Leggings . They’re fucking leggings. Shouto chokes on his own spit when Midoriya jogs up to the dorm wearing his oversized hoodie, sleeves bunched at his elbows, and leggings . His tongue feels leaden in his mouth. Black, tight, stretchy, soft leggings. They hug every. Fucking. Curve. His friend’s legs are shapely and strong, muscles clear through the thin material and-
Don't catch fire. Don't catch fire .
“Damn Deku-kun! That ASS!” Kirishima shouts from a great distance, or maybe right next to him. Everything seems so far away and blurry at the edges. Everything except-
Midoriya blushes brightly, yanking his headphones out and stumbling to a stop in front of them. They’re talking, Midoriya and Kirishima. But he can’t hear them, can’t rip his eyes away from each tight contraction of muscle covered in stretchy black material. His fingers twitch at his sides and he’s only dimly aware of his name being called and the faint smell of smoke.
A hand on his shoulder (right) jerks him back to reality. “Todoroki-kun! You’re smoking!” Fuck. He brings his right hand over his shoulder and cools the sweat on his skin until it frosts over and snuffs the smouldering beginnings of his shirt catching fire.
“Yeah he is!” Kirishima bends at the waist laughing at his own joke as the crisis is averted. Mostly. Midoriya is still looking up at him with concerned green eyes, freckles struggling to stand out against the blush on his cheeks.
“Sorry. I was… cold,” Shouto finishes lamely, realizing that the sun is now shining brightly down in mid morning heat. He sighs long and deep at his slip.
“Must be getting sick, I’ll be leaving now. Kirishima, see you next week, I hope you don’t mind but I think I’ll take a break over the weekend. I’m sure Bakugou would be happy to take my place as your sparring partner in the meantime,” he excuses himself in record time, and only puts a little of the push into the implications of his last sentence that he usually would. He snatches up his water bottle from the grass without breaking pace.
He walks back to the dorms, not running away, but perhaps more brisk than usual. He’s not quite fast enough to miss his classmate’s hushed commentary.
“I hope Todoroki-kun is okay, his face looked kind of red. You think he has a fever?”
“Bro, I know exactly what Todoroki has. A fever isn’t the half of it.”
He tells himself the steam coming off of him is just him regulating his body temperature. He can’t stop thinking about Midoriya, panting and flushed, swamped in his big hoodie, his muscular thighs and surprisingly supple looking ass in leggings.
He should have known. What self respecting pair of pants doesn’t have pockets?
He suppresses a shiver.
Despite his declaration of taking the weekend to himself, he finds himself hanging off the side of Kirishima’s bed the very same afternoon. He’s not sure when he became so comfortable around his classmates that he doesn’t feel ridiculous with his head drooping upside down off the edge of the mattress, but here he is.
“Dude, I just don’t get what your hang up is.”
Shouto counts off on his fingers, “Hoodie, leggings, rippling abdominals-"
“Don’t forget that thing with the laundry, you were tied up about that for weeks,” Yaomomo pipes from her seat at Kirishima’s desk, the only one of the three to be actually working.
“Babes, you’re missing the point! Todoroki, you’re treating this like it’s some lustful crush that you want to get over instead of facing the truth of the situation!” Kirishima gesticulates animatedly from his spot sprawled on the floor.
“Which is?” Shouto snorts inelegantly.
“YOU'RE IN LOVE WITH HIM”
Shouto makes a choked off noise as his head hits the ground, body tumbling uncoordinatedly after.
“Way to keep it real, Kirishima, but I really don’t think he was ready to hear that.”
“Well too bad! I’m sick of his shit! He’s obviously got more feelings for Midoriya than just I-want-to-bend-you-over-the-kitchen-table; you weren’t there when he waxed poetic for ten minutes about all the different shades of green in his eyes!” Kirishima sits up quickly to stick an accusing finger in his face while Shouto struggles to right himself.
“Just admit it! You want to hold his hand and have platonic cuddles and adopt lots of cats with him!
Shouto glares mutinously. “Are you sure you’re not talking about yourself?”
“Oh come on! I already admitted that I want a big fat gay wedding last week, and you two were totally cool about it. Why can’t you just say it, man?”
Shouto squints at him while he scrapes his brain for excuses. Feelings and hormones are practically the same thing? No, they covered that in their last Christmas Tree Appreciation meeting.
(He will never call it that outloud and admit that Kirishima’s stupid pun had stuck.)
Shouto’s mouth thins. He deliberately leaves out the most pathetic details of his pining for their classmate. He mentions the things that he thinks they will be able to help with, mostly, and ignores the tiny facts that make up the larger whole of his feelings.
