Archive of Our Own

All Might, Shouto had learned, was an avid cold soba fan. 

It wasn’t a fact he’d ever thought he’d learn, nor one he’d particularly expected, coming from a man who was the face of at least three American cheeseburger brands.

But not everything was as it seemed, of course—which was how Shouto found himself with a standing Thursday lunch date with the ex-Number One Hero, touring the Tokyo metro area for the best soba spots.

It wasn’t like he’d sought the man out. It had been a total accident, the first time. Shouto had just gotten off of a patrol a few months back, a particularly annoying route that always dropped him off all the way across the city from his apartment. It was at least an hour’s train ride back home, and Shouto had been far too hungry to wait that long. He’d done what any reasonable hero would—changed out of his costume and searched his phone for the nearest restaurant that served soba. 

It seemed All Might had had a similar plan.

He’d been on the far side of town for different reasons, something he brushed off as boring and not a suitable lunch topic. Shouto hadn’t pressed him. It wasn’t like he was blind to the monotonous day-to-day of a retired Pro Hero—his father had been sending him daily emails lately, bitching and moaning about how awful retirement was and how Shouto needed to be a hero until the day he keeled over, to spare himself such agony.

Shouto largely ignored those emails.

His father had been forced to retire earlier than he’d intended, largely due to a few failing internal organs hindering his physical abilities. He was extraordinarily angry about it, nearly flying into an uncontrollable rage when the doctors had suggested cutting back almost entirely on his hero work. He’d calmed down eventually, and reached a compromise to spend the next few years slowly scaling back his daily load until the mantle of Number One had been seamlessly transitioned onto a more-than-capable twenty-eight-year-old Lemillion.

So, needless to say, Shouto wasn’t too curious about All Might’s daily routine—and it wasn’t like he seemed all that eager to share.

He’d been tucked into a corner booth with a cap pulled low over his brows, slouched to hide at least some of his enormous height. The disguise probably worked, for most civilians. They were still so unused to All Might’s true form, even after all these years, that their eyes just skipped past him. Shouto, however, had been privy to All Might trying and failing to hide himself amongst the crowd since high school. Now, at twenty-five, he was pretty damn good at picking him out.

They’d sat together that day, eating in relative quiet. The restaurant clamored with noise and the chaos of patrons, but they had sat calmly, only making a few remarks about one thing or another before falling back into comfortable silence.

There was a mutual understanding that day, and all the days that came after it.

They were both looking for someone to fill in for Midoriya Izuku.

All Might was looking for someone young and interesting to spend an hour with—and though Shouto wouldn’t exactly call himself the most captivating person in the world, he could hold a conversation about heroes for an hour without boring All Might to sleep, so he figured he was a good enough substitute.

Of course, Shouto wasn’t Midoriya—and neither was All Might. Shouto wanted someone to laugh with, to smile with, to tease and prod and joke with. He didn’t smile much with All Might, but he didn't feel as though he needed to. It wasn’t like anyone could actually replace Midoriya, but it certainly was nice to have someone who understood.

“Have you heard from young Izuku yet, Todoroki?” All Might asked, a skinny hand covering his mouth as he chewed the last of his bite. “He told me that he wanted to call you soon, last I heard.”

Shouto hummed, shoving down the flip in his stomach at the idea of Midoriya thinking of him, wanting to talk to him. “Yeah. We talked on the phone last night. He’s really excited, I think.”

Shouto was excited, too—so excited, he felt like he was going to vibrate out of his own skin every now and again, every waking thought consumed by the idea of Midoriya coming home, Midoriya back in Japan, Midoriya’s hands, his hair, his smile, just Midoriya, Midoriya, Midoriya.

No. Now wasn’t the time—he could get lost in his thoughts dreaming about Midoriya later.

All Might chuckled, low and raspy, as he set his chopsticks down with a soft clatter. Shouto blinked as he lifted his own soba noodles to his mouth, letting the savory taste ground himself back into the moment.

He still had another day to wait, after all.

“He’s been gone for a long time,” All Might agreed. “And, while America has suited him well, I believe he’s glad to be coming home.”

Eight months.

Eight months, he’d been in America.

Eight months of doing lonely patrols at an agency that should have been full of green lightning and laughter, of trying to figure out Saturday movie night over the phone, of dozens of phone calls that should have been enough, they had been for everyone else, just hearing his voice—but Shouto wanted, needed more, he craved it like he craved water, oxygen. He craved Midoriya Izuku like a starving man craved food.

“I hope he doesn’t have an American accent that we just can't pick up over the phone,” was all Shouto said instead. All Might laughed, big and booming and iconic, drawing the eyes of a few restaurant-goers—though their eyes slipped straight past the gaunt man with the baseball cap, searching for someone big and buff and long retired.

“I'm sure that if I could go years in America without picking up an accent, young Izuku can, as well. Although, the same can’t be said for his appetite… what will we do if he tries to join us on our Thursdays, and he can only stomach pizza?”

Shouto pushed his noodles in a slow circle, smiling just a little. “Midoriya could never forget katsudon,” he replied.

“That would be true,” he agreed amusedly, patting the corners of his mouth down with a napkin. “Oh—! Young Todoroki, what time should I pick you up tomorrow?”

All Might looked at him curiously when Shouto said nothing, a noodle slipping from his still chopstick and back onto the tray.

“I’m sorry, what?”

“For the airport,” he replied easily, looking bemused. “It would be a bit ludicrous to take two cars, don't you think? And I wouldn't make young Izuku take the train after such a long flight.”

Shouto blinked.

“I’m not picking Midoriya up from the airport,” he said slowly.

