Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Tears race past the hot, embarrassed flush in Shouto’s face. Bile rises to replace the lost water in the back of his throat, and his lungs have turned mutinous and refuse to do their part for the circulatory system as a whole. Sitting beneath a bridge on the steep hill of a riverbank, Shouto sits, folded in on himself, less than ten minutes from the UA campus. 

static ringtone at a shrill volume. simple excuses practiced to excuse oneself. concerned eyes warm against the fabric of his uniform, following him out of the room. an unfortunately familiar name, sans contact picture, in the caller ID. nothing good here.

Shouto left more than half an hour ago for that “quick” phone call. He should really be getting back to the dorms, cleaning himself up, distancing himself from the icy sprawl creeping over the early spring grass, and the charred handprint he knows will be left when he unclenches his fingers from the once-green tuft. His friends can be slow, gullible, and too optimistic for Shouto to understand, but they’re not stupid. They’ve got to know something is up– and he’s kept it hidden so well for so long. It’s been easy since he isn’t required to go home on weekends. 

shouting. not just father’s, but Natsuo in the background, angry until a sharp cry breeches the phone speaker and after a minute Natsuo can be heard slamming a door in the background. the tears, too often repressed, spring forth. father hit Natsu. he hit him. he hurt someone other than Shouto. guilt for crimes uncommitted and grief for a bridge never built. 

A heaving sob stills Shouto before he can work up the courage to stand, to steel his face and face the rest of the day. Only Midoriya would be the wiser, and only because Shouto was stupid (stupid stupid stupid stupid stupid ) enough to tell him before their fight during the Sport’s Festival. Yaoyorozu and Asui and Shinsou give him looks, just once in a while, like they can guess. But they keep their goddamn mouths shut, and that’s all Shouto needs from them. 

nonsense syllables. nothing intelligible. what is father talking about? what did he do wrong this time? oh. running away to fight Stain. it was months ago now, but he didn’t like that. it hurt his pride. his son helps take down a villain, and Endeavor may get the credit but even that amalgamation of hubris and putrescence and horrible, horrible flame has enough conscience to know that he did not do this. it was three fifteen-year-olds. 

Spiderwebs of ice crawl up Shouto’s right side, his good side, his safe side. Insidious, the spiderweb lace layers itself, knitting together in a frigid white blanket that his left side (disgusting) cannot tolerate, with its black-hot, charring intensity. He’s been burned by these flames before, by his father’s. Why is it so hard to remember it’s your power, not his.

“disowned.” 

Who told Shouto that? Memory fades, then fails, as his consciousness spirals into the crown of his head and stays there, trapped . Nothing escapes the lightning-bright , razor-sharp prickle that every nerve in his body has tuned into. He can feel his right side grow numb as his left sizzles where he curls up in the grass, but all is pervaded by the anxious pins and needles running laps around every phalange, pore, and palpitation. He’s still crying, not that he notices, still sucking in breath after breath with a  s l o w irregularity, a poor mimic of those exercises Tokoyami taught him some time ago. 

Why can’t he get himself under control ? Why can’t he just be good ? Why isn’t he good enough ? Why is he not enough ? 

“Todoroki?” a thin, shrill voice slips past the ice infesting his ear. “Todoroki, are you down there?”

“Course he’s fuckin down there, it’s fifty fuckin degrees and there’s enough ice to be counted as it’s own goddamn weather pattern.” Oh no. Not him . Get away get away get away. 

“Jeez, Bakugo, have some tact. He’s clearly not having a great time.”

“Yeah, go fuck yourself, Bakugo.”

“Alright, I’m gonna slide down– Hagakure, Sero, Shinsou, can you keep Kacchan up here?”

“ Fuck you, Deku, I do not need a babysitter. ”

Shinsou scoffs, “You just proved his point, fucker.”

Hakagure frets, “Don’t break any more bones sliding on that ice, Midoriya!”

Sero sighs, “Can we please knock on wood for that, I am not taking responsibility if we have to explain to Aizawa-sensei why Midoriya is broken again.”

