Archive of Our Own

Spark:

Todoroki has learned from a young age not to cherish anything. Such inane feelings would only lead to pain on his part. Teddy bears going black where flame consumed them, boiling water, and the way gossip could burn fingerprints into your thoughts, all taught him well. Possessions are fragile and human affection is fleeting.

But recently something has ignited inside of him, and no amount of cool rational can seem to dissuade his heart from leaking into this head. It appears Izuku Midoriya has personally set out on a mission to deconstruct years of careful mental and emotional blocks. Why? Todoroki has no idea. He’s almost entirely sure that Midoriya doesn’t mean to do this, but he is, and now Todoroki can’t stop thinking about him.

When his father is oppressive, and the heat in his home is near cruel, he imagines Midoriya standing in front of him, bruised and battered, and demanding that Todoroki not be afraid of the ghost that haunts his blood, the fire in his veins. His father says he has been doing better than usual. Todoroki does not care. He imagines how Midoriya would congratulate him and takes solace in that.

In quiet moments, when they switch from class to class, Todoroki watches Midoriya and imagines walking up to him, joining in on his conversation and maybe even laughing with the others. Sometimes Midoriya will looks his way and wave him over. Sometimes Todoroki obliges. He has yet to laugh, but these rare moments still make him feel warm inside.

At night, alone in his room, Todoroki fanaticizes about green eyes and burns.

For so long keeping cold and distant had been his only means of survival. Todoroki was raised by a man looking to burn the heart out of him, what else could he do? Yet if this is the case, than there is a very real possibility that Izuku Midoriya will be the death of him. Still, he feels a curled petal of warmth that shocks down to his toes at the thought of Izuku’s smile. It’s better, almost, than the euphoria at the end of his fantasies. In part it’s because those smiles are real, and hold the weight of memory. In part it’s because even as he burns for Izuku he knows that sort of thing is unattainable. But a smile . . . Izuku is so liberal with his smiles. Anyone could have one, maybe even Todoroki.

As he silently cools on his sheets, he wonders just when Midoriya became Izuku in his head.

His fingers are still sticky.

He wonders if he should be ashamed about the business of fanaticizing. He’s been taking care of things this way for a while, and he’s dreamed about it for even longer. Izuku is everywhere; always permeating his thoughts no matter how hard he tries to keep him out.

Todoroki thinks he should probably go back to calling him Midoriya.

Izuku . . . Izuku . . . Izuku

This is no good.

Todoroki goes to shower, and feels the beginning of an ache slowly building up inside of him.

Izuku. . . Izuku. . . Izuku

Water steams off his skin, making the air hot and heavy. He imagines freckles made faint by a red flush, saying Izuku out loud, hearing Shouto in return, and he burns more than ever before. Still the ache doesn’t recede.

He towels off and throws himself back onto his bed, descending into a dream where Izuku threads his fingers through Shouto’s. Izuku smiles, and not just any smile, something wide and fond a maybe a little bit secret. They sit in Shouto’s family kitchen, rumpled and sleep warm and Izuku wears his shirt. He’s still so short, only a few inches taller than he was their first year as Heroes. Izuku hates to hear this, teases Shouto back about his silly half hair, and then hops off the counter when Shouto goes quiet. It’s not like Shouto was mad, he was just loving the quiet peace of having Izuku sitting around in his kitchen. Izuku wraps his arms around Shouto from behind, nuzzles Shouto’s back.

I love you, Shouto, he says.  

Todoroki wakes an hour early, and the space next to him is empty. His room is silent, and a little humid from his shower last night. Outside the morning is crisp, so steam has budded in cool droplets on inside of the glass. Todoroki throws open the window, breaths in the faint chill of spring mornings, and thinks about the ache inside that has only spread.

Yes, Izuku Midoriya might very well be the death of him.

Todoroki skips his morning run and instead makes himself breakfast. He’s never done this before, and the staff is still asleep so he rummages for a pan and an egg on his own. The white part burns a little, but somehow the yolk is still runny, and after toasting his handprint into his toast (the toaster looked like witchcraft) he decides he should learn how to cook. It all tastes fine, but it’s bland, and not terribly filling. He grabs an apple and leaves the house before his father has a chance to wake.

