Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It happens while Shouto is doing some spring cleaning. He notices a large box shoved in the far corner of the highest shelf in his bedroom closet. It isn’t labeled, but neither is anything else in his entire apartment (as he’s so conveniently learned today). Standing on his toes, and praying that the squeak of the wooden chair beneath him isn’t a sign that he’s about to seriously hurt himself, he pulls the box down from its hiding place.

It’s heavy, and it’s covered in a thick layer of dust. Although he’s only lived in this apartment for three years, this particular box doesn’t look like it’s been touched in at least five . He steps down from the chair and drops the box to the floor with a loud clunk. He sits on the floor and easily removes the very old duct tape and pulls back the dusty tabs. 

The box, Shouto discovers, is filled to the brim with his old school books. Textbooks and notebooks, pages dogeared and annotated and overflowing with echoes of days gone by. Shouto reaches in and pulls out a painfully familiar red spiral notebook, covered in dust and memories. He flips it open and a small smile sneaks across his face. His all-too-neat handwriting stares back at him, but it’s the unsteady scrawl and doodles in the margins that send Shouto hurtling back in time like a trajectile. 

Suddenly, he’s in his dorm room. The tatami mat floor is littered with crumpled note pages, chewed pens, and empty snack wrappers. Classical music is playing from a laptop somewhere to the left (Mozart, probably) and Shouto is sitting with his back against the wall. Beside him, muttering quietly to himself as his eyes scan his textbook at a million miles a minute, is Izuku Midoriya. His hair falls into his eyes like overgrown leaves on a tree, twisting and tangling in viridian curls. The air smells like microwaved soba noodles and comfortable silence. 

“What’ve you got there?” Momo’s voice pulls Shouto from the depths of his own consciousness. She’s standing in the doorway, hot-pink rubber cleaning gloves pulled tight over her hands that sit softly at her hips. 

Shouto holds up the notebook. “Old school stuff,” he says and he sees her face soften a little. 

She crosses the room and kneels beside him. She looks into the box and a smile plays on her lips. Shouto wonders what memories these items stir up for her, what she thinks of when she sees the logo of their alma mater. If he had to guess though, when Momo looks at Shouto’s old school books she probably sees rock music, cold ginseng tea, boom boxes and shared secrets. 

He’s sure that she sees Kyouka Jirou. 

“Wow,” she says, picking up his third year hero law textbook. “I can’t believe you kept all of this stuff.” 

Shouto shrugs. “Holding onto old memories,” he says wistfully. “Or you know. Something like that.” 

Momo snorts. “Oh please,” she sighs, waving a dismissing hand in his direction. “You are the least sentimental person I’ve ever met. You and I both know that your sister probably packed these into a box when you were moving out of your dorm and then you shoved it onto that shelf the moment you moved into this place and forgot about it.” 

That’s exactly what happened.  

Shouto cracks a smile and lets out a soft sigh. Okay. Yeah. He isn’t really one for holding onto old memories. “I guess I can throw these out then.” 

“Totally,” Momo agrees. She begins to put the text book back into the box when something falls out of the pages and onto the floor. Curiously, she picks it up and turns it over in her hands. It’s a folded piece of paper with his name on it. 

“What’s that?” Shouto asks, reaching out to take it from her. The paper feels old, pressed down between the pages of his old book for god knows how long. Shouto unfolds it and recognizes the handwriting immediately — this is a letter from Midoriya. 

The words are scrawled out in shaky blue ink, but the writing is a lot neater than Izuku’s usual note taking. It looks like this was done purposefully, as if Izuku were trying his hardest to make his writing look neat. 

Todoroki, 

I don’t know how to tell you this, so I’m writing you this letter. We graduate in 4 days (crazy right?), and I can’t even begin to thank you for all that you’ve done for me over these last 3 years. You are my best friend, and I know that this might come as a surprise to you so no pressure at all... but recently it’s become even more than that. I know that it might be weird for you, but if there’s a chance that you feel the same way, I don’t want to graduate without you knowing. I’m not sure where the future is going to lead us, and I don’t even know if we’ll be on speaking terms next year once we’re working as pro heroes (although I really hope we are still friends). What I’m trying to say is: I’m in love with you. I have been for a while. I think that maybe there’s a chance you feel the same way? If you do, meet me by the tree on campus that you almost set on fire in our second year. You know the one. The one with the flowers. Meet me after graduation. Please. 

P.S. Seriously no pressure if you don’t feel the same way, I totally understand! :) Plus ultra!

-Izuku Midoriya 

Shouto’s heart stops. He feels ice begin to spread from the tips of his right fingers and onto the note. 

“What?” Momo asks, voice heavy with concern. “What is it?” 

Shouto doesn’t say anything, he just holds out the letter for her to take from him. She looks a little confused, but takes it anyway. Her eyes scan the words and her jaw drops.

“This is…” she lifts her gaze and stares at Shouto. “A love letter from Midoriya.” It isn’t a question. 

“Yeah,” Shouto says, swallowing hard and trying to ignore the fact that his tongue has turned to sandpaper in his mouth. 

“But I don’t understand.” Momo’s voice is flustered. “You had a huge crush on him in our third year. Why did you ignore this?” 

“I didn’t,” Shouto says, ice-cold misery forming like a lump in his stomach. 

“But then why… oh .” Her face falls. 

“Yeah.” Shoto takes the note from her hand and folds it gently. “Oh.” 

She’s quiet for a minute, and then she huffs, annoyed. “Well why would he put it in your textbook? How on earth could he have expected you to find it?” 

Shouto says nothing. He slips the letter into his pocket carefully, as if it’s made of very thin, very fragile glass. 

He tries not to picture a crestfallen Izuku waiting for him beneath that tree after graduation. He tries not to imagine those brilliant green eyes filled with disappointment and spilling over with embarrassment as minutes turned to hours and Shouto was nowhere to be seen. 

He tries. 

(He fails.) 

He runs his fingers through his hair and lets out a low groan. He hates the idea of hurting Izuku. He especially hates the idea of accidentally hurting Izuku years ago with no possible way to apologize for it. 

“Oh, come on. Don’t be like that,” Momo says softly, reading his feelings from his body language. She places a comforting hand on Shouto’s back and he doesn’t push her away. “Besides, this is kind of a good thing!” 

Shouto lifts his face to look at her with an expression he hopes says: how in the seven layers of Hell can this be a good thing? 

“Now you know he likes you back,” she says, voice wavering ever so slightly. 

“No,” Shouto explains, burying his face in his hands. “I know he liked me. Five years ago . In high school .” 

He thinks of scribbled flash cards and Symphony No. 40 and tangled legs. He thinks of unspoken trust and hidden feelings and accidental sleepovers. He thinks of the way his heart had fluttered every time they’d made physical contact, accidental or otherwise. He thinks of the first and only person he’d ever really loved. 

“Well, you still like him, right?” 

“What does that have to do with it?” 

Momo rolls her eyes. “Well, if you’re still in love with him after all of this time, maybe he’s still in love with you.” 

Shouto stares at her incredulously. He considers her thought process for a moment — only a moment — before dismissing it. No. There’s no way that Izuku Midoriya, runner up to become the world’s greatest hero at age 23, would ever have feelings for socially awkward and r eally bad at public relations Shouto Todoroki. If it wasn’t for the letter written in Izuku’s own distinguishable scrawl, Shouto would never believe that feelings were ever reciprocated — even once upon a time. 

Izuku is… amazing. With his smile that lights up the room and unbendable spirit. Shouto considers himself lucky to even be able to call such a person his friend. 

“No,” he says finally, closing the tabs on the box and shoving it towards the doorway. “I don’t think so.” 

“Well I do.” Momo gets to her feet and wipes the dust off of her sweats. “And I think you should talk to him about it.” 

“Momo.” Shouto’s voice is a little bit more tense than he means for it to be. “It’s not going to happen.” 

“Why not?” 

“We work together.” As good a reason as any, as far as he’s concerned. Shouto’s pretty sure that confessing his love for his best friend, only to be rejected and have to work alongside him at the same agency is literally the worst possible situation that he can imagine. And besides: “He has a boyfriend .”

Momo chews the inside of her cheek and gives Shouto a thoughtful look before shaking her head and letting out a light-hearted sigh. “I suppose that’s true. You’ve got me there.” 

She stands and picks up the box effortlessly, as if it isn’t filled with feels like 100lbs of heavy memories. “I’d suggest donating these, but most of this information is outdated.” 

“Just throw it out,” Shouto discerns, standing to join her. “There’s no point in holding onto the past.” 

(Shouto can practically feel the note in his pocket burning a hole into his skin.)

*.*.*.*.*

Shouto tells himself that work isn’t going to be weird.

 It isn’t , because there’s absolutely no reason why it should be. 

He found an old letter written by a teenager that doesn’t even exist anymore. He found the fractured fragment of a memory that should have been swallowed by time. It doesn’t matter. 

And things at work are definitely 100% not going to be weird. 

*.*.*.*.*

Work is weird. 

It’s weird, and uncomfortable and Shouto absolutely hates it . When he walks into work on Monday morning, Izuku is waiting for him at his desk. 

Shouto tries to ignore the way Izuku’s hero costume stretches and pulls on his body in all the right ways. He uses every ounce of willpower he has not stare at the green spandex as it accentuates and highlights Izuku’s muscles. Somehow, Shouto had never noticed just how much Izuku had grown up until now. 