He wasn’t—he couldn’t. He needed more time to prepare, to ready his heart for finally seeing the man he had been so deeply, wretchedly in love with for the past eight years. 

All Might looked at him curiously, like he could see the words printed on his forehead, tilting his head the same way Shouto had seen Midoriya do since he’d known him, and he had to wonder for a split second if Midoriya had picked the gesture up from his mentor, or if it had gone the other way around.

“Why would you not?” He asked calmly, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. To him, it might have been—he didn't have to live with the chaos of being in love with his best friend, of feeling wholly and entirely devoted to someone who loved him back, but it wasn't the same, and it never could be. 

“I-I’m not family,” Shouto replied, trying his best to keep his voice even.  All Might’s eyes glinted.

“Something tells me that Izuku and Inko would disagree with that statement,” he said matter-of-factly, his brows raising, showing just a bit more of his sunken eyes. “You’ve known each other for years—doesn't that count for something?”

Shouto forced a casual shrug, feeling his chest burn. “If anyone is counted as a member of that family, it’s probably Bakugou. Or you.”

Now it was All Might’s turn to choke on nothing, lurching forward with a splutter of indiganace. Shouto bit back a smirk, instead taking another bite of his soba.

It’s not so fun when it’s at your expense, is it, All Might?

“I—My boy, I don’t—I’m close with them, of course, but only because—”

“Midoriya is your secret love child,” Shouto interrupted, his voice flat.

Surprisingly, All Might seemed to deflate at that, tension draining out of his shoulders as he slouched back over his plate. 

“Right, yes, of course, the—the father theory, I should have known, I—My God,” he mumbled, more to himself than to Shouto. He seemed relieved more than anything else, which was peculiar. Midoriya’s usual response to Shouto’s teasing was to turn red and twist himself into knots, spluttering and stammering until Shouto finally couldn't help but laugh, and he’d look up at him, just a little bit starry-eyed; and it was moments like that that made Shouto wonder if something could happen, if there was the chance, the slightest possibility of—

“You truly do refuse to let that go, don’t you?” All Might chuckled, shoving Shouto headfirst back into reality. Shouto blinked, pushing his thoughts to the back of his mind as All Might laughed again to himself, a few flecks of dipping sauce littering his chin.

When Shouto didn’t respond, All Might just cleared his throat, knocking his chopstick against the side of Shouto’s bowl to get his attention. 

“Todoroki, my boy, if you’re afraid of intruding, you know Izuku wouldn't mind you there,” he said gently, grabbing a slice of green onion from Shouto’s plate and taking it back to his own. Shouto let him. “He talks to me about you on the phone a lot. He misses you. I’m sure he’d be thrilled if you made the effort to pick him up.”

All Might sounded so genuine, so sincere that it made Shouto want to believe him, too.

But it wasn’t about Midoriya, in the end. For one, Midoriya would be thrilled to see any of his classmates at the terminal gate—he would probably burst into tears at the sight of Monoma Neito after eight months in America. 

Shouto was the problem. Shouto and, more specifically, his self control.

If he saw Midoriya, out of the blue, fresh off the plane, probably sleepy and in comfortable travelling clothes— maybe even the set of Shouto brand sweats he’d been given as a gag gift from Uraraka, God forbid —then there was absolutely no way that Shouto could guarantee that he wouldn’t sweep him off of his feet, right then and there, and kiss him.

He knew that his judgement would be impaired, and he’d prepared for that. He'd presumed that he’d see Midoriya again surrounded by the rest of their class, not monopolizing his time. Maybe he’d make his way over to the center of the crowd by the end of the night, ask Midoriya about his travels and his studies, maybe even tuck him into his arms for one blissful moment—but that was all. 

Then life would return to normal. Midoriya would be home, and Shouto would be in love.

He had not accounted for… one on one time.

Even with All Might chaperoning, Shouto couldn't even begin to guess what kinds of terrible, awful, friendship-ending impulse decisions he might make if he were to see Midoriya like that. 

“My boy...?”

Shouto looked up to see All Might’s face twisting with concern, his chopsticks hovering halfway over the table. 

“Sorry. I… zoned out.”

All Might nodded, though he didn't look convinced in the slightest. Shouto didn't blame him for that—his face had probably looked like he swallowed a lemon slice, thinking about all the ways he could potentially ruin his best friendship he’d ever been blessed to have.

“Right,” All Might agreed, walking the edge of condescending. “Well, I, for one, think that Izuku would appreciate you being at the airport. The flight will have been long, and he’d appreciate a familiar face.”

“You’ll be there,” Shouto replied, not quite petulant. 

All Might cocked an eyebrow, his eyes dancing with hidden mirth behind the jut of his brow bone. 

“I’m sure he’s sick to death of an old geezer like me,” All Might joked, making Shouto frown. “Youth must stick together, keep yourself from getting old and stale.”

“Midoriya cried when he left because he couldn't figure out which of your figurines he should take,” Shouto corrected, making All Might click his tongue, though he still smiled.

“I suppose so,” he agreed. “But… I’d still appreciate it if you joined me.”

Shouto’s frown deepened. 

“He’s missed you, my boy,” All Might said, like it was some kind of secret. “Let him see you again.”

If he was being completely honest, it really had only been a matter of time before Shouto agreed.

Not this his excuses were flimsy or untrue—he was legitimately very worried about losing control of his stupid feelings—but because, at the end of the day, Shouto could never say no to Midoriya. Even indirectly through All Might, Shouto was utterly useless at the hands of the man who’d saved him from himself.

“Fine,” he muttered, more into his soba than to All Might. “What time does he arrive?”