At school he sees Izuku (Midoriya, god he needs to call him Midoriya or else risk embarrassing himself out loud), and the ache in his body localizes to his heart with a poignant twinge.

“Morning Todoroki!”

“Good morning, Midoriya.”

It’s the same as ever, and yet it’s not. Izuku stares at him for a second too long.

“Is something worng?” Todoroki asks, and Izuku starts and shakes his head.

“No, it’s just . . . Are you okay? You looked like you had something you wanted to say.”

I do.

“I don’t.”

“Oh, alright then.”

It’s all the same, and yet each new word spoken, each glance caught, each little electrifying, accidental, brush of skin is different and brilliant.

Todoroki goes home, he suffers his father’s tutoring, he thinks about Izuku, rinse, lather, repeat.

Again he wakes up an hour early and stares at the ceiling, realizing, as the emptiness next to him carves out the comfort from his bed, that this can’t go on. Better to let this flame be blown out, than let it consume itself, sputter into sparks and half burnt coals.

Smolder:

“Midoriya.”

“Yes!” The little hero starts in his seat, whipping his head and half his body around so that he can face whomever it is calling his name. When he sees its Todoroki, he relaxes a little bit. “Todoroki, hi. You really startled me.” Izuku presses a hand over his heart as if that might still the beating.

“I’m sorry, but I needed to talk to you.” Thinking it was one thing, but now that Todoroki is faced with the looming, imminent, and all consuming force that Izuku has become in his life, he’s gripped with a tight, insidious, fear. He swallows back a bit of spit, realizes it tastes like ash, wonders if he smells like smoke. That’s disgusting. Todoroki thinks for a second, that he must be disgusting.

“Oh right, Mic’s project. I was thinking that we could pick heroism in American comics. That sounds fun right?” Izuku leans over the back of the chair, his face momentarily puffing out in a pout. “But, I don’t know, that might be hard. We’d have to go through a lot of comics. Maybe it’d be easier to pick a book?”

Todoroki swallows back more ash.

“The comic books sound great.”

“Oh, I’m glad! I really wanted to do that one.”

. . .

“Midoriya.”

“Huh? Oh Todoroki. What can I do for you?”

“Do you have a second?”

“Sure, is it about All Might’s hero index? I have tons of journals at home if you just want to use one of those as a model for a hero you liked.”

“. . . Sure.”

. . .

“Midoriya-”

“Oh, hey! I meant to tell you we could use my house for the project instead of the library.”

. . .

“Midoriya.”

. . .

“Midoriya.”

. . .

“Midoriya.”

. . .

Midoriya, Midoriya, Midoriya. . . Izuku. They sit next to each other, their arms brush and their knees bump. Izuku makes him laugh, and he makes Izuku laugh, makes him look just like an angel. When Izuku laughs his whole body bounces just a little bit. Izuku’s room is warm and there is always just enough disorder to make it feel lived in. His desk is neat, but a little too cramped. Todoroki has seen Izuku’s notebooks, he knows that there’s no reason for him to have that many colored pens, and yet he does. The posters on the walls are all of All Might, of course, but that’s not a bad thing. On the contrary, it’s cute. Really everything he does it cute. Todoroki indulges every change he gets, letting the contact linger longer, and the laughter last when they should be diligent and focused. It’s alright though. For a while, Todoroki thinks this is enough.  

Each project comes and goes. Mrs. Midoriya takes a liking to him, offers him snacks, drinks, tells him he’s such a good boy, says his parents must be proud. When she says that last thing, they are alone in the kitchen. Izuku is studiously asleep on his notes, and Todoroki brings out their snack plates to wash them off. Mrs. Midoriya catches him red handed, and laughed a little.

“Your parents must be so proud of you,” she says. He tries not to cry, he really does, but the words pride and parents have never existed in the same sentence, let alone the same thought and it . . . Mrs. Midoriya looks proud of him.

Hot tears well in his eyes and a few trickle down his cheek.

“Oh honey, I’m so sorry what-”

“They’re not.” Todoroki says, swallowing back the taste of ash and imagining ice crystals forming in his throat, his eyes, everywhere it burns. “My mom might be, some day.”