Gone is the short, round-faced boy with the disobedient head of green curls and an overbite from too much nervous pen chewing. Here to stay is the sturdy, hulking, tall Izuku, with a tight undercut and a domesticated crescendo of product-tamed ringlets. 

God , Shouto wonders to himself, when did they become adults ? 

He leans lightly against Shouto’s desk, a file open in his hands and a familiar finger perched just below his bottom lip as his eyes scan the contents of the file. He’s muttering to himself and Shouto feels a smile tug at the corners of his lips. 

Okay , he thinks with a little sigh of relief, maybe Izuku hasn’t changed that much. 

“You’re muttering,” Shouto says, tone stark. “Must be something good.” 

“O-oh!” Izuku looks up from the file, a cherry-red glow materializing on his cheeks. “Sorry,” he says. “Yeah, it’s the file on that burglary case they were talking about last week.” 

Shouto nods and fixes his eyes on the file. “Anything useful?” 

“Nothing that we hadn’t already suspected on our own. Some sort of body modification quirk that allows for easy ins and outs. Appearance alteration at the least.” 

“So, we’re dealing with a shapeshifter.” Shouto says firmly. 

“Looks like it, yeah.” 

Shouto sighs and folds his hands beneath his chin. He doesn’t lift his eyes to meet Izuku’s. He can’t. Things are weird, like, really weird. And Izuku doesn’t even know that things are weird. 

Get it together Shouto . 

“So, what’s the plan?” Shouto wills himself to look up into Izuku’s face and regrets it almost immediately. Izuku is staring down at him with his signature goofy smile plastering his face. His eyes look at Shouto like they always have — like he’s something worth seeing, like he’s something, someone , that matters. Cinnamon sugar freckles embellish his face and spread down his neck, disappearing beneath the fabric of his tight costume. Shouto swallows and tries not to think about how far down those freckles go. 

“We’re on patrol this afternoon in that sector of the city.” Izuku tosses the file onto Shouto’s desk. “Orders are to ‘look out for suspicious activity’. They think that the burglar is likely to strike again in the same area.” 

“When do we head out?” 

Izuku’s smile stretches even wider. “As soon as you’re suited up, Hero Shouto .” 

*.*.*.*.*

Comfortable silence is something that Shouto finds extremely valuable. He’s not very good at talking, and he’s even worse at trying to force small talk. That’s why it’s always been easy to work alongside Izuku. 

Izuku is one of the only people who knows how to read Shouto’s mood. He knows not to push Shouto to talk about things until he’s ready, he knows how to sit in silence with Shouto. Since high school, they’ve always been able to find comfort and enjoyment in just being in one another’s company — watching movies or reading together in the same room. They’ve always been able to find pleasure in the mundane. Izuku knows Shouto better than anyone.

Unfortunately for Shouto, it is for this exact reason that Izuku is able to read that silence that falls between them on their patrol that day is anything but comfortable. Shouto’s been unusually jumpy, and still can’t look Izuku in the eye. He curses himself for letting something so stupid get to him, and he curses Izuku for being so painstakingly attractive.

“Hey,” Izuku starts, after an hour of sideways glances and huffed breaths. They’re perched at the edge of a rooftop doing street surveillance. “Did I do something to make you mad?” 

“What?” Shouto feels the tips of his right fingers begin to freeze. Frost sneaks and climbs his digits like a spider spinning a carefully constructed web. 

Shit. Has he really been that obvious? 

“Well, you haven’t said anything to me in like, an hour?” Izuku explains. “Which, it’s you , so that’s not really a big deal. But you’re also not really even…looking at me?” Izuku swings his legs over the ledge of the rooftop and gives Shouto a troubled look. “And your fingers are doing that nervous thing.” 

Shouto glances down at his frost coated fingers and feels his cheeks begin to burn. Leave it to Izuku to notice even the smallest change in Shouto’s demeanor. 

“Oh,” Shouto says, not bothering to do anything about the frost. “No, I’m not angry with you. I’ve just got a lot on my mind right now.” 

“I don’t suppose it’s worth asking if you’re up for talking about it?” 

“I’m not,” Shouto says simply. “Sorry. Just not right now.” 

“That’s okay.” Izuku smiles warmly. “Just know that I’m here to talk if you need it. You know that you can count on me. Even if, like, you just want to binge watch nature documentaries like we did in high school to take your mind off of the stress, that’s totally fine with me.” 

Shouto doesn’t know how to tell Izuku that being alone together in one of their apartments watching nature documentaries would be the opposite of helpful, so he doesn’t. He wants to be able to tell Izuku what’s wrong but he doesn’t know how . 

Hey, so I found a letter you wrote me in high school that you probably thought I ignored, but nope! I’m just an extremely dense idiot and a hoarder and I didn’t notice that you’d slipped it into my text book until now. Anyway, I’ve been in love with you since the sports festival our first year so would you please break up with your boyfriend and date me now? Thanks, cool. 

Yeah. 

No.

Shouto grimaces at the thought and swallows hard. “Thank you, Izuku.” 

“You’re my best friend , Shouto,” Izuku assures him with a smile. “You don’t have to thank me.” 

The words sting, just a little. 

“Hey so uh,” Izuku says casually after a moment. “Change of subject but: are you busy on Friday?”

Shouto narrows his eyes and proceeds with caution. “I’m not sure yet, why?” 

“There’s this festival happening in the city on Friday night. There’s going to be fireworks and takoyaki and art vendors and stuff. Ya know, summer.” He makes a small arch in the air with his hands. “Would you want to go with me?” 

Shouto considers it for a moment. “Just the two of us?” he asks, not caring about being obvious. 

“Well, no.” Izuku bites the inside of his cheek. “The two of us… and Hikaru.” 

Ah. There it is. 

Shouto notices a dry patch of skin at the base of his left thumb. Using his right thumb, he begins to dig his nail in, pulling gently at the dehydrated shriveled skin. A nervous habit. 

“I’ll have to see,” Shouto says thickly. “I can’t make a commitment right now.” 

“But if it were just the two of us you’d want to go,” Izuku mumbles in a huff just loud enough for Shouto to hear him. 

“Don’t say it like that. You know it isn’t like that.” 

Shouto presses his nail harder and pulls back, his dead skin falling off easily, revealing raw, pink skin beneath it. When the summer air touches the new, sensitive skin it stings. 

“Look if you don’t like Hikaru you can just tell me,” Izuku says, clearly hurt. “He likes you a lot and wants me to invite you along to places with us, but it feels like whenever he’s involved you always say no.” 

Shouto sighs loudly and continues digging his nail into the bed of his other, pressing through the pain and peeling back nervous layers of raw emotion that burn and die and flake away in small painful ribbons. 

“What’s not to like?” Shouto asks, and he doesn’t have to fake genuinity. 

Because, really, there isn’t anything unlikable about Izuku’s boyfriend. Sometimes Shouto wonders if maybe things would be easier if Hikaru were an asshole or some overzealous meathead. But he’s not. He’s a sweet guy with gorgeous eyes and a perfect smile and a goddamn sunlight quirk. The guy owns a flower shop. He’s literally a ray of cosmic sunlight rolled up right and compacted into a painfully attractive human body. 

“That’s what I’m wondering,” Izuku continues. “You seem to dislike him so I wanted to ask you.” 

“It’s not that I dislike him, Izuku. I like him a lot,” Shouto tries to explain. “I just don’t like being a third wheel.” 

Izuku stares at him for a moment, and then looks away. 

“It doesn’t seem to matter with Kyouka and Momo,” he says, defeated.

“That’s…” The words die in his mouth before they even have a chance. “That’s different.” 

“Is it though?” Izuku asks, voice picking up a little. “Because to me it feels like you just don’t like Hikaru, who never did anything to you.” 

Shouto says nothing. He digs his nail harder into his skin. 

“Unless…” Izuku pauses, unsure. He looks away. “Unless the person you have a problem with is me.” 

It bleeds .

“It’s not like that,” Shouto says sharply, finally pulling his hand away. The newly open wound tingles with sharp needles of pain, raw exposed skin rejecting the air as it festers. 

“Then what is it like, Shouto?” 

“Izuku…” 

Shouto’s words are cut off by the distinct sound of shattering glass somewhere below them. 

Izuku jumps to his feet. “Did you hear that?” he asks, eyes narrowing and darting through the streets below them. 

“I did,” Shouto replies, getting to his feet as well. He’s thankful for an excuse to put their conversation on the back burner. “Do you think it’s our villain?” 

“Only one way to find out.” Izuku unsnaps his leg pouch and pulls out his black fighting gloves. He pulls them on and coils of green lightning cascade and cloak themselves around his body, electrifying the green of his eyes. 

Shouto wonders how many times he has to see Izuku power up before it stops taking his breath away. 

Izuku nods at Shouto and flashes a goofy grin before crouching down and leaping off of the building. He lands easily on the ledge of a smaller adjacent building and pulls his mask up over his face. 

“Hero Shouto, can you hear me?” Izuku’s voice buzzes to life in Shouto’s headset. 

“Yes, Deku, you’re clear,” Shouto says softly into his mic. “Have you got eyes on the break-in?” 

“Yeah. Looks like a broken window on a door. I think it’s for the back room to that jewelry store on 185th street.” 

