izuku says mutinously. Shouto pauses his motions to squint at Izuku in question. Yours? He mouths, and Izuku gives him a quick wink.
His mom shoots him a look. “I would love it more if you told me what was in it, dear,” she says with an eyebrow raised.
It’s an old argument, fueled by fond familiarity rather than any kind of heat, and he forgives her for her adventurous comment.
“A good chef never reveals his secrets,” he grins crookedly.
His mom huffs and turns back to the food, muttering “It’s magicians, magicians never reveal their secrets. Chefs have recipes to do just that!”
While her back is turned, Izuku catches Shouto’s eyes, slightly wide, so that he can read his lips when he mouths star anise.
Shouto gives a startled snort, and they both compose their faces to be purposefully blank when his mom turns back around. He’s shaking with silent laughter when she turns her back again, and Shouto has to elbow him lightly before they get caught.
Dinner goes better than he’d hoped; they keep the conversation light and easy. Shouto isn’t talkative by any means, but he seems interested and contributes often enough to not fade into the background. Izuku can tell that he’s decided to be present in the conversation and adores him for the visible effort he puts into being personable.
Izuku hooks his ankle behind Shouto’s early on and leaves it there, shifting his foot just enough to brush lightly against him now and then, just to remind him that he’s there, to show his appreciation. Shouto’s eyes slip over to him every time he moves.
When he makes a sly joke just subtle enough that only Izuku gets it, he smothers his laughter into a napkin and runs his foot up his calf in acknowledgement. Shouto’s mouth, parted like he’s about to speak, snaps shut.
Shouto’s foot nudges his under the table and he has a moment to puzzle over the burning of his beautiful eyes before he looks away, seeming interested in whatever his mom is saying. Izuku has no idea what it is, because Shouto’s foot is sliding just the slightest bit up under the cuff of his pants, sending a shock of cold frost shooting up his leg up to the back of his knee.
He coughs into his tea.
The tickle of his sock against the newly chilled skin has his heart jumping, but the wicked satisfaction in the look Shouto gives him over the top of his cup almost sends him into cardiac arrest.
“Izukun, your face is red, are you okay?”
“Fine!” he squeaks, and downs his glass, suddenly parched.
He thinks he sees a hint of a smirk, but then Shouto straightens back into a beacon of composure and manners, all trace of mischief hidden away.
He feels his eye twitch.
Izuku’s mother reluctantly concedes when Izuku insists on cleaning up after dinner, and almost takes it back when Shouto starts collecting the plates. Izuku escorts her to the living room and says something he can’t hear over the rushing water filling up the sink. Izuku rubs the back of his neck and his mother gives him a startled look, then a small smile directed at both of them. Shouto tilts his head so that his hair falls a little lower over the left side of his face.
Doing dishes side by side reminds him strongly of when they had cleaned the baking disaster in the dorm kitchen. It feels pleasantly domestic, and he starts to relax into the automatic motions when he notices that Izuku looks very much like he wants to say something. His mouth twists as though struggling to contain his words. Shouto watches him look over his shoulder at his mother, who, while in the livingroom, is not ten feet away since the rooms are adjoined, and could conceivably hear anything spoken at average volume.
Finally Izuku breaks. “Wanna tell me what all that was about, earlier?” he whispers tersely.
Oh, Shouto thinks. He wants to talk about the water drip torture of Izuku’s foot brush, brush, brushing against his leg while he tried so hard to carry on a decent conversation with his mother. The warm shivers that had run through him with every pass had almost undone him. And then the last straw, the soft caress at the back of his knee that had him biting down on his tongue.
“No idea what you’re referring to,” he says coyly.
“Uhm, your ice toes on my leg?”
“You were distracting me,” he says plainly. “Turnabout is fair play.”
“I hate when you say that.” Izuku glares.
“Why?”
“Because-!” he says too loud, looking over his shoulder again before dropping back into a whisper. “Because I taught you that phrase!”
“It’s hardly a new concept.”
“You weren’t supposed to use it on me. ”
“You deserved it, trying to play footsie of all things with me at dinner with your mother,” he says, glancing sidelong at the boy as his freckles fade under the pink flush on his cheeks.
“I didn’t mean to, I was just- you know what?” Izuku sticks his tongue out childishly, and Shouto chuckles.
“Excellent retort.”
Izuku plops a plate down into the sink at just the right angle to send a splash of water up to soak the bottom of Shouto’s shirt. He grins, unrepentant even as Shouto gives him a dry look of really?