Izuku had figured that, after twenty minutes, Todoroki’s “quick” phone call had more to it. Call him paranoid, but as the sole possessor of insight into life in the Todoroki household, he felt more than a little worried when his friend got a phone call and his face lost three shades of color in the instant before he could get himself in check. So, trying to balance his anxiety about being overbearing and clingy with genuine concern, Midoriya waited until twenty minutes had passed, much longer than any other phone call Todoroki tended to make, and then went looking. Shinsou followed wordlessly, Hagakure insisted she come along “because he didn’t look so good,” Kacchan tagged along (for some reason), and Sero followed Kacchan because he did not want to “watch Mina and Denki have one more goddamned staring contest for that plate of nachos.” They wander for a while before eventually finding a solid sheet of ice choking out the grass next to a bridge, and then Izuku regrets letting anyone tag along. He’s never seen Todoroki have this kind of breakdown before, but he doesn’t think he’d want others to see it either.

Hagakure calls out to him, with no response from Izuku’s vantage point, but when Kacchan sneers about the ice on the ground (to be fair, it’s as concerned as Kacchan can sound), Todoroki flinches. The other boys miss it in favor of tuning Bakugo up, but Hagakure sees it and gives Izuku a look that is mostly communicated in the way she wrings her gloved hands close to her chest. He tells everyone to stay up above the bridge while he slides down below, careful not to slip out onto the partially-frozen river.

Todoroki is curled into a tight ball on the grass, and what isn’t frozen is charred to ash, down to the dirt. His right side is dyed white with ice, veins and arteries showing up in unhealthy, vivid reds and blues through his skin. His left side is flushed red, as if with a high fever, and Izuku feels the heat searing the air even from a few feet away.

“Todoroki?” he whispers, then clears his throat and tries again, louder. “Todoroki? Are you alright?” Dumb question, look at him. Tears evaporating on one side of his face and freezing into little crystals on the other. Breathing slow, like he’s trying to reel himself down to earth, but erratic like he’s not sure how. Izuku sets a hand on his cold shoulder, and Todoroki doesn’t flinch so much as recoil, whining with pain. That’s a new noise. Izuku hates that noise. Todoroki Shouto is resolute and solemn and determined and altogether equitable to a freight train barreling directly for your face; Izuku hadn’t known his vocal cords even knew how to make that noise (although, dimly, he recollects that he should have known). All rationale goes out the window and Izuku’s teeth snap shut with a click when he stifles a hiss of pain where Todorki’s sizzling skin singes right through his sweatshirt as Izuku pulls him into a too-tight hug. 

Only because they’re this close can Izuku hear Todoroki’s tiny, scared voice mutter, “Please stop, please, please, you’ll get hurt–”

“It doesn’t hurt, Todoroki,” Izuku replies, softly, kind of not even sure if Todoroki can hear him at all, “I promise.” This is, of course, a blatant lie, and one of the few Izuku has told and will ever tell. He can feel his skin blistering where it meets Todoroki’s left side, and ice creeps over where he touches his right side. Part of the reason this hug is so tight is that Izuku is bracing himself against the pain. It’s genuinely really agonizing– but then again, he’s got the scarring on one hand to prove how far he’ll go for friends, for Todoroki even more. 

Somewhere above the bridge, their four friends can be heard bickering. Kacchan snaps something, voice all edges, and Hagakure snaps back in an uncharacteristic show of fearlessness usually reserved for Kaminari (by virtue of not thinking things through) or Kirishima (by virtue of his quirk and Kacchan’s reluctance to be directly violent towards him).

Reflexively, a reflex that is almost dead but not quite, Todoroki’s fingers release their hold on the destroyed grass and ball up in Izuku’s sweatshirt, absolutely ruining the shirt and even some parts of the skin below. 

Heaving sobs scrape their way out of Todoroki’s throat and they’re all he can hear, all he can feel except the warmer/colder presence of the body holding him close, closer, as close as his mother used to hold him when she was allowed, when father wasn’t home, when he was safe. Izuku feels the shaking wheezes rattle his chest as well. “Todoroki, do you know if you can calm your quirk down?” No answer is forthcoming, so Izuku adds, “Talk me through it, Todoroki, what happened?” He just wants a response, words, anything but those infant whispers of pain that his mind cannot shake.

Todoroki’s face buries itself in Izuku’s shoulder, hiding, and the tears that aren’t frozen droplets seep through his shirt like boiling water. “Midoriya,” he rasps, “how do you calm down?” 

Feeling cornered and wildly out of his depth, Izuku runs one hand through Todoroki’s disheveled hair, a less painful kind of contact than the rest of his body is experiencing. He leans his head at a weird angle to catch his friend’s attention– somehow, Kacchan sees him first, and shoves Sero to get everyone to look. Get Sensei , he mouths, Shinsou nods, Hagakure gives a thumbs-up with her gloves, and all four of them bolt towards campus.