Shouto cranes to try and get a good look. “What’s the plan?”

“Well, we don’t know for sure if it’s the same burglar that’s been hitting the other locations, so let’s proceed with caution.” Shouto sees Izuku jump down into the street and begin making his way through the crowds of people. “Keep in mind that if it is the one we’ve been tracking, we’re probably dealing with some sort of body alteration quirk but we don’t know any of the details yet, so be careful.” 

“Got it.” Shouto says with a nod. “So you take the back door and I’ll go through the front and see if the shopkeepers noticed anything suspicious?” 

“Actually,” Izuku laughs,“I was thinking of doing it the other way around. I’m better at talking to people than you are.”

Shouto frowns. “What’s that supposed to mean?” 

“Oh come on Shouto, you know you hate interacting with people when you don’t have to. I’ll go in the front and question the employees and you can go in through the back door. Besides, your quirk is better suited for stealth.” 

Shouto has to admit that Izuku has a point. He really does hate that whole “big smile stoic hero” thing that Izuku seems to be such a natural at. His quirk is better suited for stealth. 

But still. 

“Fine,” Shouto says, betrayed. “I’ll see you down there.” 

Shouto creates a path of ice and easily slides down it to the streets below, melting it behind him. He catches sight of Izuku in the street across from him. 

“You ready?” Izuku asks. 

“As I’ll ever be,” Shouto responds, making his way towards the busted back door. There are no people around, everything strangely still. 

“Shouto?” Izuku’s voice buzzes again, and Shouto jumps. 

“Yeah?”

“Be careful.” 

Shouto smiles. “Yeah, I will. You too.” 

When he gets to the door he notices glass all over the sidewalk but no blood. Okay , he thinks to himself,  so the villain must have used a tool to bust the glass . 

He pushes the door open and is met with a dimly lit hallway, a corridor that connects the back rooms of the various stores on the street. A utility corridor that shipment companies use to deliver expensive merchandise without being noticed by customers. 

The hallway is completely empty as Shouto makes his way through. He notices a few doors marked with high-end company names, and up ahead he spots a door ajar. When he reaches it he sees that Izuku’s suspicion was correct: it belongs to the jewelry store. 

Shouto takes a deep breath and readies his ice on his right hand before carefully grabbing the door knob with his left and tugging it open. 

He’s in the back room of the shop - windowless and packed to the ceiling with metallic boxes of expensive designer jewelry, all organized and locked away with bronze keyholes. There’s a woman rummaging through one of the open drawers and she jumps when she notices Shouto. 

“Excuse me, but you’re not allowed back here,” she says, turning to face Shouto. He notices her eyes dart to an emergency button on the opposite end of the room. She appears to be in her early thirties, chestnut brown hair and a chip in her front tooth. She’s wearing a pressed navy blue pants suit and a baby pink button up shirt. A faded white name tag says “Takaya”. 

An employee.

Shouto disarms his ice and holds up both hands in peaceful surrender.

“Hello,” he says awkwardly. “I’m Shouto. I’m a hero. I was on patrol and I noticed that there was a broken window on the door to your utility corridor.”

The woman’s face relaxes and she lets out a breath. 

“Oh,” she says softly. “You scared the hell out of me!” 

“Yeah, uh, sorry about that,” Shouto says, lowering his hands. “You didn’t see anyone come back here other than me, did you?” 

Takaya shakes her head. “No, it’s just me back here,” she says with a shrug. “I haven’t seen anyone else.” 

“The door was ajar,” Shouto explains, gesturing behind him. 

“Was it?” Takaya shoots a concerned look towards Shouto. “I must have left it open when I came in this morning. Thank you for telling me.” 

Before Shouto can continue, his earpiece buzzes to life. 

“Shouto?” 

“Yeah.” Shouto replies, holding a finger to Takaya asking her to wait for a moment. 

“We’re all good in the shop. No one has seen anything suspicious. Maybe they weren’t targeting the jewelry store, even though it fits the pattern that I was looking over this morning...huh. Weird. How are things in the back?” 

Shouto turns away from Takaya, who goes back to sorting jewelry. 

“You were right to suspect that the broken door led to the back rooms,” Shouto tells Izuku. “ I’m in the back room of the shop right now. There’s no one back here except for an employee named Takaya.” 

“What?” Izuku says, deadly serious. “Did you say Takaya?” 

“Yeah,” Shouto says, a chill going down his spine. Takaya stops sorting jewelry and turns to face Shouto, watching him carefully. “Why?” 

“She doesn’t happen to have short brown hair and a chipped front tooth?” 

“Oh.” Shouto’s eyes go wide as Takaya’s mouth contorts into a wicked grin. “ Shit. ” 

In an instant, chaos breaks loose. Shouto shoots ice towards the Takaya impersonator. He’s fast, but she’s faster. She ducks down low and pulls a pistol from under her blazer, aiming it towards Shouto and pulling the trigger as Shouto shoots another burst of ice in her direction. 

The moment the ice shoots from his fingertips, Izuku bursts through the door in an eruption of bright green lightning. 

Without hesitation, and with the fastest reflexes that Shouto has ever seen, Izuku dives in front of Shouto and snaps his finger. The simple action sends a seismic wave of energy hurtling towards the shapeshifter. 

She staggers and collapses from the impact, falling backwards into a pile of busted metal safes and scattered necklaces. Shouto takes the opportunity to use his ice to freeze her to the spot. 

He lets out a breath of warm air and starts to defrost his right side, relaxing into the feeling as it washes over him in a slow and steady wave. All things considered, this could have been a lot worse. 

“Uh…” Izuku’s voice is strained from somewhere behind Shouto. 

Shouto turns and sees Izuku leaning against a wall of boxes, hands clenched tightly to his side and stained red. He’s bleeding, and he’s bleeding a lot. Izuku collapses, face pale. 

But...how? 

Shouto’s blood goes cold. The bullet. 

The fucking bullet hit him. The bullet that Shouto had failed to stop. 

“Oh no,” Shouto breathes, rushing to Izuku’s side, hands reaching down without hesitation to apply pressure over Izuku’s own. 

“Oh my god, Izuku.” He swallows hard as warm blood floods over his fingers. “ Shit, Izuku I’m so sorry, I’m— oh god…” 

“It’s fine,” Izuku says through gritted teeth. “I’ve had worse. This is…” He winces. “This is nothing.” 

Shouto knows that he’s telling the truth, that he has had worse, but oh god that’s a lot of blood and fuck, someone needs to call for help like right now .

Shouto lets go of Izuku and slams the emergency button on the wall. An ear splitting alarm goes off in the store, but Shouto knows that it’s a matter of minutes until someone arrives on the scene. 

He unsnaps the medical pouch on his utility belt and pulls out gauze. His hands feel numb as he pulls the packaging off and his fingers tremble as he applies it to Izuku’s wound. 

“Oh god,” he says again, panic flooding his vision in a rush of scarlet. “Oh fuck, Izuku I’m so sorry.” 

“Hey. Hey.” Izuku takes a staggered breath. “Look at me.” 

Shouto obeys, pressing hard into Izuku’s wound to slow the bleeding. Izuku is pale, but otherwise he doesn’t look as bad as Shouto’s seen. Shouto meets his green eyes and Izuku smiles at him. Because, of course he’s going to smile while there’s a bullet hole in his fucking spleen. 

“I’m fine. Seriously,” Izuku assures him. “It didn’t hit any of my organs. A simple medical quirk and I’ll be right back to normal.” 

Shouto tries to nod but he can’t. He swallows the lump in his throat but it won’t go down. 

“This is my fault,” Shouto says thickly. “I should have stopped the bullet. I should have realized that she was an impersonator.” 

“Shouto, it’s not your fault. It’s fine. I’m fine,” Izuku promises. “Plus, we got her! The cops will be thrilled.” 

Shouto clicks his tongue and rolls his eyes. “Can you please stop joking, I’m being serious.”

“So am I,” he says innocently. “Honest.” He lets out another staggered breath and Shouto feels the blood soak through the gauze, hot and wet against his cold and shaking hands.

“But look, if you really want to make it up to me…” Izuku gives him a smug look. “Come to the festival with me on Friday.” Shouto scrunches up his face. “Please. I miss hanging out with you and H-Hikaru really w-wants to s-see you…” 

Before Shouto can answer, police officers fill the room. They stare at the scene in front of them for a moment in silence, and then all at once officers are apprehending the villain and calling the paramedics in from the street. 

Shouto gets pulled away by an officer to defrost the ice that's plastered all over the room and holding the villain’s feet to the floor. A paramedic takes his place and gets to immediate work treating Izuku’s wound. 

From behind him he hears Izuku chuckle as the paramedic assures him that it’s “not that bad, but you’re lucky we got here now because you’re losing a lot of blood.” 

Once they’re finished, the villain is taken into custody, the insurance company assesses the property damage, and they’re thanked for a job well done. Izuku is instructed to go home and rest, which he only promises to do after the paramedic threatens to call the agency and makes Shouto swear not to let him work anymore today. 

Before heading home, Shouto agrees to go to the festival with Izuku and Hikaru. 

It can’t be that bad.

*.*.*.*.*

Shouto comes up with exactly 47 excuses on the train ride from his apartment to the festival. Each scenario plays out before his eyes like a movie, flickering between ideas with the slapstick failures acting as his reason to dismiss each scheme the moment it appears in his head. 