Midoriya Inko is every bit the doting mother Izuku described her as. She pushes a mug of hot cider into his hands and stuffs him full of slice after slice of pumpkin bread until he’s fit to burst with fall flavors. He sits thigh to thigh with Izuku on the couch, the path of warmth where they connect a solid point of focus to ground him as she flits about and fusses over them, similar to Izuku when he was sick only much, much worse because now he doesn’t have the fever to distract him from the uncomfortable flip of his stomach.
Shouto just doesn’t have enough experience (any experience) being at a friend’s house, let alone interacting with the mother of the boy he’s desperately in love with, and the churning of mild anxiety ebbs and flows as he finds his balance. It’s easy when she’s chatting away, the glaring similarity to her son eases him, and he even finds that he enjoys talking to her when the conversation shifts his way.
But when she puts a hand on his shoulder he’s reminded of the years that stretch behind him, years without any kind of physical reassurance from an adult, and he scrambles in his head for the proper feelings that go with it.
It’s similar to when Kirishima started the trend of friendly affection among his friends- the awkward unsureness of how to respond battling with the small and needy part of him that asks for more. He’s guilty to feel the slightest twinge of relief when she says she’s going to turn in early.
Midoriya Inko kisses her son’s forehead and he notices that her hair is slightly darker than Izuku’s, but her eyes are a matching pair that gleam green as she hesitates in front of Shouto. She seems to search him for a second, eyes kind instead of calculating, and whatever she sees in his face makes her smile tenderly. Shouto tenses only slightly when she gives him a quick kiss on the crown of his head.
“Don’t stay up too late, boys,” she says, and the room slips into a fuzzy stillness.
His fingers brush the spot on his head as he sorts out the twist of emotion in his gut. He feels alien and strange, but there is fresh familiarity in this particular brand of warmth that makes his heart swell.
Izuku’s shoulder brushes his, and the look he gives him is gentle.
They do stay up too late. Izuku shows him his favorite Halloween shows, and he seems to get some amusement from watching Shouto reach for the remote to put on the next episode of Goosebumps before the ending theme has even finished.
It becomes difficult, though, to focus on the slime monster when Izuku keeps tossing candy corn at him. When he turns his head at the last second and catches a piece between his teeth, Izuku’s face is utterly priceless, and they abandon the show entirely to make a game of it.
They sit facing each other with their backs against each arm of the couch andwith their legs meeting in the middle; Izuku frames Shouto’s feet between his own and their socks are a horrible clash of yellow and orange and purple patterns. He can’t bring himself to regret giving Izuku the set of awful socks, but maybe he should have declined when he had insisted Shouto wear a pair to match.
Shouto catches maybe 87% of the candy corn pieces thrown at him, and Izuku seems delighted every time he crunches down on the sweet treat. Izuku misses most of his with his mouth, an unfortunate amount getting stuck in his hair, but he seems determined. Shouto throws a piece wide and Izuku nearly takes a nose dive over the side of the couch to catch it.
“Are you even aiming?” he whines after a piece hits his forehead.
“Get good,” he smirks, and catches the piece of candy corn Izuku throws at him in retaliation.
Finally Izuku switches to snatching them from the air with his hand and shoving them into his mouth. He’s infinitely better at it this way, and soon they’re just eating handfuls out of the bowl. It’s not particularly tasty, and it sticks to his teeth and glues his mouth shut, but he can’t make himself stop.
Shouto wishes he could stay forever and toss candy corn until Izuku's hair is more orange and white than green. The clock reads well past midnight, and he tries not to think about how tomorrow has already come.
He tells himself it’s the sugar that makes his stomach twist.
Shouto wakes sometime in the middle of the night with cold sweat on his brow. Outside, the wind carries a light drizzle of rain to tap against the window, and through the slight opening the scent of warm wet earth rapidly cooling drifts in. He tries to listen to Izuku’s light snoring, but he can’t hear it over the rain. The drip, drip, splat pattern echoes in his head like footsteps in an empty room, and he flips over on his side to face the wall and puts his pillow over his ears.
He thinks he might have been dreaming before he woke up, something like a flash of fall leaves and a pop of green come to his mind, but even as he recalls it the swirling of reds and orange become a living and breathing flame, and he shivers as cold anxiety sweeps him more and more firmly into wakefulness.
Shouto’s eyes stare unseeing into the dark while his mind is lit up in violent shades of red.