Izuku looks for the right words desperately, anxieties piling up with hurt and heartache. “It’s alright,” he promises, “Todoroki, you’re okay, I’ll make sure of it.” He repeats this, quietly, softly, gently, running scarred fingers through grass-strewn hair, for at least a minute or two before Todoroki’s quirk begins to taper off, a difference clearly felt more than seen. 

“ He disowned me ,” Todoroki whispers, when he’s ready. “I don’t even care– why does it hurt ?” Fingers, no longer painful to the touch, readjust their grip on Izuku’s sweatshirt. 

But Izuku has no clue what to say to that– and he’s fifteen, why would he? “Because you’re kind, and you care.” This is not a lie, although Izuku isn’t sure if it answers the question. 

Aizawa Shouta had been quietly grading papers when his office door was unceremoniously slammed open by none other than Bakugo Katsuki, with Sero Hanta, Hagakure Toru, and Shinsou Hitoshi, all out of breath and all wide-eyed with panic. Shouta’s first thought is oh fuck someone’s dead, again , but no, this is possibly a different kind of panic, so he does not voice this particular concern. He decides to let them catch their breath before asking what happened, but they do not, apparently, feel they have that kind of time to spare.

Before he’s taken more than a breath, Sero cries “Sensei, we need help–”

“No, we don’t,” Bakugo corrects, “ Deku does, and that Half-n-half bastard–”

“No name-calling in my office,” Shouta interrupts, “What actually happened?”

“It’s still happening,” Hagakure whines, voice shrill and panicked.

Shinsou, eye bags engulfed by the alarm shining in his pupils, relays, “Something’s wrong with Todoroki. Midoriya went down to see what happened– but he can’t calm him down– Sensei, his arms are burning , it doesn’t look good.”

Fuck the fact that Shinsou’s information makes next to no sense, and fuck the fact that he’s in nothing but his house sweats, and fuck the fact that he just knocked a giant-ass pile of papers to the floor that it’ll take him hours to clean up later his kids need him . 

The kids lead the way, all of them out of breath at a flat-out sprint. They reach a bridge, and it’s clear that, at least, Todoroki has been here. Ice is melting into the grass that crunches frigidly under their feet, and Aizawa sternly instructs his students to stay where they are, then slides down the steep riverbank until he can see his problem children of the hour huddled like tiny ghosts under the bridge. 

Shinsou had been right, it does not look good. And Midoriya’s arms are burning. His right one anyway, and the holes in several parts of his sweatshirt point to more damage hidden beneath. Shivers rattle Midoriya’s (thank fuck, they’re not broken this time) bones once every few breaths. 

“Midoriya.” Shouta’s voice is not gentle or angry, just as even as he would be with his kids at any other point. He’d like to be gentle or angry, but the former might not get Midoriya’s attention and the latter might scare Todoroki, who is slumped against Midoriya’s chest. Truthfully, Shouta’s heart is screaming in his chest: the kids are not alright and Shouta’s not even sure of the extent of the damage or what caused it. 

Midoriya’s eyes are glazed and bleary when he looks at Shouta, red-rimmed and unfocused, but he smiles. “Sensei, you came,” he sighs, relieved, “can you help Todoroki? He’s asleep right now, but he’s not gonna feel great when he wakes up.”

“What about you, Problem Child?” Shouta presses.

“Please don’t take me to Recovery Girl,” Midoriya pleads, “she’s gonna be mad at me.” Then Midoriya takes a minute to think, too long of a minute. Shinsou has ignored Shouta’s instructions and slid down the defrosting grass, the other three kids following immediately. “Can I take a nap here?” Midoriya asks.

Shouta, Shinsou, and Hagakure all respond immediately: “No.” 

“Don’ think I gotta choice,” Midoriya slurs, and then promptly falls over, dragging Todoroki with him, which wakes the latter in an exhausted start. 

“Hm– Midoriya? Midoriya !?” 

Bakugo groans animatedly as Todoroki is sent right back to panic, muttering “what have I done what have I done !?” Flames begin to appear and snow filters into the air, whipping around as the temperature dichotomy creates a miniature vortex. 

Well, no. Just… no. Not on Shouta’s goddamn watch. His eyes prickle as his quirk activates on instinct, and the flames dissipate and the snow drops harmlessly to the grass in little drifts. One problem solved, but, of course, it’s never that easy, and Todoroki is still heaving for air and Midoriya is still hardly responsive in a little heap. 