Like the fact that last week he had discovered a smattering of freckles where Midoriya’s shoulder meets the back of his neck and had wanted to… wanted to…
Shouto releases his breath in an aggressive sigh. “Is that why I want to kiss his freckles…?”
How far he has fallen.
Yaomomo drops the pencil she had been twirling between her fingers and gapes at him. Shouto keeps his face stoic until Kirishima picks his jaw up off the floor.
“Wow. Uh. Yeah. Yeah, that’s love, dude.”
“Excellent. Thank you both for your input.” Shouto evacuates the room before he can do anything he might regret.
If he’s being honest, Shouto’s known for a while that he was heading into deep water. That doesn’t mean he’s ready to admit to anything.
After his weekend break, he expects to hop back into his sparring sessions with Kirishima, and is surprised to find that it’s Bakugou who greets him in the grassy field where they usually meet.
“Shitty hair is sparring with me from now on. Find your own fucking partner, half and half.”
It’s fairly sedate as Bakugou’s greetings go, but it still leaves him in a sour mood. He would miss sparring with Kirishima, who was quick to smile and easy to talk to about their mutual pining for their respective… targets…
But he was similarly happy for him, sparring with Bakugou would be good for them, give them something more in common to talk about, a chance to interact and touch . He was jealous, in a way, of both of them. Bakugou because he would get the benefit of a cheerful and skilled partner, Kirishima because he gets to spend time in close quarters with his crush.
He lets out a sigh as he walks back towards the dorms. He hates that word. It’s childish and seems small to encompass everything he felt for green hair, freckles, wide eyes, excessive muttering, strong thighs, and-
Well. Maybe it isn’t such a bad fit. He is utterly crushed around Midoriya. A snide comment flits across his brain, something about being crushed between legging clad thighs and shut up Kirishima .
But calling it a crush is better than calling it love. He’s stubborn like that.
“Hey! Todoroki! Look who I found running! I found you a new sparring buddy! Todoroki!” Speak of the devil, he thinks as he turns around-
-to come nose to nose with Midoriya, who is hurtling towards him as though shoved (goddamn it Kirishima). Reacting quickly, he catches Midoriya under his arms and hauls him back to his feet before he can hit the ground.
“You two have fun now!” Kirishima shouts as he leaves. Shouto closes his eyes to cap his temper.
“U-uhm. Todoroki-kun? Can you, I’m uh, I’m ok, you can let go, now.” Shouto tenses, his hands still loosely wrapped around Midoriya’s waist. Is every inch of him made of muscle? He lets go immediately and steps back to give him room. Deep breaths.
“Kirishima mentioned you needed a sparring partner?” Midoriya asks gently.
“Kirishima is a menace to society,” he can’t help but mutter. Midoriya gives a little laugh, though, and Shouto releases some of the tension in his body. “I do need a partner, actually. Are you free?”
“Yeah!”
Sparring with Midoriya is fun because Midoriya himself is pleasant to be around, but Shouto forgets to account for his leggings.
Because of course Midoriya wears leggings to spar in. The hoodie is forsaken to give him better mobility so it’s just leggings and a t-shirt that falls just low enough to brush his thighs. Shouto resolves to use his peripheral vision only to watch for his lower half, and tries not to let his hands get too hot when they make contact.
When he can keep himself on task, he finds that Midoriya is actually a good match for him. In terms of sheer skill and strength, he's probably got Midoriya beat by a bit. Shouto grabs hold of him and flips him soundly into the grass. However, the longer they fight, the more he notices that Midoriya is not relying only on traditional technique, and though he’s obviously dulling his blows, Shouto is taking more elbow shots than a typical sparring session.
“I have to be kind of sneaky, you see,” Midoriya explains between rounds. “Without my quirk, I’m still pretty strong, but I’m too small to have the leverage I need to really cause damage. So it comes down to scrapping and skill, knowing how to use the sharp edges and where to hit, and how to use another person’s momentum against them.”
“Who taught you that?” Shouto asks, subtly moving his hand under his shirt to ice the bruise he’s now sporting on his ribs.
He scratches at his freckled cheek. “Actually, Bakugou did.”
Shouto gives him his driest look.
Midoriya laughs. “No, really! I mean, he didn’t exactly teach me how, I just… Picked it up from watching him. And from avoiding him.”
Shouto nods. He had noticed a few similarities in the way they moved, especially since the first training exercise at the start of the year. But the difference is that Bakugou brandishes his body like a weapon of mass destruction, always on the edge of violence. But with Midoriya, every move seemed like a cleverly plotted out counter, executed with sudden and intense force before he danced away again.