He considers calling Izuku and telling him that he’s sick. 

“ But you’re never sick, Shouto. You literally brag about how you’ve only been sick 3 times in your entire life. What’s the real reason you don’t want to come? Is it because you don’t want to watch me makeout with my boyfriend while eating taiyaki?”  

Ba dum tss, fade to black.

He contemplates faking a hero related emergency. Maybe a fire and rescue mission that completely ruins his yukata so he can’t come to the festival. This idea seems like a great one, until he remembers that Izuku is his partner. 

“Why didn’t you call me? If it was a fire and rescue, I’d have been a huge help. Oh, that’s right, you made it up because you’re terrified of your feelings and would rather lie about lives being in danger than just talking to me about your problems like an actual adult. ” 

Cue laugh track. 

He debates saying that his cat is sick. No, he doesn’t have a cat, but Izuku doesn’t know that. 

“Do you mean cactus? Like the one you let die in our second year of high school? You let a cactus die. A cactus. Do you know how little effort a cactus takes? You don’t have a cat. What aren’t you telling me? What are you hiding?”

Roll credits. 

By the time his train pulls into the station, Shouto’s considering moving to another country to avoid the whole situation entirely. He can’t hide things from Izuku from France, right? 

Shouto walks miserably up the subway steps and into the hustle and bustle of the summer festival. It’s crowded, and the air is hot and heavy with July’s humidity. Two small children wearing yukata run past Shouto holding sparklers, laughing and smiling. Shouto is suddenly reminded of the last time he’d gone to one of these festivals. 

*

He’s 3 years old, the summer before his quirk manifests. He’s wearing a Yukata the color of a sunset and there are little koi fish printed onto the fabric. His mother had made it for him with a smile on her face and kindness in her stitching.

He’s sitting on Endeavor’s shoulders to get the best view possible of the kaleidoscopic fireworks as they decorate the night sky in a shower of color and warmth. He feels positively transcendental, higher than all of the other kids around him, the warmth of his father’s shoulders comfortable beneath his legs. 

He’s happy. 

*

He catches his reflection in the glass of an oversized advertisement and stops walking. He takes a moment to dwell on the changes that have taken place since that festival 20 years ago. His hair is longer now, pulled back in a two-tone ponytail that sits lazily against his back. His yukata is the color of the ocean in the moonlight - navy blue with swirls of black. He’d gotten it that morning for the sole purpose of wearing it to this festival. It was a little pricier than he’d have liked, but it suited him.

And then of course, the biggest change - the shriveled caramel-red scar staining the skin on the left side of his face. Even in the fluorescent lighting cascading from the cologne advertisement, Shouto can’t help but recoil at the revolting way his dehydrated skin stretches and divots below his eye. 

He forces himself to look away, and makes his way farther into the festival. It doesn’t take him long to spot Izuku — standing in front of a booth selling paper masks. He’s wearing an olive-green yukata, and as Shouto gets closer he notices white flowers beautifully embroidered along the top and bottom. Izuku is looking excitedly at one of the masks at the booth, he’s smiling, all teeth and dimples, looking up at— oh .  

Shouto sees him. 

Hikaru Ito. Standing beside Izuku, standing where Shouto should be, golden hair falling in feathery curtains around his strong and angular face, amber eyes positively glowing in the starlight. Izuku says something that Shouto can’t quite hear and Hikaru throws his head back with a laugh. 

Shouto’s stomach feels heavy and his mouth goes dry. For a moment he wonders if he actually can run away and pretend that he fell asleep and missed his alarm or something, but before he’s able to make a choice, Hikaru spots him. Hikaru taps Izuku’s shoulder and Izuku turns and smiles and Shouto’s done for. 

Don’t look at me like that, he wishes, please don’t look at me like that. 

“Hey,” Izuku calls out. “Shouto!” Izuku rushes over to where Shouto is standing, beaming with excitement. Hikaru comes up beside Izuku and wraps a gentle arm around his boyfriend. 

“Glad you were able to make it,” Hikaru says warmly, and Shouto thinks maybe he should just die on the spot. 

“Yeah,” Shouto manages. He tries to focus on something other than Izuku. Anything other than Izuku. 

He tries not to look at the way Izuku leans into Hikaru’s touch, the way that his hand moves gradually, naturally, to slide into place with his partner’s. He tries not to imagine the intimacies that they must share, tries not to imagine the smell of Izuku’s hair after a long day at work — smoke, sweat, and cinnamon. He’d learned long ago to push his feelings down when it came to Izuku, but after finding that note the flood gates had been opened. 

He doesn’t want to think about all of the things that could have been. There’s no point crying over things that didn’t happen. 

“They have takoyaki over there,” Hikaru says, getting a little too close to comfort. Shouto takes a step away on instinct, but Hikaru just keeps getting closer. “Wanna go get some?” 

Shouto stutters a little, not sure how to answer. He can’t figure out a polite way to say that he fucking hates takoyaki. He looks over at Izuku for help. 

“Totally,” Izuku says happily, noticing Shouoto’s discomfort. He grabs his partner’s arm and pulls him away, which Shouto is thankful for. “I think there’s a cold soba stand somewhere too, so we should make sure to stop there so that Shouto can get some.” 

Shouto’s chest tightens. Of course Izuku would remember what his favorite food is. 

“It’s his favorite,” Izuku says with a shrug when Hikaru gives him a look. 

“In that case, we’ll be sure to go get some.” Hikaru tightens his hold on Izuku’s shoulders and places a soft kiss on his curls. It’s intimate. Soft. 

Shouto looks away, jealousy pulling at his heart strings. 

“I’m actually not feeling too well,” Shouto lies. “I don’t think I’ll be able to stay out too long. So don’t worry about stopping somewhere for my sake.” 

Izuku gives Shouto a look. He narrows his eyes, bites at the inside of his cheek, like he’s trying to figure something out. A scowl flickers across his face — there one minute and gone the next.  

Shit, Shouto thinks, recognizing that look. He knows. 

“I mean,” Shouto stammers, trying to find something to cover his ass. “I ate before I came here, and I’ve got an early shift tomorrow so—” 

Izuku sighs, and his smile comes back. “Aw, that’s too bad,” he says, but Shouto’s pretty sure Izuku’s being dishonest. “We get it, you’re a busy guy.” 

They meet eyes and Izuku gives him a nod of understanding. Shouto tried. He made an effort. He came out to the stupid festival and even wore a yukata, and that counts for something. Izuku sees that. He gets it. 

“Sorry,” Shouto says, and he means it. He is sorry that he can’t do this. It’s too much. 

“Well then, let’s do as much fun stuff as we can while you’re here with us.” Hikaru offers his sweetest smile. Hikaru is so genuine, so considerate, that Shouto has no choice but to nod and agree to make their way through the festival. 

It would be easier if he could hate Hikaru. All of this would be easier if Hikaru were an asshole. He could rationalize the nasty way his stomach feels when he’s around if Hikaru were a bad boyfriend or some spiteful dickhead, but he’s not. Hikaru is one of the nicest people that Shouto has ever met, and he seems to make Izuku so happy. He’s like… the perfect boyfriend for Izuku. 

So Shouto can’t hate him. He can’t even dislike him. 

How can he dislike someone that sends balls of harmless sunlight scattering across the pavement for small children to chase after and play with? How can he dislike someone that goes out of his way to buy an extra shaved ice with no sweet milk on top because he remembers that Shouto doesn’t like it? 

The answer is that he can’t. Hikaru is, all things considered, perfect. Which means that Shouto doesn’t have a leg to stand on when it comes to trying to weasel his way out of hanging out. 

All things considered, the festival is fine. It’s nice and not too busy, and Hikaru and Izuku talk enough that Shouto doesn’t have to force anything. He quietly floats along and makes polite conversation, going through the motions like a well oiled machine. Shouto stays for two hours, and finally decides that he’s stayed long enough to make up for carelessly letting Izuku get injured. 

He’s about to politely explain that he’s “really not feeling well” and that he “really needs to get home before the subways get too crowded with the “after fireworks crowds”, when Hikaru’s phone rings. The blonde steps away to take the call and when he returns he explains that he’s been called away for the evening to take care of a work-related emergency. Which, Shouto is pretty sure that the last time he checked Hikaru worked at a flower shop, so he’s not sure what constitutes an “emergency”. 

“What?” Izuku asks, voice filled with surprise and disappointment. “But it’s your night off…”

“I’m sorry, Zu. I’ve got a huge order to fill for that wedding tomorrow and the bride is being a major bride-zilla.” Hikaru turns to Shouto. He’s got kind eyes, and a gentle smile. 

“I know you said you weren’t feeling well, but Izuku was really looking forward to the fireworks,” he explains. “Any chance you could take my place and stay with him while I’m away?” 

Shouto swallows hard and stares at Hikaru. He isn’t… He can’t be serious. Is he seriously asking Shouto to take over their date? 

Shouto should say no. He should tell Hikaru that he’d love to but it’s not his place, and he should go home and just sleep this whole night off. 

 “Yes,” he says simply.

“Thank you Shouto.” Hikaru smiles and leans in to kiss Izuku gently on the lips.

Shouto forces himself to find something, anything to distract himself. A few feet away he sees a small boy playing excitedly with a water balloon yo-yo. Shouto focuses on the boy, watching as he bounces the fragile red and black toy beneath his hand — pushing it away with force only to watch it bounce back to his palm. 