The thought sooths him a little bit.

“I’m sure she will,” Mrs. Midoriya says quietly. Mrs. Midoriya is a tiny woman, who cried when she saw a spider, and cried when Todoroki killed it, and she can’t open pickle jars without help, but when she hugs Todoroki, he has never felt so safe. Now, Todoroki thinks it would be appropriate to cry, but he can’t manage the tears. He just stands there, shakes a little, and maybe at the end he manages to hug her back.

“Go wake up Izuku, he’ll be mad if he sleeps the whole time you’re here. Oh and what’s your favorite food, I’ll make it for diner tonight,” she says, though she bustles about the kitchen like she might already know what his favorite food is. Todoroki stands in the hallway between kitchen and bedroom, and thinks that if he could live like this, keep having warm, quiet days like this, keep feeling like he’s wanted like this, that would be okay.

He doesn’t need Izuku to love him back like that. He wants him, oh god does he want him, but if this is what Izuku could give him this is more than enough. Todoroki trails his fingers over a picture of Izuku as a little kid smiling up at the camera with an All Might action figure clutched in his hand. If Todoroki could keep this peace from burning away, he would be satisfied.

Back in Izuku’s room, the U.A’s most promising is awake already, staring at his notes. Todoroki tells him that his mother is preparing dinner. Izuku nods, his eyes trained to the paper. Todoroki takes a silent seat across from him, and wonders if he had done something wrong. Would Izuku be mad, would he not forgive him, would he-

“Hey Todoroki?”

“Yes?”

“Would you . . .” Izuku pauses, puts the end of his pencil in his mouth, then makes a face and sets it down on the table. He squares his shoulders and though his face wobbles a little, he has a steely gleam in his eyes that bespeaks determination. “All Might said that he has two positions open for sidekicks next year after we graduate, and he asked me who I’d recommend. I told him you. Would you, maybe, want to apply with me?”

A little bit of red runs over Izuku’s cheeks, and Todoroki swallows back the urge to kiss him. His fingers twitch, and his heart pounds, but there’s a table separating them. That’s enough. This is enough.

“Of course.”

Izuku smiles, and the setting sun spills through his window, and he glows the kind of spun-glass-noonday-golden that only happens in shojo.

“I’m glad I . . .” He stops then looks askance. Todoroki gives him more time. “I’m proud to be your friend. You’re an amazing hero.”

Todoroki closes his eyes and manages a thank you over the sound of his pounding heart. He reminds himself to be satisfied.

. . .

Midoriya, Midoriya, Midoriya.

Midoriya’s name looks good next to Todoroki’s.

“Izuku,” Todoroki says, and Izuku starts, before staring at him with owlish eyes. Todoroki brandishes the official letter he received that morning from All Might himself.    

“We were accepted.”

Izuku doesn’t speak for a moment, which is a testament to his surprise in and of itself. Todoroki takes note of the little red flush across his cheeks and the slight part of his lips. It all ads up to unbridled awe, tinged with surprise. In the back of his mind Todoroki realizes he’s never seen Izuku look this happy.  

“Oh,” Izuku says, eyes still wide and glassy. He puts a hand over his heart, and then shakes his head before looking at Todoroki. “What did you just say?”

Todoroki can’t help but laugh a little bit. Even that faint chuckle draws open-mouthed stares from his classmates, and for a moment he’s forced to remember that Izuku is still the only one he feels okay enough to laugh around. Then he realizes he’s laughing out loud, here, in the school, and laughs again. It’s strange for him to think about how far he’s come from the boy with the upright zeal and the frozen heart, and on such great kindness. Todoroki’s heart burns when he looks at this precious thing before him, and realizes that he can give back a little of that kindness.

“You heard me. You’re going to be All Might’s sidekick. You’ll be working with your hero.” He sets the paper down on Izuku’s desk and taps it.

“I . . . What?” Izuku looks down, eyes trailed to the black and white ink. His forehead scrunches as he reads over the paper.

“Well me too. I expect you not to hog his attention.” Todoroki leans in and says this quietly to him, as if it were a secret. Izuku looks from the paper, back to Todoroki, and then to the paper again.