Shouto asked more for appearances than anything else—he already knew that Midoriya was flying Delta, seat 27A, because he always refused to fly anything but economy, and that his flight was supposed to land at approximately 12:04pm. But All Might didn’t have to know that he knew that.

“Noon,” All Might replied, slurping a noodle loudly as his face turned thoughtful. “I can pick you up whenever, just say the word.”

“Eleven,” Shouto replied plainly, not looking up from his plate. “Eleven sounds good.”

“Eleven,” All Might agreed. “That gives us more than enough time.”

More than enough time—not likely.

There wasn't enough time in the world to prepare Shouto's heart or his head.

But he had to. For Midoriya’s sake. He would make it through the reunion and the car ride and then he’d make some kind of excuse to go home before he did something stupid, like his run his hands through Midoriya’s hair and steal the noise of surprise he would make with a searing kiss.

Yeah. There definitely wasn't enough time. 

—————

Izuku loved flying.

He loved flying through the air on his own two feet, soaring past people and buildings with nothing but One for All and a few well placed booster jumps.

He loved it when Uraraka used her Quirk on him to make him as light as a feather, then someone like Kirishima or Iida or Kacchan let him loose to soar through the air like a stray breeze.

He loved flying on a plane, eating the funny little peanuts and shoving his cheek against the window in his pursuit to get his eyes on every piece of land they flew over.

Now, however, at the end of a nine hour long plane ride, two layovers, and another eight hours of air travel, Izuku was pretty damn sick of being in the air.

He wanted to be home, to eat real Japanese food instead of the strange amalgamations of every Asian cuisine ever invented that masqueraded as ‘sushi’. He wanted to see his mother on something other than the screen of his phone, to feel her warm hug and eat her katsudon. He wanted to see All Might, to show him all of the things he’d learned in person, instead of grainy footage from the campus security footage. He wanted to see his classmates, to be filled in on all the victories and losses from the last eight months that hadn't made the Hero News sites that he'd scoured at every opportunity whilst in the States. 

He wanted to see Todoroki.

He really, really wanted to see Todoroki, even if the most of a hello he would get would probably be a nod and a soft smile—but it was a smile he craved like nothing else, truly. He wanted to see pale skin and that scar and the sea and storm that raged in his eyes. He wanted to hear his voice on something other than the phone, actually hear his breathy little chuckle, the one that sounded like his lungs only barely remembered how to laugh.

God, he'd missed Todoroki.

Izuku sighed, leaning into the aisle a bit to try and glance down the aisle at the flight attendants chatting by the door to the plane. They’d said that landing would start in ten minutes about ten minutes ago, but nothing was happening. Not that Izuku was a particularly impatient person, but good God, he wanted off the damn plane.

When the seatbelt sign finally started to flash overhead, Izuku let out an audible sigh of relief, drawing an understanding look from his seatmate, a woman somewhere around his mother’s age who’d spent the whole flight knitting a Deku sweater.

Izuku had actually been half-debating taking his beanie and medical mask off, just to see if she could see past the plain face he had and recognize the namesake of her creation, but ultimately decided against it. He was so close to being home—he didn’t think he could deal with a swarm of fans demanding autographs with the poise and grace that his PR team expected of him.

The landing was smooth, but not exactly enjoyable. His ears popped painfully, even when he chewed a piece of bubblegum as a preventative measure. He could tell that a few other passengers were feeling the same, seeing as how a few packs of gum were being passed around like a holy grail. Izuku took a minute to grab his carry-on from under the seat in front of him, smiling a little at the Uravity brand backpack he’d gotten in spite of Uraraka’s flustered protests against it—it had been too much of a steal not to buy!

The woman with the Deku sweater had a Froppy bag that she grabbed, and he had to commend her taste, even if it was strange to see his moniker embroidered onto wool the color of his hero costume. It was a bit of an ego boost, though, if he was being completely honest with himself.

The second he felt the wheels of the plan touch the ground, Izuku was practically trembling with excitement, nearly bouncing in his seat as he forced those telltale flickers of stray electricity to stay under his skin. To be fair, it probably wouldn’t have blown his cover, considering he was completely swallowed up in a sloppy pair of old All Might sweatpants and a sweatshirt that was a couple sizes too big for him.

It was Todoroki’s sweater, actually.

Izuku hadn’t meant to steal it. It had been a total accident, really. They’d all been over at Iida’s apartment, celebrating his finalized total takeover of team Idaten, drinking champagne and toasting to the man of the hour. It was common knowledge that Todoroki's Quirk behaved strangely when he drank, so him shedding half of his clothes because he was suddenly burning up with heat—while very flustering for Izuku—hadn't been that big of a deal.

And then Izuku and Uraraka had stayed the night, and Izuku had been hungover the next morning and had just grabbed the first item of clothing he saw to make his way home.

He'd been halfway to his own apartment when he realized why the smell of cinnamon and pine was so familiar.  Todoroki smelled incredible all of the time, Izuku thought, but he must have been wearing some kind of Quirk enhanced cologne that night, because the sweatshirt was a literal divine gift from the gods.

And, okay, maybe if it was a real accident, Izuku would have given the sweatshirt back the next time he’d seen it's owner. He would have told the story of his hangover and the dog he’d pet on the walk home who’d gotten dirt on the hem, so he’d had to wash it. 

But Izuku kept the sweater.

Even further, Izuku brought the sweater with him to America.

The nail in the coffin, Izuku slept in that sweater more often than he didn't.

Which was weird. It was so weird, to sleep in the sweatshirt of his probably heterosexual friend, who was on a whole other continent. It was so terribly, unspeakably weird, but Izuku did it anyway. He did it because he missed his friends, because he was homesick, because he liked the reminder of being in Japan, of being back in the dorms, even.