“I love you,” Izuku says softly, voice low and gentle. Shouto doesn’t reccognize the way Izuku’s voice sounds, he’s never heard Izuku use that tone with him. A tone that isn’t meant for the ears of strangers. It’s a sound reserved only for the two of them. A sound saved for living room cuddles and trays of takeout food, for stolen kisses and intimate phone calls. 

The child bounces the toy faster, each time it returns to his hand with more vigor and momentum. 

“I love you too,” Hikaru says back, in that same syrupy tone of voice. He kisses Izuku again.  

Taking a risk, the boy sends the toy hurtling towards the pavement. When the strained elastic meets the brick and stone, it explodes in a gush — sending broken pieces of red and black plastic in waves over the hot pavement. 

“See you at home?” Hikaru asks softly. Izuku hums, a beautiful sound. 

The child’s eyes well up with tears as he stares at the self-inflicted disaster at his feet, the shriveled remnants of his happiness mortared against the pavement. 

“Only if you ask nicely,” Izuku purrs, the sound of another gross kiss, and — oh god, there’s no way Shouto can stand much more of this. 

“I’ll text you when I get there,” Hikaru promises, pulling himself from Izuku’s embrace. “But I’ve got to go.” 

Izuku pouts, but nods. “Get going, then.” 

“I’ll see you later,” Hikaru says, and then turns to Shouto. “It was really nice seeing you again. We’ve got to do this again sometime when I’m not in the midst of providing the floral arrangements for the Wedding From Hell.” 

Shouto meets Hikaru’s eyes and forces a smile. “It was nice seeing you, too.” 

With a final wave, Hikaru turns and departs toward the subways, leaving Izuku and Shouto alone together. 

They stand and silence and watch Hikaru disappear into the crowd. 

“You should be going soon too,” Izuku says softly, eyes focused on the crowd ahead. There’s a slight edge to his voice, and he keeps it when he says: “I mean, you’re not feeling well, right?” 

Shouto sighs and looks at Izuku for a long, calculating moment. Izuku turns his head to face Shouto and stares back at him. His green eyes are wide and unmoving, looking at Shouto like he can see right through the wall that Shouto had spent so much time building up. 

And then, very subtly, Izuku smiles. Shouto can’t help but smile back.

“It’s okay,” Izuku admits with a sigh. “Really. Thank you for hanging out tonight, even if it made you uncomfortable.” He shifts, strapping a little closer. “I’m still not sure why, but I know that this wasn’t exactly high on your priority list.” 

Shouto huffs, frustrated. “It’s not that, Izuku. I really do like Hikaru,” he explains. He’s tired of being dishonest with Izuku about this. “My problems are… my problems. They have nothing to do with Hikaru. He’s a good guy. I like him.” 

Izuku smiles, relieved. “I’m glad,” he says. “He likes you too.” Izuku begins walking through the festival and Shouto follows. The crowd is growing now as the night gets older. Families with small children excitedly wait for the fireworks and the food vendors’ lines begin to grow with parents hoping to purchase snacks for the viewing. 

They don’t say much more about it. They get cold soba and Izuku gushes over some of the indie Uravity merch he finds at one of the stalls, but mostly, they just hang out. As friends. 

Because that’s what they are. Friends. 

They don’t talk about it again until they’re sitting on a bench, sharing a plate of dumplings between them. Shouto supposes it was wishful thinking to feel like maybe they dropped it. Maybe they could have a normal night without one of the bringing it up again. Because, after a few moments of silence pass between them, Izuku places a hand on Shouto’s thigh and meets his eyes, genuine and beautiful. 

“Look, I know you don’t want to talk about it.” Izuku squeezes Shouto’s thigh and Shouto swallows down the last of the dumpling in his mouth. Izuku’s right. He does not want to talk about it. “I guess that I’m so used to being around you that I forget that you aren’t great around new people, and I’m sorry for that,”  Izuku explains. “I just want everyone to know how great you are and I get selfish.”

“You’re not selfish,” Shouto says quickly. 

Izuku laughs. “Of course you don’t think so.” 

Shouto shifts uncomfortably. He doesn’t know how to say this without blurting out his feelings like an idiot. “Well, because it’s true. You’re not selfish.” 

Izuku doesn’t say anything. He looks out at the passersby, lips moving in that cute way that they do when he’s got something on his mind. Something he wants to say but hasn’t quite worked out how to say it. It’s like Shouto can see the gears of his brain working. 

“Hey,” Izuku says suddenly. “The UA campus is around here.”

Shouto eyes Izuku suspiciously. “Yeah... It is,” he agrees.

“We should go walk through it,” says Izuku, eyes all alight with the excitement of it. “I think that our old ID cards will still grant us access as alumni.” 

“Why would we do that?” Shouto asks. It’s a bad idea. They shouldn’t go walk through their old campus high school. They absolutely should not go back to the place where Shouto’s crush was the strongest, where memories grow like vines of ivy along the outsides of those buildings. 

He knows it’s a bad idea, but there’s just something about Izuku that Shouto can’t say no to. Before he can argue, or think, or process the idea, he’s being led away from the festival and down a painfully familiar street towards his alma mater. 

“To take a trip down memory lane,” Izuku says, like it’s the greatest idea in the world. “Come on, it’ll be fun!’ 

*.*.*.*.*

Izuku is right. Walking through their old UA campus is admittedly pretty fun.The doors to the front of the main building are unlocked and getting inside is surprisingly easy. 

(Which, in retrospect, isn’t that exactly how the USJ attack happened? Poor security? Shouto makes a mental note to send a harshly-worded email about it to Aizawa.) 

“Didn’t this school learn their lesson about security back when we were in school here?” Shouto asks. “I mean, this is shockingly easy for us to break into.” 

“Well, we aren’t technically breaking in,” Izuku explains, examining the lockers in the entryway of the building with mild curiosity. “Besides, I think that most of the security measures are meant to keep out villains and we aren’t villains.” 

“But we’re not students either…” 

Izuku bites his lip and looks away slightly with an expression that screams of a guilty conscience. 

“Izuku, what aren’t you telling me?” Shouto asks, knowing by the way Izuku is bouncing on the balls of his feet that this isn’t a secret Izuku is going to keep to himself. 

Izuku sighs.

“Well if I’m being honest, we probably only got in so easily because All Might made sure that my ID wouldn’t expire. I still come here a lot to visit with him and go over hero stuff.” 

“Ah, I see.” Shouto smirks. “So you just wanted to come here with me .” 

“Okay, you caught me.” Izuku holds his hands up in a mock surrender. “I really wanted to show you something.” 

Shouto’s smirk transforms into a full-on smile and he can’t help but feel excitement as Izuku leads the way through the empty school building. Everything is at once familiar and entirely new — they’ve painted the walls since Shouto’s time here, and the floors have been re-done as well. The smell is still the same though, and Shouto feels a heavy sense of nostalgia as they walk past the old cafeteria. He remembers countless lunches spent together with his best friends. Not just Izuku, but Tenya, Momo, Ochaco… He thinks of how much growing he’d done in this building without even realizing it. He thinks of the boy who’d gone to school here, afraid and alone. He thinks of person he was when he’d graduated, changed forever, confident and accompanied by the best friends in the universe. 

Izuku leads Shouto to the elevators, through the top floor and to a door that Shouto knows leads to the rooftop. 

“Izuku, what are we—”

“Just trust me,” Izuku pushes the door open and hurries up the final flight of stairs to the roof, Shouto follows closely behind. “Best seats to the firework show, courtesy of Izuku Midoriya.” He makes a cute little noise, clearly proud of himself. 

The air on the roof is warm, and there’s a breeze blowing through. Izuku rushes ahead to the chain link fence. 

“I wonder if you can see… Oh, yes! It’s right there,” Izuku says, excitement in his voice. “Come here, look.” 

As Shouto approaches the fence, he can’t help but gape at the view. From up here, they can see the entire sector of the city. The lights from the buildings twinkle and shine brightly below them from all around. It’s breathtaking. 

Izuku is staring at something, off in the not-too-far distance. Shouto moves closer and tries to trace his line of sight, and that’s when he sees it. Big, dark, and distant. Shouto’s never seen it from this angle, but it doesn't stop the memories from flooding back. 

“Is that...?” Shouto asks, his voice hushed. 

“It is,” Izuku responds gently. ”That’s the arena from our first sports festival.” He looks straight ahead with a smile on his face. His eyes shine in the moonlight and glisten with the reflection of the city below them. “Where we became friends.” 

Shout is quiet. He knows that Izuku wants him to look at the stadium, but he’s...distracted, by the person beside him. Izuku is so close that Shouto can see every single one of his freckles, peppered across his face, trailing down his neck and under his neckline. Beautiful, perfect in their imperfection. Impossible to chart — stars in an endless sky. 

“Who would have thought that we would be as close as we are now?” Izuku asks quietly. He slowly pulls his eyes from the stadium and meets Shouto’s. “That we’d end up saving each other's lives too many times to count.”

Shouto feels his chest tighten as guilt seeps in through the cracks in his heart. He’d let Izuku get hurt. He’d been careless, irresponsible, and reckless. Because of him, Izuku had been shot. With a heavy lump in his throat, Shouto remembers the way Izuku’s blood felt on his hands. The way Izuku’s staggered breathing had sounded in his ears. 