“I . . . Wait we made it? We made it!” Everything about Izuku’s person lifts, his face his body, his hands, his hair, as acceptance dawns on him. It breaks out across his body like sunrise, in jittery, happy little jerks, and garbled strings of half-thoughts. He throws himself at Todoroki, still half in his chair, awkwardly bending over the bar of his desk as his arms tighten around Todoroki’s neck. He’s shouting something, but Todoroki misses it. The heat of Izuku’s arms and chest and cheek radiate out and leave their fingerprints on Todoroki’s skin.

Todoroki can no longer deny that, upon penalty of death, he will cherish this boy. It is perhaps the stupidest mistake he has ever made. Perhaps it will kill him. Still he is dying to find out.

Ignition:

No one said that being a hero would be easy, but somehow they had not thought it would be like this. There wasn’t supposed to be blood like this, there wasn’t supposed to be so many near misses.

They stumble into All Might’s safe house, Izuku and Todoroki. All Might sent them away, told then to wash up. Go home. Adrenalin shakes them to their core. There are red spots on both their uniforms, but neither can really remember if it’s their blood, or if it’s the Villain’s. Todoroki can’t seem to stop touching Izuku, looking for broken places. Izuku can’t seem to stop saying Todoroki’s name.

“Are you alright, you’re shaking, Izuku-”

“Todoroki-”

“Your arm, there’s a burn are you-”

“Todoroki-”

“That was so close, Izuku, that was so close-”

“Todoroki-”

Izuku puts a hand on his arm, forces him to stop moving. They’re barely past the foray, sticking close to the walls out of habit. It’s safer to watch one side. Even in this safe house, it makes them feel secure to be sheltered.

“Izuku. . .” Todoroki leans his head against the wall. He hovers over Izuku, why is Izuku still so small? He is so small, and tough sure, but Todoroki can’t quell the impulse to protect him. Now that he has decided to cherish him, he knows nothing else.

“Todoroki . . .” Izuku’s rough and calloused fingers reach up and brush across his cheeks. They linger over his scar. Todoroki closes his eyes, and lets Izuku catalog each of his laceration.

“I was so scared I was going to lose you,” Todoroki whispers, “Izuku.”

“Shouto-”

It happens in a flash. Izuku lifts up, guides Shouto’s face down. They meet somewhere in the middle, with Izuku’s lips sure and insistent on Shouto’s. Shouto doesn’t move. His mind goes blank. Sensations come in parts. The warmth of Izuku’s lips, the press of his fingers, and the scant inches between their bodies. Izuku steps back. Shouto stares at him, still uncomprehending.

“Todoroki. . .”

Oh, Izuku kissed him.

“Ah, I’m-I . . . I’m so-”

A spark catches inside Shouto’s chest. It spreads with a roar through his veins, devouring months and months of brittle pleasantries, and guarded thoughts and careful touches. Like a dream lingering on the edge of waking, Shouto sees Izuku and he is not afraid. He sees green eyes, and he burns.

Before Izuku can take back what he’s done, Shouto surges forward, cups his face, kisses him, hard. There’s only a moment of hesitation in Izuku, or rather, there’s a moment where he regains his footing as he’s pressed against the wall, and then he is pushing back, wrapping his arms around Shouto and dragging them together. Their mouths open in tandem, tongues press towards each other in eager haste. Izuku tastes like iron, and smells like sweat. Shouto hopes he doesn’t taste like ashes, or if he does, that it’s Izuku’s favorite taste.

Shouto presses Izuku back, back against the wall, presses a knee between his legs. Izuku gasps, thumps his head against he wall and groans. Shouto takes this as an opportunity to run his lips over the long dark column of Izuku’s neck. Heat rises in his core and throbs through his veins. Beneath him Izuku shudders, whispers a sting of heady nonsense. He grinds against Shouto’s thigh, and makes a needy little noise to punctuate the end of Shouto’s name as it leaves his lips. Shouto breathes out steam and smoke, and he throbs.

His lips press against Izuku’s skin, still smoking, still steaming.

Izuku screams.

As quickly as the high had come, it washes away. Izuku jerks out of his hold and presses a hand over the juncture of his neck. Shouto stares in silence.