It certainly helped that he slipped into easy dreams more often than not, heavenly fantasies of being held in the arms of a man who smelled of cinnamon and pine the way the sweatshirt did, of waking up to blissful mornings of clingy cuddles and soft kisses on the top of his head.

The luckiest part of the situation was that Todoroki didn’t know how Facetime worked. He didn't like texting, but he’d been insistent that they keep in contact while Izuku was gone, so they'd settled on phone calls, no less than twice a week. Time zones meant that Todoroki usually called while he was getting ready in the morning and Izuku was settling in for the night, or vice versa. And, more often than not, Izuku was in his sweater. 

He shuddered to think of how weirded out Todoroki would have been to see Izuku in his clothes.

The front of the plane started murmuring loudly as they began to file off, one by one, achingly slow. Izuku was practically vibrating as he waited his turn, peering out from behind the seat in front of him every couple of seconds like it would make the people disboard any faster.

By the time Izuku was standing, then making his way slowly down the aisle, he felt as though his heart might start beating into overdrive.

“Um—er, excuse me? Sir?”

Izuku jolted, his every nerve pulled tight like a bowstring, ready to sing at the slightest pressure. The flight attendant who’d tapped his shoulder looked embarrassed, flustered, even. She had a blank slip of paper in her hand, holding it out in a silent question Izuku knew far too well.

He gave her an indulgent smile that he wasn't even sure she could see from behind his mask and pulled out one of his Chargebolt pens from his back pocket, scribbling his sloppy signature on the outstretched paper with what he hoped was a pacifying wink. 

The woman let out a little squeak and hurried away before he could say anything else—thank her for her support, or even just for flying him all the way from his layover in Helsinki. He was partially grateful, though, because that probably would have arisen questions from the other passengers about who he was, what his job was, why he was signing autographs…

And Izuku just wanted to go home. 

He hurried down the terminal exit, nearly bumping into at least half a dozen slower passengers on the way with rushed, mumbled apologies that he would have regretted had he not been so thoroughly exhausted.

Stepping out into the airport gate was like breathing fresh air after being stuck indoors all day (which, technically, he had been). 

He was well and truly back in Japan now, ready to take on the world with all of the knowledge he’d gained during his stay in America, to fight with all of his old friends, with Kacchan, and Kirishima, and Iida, and Uraraka, and Tsuyu-chan— God, he’d missed everyone.

He started scanning the crowd, searching for a familiar gaunt form that he knew he’d be able to recognize in a heartbeat—and not just because he was head and shoulders above an average person. All Might had always been ridiculously tall, especially compared to Izuku who, even after growing a bit since school, still only stood at a measly 5’8. Not like Todoroki, who’d passed six foot during their third year, or Iida, who was brushing up on the near side of six foot four, or Kirishima, who was at least a foot taller than Izuku himself.

He didn't mind being short much, except for times like these. He had to stand on his toes to try and peer over the crowd of people swarming the terminal, and even then it was tough to get his eyes around some of the larger or more obviously protruding Quirks that he could see on the other passengers and the people picking them up.

Izuku sighed when he’d scanned the entire room with no luck. He tugged the hat from his head as the breath whistled out from between his and resigned himself to wait. Maybe All Might had gotten stuck in traffic, or had been recognized by a fan.

His feet seemed to drag behind him as he slowly meandered to the edge of the crowd, stifling a yawn from underneath his mask—when suddenly a flash of something so incredibly, wonderfully, gloriously familiar caught his eye.

—————

I’m just going to step out to use the restroom, All Might had said, sounding strangely smug for some inexplicable reason. I’m sure I’ll be back before he gets off of the plane.

Except that had been a lie, because a crowd had already started streaming out of the little terminal that transported people off the plane, and Shouto was still by himself, All Might nowhere in sight. Luckily, t here had been no sign of Midoriya in the first wave of passengers, presumably those coming from first class, mostly men and women in business suits and hair that looked far too polished to be walking off of a nine hour long plane ride.

Shouto shifted his weight where he stood, glancing around self-consciously. He wasn’t particularly disguised, per se, but he wasn't dressed up in his hero costume—although, with his distinctive looks, it was hard to find something that sufficiently covered him up enough to be unrecognizable. Wearing a full wig had about the same effect as a baseball cap on the general public in terms of warding off fans. 

As in, neither of them worked. At all.

But he had no time to go whip something more effective up if he wanted anyone to be there when Midoriya got off the plane—and miraculously, either his black beanie and medical mask were doing a better job than usual, or the people waiting for passengers were too distracted to realize that the Number Eleven Pro Hero was in their midst, because no one had approached him yet. He figured it was a matter of time, but he hoped they would wait until All Might came back from the bathroom. He wanted someone to be there to greet Midoriya.

Besides, All Might would probably be the better choice. Midoriya would definitely rather see his childhood hero turned father figure than just one of his friends. Even if they had lived together for a short time straight out of school, it wasn't the same as the level of reverence he held for a man like All Might, who’d impacted his life so much—

“Todoroki-kun?”

Shouto's stomach dropped to the floor.

He blinked once. Twice.

He couldn't quite believe his eyes, afraid of a trick, a mirage, like an oasis in the desert. He was a dying man, indeed, so desperate to see Midoriya that his mind had started playing tricks on him—

“Todoroki-kun!”

Midoriya was running.

He was running, and time was slowing down more and more with every footfall on the polished tile of the airport terminal gate, and Shouto was helpless against his beating heart—and Midoriya kept running, running to him, like Shouto was some kind of gift from the heavens and not the other way around.