“Todoroki.” Shouta’s voice is not gentle or angry, although he would still like to be a little of both. The kid’s head snaps up. “Todoroki, you can’t do this here–” fuck, that’s too stern, Todoroki’s already one step short of catatonic– “Are you alright to walk?” Suddenly much too stoic for any kid in this state of mind to be so few seconds after where he had been, Todoroki nods. Shouta winces,on the inside, can’t show the kids that he’s unsure. That sure doesn’t look like a healthy coping mechanism, but Shouta is neither a crisis counselor nor a licensed therapist, and the other problem child needs medical help, so one piece of pie at a time. 

“Alright,” Shouta nods, and because he feels like all the kids could use a soft voice, he adds, “Thank you,” before picking up Midoriya like the infant he is and judging that he is, in fact, conscious, just not really lucid and crying a little. “Let’s get back to campus. Recovery Girl is gonna have a fit, but it’s that or a hospital.”

“I’m sorry,” Todoroki whispers hoarsely.

Of all people, Bakugo spits venomously, “ He’s the one that fuckin grabbed you.” Shouta realizes, after a few steps, that the tone of voice Bakugo intended to convey was concern, comfort even. Another problem, another child. One piece of pie at a time.

Shinsou still slaps Bakugo on the back of the head, and Bakugo still screeches at him.

Recovery Girl does , in fact, have a fit. She’s swearing up and down, behind the children’s backs, “this goddamn kid will be the death of me– at least it’s not his bones this time.”

Tsuyu tagged along with Ochako to tag along with Todoroki to tag along with Shinsou, who had dragged Midoriya to his dorm room and dropped him with as much care as one might drop a cat– much to Todoroki’s discomfort. 

“She said he’s fine,” Shinsou drawls, “chill out about it, Todoroki.” 

Ochako has always been a quickdraw, so she immediately points Todoroki out and demands, “What is that supposed to mean, Shouto ?”

Had Tsuyu been less focused on how Todoroki’s face drops for half an instant, she might have heard Bakugo come up behind her and drag Ochako out of the room by her shoulder, barking, “Nope. Not that bullshit again. You ask me. Leave that half-n-half bastard out of it.” Tsuyu is left to begrudgingly agree that, for one time in his whole miserable life, Bakugo is right. Todoroki isn’t looking like himself. Maybe he should be left alone, just for a bit. To calm down.

“Alright then, Katsuki ,” when did Ochako and Bakugo get on a first-name basis? When did that happen? Tsuyu certainly doesn’t know. “What happened?”

“I don’ fuckin’ know–”

“ Then why did you– ”

“Half-n-half ran off, and Deku and eyebags and that fuckin’ nobody girl chased after him, and I was mostly wondering what the fuck they were doing, and Sero followed me ‘cause the other two dumbasses were being dumbasses. Then there was somethin’ about a fuckin’ bridge or some shit, and the river was frozen, and then Deku ran down and got his arms burnt to shit.”

“Wow,” Tsuyu intones, monotone as ever, “for someone with your literature scores, you cannot communicate a story with any degree of clarity.”

“ What the fuck did you just fucking say to me ?”

“Todoroki had a panic attack, Midoriya got burned trying to calm him down,” Sero, who had been passing by on the way up the stairs to his room, informs them flatly. “We had to get Aizawa-sensei to turn off Todoroki’s quirk.”

“Oh, gods,” Ochako coughs, face twisting sympathetically. Tsuyu wraps a comforting arm around her shoulders. Honestly, Tsuyu is glad that, if anybody had to be there for that, it was Midoriya. If that boy had a second quirk it would be an ungodly pain tolerance. Strategically (and she can’t find it in herself to hate the strategic part of herself), this was not as bad as it could have been. Todoroki can freeze half a stadium without breaking a sweat, one easily-healed injury is a best-case scenario. 

Still, not a good one. 

“Todoroki?” 

His eyes find their way open to a washed out, bleary world. He feels like the leftover mold after the metal has been cast and cooled.

“You’re alright– I’m alright– just good news all around, I guess, huh?”

Shouto would like nothing more than to keep an impassive expression, pretend he doesn’t care and by some trick of self-diversion make it so. He does not want this. But he knows, wishes he didn’t, because see how well this has worked out for him, he knows Midoriya is safe. Safe like Mother, Natsuo, Fuyumi, even the distant memory that was Touya, safe like cold soba leftovers when Father has left the house and safe like his dorm room. Safe like the prickling ring in his ears when Aizawa-sensei shuts his quirk off because he’s gone too far too far too faryou’vehurtsomeoneag ainMido r i y a

“First, you think about why you want to calm down.”