It’s clear to see that Midoriya takes being a hero seriously. The nervous energy and shyness drops away and Shouto is always just a little awe struck by the strength of his will, the depth of his intellect when applied practically. Sometimes Shouto wonders if they’re friends or rivals. He wonders if there might be some middle ground that could account for the way he can’t take his eyes off of him when Midoriya is talking.
“When we first started, you were watching me, weren’t you?”
“Whah-what? No I-”
“You were analyzing my sparring style,” he amends.
“Oh. Yes. I- you noticed?” Midoriya grins a little self consciously.
“I noticed that about half way through you went on the offensive for the first time, and it felt like you were anticipating my moves.” That was when Shouto had received the elbow to his gut. He had deserved it, though. He’d been staring at Midoriya’s leggings during his high kick combination.
“Maybe you’re just predictable,” Midoriya teases, tongue in cheek.
Shouto bites back a smile. “It’s rare for you to joke about something like that, Midoriya. Is that a challenge?”
Midoriya appears to consider for a moment before pushing away any lingering hesitation and getting to his feet with a grin that makes his freckled cheeks pop.
After that, by mutual agreement they stop holding back. Shouto is naturally a distance fighter because of his extensive quirk training, but the last year at Yuei has done a lot to help remedy the weak points of his hand to hand style.
He still ends up on the defensive more often than he ever has with Kirishima. He could blame it on the leggings, or he could admit that he really is having to pull out some of his best moves to keep Midoriya from getting in close with his powerful jabs.
Shouto catches a glancing blow, grabs on to Midoriya's arm and twists , flipping the smaller boy over his hip and planting him in the ground.
He likes Midoriya. Likes the way his leggings feel when his knuckles drag across the material stretched over hard thighs. Likes how it feels to move around him and be able to reach out and touch him. Maybe more than likes, if he really wants to be honest -Kirishima’s words ghost through his mind- but that doesn't mean he’s about to take it easy-
Midoriya swipes his leg out and catches him behind one ankle, and as he’s pulled from his feet he has a slow motion moment of watching Midoriya twist his form into something resembling a break dancer before his back hits the grass, and he is weighed down by one legging clad knee pressing down on his chest.
He’s breathless from falling in his back. He can't breathe because Midoriya has the best fucking legs he’s ever seen and is practically sitting on him.
“Whew. That was- there were more steps there than I had planned,” Midoriya gasps for air and pushes his hand through his fluffy hair to unstick it from his brow, exhilarated and flushed with his victory. There's dirt smeared across one cheek, and grass stains on his elbows, and Shouto swallows around the taste of iron.
Midoriya looks down at him, still perched on his chest to keep him down (and doesn't that send a thrill down his spine), and gasps loudly.
“Todoroki! Your mouth!”
Shouto swipes his tongue over his lip where it’s begun to swell slightly. He must have bitten it on his way down, and pretty badly by the way his mouth is filling with warm liquid. Without getting up, he turns his head to the side and spits into the grass.
“Here, let me see,” Midoriya leans over him and runs his thumb across Shouto’s lip, pressing lightly and checking the inside and oh god it shouldn't feel good but it does especially when he leaves his palm flat against Shouto's cheek, fingers reaching to cup his jaw while his thumb dips just slightly into his mouth. How long has it been since he’s been touched this gently? He feels lightheaded at the thought and goes suspiciously pliant under Midoriya's hands.
Kirishima is going to have a field day with this.
Shouto considers the pros and cons of his closing his eyes to savor the gentle touch. Pros were fairly obvious, but cons… Midoriya would probably see right through him if he did, and it would be awkward if he knew how much he was enjoying being checked for injury, though his touch felt far from clinical. If he didn't get off of his chest soon, Shouto was going to have a bigger problem than just labored breathing.
Shouto turns his head slightly away from Midoriya's hand so he can talk without closing his lips around his thumb (that… is probably going to come up in his dreams…) and clears his throat.
“Can't breathe.”
Midoriya springs off of him as though electrocuted, but kneels nearby as Shouto sits up and gingerly wipes a hand across his mouth.
“Good shot,” Shouto watches Midoriya squirm with interest. At least he's not the only one worked up. He should be ashamed for enjoying the other boy’s discomfort.
He might smirk if his bottom lip wasn't stinging.
Izuku is going to expire where he sits if he has to watch Todoroki’s tongue flick over his bottom lip one more time.
After the blood had been washed away with a quick spray from his water bottle, the cut wasn't actually so bad. Not really bad enough for him to see Recovery Girl. Definitely not bad enough to warrant Izukus fingers in his mouth.
What was he thinking?