Midoriya jumped and Shouto’s body moved before he could think, wrapping his arms so tightly around his torso that he would have been afraid of hurting him, had the man in his arms not been the strongest person he knew.

Midoriya laughed— good God, he laughed, he’s back and he’s laughing— as Shouto spun them both around once, twice, three times, gleeful and giddy and so thoroughly overwhelmed with the smell of Midoriya’s shampoo and the feeling of his warm hands on Shouto’s back and the sound of that damning breathless laughter in his ear. It lit him up from the inside out, setting a fire in the base of his back that licked up his spine like a starving creature, as desperate to feel the warmth that was Midoriya Izuku as Shouto was.

They stopped spinning eventually, but it was probably longer than it should have been. Still, Midoriya didn’t let go, instead clutching onto Shouto’s neck even tighter, like some kind of lifeline, and all Shouto could do was hold him back, burying his face into the sweet smelling curls on Midoriya’s head as he tucked the world’s greatest hero under his chin.

Midoriya was mumbling something against his chest and Shouto could feel wet spots forming on his shirt, mirroring the wrinkles surely starting to crease the back of his shirt where Midoriya’s fists clenched onto the fabric, as if he was afraid Shouto would disappear.

You were the one that disappeared, Midoriya, Shouto half-wanted to say. I’ve been here. Waiting for you to come home.

Midoriya clutched the back of his shirt somehow impossibly tighter, knocking his forehead against the base of Shouto’s collarbones a few times with the force of his heaving sobs. 

Shouto had been hugged before (mostly by Midoriya) but he wasn't particularly gifted at it. He just followed his instincts now, wrapping both hands around Midoriya’s torso and rubbing up and down his back, relishing in the feel of the taut muscles under his skin, of a living, breathing Midoriya right there underneath his fingertips.

Midoriya was here.

Midoriya was home.

Shouto clutched him tighter—now suddenly he was the one afraid of Midoriya disappearing. He hadn't realized how much he missed the feel of Midoriya’s warmth under the pads of his fingers until now. The little things he’d taken for granted, like brushing hands over a shared meal, or pressing their legs together under a crowded table. Shouto craved those little points of contact like a starving man craved another meal.

He was starved, starved of Midoriya and of his laughter, his sobs, his touch, his smell, his life. 

But Midoriya was home.

With a sniffle, Midoriya untucked himself from Shouto’s chest, eyes red and puffy with massive bags underneath—and undoubtedly the most beautiful Shouto had ever seen them. His mask had been knocked down, pulled under chin. He sniffed again, blinking quickly as a few stray tears slipped down his freckled cheeks, drawing Shouto's eye down to the way his lips pouted just so, wet with salty tears and so achingly kissable.

Shouto licked his own lips and forced himself to meet Midoriya’s teary gaze once more.

“Y-You're here,” he whispered like a prayer, and every doubt Shouto had about coming was whisked out of his mind like wind, sand through his fingers at the look in Midoriya’s eyes, a look of gratitude, of sheer shock. 

“I’m here,” Shouto whispered back, equally as reverent.

Midoriya fell forward, his hands releasing their death grip on Shouto's shirt to card shakily through his hair, sweet fingers brushing against his scalp like traces of pure bliss. 

“Todoroki-kun came to see me,” Midoriya whispered, and the sheer amount of disbelief in that one small sentence broke Shouto’s heart clean into pieces.

“Of course I did,” he murmured back, pulling Midoriya back into his chest and choking on his own breath. “Of course I'm here.”

“My boys.”

Shouto jolted where he stood, refusing to let go of the man in his arms as he awkwardly shifted his head around to glance back at All Might, who was standing calmly with his hands folded behind his back, a small smile on his face.

“Welcome home, Izuku.” 

Midoriya let out another choked sob, releasing Shouto’s middle to stumble over to All Might—and while Shouto understood why, while he’d already accepted that he fell below All Might in terms of importance in Midoriya’s life, he couldn't help but leave his hands hanging in the air, his chest suddenly cold without a warm body pressed against it.

Midoriya hugged All Might so tightly he winced, giving Shouto a small smile of reassurance over his head when Shouto opened his mouth to say something.

“It’s so good to be home,” Midoriya choked out, turning his head to look back at Shouto, who gave him a smile that probably revealed more of his true feelings than he’d intended it to. “It’s so good to be home.”

Shouto agreed. 

It was incredible to see Midoriya again, live and in the flesh, to see the way his hair bounced when he laughed, to feel the way his blood pulsed under his skin, real and alive and utterly enthralling.

Shouto was so wholly, profoundly, wretchedly in love with him.

All Might slowly pried one of Midoriya's hands from his waist, letting him hug him from one side as he gestured to the back of the airport.

“We should be going, my boy,” he said gently, patting Midoriya’s head with the care of a man who’d done it many times before and never taken a single instance for granted. “Your mother is waiting.”

Midoriya perked up like some kind of dog smelling treats, which was quite possibly the most endearing thing Shouto had seen in his entire life.

“Did—Did she…?” Midoriya asked, glancing between All Might and Shouto. 

“Make katsudon?” All Might replied with a wide grin. “Of course, my boy. Do you think we’d have a welcome home party without katsudon?”

Midoriya let out a choked laugh, grinning just as wide as his mentor despite the tears that ran freely down his cheeks once more.

“Come on, my boy,” All Might prompted again. “Let’s get your bags and keep moving.”

Midoriya nodded, stepping away from both of them as he wiped his eyes with the sleeve of his sweatshirt, which looked just a few sizes too big for him, but in a very good way. He seemed small, but not weak. Just the right size for Shouto to tuck into his arms once more—an act that, after having been performed just once, Shouto was suddenly desperate to do for the rest of his life.