Training with Endeavor is less sparing and more survival- evade, counter, try not to puke, get up no matter what. He remembers ice crawling up his skin, his refusal to use his left side leaving him shivering and stiff and aching. He’ll have to answer for that, now. He hasn’t fought fire against fire with his father in many years, but he already knows that’s exactly what’s coming. He wonders if he’ll be allowed to use his ice in tandem, or if he’ll be left sweating and scalding and unbalanced in cruel retribution for his pettiness.
Ice is already forming along his right side in response, a protective barrier of frost that just leaves him feeling cold as he drags in a stuttered breath through chattering teeth. His muscles lock as he tries to bring his knees up to his chest, and he feels made of stone, made of glacial fractals, made of sleet and freezing rain. There is heat and fire and a voice like thunder that makes his bones shake, there is cold and unyielding ice and a flash like lightning, blinding and quick and striking him with electric adrenaline. He shuts his eyes tight and braces himself to wait out the wave of panic washing over him like ice water in his veins and fire on his skin. His hands clench and unclench, palms damp against the sheets as he brings them up to his face to muffle the grinding of his teeth and holds his breath.
Going home for the break was a stupid idea. He should have said yes to staying here for the week, no matter how much of a burden he would have been. Why did he agree to train with his father, when now he’s surrounded by people who will notice things like a split lip and broken ribs and- Every laceration, every black and scabbing burn that he’s not quick enough to escape- What will Izuku think of him when he returns battered and defeated-
His phone buzzes next to him on the bed and shocks him into sucking in a hasty gulp of air. Shouto takes shallow breaths until he can see the screen through the black spots dancing in his vision. He squints until he can make out the shapes.
[From: Izuku- 2:30am]
☕️
Shouto frowns at his phone and turns over to find Izuku resting his head on his arms, looking at him over the edge of his bed, his phone a dim glow next to him.
“Are you okay?”
“Thought you were asleep,” he rasps, but his voice sounds distant.
“You’re thinking about it again.”
“How can you tell?”
“You stopped breathing.”
There is silence save for the ringing in his ears, and Izuku drops his hand over the edge of the bed to trace his fingers over his arm. He skims warm fingers over him, and he can almost feel it through the thin coat of ice, the suggestion of gentleness melts through him and leaves him shaking to pieces, utterly vulnerable and weak and-
His heart thumps hard in his chest, anxiety making his head pound and his fingers twitch. If he can hold his hand just once before tomorrow, he thinks he’ll be okay. With halting movements, he reaches out into the darkness until his fingers brush Izuku’s.
Izuku makes a surprised noise and Shouto almost lets go, would probably let go if not for the fact that the contact is easing the pressure in his chest. So instead, he holds on as tight as he dares and tries to tie himself to the solid presence of Izuku while the tide of his hysteria tries to sweep him out to sea.
The hand in his is rough and warm and holds him steady as a shudder racks his body.
“Shhhhh,” Izuku whispers, brushing his thumb along their joined hands. “I’ve got you, love.”
He hiccups hard and everything he’s been pushing back comes flooding forward and he hates that he’s afraid. He chose this, didn’t he?
He claps his other hand over his mouth to keep the choked sound back and Izuku is kneeling next to him, clumsy in the dark but leaving little touches as he feels his way up to Shouto’s face.
“Hey, Shouto, you’re okay- it’s okay, love, look at me.” He wants to laugh, but it’s a sob that wracks his chest.
Izuku pulls him into sitting up and engulfs him in a crushing hug, like he’s trying to keep him from ripping at the seams. He straddles Shouto’s legs, knees bracing him on either side. He digs his fingers into Izuku's shirt to anchor himself as he floats back into his body.
“Shhh,” he whispers, but his voice shakes. There’s wetness where his cheek rests atop Shouto’s head, and he wants to ask why he’s crying, too- but Izuku is always crying, isn’t he? For himself, for his friends, for the bird he caught in his cupped hands as it fell from it’s tree last week...
Shouto clutches him hard and breathes harshly into his shoulder as his body shakes. He feels like that baby bird now, fragile and helpless in Izuku’s hands.
“I hate this,” he confesses into his neck, and the words drain him. Bones hollow and wings bent, Shouto collapses into his hold.
“I know,” he whispers back, and they take shuddering breaths together. The shapes being drawn across his shoulders ease every hiccup and shiver until he can breathe. Every inch of him feels raw, but Izuku is holding him like he’s something precious and layer by layer he puts himself back together while the boy murmurs nonsense into his ear like the distant patter of rain. The lingering stiffness in his body is smoothed out until he feels more viscous than solid, putty in Izuku’s hold and too weary to hold his head up.