He shudders at the thought. 

“Or that I’d let you get shot out of carelessness,” he mumbles. Izuku turns to face him and Shouto tires to laugh, tries to pass it off as a joke, but Izuku sees right through him.

Izuku looks at Shouto with a sad expression, and then turns to look back out at the city. “Don’t think like that Shouto,” he whispers. “You’re always so negative. I’m fine ,”

“You have a scar.”

“I’m a pro hero. Of course I have scars,” Izuku says a little louder. He holds out his hand, crisscross, jagged scars from that first fight still shine silver in the moonlight. A constant reminder of the person Shouto used to be, the person he wishes he could forget. “You need to learn to forgive yourself, Shouto. Because of us, that villain was taken into custody. Because of us, so many villains are in custody.” Shouto watches as Izuku takes a slow and steady breath. “We save people, Shouto,” he says firmly. 

Shouto’s breath catches. His eyes burn, just a little. Yeah, Izuku Midoriya saves people. He saved Katsuki with his quick thinking back in Kamino. He saved that little kid during the training camp. He saved Eri, and Aizawa, and—

“You saved me,” Shouto says simply. 

“I didn’t save you,” Izuku laughs. “I almost killed you.”

Shouto can’t help but smile at the memory. “Cementoss had to intervene.” 

“Midnight too.” Izuku starts laughing, and Shouto can’t help but laugh too. It’s funny now, how reckless they were. 

Shouto keeps smiling. “We really were troublesome, weren’t we?”

“Mirio always did refer to me as the ‘problem child of UA’. It wasn’t really a joke.” 

Izuku and Shouto take a moment to revel in the nostalgia of it all. Shouto thinks absently about the festival below them that they’d left behind, of the fireworks that will soon be filling the sky. 

“Hey,” Izuku says fondly, pointing out into the distance. “There’s that tree that you almost set on fire our second year.” 

Shouto freezes. The tree. 

The cherry blossom tree that he’d almost lit ablaze during their second year in UA because of a petty bet that he had with Bakugo. 

The tree that Izuku had asked Shouto to meet him under. Where Shouto never arrived. 

“Yeah,” Shouto says dryly, the words of the letter swirling and haunting his memory. He swallows hard. “It’s where you asked me to meet you. After graduation.”

Izuku goes still, his eyes go wide in surprise. He looks at Shouto like he’s just said something shocking, and then the shock fades to hurt. 

“Why would you bring that up?” Izuku asks, and Shouto can feel the pain in his voice. 

Which. Fuck. Okay, maybe that was the wrong thing to say. 

“Izuku,” Shouto starts. 

“If you’re trying to make a joke, it’s really not funny.” Izuku’s voice is cold, stark in an uncharacteristic way.  

Alright, it was definitely the wrong thing to say. 

“I’m not,”  Shouto assures him, halfway tempted to activate his left side in an attempt to thaw the icy look that Izuku is giving him. “I swear, I would never make fun of you for that. I just found the letter that you wrote me a week ago,” he explains, figuring it’s better to be honest. “Momo and I were cleaning out my apartment and I found it in a box of my old things.”

Izuku regards him carefully for a moment, and then softens. He sighs and his blush spreads to his ears. 

“I knew it was a bad idea to put it in your textbook,” he mumbles. “Remind me to tell Ochako ‘I told you so ’.” 

“I’m sorry,” Shouto says, uncomfortable. He shouldn’t have said anything. 

“You don’t have anything to apologize for. It’s not a big deal,” Izuku assures him. 

Shouto should drop it there. He knows he should drop it. But before he can stop himself, he’s talking again: “I didn’t know how you felt about me.” 

Izuku laughs softly, “Well, how could you have? I never told you. It doesn’t matter now, though.”  He glances back out towards the tree. “It was just the unrequited feelings of a high school boy.”

“They weren’t—” Shouto says, and he knows he should shut the fuck up , but he can’t. “They weren’t unrequited.”

Izuku stares at him. “What do you mean?”

Shouto takes a deep breath. 

Shut up, shut up, shut up— 

“I mean...If I had found the note in high school like you intended…” Shouto begins, and just like that the levee breaks and the words are pouring out of him before he can stop himself. 

“Shouto…”

Somewhere to Shouto’s right, a firework ignites in the sky. The resounding boom echoes around them and shakes Shouto to his core. 

“I’d have met you,” he spouts, words scattering around them like sparks.  “Under the tree that is.”

Another firework ignites, and Izuku’s face illuminates in shades of red and orange. 

“Why are you telling me this?” 

Shouto’s heart is practically exploding in his chest. The sky lights up again and color and sound blind his senses, and he lunges forward - grabbing Izuku tightly and pulling him in close, mashing their lips together in a burst of raw emotion. Something inside of him denotates the moment their lips touch and suddenly Shouto is alight and warm and everything just feels fucking right . He pulls Izuku even closer and o h my god, Izuku is kissing him back , and exaltation sparks through him as their tongues touch through open lips. 

Another firework shakes the chain link fence, but Shouto barely notices. His body rumbles from the aftershock but he doesn’t care, he can’t possibly care, because Izuku is in his arms and he’s moving with him and oh god -- Shouto freezes. With a flood of horror, he realizes that, oh fuck , Izuku is struggling . 

He lets go of Izuku who stumbles backwards. His face is bright red, and his lips are wet and raw, and he looks mortified. With a trembling hand and look of disbelief, Izuku touches his lips. 

“What the hell , Shouto?” he shouts over the boom of the fireworks. 

“Izuku, oh god— ” He takes a step towards Izuku, but Izuku backs away. 

“I-I have a boyfriend! You can’t just...You can’t just kiss me!”

“I’m so sorry, Izuku, I’m so—”

“No,” Izuku says loudly. “ No . I waited for you, I waited for you under that tree for three hours and you didn’t come and you decide to kiss me now ?” Izuku is crying. He’s crying and the fireworks are so loud that Shouto can’t think straight. 

Shouto tries to speak, tries to apologize, but he’s drowned out by another deafening explosion. 

“I...I have to go.” Izuku backs away from him slowly. He doesn’t stop staring at Shouto, hurt and betrayal and — fuck, hatred— on his face. “Goodbye Shouto.”

Shouto watches him go in flashing bold shades of red.

The next morning, Shouto resigns from his hero agency. 

*.*.*.*.*

“You can’t avoid him forever.” Momo sets her mug down on Shouto’s coffee table carefully, her gaze glued to him with raised eyebrows and pursed lips. She’s considering him thoughtfully as if trying to decide the best thing to say next, but not regretting bringing the topic up in the first place. 

Shouto sighs, taking a sip of his scalding hot tea. He winces, and then glares at his friend. “Momo, I said I don’t want to talk about this.” 

“Yes,” she agrees, “but that was two months ago. I’ve given you time to get over it. I was patient with you, but now you need to talk to me.” 

“I don’t need to do anything,” Shouto says a little too coldly. He doesn’t mean to be rude, but: “It isn’t worth talking about.” 

She clicks her tongue. “We both know that’s not true.” 

“Izuku and I had a falling out.” Shouto shrugs. “There isn’t any more to it than that.” 

Momo crosses her arms and leans back in Shouto’s leather wing chair. “Right,” she muses. “A falling out so bad that you quit your hero agency and got a job with Bakugou — who, might I remind you, you hate .” 

“I don’t hate Bakugo.” Shouto frowns. “I just think he’s a bit much.” 

“Mmm, yeah, okay,” Momo mumbles sarcastically. “But that’s not the problem here. The problem—” she sighs, bouncing her foot impatiently, “—is that you quit your job because of whatever falling out you two had, and you’re refusing to talk to me about it. You’re refusing to talk to anyone about it.” 

“Because there’s nothing to talk about!” Shouto insists. 

“Give it up, Icy Hot. You know she isn’t going to leave it alone until you talk to her.” Kyouka comes into the living room from the kitchen holding a plate of colorful macarons and a steaming mug of ginseng tea. She raises her eyebrows at Shouto, smirking. 

Shouto winces. “Please don’t call me that. It’s bad enough that I have to hear it at work.” 

Kyouka shrugs. “Sorry, it’s just catchy.” 

“She’s right though,” Momo presses, taking a lavender macaron from the plate. “I’m not leaving until you stop with this emotionally closed off nonsense and talk to me. I know you’re not doing well, despite how well you think you can hide it from me.” 

“I’m fine. I don’t know what you’re—“

“Shouto, dude,” Kyouka cuts in, “the last time I’ve seen a stack of finished nonogram puzzles as high as the one on your kitchen counter was when Endeavor came for parents weekend in our second year.” 

Shouto bites the inside of his cheek. Damn. He was sure he’d remembered to recycle those papers.

“Okay,” Shouto admits with a sigh.“Maybe I’m not as well adjusted as I thought.” 

Kyouka smirks with victory and Momo looks even more concerned than before. They two of them look at eachother and Shouto knows that they’re talking about him with their weird mind-reading powers. Talking about him. About what an idiot he is. 

“Shouto,” Momo says softly. “What happened?” 

Shouto rubs his temples and tries his best to put his feelings into words. He’s never been good at this. He’s never been good at explaining why he feels hurt or upset or ashamed , and right now he’s feeling all of those things. 

“I went to that festival with Izuku and his boyfriend.”