Izuku has hardly touched his lunch. He sits ramrod straight at their lunch table, squeezed in next to Uraraka and directly across from Todoroki who keeps tonguing the cut on his bottom lip.
Uraraka chats with Iida and Tsuyu, Todoroki carefully eats his soba, and Izuku chews on his straw as he tries to smother the churning heat in his gut while he watches Todoroki’s pink tongue pass over his slightly puffy lip again.
Just when he was starting to get used to the idea of liking Todoroki, just when he was getting comfortable wearing his hoodie that two to three days of the week smelled like pine wood and spice and fresh snow…
“It is truly an admirable thing to work to better yourselves outside of your studies, but you must be more careful, you two!” Iida projects, gesturing robotically.
“How did you say you split your lip, again, Todoroki-kun?” Tsuyu croaks sweetly.
“Deku-kun,” Uraraka whispers, and Izuku leans in close to hear her better over the others. “Could it be that you’re actually…” he takes a sip through his mutilated straw. “A really aggressive kisser?”
Izuku breathes in suddenly, milk in his lungs and shooting out of his nose as he coughs.
“Uraraka!” He shouts while scrambling for napkins and trying to breathe, breathe Izuku. He can’t regret telling his best friend about his crush, not with how supportive she’s been about everything, but it’s a close thing.
Across the table, Todoroki has dropped his chopsticks into his bowl and is staring slack-jawed at him, lips twitching. Izuku blushes to his roots when Todoroki snorts out a little laugh, giving him a rare and beautiful smile (Izuku wonders if, given the choice, he would spit milk out of his nose every day to see a smile like that) that has the unfortunate side effect of splitting open his freshly closed cut.
Izuku is still dabbing at his nose when Todoroki winces and runs his tongue over the cut and leaves a sheen of ice over his bottom lip. Izuku goes very still. His nose is still burning, eyes still watery, but he can’t look away. Uraraka reaches over and dabs the rest of the milk from his face but he can barely feel it.
“I didn’t realize you could use your quirk like that. With your,” he chokes back a strangled sound. “With your tongue.”
Todoroki looks up at him curiously. “I can use my quirk with any part of my body,” he says simply, as if he hasn’t just caused Izuku’s brain to short circuit as it runs through a detailed and frankly not entirely PG quirk analysis. Izuku’s mouth feels like sandpaper, his throat goes dry.
Uraraka kicks him under the table and he shoots to his feet.
“I have to go and…. Be somewhere else.”
Izuku spends far too long with his face pressed into his pillow. He can’t push away the memory of Todoroki’s lips against his finger, and in a moment of weakness he lets himself imagine, just for a second, feeling that tongue summon ice or burning heat against the pad of his thumb.
“I can use my quirk with any part of my body,” he had said.
Holy shit.
“He stuck his fingers in your mouth? That’s pretty kinky, even for me.”
Shouto shoves Kirishima off his bed and scoffs at the ‘unmanly’ sounding squawk he makes on his way ass over head onto the floor.
“It wasn’t like that. At least, I don’t think it was,” Shouto remembers how flustered Midoriya was, how he kept staring at his lips. But then, he was covered in blood. That could account for both of those things.
“But did you like it?”
Shouto’s silence is answer enough. Kirishima is positively howling on the floor.
“And you think that I’m weird!"
“I'm not the one who thinks explosions are sexy,” Shouto side eyes him.
“Thank god for that. I don't know who I'd talk to if you were my competition.”
“Yaoyorozu said she’ll stop by again next week,” Shouto reminds him.
“She's great but it wouldn't be the same. Sometimes I just need to talk guy to guy, you know, like a man’s talk.”
“You're literally gay, Kirishima," he deadpans.
“Twice as many dudes means it’s twice as manly,” Kirishima grins his shark toothed grin. Shouto rolls his eyes, but it’s mostly for show. “And don’t even pretend that you’re not super gay for Midoriya’s...everything, actually. You’re a goner.”
Shouto lays back and stares at the ceiling. “Am I actually gay though…?” he muses quietly.
“You almost had a heart attack when you saw Deku’s ass in leggings, that’s pretty gay my dude.”
Shouto frowns. “That’s true. I’m clearly attracted to him, there's no point in denying that. But I’ve never noticed being attracted to any other men.”
Kirishima swings his legs over the bed with his back still against the floor. “Maybe you’re demi. Or pan. Have you ever been attracted to a girl?”
Shouto considers. “Not… not really," he says, and it comes out sounding like a question. "I don’t think so.”
“Never liked a girl?”
“I’ve never liked anyone before,” Shouto confesses with some hesitation.
“What? You mean Midoriya is your first crush ever?” Kirishima gapes.