Midoriya sniffled loudly, looking back at Shouto with a wobbly smile as his hair caught the fluorescent lights of the airport, tossing gleaming reflections of green every which way and making Shouto feel just a bit dizzy.

“Thank you for coming, Todoroki-kun,” he said, so quiet and small that Shouto almost missed it. What he certainly didn't miss, however, was All Might quickly looking away, pretending to be fascinated with a sign for the bathroom hanging over their heads.

Shouto ignored him in return. 

“Of course, Midoriya,” he replied, just as soft, just as gentle. 

Midoriya smiled, and the world was right again.

————

The car ride back was quiet, mostly. 

Toshinori drove and Izuku’s extra luggage took up the passenger's seat, leaving the two of them in the back seat together.

Izuku was on the verge of falling asleep for the first leg, taking a Herculean amount of strength not to fall straight onto the warmth of Todoroki's left shoulder and stay there for the rest of his life. 

Sleeping forever, with a kind man like Todoroki at his side. It wouldn't be that bad. 

By the time they turned onto the roads that would lead to Izuku’s mother’s new apartment, his eyes practically ached with the effort of keeping them open, not at all helped by the gentle warmth of Todoroki’s left side. 

Izuku glanced over at him, tracing the curve of his jaw with his eyes as he sat still, staring out the window, watching the roads speed by.

“Hey, Todoroki-kun?”

Todoroki blinked slowly, his head tilting just a touch to look sidelong at Izuku.

Izuku swallowed tightly, shifting in his seat. 

“Why are you… here?” He asked in a small voice, embarrassingly quiet. He knew that the note of yearning was probably obvious to everyone in the car, but he pushed past it. The question had been burning in the back of his mind since he’d first seen him, and he knew that he would probably never have another chance to ask. “I—Not that I don’t want you here, of course I do, I just… why?”

Todoroki’s face was as inscrutable as always, but the tiny slant of his eyebrows and the purse of his lips told Izuku all he needed to know. He was almost… upset about something, and he didn’t want to say what.

“Something’s wrong, Todoroki-kun, isn't it?” Izuku asked. Todoroki’s gaze flitted over to him for a heartbeat, then went back to staring at the headrest in front of them.

“How could you tell?”

Izuku smiled to himself, knocking his knee against Todoroki’s jean-clad thigh.

“I’m not gonna lose my Todoroki-kun translating skills just because I was in America for a few months,” he replied, his smile growing when Todoroki huffed out a little laugh. “I speak fluent Todoroki-kun. So, what’s wrong?”

Todoroki’s expression soured again almost immediately, his gaze flickering around the car before settling on the hands he was wringing out in his lap.

“Nothing.”

“Liar.” Izuku poked Todoroki’s shoulder, pouting his lip out. “Tell me, Todoroki-kun. Please.”

It was quiet for a long moment, long enough that Izuku started wondering if Todoroki was ignoring him.

“I’m… Did you really want me there?” Todoroki finally asked, his gaze fixed on his hands. “At the airport. Did you…?”

Izuku leaned forward, trying to catch his eye, but Todoroki was adamant in staring down at nothing. “Did I what, Todoroki-kun?”

Todoroki drew a slow breath, his fingers twitching.

“All Might invited me to come pick you up,” he said slowly. “But I’m not… your family. Wouldn't you have preferred him and your mother, or even Uraraka, or Bakugou, or—“

“Todoroki-kun,” Izuku interrupted, waiting for him to finally glance up before he continued. “There isn’t a single person I would have rather seen at the airport, did you know that?”

Todoroki’s eyes widened just a touch, his throat bobbing.

“I’m glad that you were the first person that I saw, Todoroki-kun.”

They stared at each other for a long moment, something unspoken humming right under the surface—it was right there, if one of them could only be brave enough to just reach out and grab it.

“We’re here, boys,” All Might called out from the driver's seat.

Izuku jolted upright, tearing his eyes away from Todoroki to watch the car pull into the parking lot of the apartment complex. Todoroki was silent behind him, a steady presence.

That something that hummed under Izuku’s skin quieted down for the moment as he was suddenly overwhelmed with the thought of seeing his mother again, of eating her katsudon and talking with her face-to-face. 

Todoroki graciously handled the majority of Izuku’s luggage on the way up, leaving him with just the backpack he’d taken on the plane. He tried to argue, but Toshinori just put a hand on his shoulder with a look in his eyes that had Izuku stopping in his tracks.

Let him do this for you, his eyes seemed to say.

Izuku wasn’t exactly complaining, per se—his bags were heavy, and he was exhausted from such long hours of travel. But it was certainly a test in self control, trying very hard not to stare at the way Todoroki pushed his sleeves up, or the way his forearms looked with the weight of the suitcases.

Izuku tried very hard, but that isn’t to say that he succeeded.

Inko was at the door at the end of the hall when the elevator doors opened, clasping her hands over her mouth as Izuku smiled widely at her. His eyes were already welling up with unbidden tears and he was certain that hers were too as he rushed down the hall, wrapping her up in a bear hug and just relishing in the feeling of being home. 

“Oh, Izuku,” she whispered into his ear, a damp spot rapidly forming on his sweater where she tucked her face into his chest. “Izuku, you're here.”

“I’m home, Mom,” Izuku said quietly.

Inko pulled back a bit, brushing a hand over his cheek.

“Welcome home, Izuku.”

Izuku let out a choked sob, tucking his head into the crook of her neck as she brushed a hand over his hair. He was taller than her by a solid few inches, but he felt like a child as she rubbed gentle circles into his back.