He burned Izuku.

He burned Izuku.

He burned this precious thing, like teddy bears going black, like his mother did, like his father tried to do, like everything that hurt, he hurt Izuku, burned Izuku, his Izuku, he-

He takes a step back, then another. Izuku looks up, his eyes wide.

“Sho-”

Todoroki doesn’t give him the chance to finish. He runs.

Burn:

Todoroki bought a loft in town after gradation, and he has yet to put more than a little desk, a bed and a table inside. Oh and cooking appliances, he has been working on the cooking thing, though with mixed success.

At three twenty-five on a Thursday his door buzzes, and imagining it’s his sister dropping by, he thoughtlessly opens the door. Izuku stands in his doorway, red faced, and indignant.

“You’re a coward!” He begins with no preamble, glaring at Todoroki, daring him to defy those three simple words.

“I know,” Todoroki says, feels the shame rise in him. Izuku grits his teeth like that was the last thing he wanted to hear.

“Why did you quit?” He isn’t quite shouting, but his voice fills up the landing outside of Todroki’s apartment, and echos around the stair well.

“I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable, or-”

“I know!” Izuku’s eyes become glassy, like he might cry out of frustration, or rage, or whatever emotion he’s feeling. Todoroki cannot imagine what emotion he is feeling. “All Might told me, he showed me your resignation! Why would you quit?” Todoroki does his best to temper his feelings, as guilt and want swarm his body. He wants nothing more to break and beg forgiveness, but he couldn’t live with himself if he burned Izuku again. He takes a deep breath and speaks as calmly as he can.

“I didn’t-”

“You ran away!” One tear spills over the edge of Izuku’s eye, quickly followed by another. Guilt trikes Todoroki like a mace, crushing the air from his lungs. It leaves his heart bruised.

“I know.” He measures his face, tries to keep it blank. Cold. He tries to put up the walls that had never kept out Izuku before.

“Stop that! Don’t just-your face-you- feel something!” Izuku’s hands reach out to mush Todoroki’s face, or hide it from his view, but Todoroki catches his wrist, stares down at him with an intensity that begins to boil over.

“I don’t feel anything?” Todoroki asks, very slowly. Izuku freezes, seems to sense that he has overstepped. “I wished I didn’t feel anything, I used to not feel anything, but that was before you. Now I can’t stop feeling, Izuku, I can barely contain myself.” Todoroki’s voice grows in volume until he’s nearly shouting at Izuku, but rather than look frightened or cowed, Izuku looks relieved, maybe a little confused.

“Then, why did you run away?” Izuku’s voice is very small, and it breaks something inside of Todoroki.

“Izuku, I burned you,” Todoroki’s voice is equally small, but he looks away. There is a moment of silence, where Izuku slips his hand from Todoroki’s. This is it, Todoroki thinks. He’s going to leave. Then two rough and gnarled palms come to rest on his cheeks, and guide him to meet Izuku’s gaze.

“Oh, Shouto,” there is so much fondness there, maybe even love. Oh, the possibility dawns on Shouto and nearly makes him dizzy with happiness. “It was an accident. I trust you, I know you would never try to hurt me.”

Shouto swallows, his hand jerking out to touch Izuku, his face leaning in.

“Can I . . ?” His voice breaks. Izuku’s eyes flutter shut.

“Please.”

They fall into bed, half undressed against the silk sheets, lips tracing over every spare inch of skin they can find. Shouto shrugs off his shirt, and Izuku manages to get his pants off and his shirt unbuttoned, but before they can get any farther they loose themselves in each other’s skin. It’s slower this time, than when they were shaking and hung up on the fear of losing each other, but no less filled with want. Shouto takes his time placing wet kisses on every scar, every little mark that stands as a testament to the fact that Izuku has survived despite all odds. He kisses him until Izuku begins to tremble, and then he sucks a bruise into the v of Izuku’s hips.

“Ah,” Izuku gasps, and begins to mutter a steady stream of pleads and nonsense, intermingled with Shouto’s name. He’s silenced only by Shouto’s kiss, an urgent and rough thing. Shouto presses his tongue into Izuku’s mouth as he moans, sliding their tongues together. He pulls back just a hair and sucks Izuku’s lip between his teeth. Their breath mingles, hot and frantic between their lips.