“I suppose so…” Shouto feels his heart flutter like it’s too big for his chest. It would take someone like Midoriya to bulldoze his way into his heart.
“Sometimes I forget that you’re so pure underneath all that cool exterior, man. I never thought you were the sensitive type.” Something icy wedges itself under his ribs.
Shouto feels like his skin is too tight when he says “There’s nothing pure about me.” His tone is too cold, too impersonal to be aimed at a friend like Kirishima. He gets to his feet and waves his goodbye before Kirishima can call him back.
Pure is a word for people like Midoriya. People who are innocent, and kind just for the sake of being kind. Pure is a word he associates with clear green eyes and fluffy green hair that curls around the edge of a gray hood, framing his face and making his freckles pop.
Todoroki Shouto is not a pure person.
Izuku is sleeping restlessly when his phone vibrates from somewhere near his pillow, pulling him into a hazy state of wakefulness. He rubs the sleep from his eyes and blinks until the blurriness in his eyes fades.
[From: Todoroki Shouto- 1:35am]
☕️!
He is immediately wide awake and tripping over his feet on his way out the door.
Izuku comes flying into the kitchen, sliding in his socks, panting and wide awake to find Todoroki looking bemusedly at his ruffled state.
“In a hurry?” Todoroki asks wryly. But something underneath his carefully composed face seems just a little bit fragile to him, so he makes sure to speak softly even as he catches his breath.
“I thought it was an emergency. There was an exclamation point?”
“Just a typo.”
And something is definitely wrong, Todoroki’s mouth is pinched despite the way it makes his lips go white around the stiff crack in his lip, his posture too straight. He doesn’t even have his tea yet. He takes a deep breath to settle his nerves. Thinking quickly, Izuku shuffles his way into the kitchen and picks a topic at random to chat about in soothing tones while he makes Todoroki a cup of tea.
It’s embarrassing to realize that he knows exactly how he likes it. Two minutes to let it steep, three spoonfuls of sugar, he even knows that he stirs it three times clockwise. Izuku doesn’t let the flush he feels on his neck break his rhythm as he talks, as soft as possible.
He’s glad for his composure, because when he turns back to the table with Todoroki’s tea, his shoulders have slumped forward and his expression is more open. Cloudy- troubled maybe, but at least it’s genuine.
Todoroki accepts his tea with muted thanks, and Izuku smiles softly at the way he goes slightly shy when faced with a simple kindness like having tea made for you.
“….do you sleep in that hoodie?” Todoroki interjects when Izuku’s monologue tapers.
Izuku blushes when he realizes that in his rush, he hadn’t even put a shirt on. It’s just his hoodie and pajama pants. “No! That would be weird!” he argues, but it’s clear that it’s not very convincing, so he concedes with a sigh.
“...yeah I… I sleep in the hoodie. Only sometimes though!” Only after you wash it with your clothes, he doesn’t say.
The other boy’s face is carefully blank for a moment, then his lips quirk up in a half smile. “But doesn't it still smell-”
“Not…. not really a problem.” Izuku resists the urge to screw his eyes shut and pull his hood over his face.
“….but doesn't the zipper get cold?” And there’s definitely a note of playfulness in his otherwise innocent look.
“You're teasing me! Stop!” Izuku cries with false irritation. Finally, Todoroki is starting to unwind, the lines around his mouth smoothed.
They enjoy a relative silence for a while, Todoroki sipping his tea while Izuku gets up to make his own cup, with honey instead of sugar. Todoroki surprises him by being the first one to break the hush that’s settled around them.
“You didn’t tell me I hit you that hard,” he scolds gently, pointing at Izuku’s bare chest where his hoodie is unzipped. Izuku ducks his head, flustered. “That looks like it hurts,” he looks at a particularly angry looking mark on his sternum, just starting to darken into a brilliant bruise.
“Oh, that one’s- that’s not your fault. I think I fell on a rock when you flipped me, is all.”
Todoroki growls and beckons him closer, setting his tea aside and pushing up his long sleeves. Izuku scoots his chair closer, but Todoroki just rolls his eyes and has him sit on the table in front of him. He’s thoroughly confused, and more than a bit nervous when Todoroki reaches up with his right hand tentatively. “Is this okay?” Izuku nods, his throat constricting tightly and strangling any words that might have escaped.
Slowly, Todoroki brings his hand to rest over Izuku’s racing heart and cools the hot skin that’s been throbbing dully all day. He sighs into the touch as the area grows blessedly numb under Todoroki’s careful attention. He just hopes that he can’t feel his heart jumping under his hand.