She just held him for a long moment, and Izuku was nothing but content. Only All Might clearing his throat behind them got them to stand, to stop leaning against each other for long enough to get their bearings back.

“Oh! Shouto-kun!” Inko gasped as she wiped the tears from her eyes. Izuku turned to look at him, standing completely still next to All Might. “I forgot that you were picking Izuku up with Toshi—you should stay for dinner!”

Todoroki’s eyes widened, one of Izuku’s bags slipping down his arm as he stood frozen.

“I—I couldn’t, Midoriya-san, I don’t want to intrude—”

“Nonsense!” She interrupted, bustling over to usher the three of them inside. Todoroki stumbled forward and Izuku reached out for him on instinct, wrapping a hand around his strong bicep.  The touch made his fingers tingle, something that spread into a full body shiver when Todoroki’s mismatched gaze locked onto him. Izuku yanked his hand back as if it had been burned, his forced laughter awkward even to his own ears. 

“Oh, goodness me, Shouto-kun, are you alright?” Inko cried out, rushing forward to put a hand on Todoroki’s cheek, turning his face this way and that. Throughout it all, Todoroki’s burning gaze never left Izuku’s, his eyes so bright and intense that it nearly made him shiver again.

“I’m fine, Midoriya-san, thank you for your concern,” he mumbled, tearing his gaze away from Izuku to look down at the woman fretting over him. 

She smiled up at him, patting his cheek.

“Then stay for dinner? As an apology?”

Todoroki opened his mouth, and Izuku knew it was to refuse.

“Please, Todoroki-kun?” He asked quickly, stepping up to stand next to his mother. Those mismatched eyes found him again in a heartbeat, burning with a wordless question.

“Stay,” was all that Izuku could whisper.

“I…” Todoroki looked at him for another moment. Izuku smiled back at him hopefully.

“Okay. I’ll stay for dinner.”

—————

“Thank you for helping with the dishes,” Midoriya said, his voice quiet and small. Shouto nodded as he grabbed another plate, wiping a smear of soap onto the surface before scrubbing it with a sponge.

“Of course,” he replied easily. “You cooked.”

“My mom cooked,” Midoriya corrected, sounding more than a bit sheepish. “I didn't do anything.”

You came home, Shouto wanted so desperately to say. You came home to me. 

“You’re right,” is what he said instead. “Freeloader.” 

Midoriya let out a yelp of indignance and shoved Shouto’s shoulder with playful force. He was smiling so brightly, his eyes so wide and full of everything. Shouto repressed the shudder that wanted to go careening down his spine at the feeling of Mdiorya’s easy touch on his shoulder, instead bringing his plate up to his mouth and slowly, deliberately blowing the bubbles off and into Midoriya’s face.

Midoriya shrieked, half disgust and half delight, immediately plunging his hand into the soapy water and flinging a fist full of bubbles at Shouto in retribution. Shouto lifted his plate like a shield, defending himself from the onslaught of soap that was flung his way.

“Cheating! No shields!” Midoriya protested, but Shouto could hear the teasing in his voice.

“No rules,” he replied easily, flipping the plate over and blowing in one smooth movement to send another stream of bubbles Midoriya's way. 

Midoriya shrieked, more delighted this time, throwing another handful of water at Shouto's chest. Shouto rebutted with a smear of bubbles across his cheek, launching them into a full-scale bubble war before too long. It was messy and loud and so, so wonderful—the sound of Midoriya's shrieks and his laughter, the feeling of his scarred hands rubbing soap into Shouto's hair before falling into peals elated laughter.

Shouto’s breath caught in his chest as he froze where he stood, his gaze tracing the line of Midoriya’s throat with his head tipped back, his strong jaw and his flushed cheeks, his hair wet with soap and dish water.

He was so achingly beautiful that it made Shouto feel like he was free-falling.

The realisation hit Shouto like a train—not that Midoriya Izuku was beautiful, of course he knew that already.

The realisation that Shouto wanted to be at the airport.

He didn't want to see Midoriya at parties, to have to play catch up like old friends who’d fallen out of touch. He wanted a place at the airport, a place that no one could argue with. He wanted to be family.

He wanted to be a part of Midoriya’s family.

He wanted to love Midoriya with his whole being, unapologetically. He wanted to kiss him when he got off the plane, to cuddle him on the car ride home, to sneak bites of his katsudon during dinner. He wanted Inko to just assume that he was staying over, because why would someone who loved Izuku that much want to leave?

Shouto horribly, selfishly wanted.

He wanted so badly that it was a physical ache in his chest, a lump in his throat, a stinging in his eyes.

“Midoriya, I’m in love with you.”

The words slipped out of his mouth without warning, tumbling out and shattering on the floor, along with every dream and hope that Shouto had of a pleasant future with his best friend.

Midoriya's laughter hitched as his head whipped around, just staring at him, a bowl clutched in his hands.

Shouto could feel his heart pounding in his chest, so loudly he was certain that Midoriya could hear it too. The sponge slipped out of his hand and splashed into the soapy water, but the splatter on his shirt was nothing compared to the soap that already decorated him.

And still, Midoriya just stared at him.

“I-I’m sorry,” Shouto said, somewhat numbly. “I didn’t mean to say that.”

“...What?” Midoriya whispered, like he wasn’t sure what Shouto had said—like Shouto hadn’t just shattered their friendship as if it meant nothing. 

But that wasn’t true, of course.

Midoriya meant everything. 

“I didn’t mean to say that, I swear, this doesn’t have to change anything between us—” Shouto tried to say.

“You didn't mean to say it.” Midoriya repeated slowly, his eyes wide. “But did you mean it?”

“What?”

Midoriya took a small step forward, placing the bowl he was washing on the counter behind him.