Izuku grabs something from the floor near the bed, and a soft cloth is draped over his shoulders.
“Here,” he says, flipping up the hood.
Shouto tugs long sleeves over his hands as Izuku zips him into the hoodie.
“Why…” he trails off.
Izuku just smiles at him, dimples catching the dim light.
“How do you feel about some hot cider?”
The breath he takes fills his chest, cool and complete, and though he feels exhausted down to his bones, there’s nothing that sounds better.
Izuku turns on the TV and they pretend to watch a movie while they rub the salt from their cheeks and sip hot cider on the couch. It’s something he remembers from years of 13 Nights of Halloween, about a town full of witches and Halloween ghouls, but it’s mostly softly crackling background noise now. The lights are dim and cast a warm glow over the room, and he feels the syrupy sweet pull of a post cry haze as they sink down into the cushions and into each other. Shouto sighs deeply and rests his head on his shoulder. He looks exhausted, after crying himself out like that.
He’s never seen an anxiety attack from the outside before. It looks every bit as awful as he remembers it feeling.
Izuku rubs his cheek over the top of Shouto’s head, nudging at the hood until he feels the tickle of silky hair. The boy sniffles into his shoulder.
“Hey, don’t wipe your runny nose on me,” he scolds without meaning it.
Shouto must be feeling better, because he grumbles and does it again. Izuku smiles and sets his mug of hot cider on the side table. Slowly he reaches across them and pulls the hood down around Shouto’s shoulders, winds his fingers into his hair. He’s going for gentle, but when he rubs just so behind one ear, Shouto tilts into the touch with a tiny sound and he gets the message. He pulls more firmly at the base of his neck where he likes it. He feels rather than hears him purr with contentment as he slips down even further. Izuku adjusts until he has one leg tucked beneath him and a head in his lap, and relishes the way Shouto lets himself melt a little around the edges, the last of his anxiety evaporated.
He loves when Shouto gets all loose limbed and sleepy on him, loves being able to look down into his lap and see red and white hair fanned out over his thigh and heavy lidded eyes of blue and warm gray. Even wearing his tattered hoodie, especially wearing his hoodie, he’s beautiful…
Izuku may have to consider the fact that he has a thing for seeing Shouto wear his clothes.
He wraps one arm loosely over Shouto’s waist, and keeps his other hand running through the soft tresses. Izuku hesitates at the red hair over his eye. Shouto watches him deliberate without comment, but doesn’t make any move to protest when he pushes back his bangs gently. Izuku’s heart swells at the trust between them.
Shouto’s eyes fall shut as he finds the perfect pace of pulling and petting, and he stifles a laugh when the temperature rises steadily along every point of contact. Izuku wonders if he even means to use his quirk, or if being a human heater just comes naturally now after so many movie nights.
“I’m glad you came over,” he says and gives another firm tug, the soft scratch of nails leaving tingling trails that he knows makes Shouto melt. Izuku’s breath hitches when he sighs and turns his head to press his face into his belly.
“Me too,” he hears just barely, vibrations of his low voice tickling over his skin and making his tummy flutter.
“Even… even though I made you clean the apartment? And distracted you at dinner? And I know my mom was a little bit much, and… I totally flubbed your introduction, didn’t I?” he asks with his lip between his teeth.
Shouto scoffs and his breath is hot. “How long have you been worrying over this?” he asks. The arm across his waist feels a little bit warmer and he doesn’t mind, never minds, but he’s feeling pretty warm himself, especially when Shouto cracks open one eye to survey his heating cheeks.
“I was just- I mean I slipped up and called you my, uh. Just my, which is weird and I’m sorry but- I just wanted to make sure you know I don’t consider you a possession, or a thing, not like…”
“Izuku. Please believe me when I say that my father was the furthest thing from my mind when you almost called me your boyfriend.”
Izuku’s eyes pop. “H-how do you know that’s what I was going to call you?”
“Is it not?”
Blood rushes to his cheeks fast enough to leave him light headed and he hides his face, hopes for some cosmic event to take the focus off of him and his big dumb mouth.
“This isn’t how I thought this conversation would happen,” he says, muffled behind his hands
“We don’t have to talk about it right now.” Shouto reaches up and pokes at the gap between his palms where his nose sticks out, and he slides his hands down his face.