There is a storm of sparks winding its way from Shouto’s core, building inside his body, threatening to catch fire. His arms begin to tremble with the fear of letting it out, and-

Izuku lifts up just a little, and presses a chaste kiss against the scar below his eye.

Shouto turns his head to the side, letting out all of his fear in a cloud of steam. The sparks catch, but they only glow. Beneath him Izuku giggles.

“You’re a like a dragon,” he says, and Shouto can’t help but smile too.

“I feel like that’s not something you’re supposed to say in bed,” he mutters, pressing fluttering kisses all over Izuku’s face. Izuku laughs again, but this time it’s a little more breathy.

“Maybe you should find a way to shut me up?” He says, licking his lips, and then parting them just slightly. Shouto leans down for a kiss, but at the last moment sneaks down Izuku’s body. Izuku makes a wining noise at Shouto’s teasing, but it quickly breaks into a moan as Shouto presses an open mouth kiss against Izuku’s shaft through his boxers. There’s already a wet patch growing where Izuku’s tip presses against the fabric. Shouto mouths at the tip and has to press a hand against Izuku’s hip when his hips twitch upwards.

“Hurry,” Izuku whispers, and Shouto is loath to disobey.

He strips away Izuku’s boxers and sets to work with his mouth. Teasing along the underside of his head, dragging the flat of his tongue against the vein, Shouto keeps teasing Izuku just enough to keep him worked up. With his hands he sets to work loosening Izuku, pressing his slicked up fingers in and scissoring out, in a steady rhythm.

When they’re both ready, Shouto eases in, his fingers griping Izuku’s hips. After that it’s a blur of heat as their bodies rock together, each slick with sweat. Steam rises from Shouto’s shoulder, but he’s not afraid. What burns inside no longer threatens to consume him. Shouto watches green eyes flutter shut as he moves at just the right angle. He watches a flush of read mix with the freckles across Izuku’s cheeks.

“Izuku,” he whispers, and curls his hand around Izuku’s leaking member.

“Shouto,” Izuku says, trailing off into a long moan.

The heat in Shouto’s lower body builds and builds, until it spills over in bright stars and a rush of pleasure that him groaning out Izuku’s name again, has him panting, has his toes curling against the disheveled sheets. After he comes he eases out of Izuku but his fingers move in to press against that sweet spot. His other hand continues to jerk Izuku off for a few more thrusts until Izuku is crying out Shouto’s name over and over again as white strings of come splatter his stomach.

Shouto cleans up. He goes to the bathroom for toilet paper in the absence of tissues, throws the condom away, and puts on clean pair of sweatpants and underwear. After he wipes off Izuku he tosses the soiled toilet paper off to the side and collapses down next to his . . . something. They have to be something now.

“Do you mind if I ask, a kind of stupid question?” Izuku asks, clutching one of the pillows to his chest. Shouto hums out a yes, before reaching over the brush Izuku’s bangs from his face. “Was this your first time?” he half shouts the words, and then promptly buries his face in the pillow. Shouto stills, and immediately he begins to worry, was it obvious? Is that bad? Was he not good?

“Yes,” he says. Izuku peaks over the top of his pillow.

“Really?” His face is flushed bright red, but that could have just been the afterglow. In the back of his mind Shouto is helplessly thrilled that he knows how Izuku looks in the afterglow. Still, he has no idea what that could mean.

“Yes?” He ekes out, and Izuku gives him a searching look.

“You really seemed to know what you were doing,” Izuku mutters into his pillow. Shouto says the first thing that comes to his mind: the truth.

“I’ve thought about this a lot.” When he realizes what he’s saying he’s humiliated, and the only thing that keeps him from getting up and leaving the room to compose himself is the way Izuku’s eyes scrunch at the corners, a sure sign that behind that pillow he’s smiling.

“You mean you-you think about me when you . . ?”

“. . . yes.”

Izuku snuggles into his pillow with something that sounds like a happy laugh, before he tucks it under his chin.