“Did you mean it, Todoroki-kun?”

“I…”

Shouto had nothing to say, truly. Of course he meant it. He meant those words more than he’d ever meant anything in his entire life, probably.

“Did you mean it?” Midoriya repeated, and it was all Shouto could do not to freeze the water on his hands into crystals of ice.

“Yes,” he said in a rush, much like his first confession. “God, I’ve meant it for the last eight years, Midoriya. Yes.” 

Midoriya looked at him as if he were seeing him for the very first time—and maybe he was, seeing the parts of Shouto that he kept shoved down deep into his heart, locked away and scorned.

Midoriya looked at him the way Shouto so desperately craved to be looked at.

“Todoroki-kun,” he said slowly, so achingly slowly. “What would you do… if I kissed you?”

Shouto’s breath hitched in his chest as Midoriya took another small step forward. He had to lean his head back to meet Shouto’s eyes, still shorter than him after all these years. It made Shouto’s heart sing.

“I-I would—I… I would, um—well, I would…” Shouto stammered, uncharacteristically lost for words. It was like his brain was an overloaded circuit, shorting out and flickering between on and off.

Midoriya just smiled at him, his eyes shining.

“Okay,” he said, like Shouto’s gibberish had somehow made sense to him.

And then Midoriya was kissing him.

Midoriya was kissing him—Midoriya Izuku was kissing him.

His hands were covered in soap, but that didn’t matter because they were sliding up Shouto’s back and into his hair, letting droplets of water roll down his spine. His lips were wet and warm, his skin achingly soft where their noses brushed against each other.

It was a chaste kiss, but to Shouto, it was like some kind of drug.

Utterly intoxicating. Utterly addictive.

And then Midoriya was pressing himself up against Shouto, spinning them around so that Shouto was pinning him between himself and the sink, bracing one hand on the edge of the counter while the other slipped into a small puddle of water. It was his left hand, and the water evaporated in an instant, all the heat he was trying so desperately to keep from searing though his lips escaping through that steam.

“You taste,” Shouto gasped between kisses, “like dish soap.”

Midoriya laughed into Shouto’s mouth, his hands twisting themselves tighter into his hair.

“Shut up and kiss me again.”

Shouto found that there wasn’t a single thing in the world that he would rather do.

—————

Toshinori stood on the balcony of the Midoriya’s apartment, Inko by his side and the sunset ahead of them. It was a truly beautiful night, the dusk painting the sky with hues of orange and pink—though it couldn't hold a candle to the woman by his side.

They were quiet, standing next to each other as the sound of laughter trickled in from the kitchen. 

“I’m glad he’s home,” Inko whispered into the dusky sky, the last rays of sun catching on her hair, making it shine like emeralds.

“Me too,” Toshinori agreed, his voice equally soft. “And I believe we’re not the only ones who feel that way.”

Inko laughed gently, nodding. “Yes, I do think you’re right.”

As if on cue, Izuku and Todoroki stumbled into the living room, their hands clasped between them like some kind of lifeline. They were both spattered with dish soap and nearly soaked with water, their faces red. Izuku couldn’t seem to stop giggling to himself, with Todoroki just watching with an awed look on his face, like he couldn't really believe what he was seeing.

He whispered something in Izuku’s ear that only made him flush an even brighter shade of red, shoving him away with a laugh—though their hands stayed joined together.

Toshinori smiled.

It wasn’t long before Izuku caught sight of the two of them standing on the balcony, tugging Todoroki along behind him as he made his way through the living room.

“Hello, boys,” Toshinori greeted warmly.

“How on Earth have the dishes been cleaned if all of the soap ended up on you two?” Inko asked with a laugh. She glanced up at Toshinori, her eyes dancing with mirth.

“I—Todoroki-kun and I are going on a walk!” Izuku said brightly, his freckles standing out against his pink cheeks. He seemed to be running on autopilot, completely ignoring his mother’s bemused remarks. “So—er, bye!”

Inko laughed, a sound like bells. Toshinori glanced down at her, his lips tugging up into an even bigger smile as she placed a gentle hand on his arm.

“Shouldn’t you clean up before you go out?” She asked amusedly, laughing gently when Izuku's face flared with an even brighter shade of red, half-heartedly pawing at his hair to try and get some of the bubbles out.

“We—er, it’s fine!” Izuku squeaked out, Todoroki nodding in agreement behind him.

“You’ll catch a cold if you go out all wet like that,” Inko argued, though not unkindly. She was amused by all this, Toshinori knew. 

“We’re okay!” Izuku replied quickly, tugging Todoroki forward. “Todoroki-kun’s Quirk will keep us warm, don’t worry!”

As if on cue, Todoroki lifted the hand not tangled with Izuku’s and lit one of his fingers on fire then blew it out, as if it were a birthday candle.

Very briefly, Toshinori was reminded of the boy who refused those flames all those years ago, the scared young man who was saved by a boy with a Quirk too strong for his own body.

How far they had come.

“Well… alright,” Inko hedged. Toshinori bit back a smile when she pursed her lips together, as if she were truly debating letting them go out.

Both of them knew very well that there was nothing in their way.

“Thank you, Mom! Bye, All Might!” Izuku called out before Todoroki pulled him down the hall and they disappeared around the corner, their laughter ringing off the walls long after the front door slammed shut behind them.

“I’m happy they’re happy,” Inko said after a moment, looking up at Toshinori with a pleased smile. “This was a long time coming, don't you think?”

Toshinori wrapped an arm around her shoulders, tucking her into his side and brushing a hand up and down her arm gently.

“I knew they’d work it out somehow,” he replied. “Even if they just needed a little… push.”