“It’s just kind of embarrassing,” he mumbles.
Shouto’s mouth twists just enough to look caught between laughing and grimacing, and he takes it to mean he agrees.
The pink in Shouto’s cheeks makes him feel a bit better, and he’s reminded that they’re fumbling through this together. They’re figuring this out, the two of them, testing boundaries and talking about the god awful embarrassing mistakes he keeps making- and they’re doing it together.
“Shouto,” he says softly. “Do you...want to be my boyfriend?”
The pink brightens into something truly spectacular and shit, he would laugh at the dumbstruck expression if he wasn’t thinking up twenty ways to backtrack past his horrible timing, past the butchered introduction, past his own birth and into the prehistoric age.
“W-we don’t have to, I just- if you did want to, it would be okay with me- but, if you didn’t that’s, that’s also-”
“Can I hold your hand?” Shouto blurts out in a rush, his face still open and wide eyed.
“I-” Izuku’s tongue sticks to the roof of his mouth. “Uh-”
He clicks his jaw shut and holds his shaky hand out. Slowly Shouto takes it in his, achingly gentle as though afraid to break him, and Izuku swallows around nothing when he laces their fingers together.
Their joined hands rest over Shouto’s stomach, a twisting balance of dark and light, crooked and lean that leaves him speechless. It’s a liquid amber honey drizzle, a pool of molten auburn that drips into his belly and spreads heat through every inch of him.
He chances a glance at Shouto’s face and finds him looking down at their joined hands with an expression that makes him think he feels it too.
“I… I’ve wanted to do this,” he whispers like a secret. “I wasn’t sure if… I was allowed to ask, but then you said…” he grips his hand tightly. “I don’t even know what boyfriends do,” Shouto admits with wide eyes that meet his in mild panic that tickles under Izuku’s ribs.
“That’s okay.” He squeezes back. “I- I don’t know anything about it either really,” he confesses quietly. “But I thought, if there’s anyone I want to figure it out with… it’s you.”
Mismatched eyes blink up at him, and he thinks he’s not imagining the slight shine to them as they dart away and back. He turns his head until the hair Izuku pushed back from his forehead covers his face a little more and Izuku resists the urge to move it again. He waits as patiently as he can, staying very still as Shouto chews his lip. Then, a slight tug, their joined hands are dragged up over the boy’s chest.
Izuku feels like he’s going to die when Shouto leaves a ginger kiss over one pale stripe of a scar. Blue and gray eyes watch him with rare shyness and his lips are so soft, warm and cool and perfect and tingling all the way to his toes. It’s over too soon, before he can catch his breath, bright eyes flicking away as Shouto brings their hands to rest over his his chest, turns them so that Izuku’s hand is pressed over his heart. He can feel the erratic beat knocking against the back of his hand where lips had been just seconds ago.
Izuku lets out a breath like a laugh and grins until his eyes sting. He thinks that’s probably a good enough answer for now.
They keep their hands like that while Izuku starts combing through Shouto’s hair again, stopping to brush against his unscarred cheek as gently as he can. The drag of his thumb over the soft skin there has Shouto’s eyes fluttering shut as his heartbeat steadies into a slow and sweet rhythm.
If he presses a kiss to Shouto’s forehead as he falls asleep, well, Izuku can ignore the steam if he can.
Izuku walks him to the train station the next day, and Shouto holds onto his hand with slightly trembling fingers the whole way.
“You’ll be okay,” Izuku tells him while they wait for his train.
“I know.”
“I’ll see you in a week.”
“Right.”
“It’s not too late to change your mind.”
Shouto tightens his grip on Izuku’s hand and it grounds him.
“I’ll be okay,” he echoes, and Izuku’s lip quivers.
“I-I know,” he sniffs.
“I’ll see you in a week.”
He smiles just enough to let him know he’s poking fun and squeezes his hand again when Izuku gives him a trainwreck of a smile.
“When I see you next… If this goes well,” he turns the words over in his head and watches the train pull in. He leans down towards Izuku’s ear to be heard over the screeching breaks. “I might have something to show you." No, that's not quite it. "Something I want to do,” he amends.
Izuku turns his face upward just in time for Shouto to press a quick kiss to his freckles, just below his eye, and Shouto steps away quickly before he can burn him, hurries to the train with fire flicking on his face and racing through his blood.
Through the train window, he watches Izuku, frozen in place and bright red on the platform as he shrinks into the distance.
I’ll make this time count, he swears. I’m ready.