“Your quirk is really versatile,” Izuku praises, careful to keep his tone light so as not to scare him away. He notices Todoroki’s ears turn a little red anyway, and smiles to himself. Cute.
“My quirk actually does have quite a few domestic purposes. Especially after training, I can ice anything that’s bruised, like this, and apply heat to any sore muscles. It’s...convenient, I suppose.”
“You’re like a human spa treatment!” Izuku nudges him jokingly with his knee, which lands somewhere near his elbow, and is met with Todoroki’s mismatched gaze looking up at him beguiling, an eyebrow raised.
“I can use my quirk with any part of my body.” The phrase springs to the forefront of his mind unbidden and makes him feel hot despite the pleasant coolness against his chest. Time for a subject change.
“S-so, Todoroki-kun, why did you call me down here tonight?”
But it’s the wrong thing to say, because his eyes are stormy again and he clenches his teeth enough that a muscle in his jaw jumps. Izuku gasps as frost blooms over his skin.
“Shit,” Todoroki curses quietly and brings his left hand up to cover the icey patch. His lips are pressed tightly together as he focuses on applying just the right amount of heat to ease the spike of cold in his chest. “I’m sorry…” Todoroki says thickly. “My control isn’t what it needs to be to do something like this to another person. I should have known,” he takes his hand away as soon as possible and seems to crumble into himself. Izuku’s eyes flick franticly over him and he licks his lips quickly.
“I don’t mind. Hey, Todoroki,” Izuku picks at the hem of his hoodie and tries to get the other boy to look at him. “It’s okay, it was an accident,” he fumbles for something to say that might be reassuring. “I…” Inspiration strikes and Izuku reaches for Todoroki’s face gingerly, barely halfway to touching before Todoroki jerks away from his touch. Izuku’s hand flinches away as though burned, and he can’t keep the hurt from his face.
“I-I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- I just- your lip. I… I hurt you too, I’m trying to say. It’s… it’s fine…” Izuku embarrassingly feels his eyes start to water. Why is he crying?
Todoroki looks up at him, alarmed, and grabs his hand from where it still hangs in the air between them and haltingly pressed its palm to his cheek, exactly where it had been when Izuku was leaning over him in the grass. Shock replaces his distress, and Izuku watches with thinly veiled astonishment as Todoroki’s eyes glance away from his.
“I don’t… I don’t mind…” Todoroki’s voice is barely audible, a low shiver of sound that knocks the breath from his lungs.
“Todoroki-kun,” he feels his gut pinch into something tight. Todoroki still won't meet his eyes, and he’s dropped both of his hands into his lap like a concession of defeat. Izuku keeps his hand pressed against his face and brushes, so lightly, against the scar tissue just under his eye. The touch is intimate and he feels like shaking apart at the seams when Todoroki’s eyes flutter shut and he leans, just a little bit, into his hand.
Something in Todoroki’s closed eye expression makes him think of war, of internal struggle and pain, and he wants so badly to ease it.
“Why did you call me down here tonight?” Izuku says in his kindest voice.
Todoroki winces and pulls back, and Izuku feels cut adrift for a moment until he is captured by his blue gray eyes. He looks so sad it physically aches.
“Something Kirishima said yesterday, it’s… bothering me more than it should. I just needed some company,” he says at length, like it pains him to admit that he needs anything at all.
“Kirishima? But-” Kirishima was the last person Izuku would have guessed put a look like that on Todoroki’s face.
“It wasn’t on purpose,” he gave a humorless twist of his lips that pulled at his cut. “Kirishima wouldn’t hurt a fly if it set his house on fire.”
“Then…?”
Todoroki shrinks further into his chair, the dim light casting the white in his hair aglow. “He said… he called me…”
Izuku leans forward, fingers curling around the edge of the table next to his thigh.
“He said that I’m...pure,” the words sound like they’ve been dragged from his throat forcibly. They sound like they hurt, and Izuku makes an aborted sound that he’s sure was meant to be comforting but resembles confusion.
Todoroki blows out a sigh and visibly tries to compose himself. “It’s ridiculous to be so upset, I know, but I just can’t stop thinking about it. Me, pure. I shouldn’t be holding on to such childish thinking.”
“Why don’t you think you’re pure, Todoroki-kun?” He’s right, it is a weird thing to be fixated on. Especially for a boy who blushes at compliments and looks shy when treated with common compassion and laughs when Izuku snorts milk out of his nose...