“It was my first time too, just so you know, and a uh, a really good first time. Do you mind if I ask you how long?” Now there’s no more shyness to Izuku’s look, just glee and unbridled curiosity. Shouto pouts, but when faced with Izuku’s big green eyes he has no choice but to relent.

“Ages,” he leans over and presses a kiss to Izuku’s forehead, “but it wasn’t until our third year that I thought it was anything more than sexual frustration.” Shouto reaches out, brushes his knuckles over Izuku’s cheek before resting his palm there. Izuku sighs and nuzzles against his hand. After a little while Shouto retracts is and Izuku rolls onto his back, looking around the loft.

“Hey, Shouto?”

“Hmm?”

“We should decorate your apartment.” His eyes cast around the walls and ceilings like he can already envision what might make this place a home. A flicker of warmth tickles inside Shouto’s chest.

“I’d like that,” he replies softly. Izuky rolls back onto his side, moving the pillow away so that he and schooch in close. They’re nearly nose-to-nose, when Izuku says,

“I love you.”

Shouto’s mind grinds to a halt, his world still, and in the ensuing seconds he can feel his heart throb.

“I love you too,” he manages, though he’s close to happy tears, “I love you so much.”

Izuku curls closer until his face is burred in Shouto’s chest and their legs are locked together.

“I know I had a crush on you for a while,” he mutters, “but I remember when I knew it was love. When we got the paper that said we were accepted as All Might’s sidekicks, you called me by my first name and everything just stopped. All I could think was ‘oh, I love you.’ You kept talking and I didn’t hear a word you’d said.” He laughs against Shouto’s kin, and Shouto lets out a long stuttered breath.

“I was in love when you told me you were proud of me, though I denied it for a while,” he replies. Izuku is quiet for a moment.

“I’ve always be proud of you, from the moment you were brave enough to change.” His voice is low and quiet. Shouto presses a kiss to his crown.

“Thank you.”

They lie like that for a moment, quiet, listening to the sounds of the city outside wind down from the afternoon and settle into early evening.

“My mom’s going to be so excited when I tell her you’re my boyfriend now,” Izuku says out of nowhere. He sounds so pouty about this, and the word ‘boyfriend’ makes Shouto so giddy that he can’t help but chuckle just a little.

“I’m glad. She’s been like a second mother to me.”

Izuku groans.

“Please don’t tell her that. She’s been looking for ways to adopt you since that time you told her your parents weren’t proud of you,” he mutters. Shouto stills.

“You heard that?” He asks, feeling a little curl of embarrassment. But then . . . he had seen Shouto acting so vulnerable, and Izuku’s first thought was to tell him that he thought he was the best hero, one of the strongest, fit to stand by All Might’s side. The embarrassment shifts into another surge of love.

“Maybe . . .” Izuku, tucks his head down so he doesn’t have to admit to eavesdropping. Before Shouto can ask anymore, Izuku’s stomach grumbles. He looks up, a little red in the face.

“Let’s continue this conversation over dinner, shall we?” Shouto sits up in bed, quickly followed by Izuku.

“Yes! What can you make?”

Shouto doesn’t think he’s ever seen someone get so excited at the prospect of eating.

“Well I am exceptionally talented at cooking pasta a little too long and ordering takeout, which would you prefer?” Shouto slips out of bed, and Izuku kicks off the tangle of sheets in a display of energy that Shouto can’t really fathom right now, snickering at Shouto’s cooking skills all the while. “Aren’t you sore?” he wonders. Izuku just shrugs.

“I have a high pain tolerance.” He wiggles his hips as if testing to make sure this is true, and then nods. Without anything on, Shouto finds this immensely distracting.

“Would like to borrow some clothes while I put yours in the wash?” He say, though his mouth is suddenly very dry. Izuku nods, and slips into a pair of Shouto’s boxers and a t-shirt when offered. They pad out into the kitchen together teasing each other over dinner preferences and any nonsense they can imagine. Shouto closes his eyes and sighs, committing this moment, and all of its feelings to memory. He opens them again, and delves once again into this moment.

As he watches Izuku think over the menus like there is nothing more important to him, Shouto has the unshakable thought that he is thankful he decided to cherish his hero.