“Oof, awkward,” Kyouka blurts out. She sips her tea loudly as Shouto shoots her an annoyed glare.

“Well, yeah,” Shouto admits, and breathes heavily. “It was. Until he left.” He grabs a cookie from the tray and holds it, just for something to fidget with. “His boyfriend, that is. He had to leave and it was just Izuku and me. He got it in his head that we should walk through the old UA campus. Something about wanting to take a walk down memory lane. He took me up to the roof and from there we could see half of the city — the arena, the dorm buildings, that cherry blossom tree…”

“The one from the secret love note?” Kyouka asks loudly. 

Shouto pauses and looks at Momo who puts her hands up defensively. 

“Don’t look at me like that, I’ve told you before that I tell Kyouka everything. You can trust her,” Momo promises. “I wouldn’t have brought her over here if I didn’t think she could help.” 

“It’s a lesbian thing.” Kyouka shrugs. “Don’t take it too personally. We practically share a brain.” Kyouka winks at her girlfriend and grabs another macaron from the plate. She doesn’t hesitate before shoving the entire thing in her mouth. 

“I’m pretty sure that’s not how that works,” Momo laughs. She gives Kyouka a loving look, and then pulls her attention away to go back to listening to Shouto. “Anyway, yes. The one from the love letter that Shouto and I found.”

“Right,” Shouto continues. “I don’t know. Something about being there with him, seeing that tree, it just made me think of that note and I couldn’t stop thinking about it and then I kissed him and—“ 

“Wait, what ?” 

“You kissed him?” 

Shouto covers his face with his hands. “Yes.” 

“Shouto…” Momo eyes are wide and her jaw slack. She glances to Kyouka who is sitting on the ottoman and leaning forward in disbelief. 

“To be honest I didn’t think that you had the balls to do something like that.” Kyouka grabs another cookie, but doesn’t eat it. She twirls it around absently in her hand, eyes glued to Shouto. 

“And he was completely freaked out.” Shouto can’t hide the strain in his voice. “He was angry. And then he left. And I just stayed there for a while feeling horrible about myself.”

The room is quiet for a moment. No one says a word, and Shouto can practically reach out and touch the judgement that’s being passed between the two women. He slowly removes his hands from his face and looks between them, surprised to see that they look sad rather than angry. 

“And then you resigned.” It’s not a question. Momo slowly pieces together the rest of the story. She’s known Shouto long enough to understand exactly why he left the agency and exactly why he really didn’t want to talk about this. 

“I didn’t have a choice. He was so angry at me. I didn’t want to make him have to be around me at work - it was my fault. I’m the one that kissed him .” 

Momo considers him for a moment, thinking carefully. “But Shouto, have you talked to him about any of this?”

She asks the question gently. She places it softly on the table between them. 

“No. There isn’t anything to talk about,” Shouto explains miserably. “He has a boyfriend and I kissed him anyway.” 

“But that’s exactly why you should talk to him,” Momo presses. “Has he tried to contact you?” 

“Yes,” Shouto says quickly, and then: “No. I mean, sort of? He called me almost every day last month but stopped recently. And he texts me. Probably.” 

“Probably?”

“I muted his conversation,” Shouto admits. Momo and Kyouka look at him like they want to reach across the coffee table and strangle him. “I don’t know what to say to him.” 

“Shouto if he’s trying to contact you, it probably means that he wants to talk to you,” Momo stresses, voice getting louder and more insistent. 

“Yeah so he can tell me off for kissing him.” 

“I don’t think that’s the case. I really, really don’t.” 

“Jeez for someone as smart as you are, you’re pretty dumb when it comes to relationships.” Kyouka places her mug on the table with a little too much force. “Look, if he’s calling you it’s because he wants to talk to you. You guys are best friends, and you owe it to him to not just blow him off because you made a mistake. Izuku Midoriya is the most understanding person that I know, and I’m sure that if you just explained yourself and freaking apologized like an adult, that you guys could go back to exactly how things were.” 

Shouto doesn’t say anything. He stares at Kyouka with wide eyes and considers each of her words like it’s a piece of fruit in the produce aisle. He picks them up one by one and considers them from all angles, looking for imperfections or bruises. 

And he finds one, of course, he always does. She’s right, he knows that she is, but there’s a problem. And it sticks out to him, a clear black blemish soiling an otherwise perfectly healthy proposal. 

“You don’t...” Momo says slowly, realization dawning on her as she watches Shouto’s expression shift. “You don’t want things to go back to the way they were.” 

There it is . 

“No,” Shouto confesses. “No I don’t.” 

Kyouka narrows her eyes suspiciously. 

“Well in that case, you need to make yourself clear ,” she says simply. “But I don’t think it’s worth throwing your friendship away for. Just tell him straight up: ‘hey , I’m crazy stupid in love with you and I want you to know that even if it makes staying friends harder’. Which,” she continues, “even if he doesn’t say what you want him to, I’m sure that he won’t be angry with you for being honest. If he was angry when you kissed him, which by the way I think that you’re probably misreading surprise and confusion for anger - it was just because you caught him off guard. But you won’t know any of that until you talk to him .” 

There’s a pause, a heartbeat — while she waits for her words to sink in. 

“I know he’s worried about you,” she says, tone quieter, softer in the wake of her point being made. “Ochako hasn’t stopped bothering me about it at work.” 

“Why you?”

“Well she knows that you and Momo are really close, so she figures that I’d know what’s up. I mean, she’s right , but I’m not going to tell her any of this so don’t worry.” She bites into the cookie into her hand, speaking through each chew. “But just know that Izuku told her that something happened between you guys and she’s just as concerned as we are. He’s being cryptic about it too though so she doesn’t know what exactly went down.”

“Thank you Kyouka,” Shouto says softly, and he means it. 

“Don’t mention it. You and Izuku are two of my favorite people and I hate to see you guys not talking to one another. You have to remember:” Kyouka’s eyes focus in on Shouto’s, “You’re not the only person that Izuku saved when he was in high school.” 

“It’s true,” Momo says, finishing the last of her tea. “In a way, we all sort of owe him for what he did for us.” 

“But if you tried telling him that he’d never understand. He was just being himself.” Shouto smiles, thinking back to his high school days. He remembers the sports festival from their first year, the hatred he’d felt towards his father, how blind he’d been to the dream inside of him. He remembers feeling so lost and alone and —

“But that’s what you love about him isn’t it?” Momo whispers.

He remembers the way Izuku’s voice strained and cracked as he shouted across the stadium —

"It’s yours! It’s your quirk, not his!"

“Yeah.” Shout agrees. “It is.” 

Shouto decides that his friends are right. He knows that he can’t avoid Izuku forever, and he knows that he needs to talk to him about what happened. He just needs to find the right words to say. 

He decides to call Izuku tomorrow. 

*.*.*.*.*

Shouto can’t sleep. He isn’t sure if it’s because he’d made a major decision to face his biggest anxiety today or if it’s because of the earth-shattering thunderstorm that’s rolling by outside of his apartment. 

Whatever the cause, Shouto gives up trying to will himself asleep and decides to make himself a cup of non-caffeinated tea to soothe his nerves. He’s sitting in his kitchen, reading the nutrition label on a box of butter cookies that Kyouka had left, when he hears the unmistakable sound of something gently thumping against wood. At first, he assumes that it’s debris from the storm, but when he hears it a second time and a third time, he decides to investigate. 

As he enters into the hallway, his suspicions are confirmed. There is definitely someone knocking on his door. He isn’t wearing a shirt, so on his way to answer the door he pulls a zip up hoodie from his hall closet to put on. 

Who the hell is knocking at his door at midnight in the middle of a monsoon? 

He pulls the door open, quirk at the ready in case it’s some crazy person here to murder him, and freezes the moment he sees Izuku standing there. 

Izuku is soaking wet. His usually tidy curls are a mess on his head. His dark blue plaid shirt clings tightly to his arms in sopping wet wads of wrinkled fabric, his black tee melded to his chest, possessively hugging Izuku’s muscles. The look Izuku is giving Shouto is harsh, defeated, and… angry?

 From behind him on the balcony, lightning shoots across the sky and thunder shakes the cement foundation of his building. 

“Um,” Shouto manages. Everything else dies in his throat. 

“Hey,” Izuku says miserably. “Can I come in?” 

He doesn’t wait for an answer. He pushes past Shouto into the apartment. He kicks off his untied mud-stained red chucks and walks with slippery wet socks into Shouto’s living room. 

“Hey,” Shouto protests, closing the door a little too roughly behind him. “What the—”

Izuku ignores him and makes his way into the apartment.

“Hey,” Shouto repeats, following Izuku into the living room. “You’re soaking wet!” Then, continuing to point out the obvious: “What are you — did you walk here?” 

Izuku slumps into Shouto’s leather wing-chair, folding his hands together and placing them delicately beneath his nostrils. His eyes focus upwards onto Shouto who stands awkwardly in the archway between the livingroom and his apartment’s hallway. In the dim lighting of Shouto’s floor lamp, Shouto can see the ruptured blood vessels of Izuku’s eyes, contrasting heavily with the dark purple shadows of sleep deprivation beneath them. Had he been crying?

Izuku is quiet, eyes unblinking, hands clasped tightly together, as if waiting for Shouto to say something. 