Todoroki keeps his head canted away and sighs. “You know about my life before Yuei, Midoriya. Purity is… childlike wonder, and gentleness, and kindness for the sake of itself. I barely had time for those things when I was a child, but now? It’s impossible. I was raised to be a tool, and no matter how far I get from him, he’s there in my mannerisms, the voice in my head that tells me who of my classmates would be advantageous to my goals and who would be a burden. I don’t want to be like that, I never wanted to be so calculating, so selfish... I never wanted to be like him. But he’s there.” Todoroki drops his face into his arm against the table, near to where Izuku’s hand rests.
His voice breaks when he says “How can anything that comes from him be pure?”
Izuku feels the tears on his cheeks before he realizes that he’s crying. He feels like his heart is wringing itself, and in that second he’s so angry that he could do murder. Endeavor is a hot twist of flame in his gut, and for a moment he lets himself hate the way that Shouto does. He hates with every inch of himself, hates until he can’t see anything but Endeavor’s face at the tournament, shouting to his son to fulfill his own bitter desires. His hands clench and the wood groans under his grip. He forces himself to let go before the table breaks under the force of One for All, which is pulsing through him without him remembering calling for it.
How could anyone take so much from a person like Todoroki Shouto? How could anyone let this boy think that he was anything less than-
Todoroki drags in a stuttered breath next to him and his world narrows to a single point of focus. He swallows back every violent lurch of rage until he’s left only with the overwhelming urge to reach out and make this right. He lifts one shaking hand, and slowly, carefully, rests it atop Todoroki’s head.
Todoroki’s shoulders stiffen, and Izuku looks down into a glassy blue eye as he peeks up through his hair. Whatever he says, it has to be good, and it has to be now.
“Todoroki-kun….your dad is a douchebag.”
It’s not exactly what he was going for, but it’s true and it startles a brittle laugh out of Todoroki, which gives him the strength to muster a reassuring smile.
“You’re more than what he made you, Shouto. I told you at the festival, remember? Your power is yours. Your life, your personality, that’s yours too. Every amazing thing about you, it all comes from you. I’m always looking at you, you know?” Izuku almost falters at the weight of his small confession, but continues. “You’re so good. And it’s even more amazing that you’re so good in spite of what he tried to make you into.”
Todoroki is looking at him like he’s a lifeline in a storm, desperate and hopeful all at once.
“What Endeavor did to you… I don’t think I can ever forgive him,” Izuku shuts his eyes against the wave of emotion, and his words feel like an oath. “And maybe you’re right. I understand why you would say that nothing pure could ever come from him.”
Todoroki’s eyes flash with hurt and Izuku runs his hand over his soft hair until it’s petting his cheek, thumb resting against his scar like he can heal it if he’s gentle enough.
“But something did, Todoroki-kun. Because you’re… you’re very pure. And none of this was your fault. Trust me, I can see it better than you can. Just....” he swallows thickly. “Just trust me, okay?”
Todoroki’s lips wobble, and he shudders violently. Slowly, giving him time to back away, Izuku wraps his arms around his shoulders and tucks him into a tight hug. It’s a little awkward at first, because Izuku is still sitting on the table in front of him and has to bend forward to let Todoroki’s head rest against his shoulder. But then, like his strings have been cut, Todoroki slumps into his hold and his cheek is pressed against his stomach, his arms snaking around Izuku’s waist and pulling him closer until he’s settled between Izuku’s knees.
Izuku takes a shaky breath and folds himself over to press his face into the red and white part in his hair. They hold on to each other, both shaking.
A thought occurs to him, almost absently, as he rubs circles into Todoroki’s back. Puzzle pieces falling into place and sealed together by the reminder of what his childhood must have been like under Endeavor’s scornful eye. The way Todoroki just laid in the grass and let Izuku prod at his mouth. The way that he seemed uncomfortable initiating contact, but gradually melted into it when Izuku used him as a human heater on the bus. The way he shied away abruptly before he brought his own scarred and rough hand up to press against Todoroki’s face, the way he leaned into it.
“Todoroki…?” He whispers softly so as not to break the quiet cocooning them safely. “Could it be that you’re… a little touch starved?”
Todoroki goes rigid in his arms, but Izuku hurries to stroke a hand through his hair in comfort. Right on the money, then.
“It’s okay. You don’t have to talk about it.”
Todoroki lets his arms fall loosely to circle Izuku’s hips, resting flatly against the table. His head slips down to rest in Izuku’s lap, hair tickling the bare skin where his hoodie parts. Izuku’s breath hitches at the sheer vulnerability of this moment.
“My sister used to help me with my wounds after training. She was… soft... the way that you are. It was nice, to be-” he squeezes his eyes shut. “But father said that it was weakness. He would have taken it out on her.” He pauses for a moment and buries his face into his thigh. “I stopped letting people touch me after that.”
Izuku is glad for once that he wasn’t born with a fire quirk, like his father’s. He’s not sure if he could control it right now, with the way his heart is burning.
“You know,” Izuku whispers, still petting Todoroki’s hair. “I used to be like that too.”
Todoroki turns his face until Izuku can see his blue eye looking at him with something skeptical but soft. Almost like concern.
“Not exactly like this,” Izuku amends, and averts his eyes before he can lose his nerve.
“I… when I was a kid… my quirk was late, and so I was bullied a lot.” Izuku tries to smile and skip over the details, but he feels like he has to tell Todoroki. “I used to get hurt a lot. Eventually, I was afraid to let anyone touch me.” He tries not to linger on the memories of Kacchan's hands burning against his arms, flinching every time someone raised their hand or came too close, the hurt look in his mother’s face when he backed out of her hug like he was suffocating. “Even my mom couldn’t touch me…”
Todoroki’s arms tighten around his middle, bringing him back to the present. Even when he’s trying to comfort him, Todoroki is still attentive and kind, Izuku blinks until he can see the kitchen again, the beautiful boy with his head in his lap, and continues. Todoroki trusted him, laid himself bare in front of him, allowed himself to seek comfort from his touch and it was almost too much to bear. How could he respond with anything less than the same vulnerability?
“Eventually, though, I couldn’t stand it any more. I was still being bullied, but now it was the only kind of physical contact I was getting. Did you know that skin hunger is a real medical condition? The lack of oxytocin in your system caused by a lack of human touch can-” Izuku breathes out harshly. “Sorry. I…” He can feel Todoroki’s fingers drawing small shapes in the small of his back, mirroring his own motions from earlier. He shoots the boy a grateful smile.
“It took a long time. For a while, a brush against my hand was the most touch I could stand. But it got better. My mom was really, really patient with me. It probably hurt her to see me that way, but she did her best to respect my boundaries. Sometimes I feel like that again, like every touch is going to make me crumble into pieces,” he thinks of Shigaraki’s quirk, Aizawa’s skin crumbling away into decay. He tried really hard after that not to flinch at every touch until the memory faded into something manageable.
“So I’m glad that you’re okay with me… uhm,” Izuku shook himself of his grim thoughts enough to feel embarrassed about the way they were tangled together. “I’m glad you let me do this,” he finished lamely.
Todoroki is silent for a moment, processing. “I still don’t like to be touched.”
Izuku lifts his hands immediately, but Todoroki tightens his arms before he can scoot away.
“But I don’t… mind it, when it’s you, Midoriya,” Todoroki goes back to pressing his nose into his thigh. “So if it’s okay, can we stay like this? Just for a little longer?” Izuku melts at the small voice, the slight tension in his shoulders, as if Izuku could ever dream of pushing him away.
Izuku folds himself nearly in half to hold onto Todoroki, one hand holding the back of his neck, and justifies his nuzzling his nose into his hair with the guise of mutual comfort. It helps that it’s mostly true.
Todoroki shudders and moves infinitesimally closer to push his nose against the bare skin of Izuku’s abdomen, and this is definitely not platonic friend stuff, but it’s exactly what they need so Izuku lets himself indulge in the warmth shared between them. Todoroki gives a shuddering sigh and relaxes even further into him. Izuku smiles so wide it hurts.
“See?” Izuku whispers softly into his hair. “Definitely pure.”
“I’m sorry I was short with you,” Shouto apologises, bowing his head. It’s too formal but overdue.
Kirishima surprises him by sticking his hand in his hair and ruffling it until he's sure that the part between red and white has mixed thoroughly. He’s not sure how to respond to it in the slightest, so he just holds still and waits. The hand stays in his hair, and he thinks for a moment that it’s nice. Not quite the same as when Midoriya had run his crooked fingers through it, slightly rougher, affectionate but playful, and lingering still. He realizes that Kirishima is waiting for him to tell him to back off and chews on his smile, careful of his split lip.
“You think I can’t handle the cold shoulder every once in awhile? Or the hot one, for that matter? I deal with Bakugou’s bad attitude daily.” Shouto relaxes a bit and Kirishima ducks his head to meet his eyes. “You know,” he grins playfully, “A little bird told me that someone is a little touch starved.” Shouto frowns warily at the mischief shining in his face and braces himself.
He’s glad for his preparedness when Kirishima tucks him under his arm and rubs his fist back and forth over the part in his still frizzy feeling hair.
“It’s too late to hide it! I’m gonna shower you in affection and give you noogies until your hair is pink!”
He fakes a long suffering sigh and wonders how he ever got so lucky to be surrounded by so many softhearted people.