Any anger or frustration that Shouto might have felt about Izuku galavanting into his apartment at — he checks the clock on the shelf — god - two thirty in the morning , leaves him the moment their eyes meet. Shouto has known Izuku for a long time and he’s seen a lot of different looks in those eyes. It only takes one second of eye contact for Shouto to sense it. He knows that something is wrong. 

“Are you okay?” Shouto asks, defensive guard deflating like a balloon. 

Izuku says nothing. Droplets of rain fall from his curls and land with silent splatters onto Izuku’s hands. 

“A-Are you…” Shouto starts and fails to finish. He swallows hard, mouth going try and suddenly tasting like sour milk. “What’re you—”

“Did you block my number?” Izuku’s voice is stark, but not accusatory. He presents the question as if stating a fact — not looking for an answer that he already knows. 

Shouto sighs and crosses the room to sit on the couch across from Izuku. He doesn’t say anything at first, considering his words carefully. 

“Izuku, look,” he begins, eyes focusing on an unfinished crossword puzzle flayed open on the coffee table. “I’m sorry—”

“About what?” Izuku cuts in, yanking his hands away and slapping them against his wet jeans. “About kissing me at the festival? About quitting the agency without even talking to me? About ignoring me for two months and telling everyone that we know not to talk about you around me?” 

Shouto’s stomach somersaults and a massive lump forms in his throat. Izuku’s bloodshot eyes narrow in anger and hurt. 

“Or are you sorry about some stupid letter that you found from high school and some crush that you never acted on costing you your relationship with your best friend ?”

“Izuku…” Small puddles of water pool on the leather arm of the chair.“I—” 

“Ya know what? No. Don’t answer that.” Izuku shakes his head and slides his hands into his hair, sending another air raid of water pelting down towards the floor. “Don’t...Don’t answer that. That’s not why I’m here, that’s not…” Izuku lets out a choked noise and exhales through his nose. “That’s not why I came here like a crazy person in the middle of the night,” he says after a moment. 

“Then why did you come here?” Shouto’s voice is quiet, nearly drowned out by the pounding of his heart and the rain outside the window. 

Izuku stares at Shouto, and Shouto counts the seconds that drag by in the freckles on the other man’s face. 

“Hikaru proposed to me.” The words rumble and shake Shouto’s apartment, seismic energy rattling the walls and shattering the building apart brick by brick. 

Shouto crumbles down with it. His bones collapsing with thunderous abandon, piling like pointless rubble as the rain continues to fall all around him. The droplets slam against his skin, burning holes into his flesh. 

Shouto says nothing.

Did Izuku really come here in the middle of the night in the pouring rain to brag about his engagement? Had he really been that upset with Shouto for kissing him? 

No. That can’t be it. 

This was Izuku’s way of telling Shouto that he’d moved on. Of telling Shouto that there was no way things would work out between them, and that he’d found happiness. 

Good, Shouto thinks, it’ll be easier this way. 

“Congratulations,” Shouto says instinctively, his voice metallic. 

Izuku stares back at him. His dark eyes study Shouto’s face, looking for something — a sign, maybe, that Shouto understands. Finally, Izuku sighs loudly and leans back in his chair, eyes drifting shut.  

“I said no.” 

The rain falls louder.

“What?” Shouto asks, his heartbeat still. 

“I said no,” Izuku repeats. 

“Y-you—” Shouto stutters. “But why?” 

“Because…” Izuku opens his eyes and stares at Shouto again, looking for something that Shouto doesn’t know how to give him. “Because despite Hikaru being everything that I’ve ever wanted, when he asked me to spend the rest of my life with him, all I could think of was you .” 

Shouto can’t speak, he can’t fucking move , and he feels like his left side is about to burst into flames at any moment. His heart jackhammers in his chest. 

Is this really happening?

“And the worst part is, I spent years trying to get over you. I spent so much time getting used to being around you and just being your friend and keeping things from being weird between us. I dated people. I slept with people. I was so sure that I was over you.” Izuku sighs, air leaving his lungs in one long gust. “And then you kissed me.” 

“Izuku…” 

“And I realized that I was an idiot. I was never over you. Not even for a second .” 

Shouto wants to cry and scream and explode all at the same time. This isn’t happening. There’s no way this is actually happening. 

“I know that it’s probably crazy for me to be here. But two months ago, I would have thought that you liking me back or… or kissing me was crazy, but it happened. And then you ignored me and I didn’t know what to do and I didn’t know what to think so I tried to give you space and then tonight Hikaru asked me to marry him and I just…I couldn’t say yes. Because in the back of my head I was waiting until I could see you again and talk about what happened. Because…” Izuku leans forward, elbows propped up on his knees, face resting in his palms, so close to Shouto. “Because I’m in love with you Shouto. I think I always have been.” 

Shouto knows that he needs to say something but god, words are so hard and what the hell is he supposed to say to that? 

How many nights had he spent thinking about Izuku over the last two months? How many nights had he spent thinking of Izuku over the last five years ? And now Izuku is here in his living room confessing his love to Shouto and acting like Shouto is the one with the ball in his court, acting like he doesn’t already have Shouto’s heart in the palm of his hand, acting like he hasn’t always had Shouto’s entire fucking being in the palm of his hand. 

He doesn't know how to process the fact that Izuku is acting like Shouto’s the one in control. The only thing that Shouto knows, the only thing he’s ever really known is that he’s only loved one person in his entire life and that person is Izuku Midoriya.

“So, I need you to tell me Shouto,” Izuku says quietly, eyes intense and bright as the moon. “Am I crazy for thinking that there's even a chance that you feel the same way about me?” 

Shouto swallows and oh god, he’s going to puke. He wants to speak, he wants to tell Izuku that, yes, god, of course I feel the same way about you - I’m yours, I’ve always been yours , but the words won’t come out. His lips part and his heart thunders and before he can make up his mind he’s moving forward and gripping the arms of the damp leather of the wing chair, his eyes slam shut and he presses his lips against Izuku’s and holy shit he’s going to burn a hole into the upholstery. 

But Izuku’s hands move like lightning, cupping Shouto’s face and pulling him closer, moving to his hair, fingers digging deep into Shouto’s scalp. Izuku kisses him back desperately, swallowing him whole with every brush of their tongues and clash of their lips. He lets out a low groan that has Shouto unraveling at the seams, and they push and pull one another with too much force, years of sexual tension and unspoken feelings spilling out between them in a fire and lightning storm of damp fabric and shaking hands. 

“So,” Izuku breathes between kisses. “I take it I’m not crazy then?” 

“Oh no,” Shouto corrects him, pulling away slightly and adjusting himself to a more comfortable position. He slides his legs onto the chair on either side of Izuku, straddling his waist. “You are. Certifiably insane, actually.” 

Izuku frowns and places a hand at the small of Shouto’s back. 

“Izuku. You walked here. In the rain . At two in the morning .” 

“I took the subway,” Izuku says, a teasing smile on his lips. “But you live really far away from the stop and it’s literally pouring.” 

“You could have waited until tomorrow. I was going to call you tomorrow.” Shouto touches the sharp line of Izuku’s jaw with his fingertips. 

“I don’t know if I could have made it until tomorrow. It’s been a very strange twenty four hours.” Izuku grasps Shouto’s hand and gently kisses the back of it. “I almost had a fiancé, and now I’m in your apartment and you’re sitting on my lap.”

“How did Hikaru take it?” 

“Well, it could have been worse, I guess.” Izuku says wearily. “But it also could have been like, a thousand times better.” Izuku shifts, looking away guiltily. “In his defense though, I’ve spent the better part of two years assuring him that there’s nothing between us. So when I handed the ring back to him and said that I couldn’t do it because I was in love with you, he got understandably really, really angry.” 

Shouto is quiet. He tries to think about how he would feel if he were in Hikaru’s shoes. Hikaru loves Izuku, just as Shouto does. He’d gotten to touch Izuku, hold him, kiss him. He’d had Izuku, and when he tried to make Izuku his forever, Izuku said no . 

“Which leads me to my uh...next question…” Izuku laughs awkwardly. “Could I stay the night? I sort of stormed out of the apartment and made a beeline here and uh, I don’t think Hikaru would be too happy if I came back tonight.” 

“Of course.” Shouto agrees. “You could sleep um.” He swallows nervously, “In my bed if you want?”

Izuku smiles at him. “I mean, I’d love that,” he says. “But maybe...maybe not tonight. I don’t want to rush things.” 

Shouto understands, and he doesn’t push Izuku. Instead, he sets Izuku up on the couch with his spare blankets and sofa pillows. Shouto makes Izuku a cup of tea and gives him a clean pair of pajamas to wear (although, even Shouto’s biggest pair of pajama pants barely stretch past Izuku’s ankles).  Shouto starts to head to his bedroom when Izuku’s hand reaches out and grabs Shouto’s arm. 

Shouto pauses and meets Izuku’s gaze, shivers crawling their way down his spine. Izuku is looking at him with his sickeningly gorgeous eyes and the look of longing on his face. Shouto practically melts. 

“You could...stay out here?” Izuku asks, tightening his grip. “We could watch bad TV and just...hang out? Slumber party style?” 

A smile stretches across Shouto’s face. “Alright,” Shouto agrees. 

They spend the night wrapped in blankets in the effervescent glow of the television screen. Shouto isn’t sure which of them falls asleep first, but when he wakes up to the harsh morning sunlight on his face, they’re holding hands.