Shouto thinks of putting ice packs on Natsuo’s new bruise, the same way Natsuo would for him, when he lived at home, with a big smile and a thumbs-up for being so strong, stronger than anyone, squirt, and don’t you forget it . Shouto thinks of making dinner for Fuyumi, the same way Fuyumi would for him, and maybe even making dessert after, if she’s had a bad day because you deserve good days, Shoucchan . Shouto thinks of holding his mother close, the same way Mother would for him, and letting her cry out all of the bad and telling her I’m sorry, Shouto, I’m so sorry I couldn’t do better for you . Shouto thinks of teaching Tokoyami how to breathe after training too hard after classes, putting a hand on his shoulder and reminding him if you never take a break, you won’t ever truly be at your best . Shouto thinks of giving Yaoyorozu little meaningless gifts, giving her a warm smile and a you don’t have to like it, but I want you to know we’re friends . Shouto thinks of grinning warmly at Kirishima, setting a hand on his shoulder without hesitation ‘cause you’re mad cool, bro, pun intended . Shouto thinks of passing Shinsou notes in class, nothing written on them except god if bakubitch says one more gd thing abt Izuku I’m gonna make him strangle himself -Shinsou . Shouto thinks of holding Midoriya close, ignoring the pain, just trying to help it doesn’t hurt Todoroki I promise . 

“Keep that reason in your mind, and breathe.”

Following orders to the T, Shouto takes a breath, and another, trying and failing to do it right, like Tokoyami taught him– why can’t he do it right ?  

“Breathe with me.”

Midoriya nearly falls off the bed reaching for Shouto’s hand, but he does grab it when Shouto realizes what he’s reaching for and hands it to him, literally. Hand in possession, Midoriya collapses back into his covers– and now that Shouto looks at him he looks exhausted from Recovery Girl’s quirk– his fault his fa ult .

“Remember,” Midoriya wheezes, bringing Shouto’s hand to lay on the edge of his ribcage, “breathe with me.”

It helps to follow someone else’s lead. In, two three four. Hold, two three four five six seven. Out, two three four five six seven eight. Midoriya’s breathing almost evens out into sleep. Shouto would let it, would hate to disturb him, would quietly extricate his hand and vacate the room. But Midoriya blinks himself awake, groggy but determined. 

“Try to think of one good thing that you didn’t notice before.” After several eye-straining seconds, he points out, “I didn’t notice your hand was so warm before. It’s comfy.”

Oh no. Shouto does his best not to overheat or ignite his fingertips while a vulnerable blush sweeps both halves of his body. Of course, Midoriya is too half-asleep to notice. He might not even be lucid enough to realize what his words sounded like. Or maybe Shouto is reading too much into all of this and he should continue to bury everything. Burying it sounds nice. He’ll go with that.

Eventually, Shouto manages to cobble together something happy other than Midoriya’s words. “... Your rug is soft.”

Nodding, and nodding off, Midoriya continues slurringly, “and then just vibe. Just keep vibing with that one thought.”

“You sound like Kaminari,” Shouto tells him, wrinkling his nose distastefully.

“But it worked.”

“What did?”

With a grin, Midoriya reminds Shouto, “you asked me how to calm down.”

Chapter Text

But the teachers aren’t going to just leave it at that– they have legal obligations and morals and stuff– so, the next day (Saturday, as it happens, and most of class 1-A has gone home to visit their families, with just a few students who prefer to stay in the dorms on weekends waking up late and goofing off in the Heights Alliance building) they gather a small meeting. Of course, Shouta was discreet, but by following certain protocols he had to involve Nedzu and Recovery Girl, and Nedzu has more politic capability than Shouta would like but he still tells a few people for reasons that mere mortals cannot hope to understand, so by the end of it Toshinori, Hizashi, Ken, and Nemuri are all trying to say they need to be there, but Shouta tells them all to fuck off, and that he doesn’t want them screwing this up. Recovery Girl and Nedzu will be supervising through a visual-only observation of the room, in case something goes wrong, but Shouta is talking to Todoroki alone. 

Or, at least, that’s what he thinks until Todoroki slinks into the room, looking thoroughly ashamed of himself, and Midoriya follows him in with an anxious, sliding smile. But what is Shouta going to do? Tell Todoroki he can’t have a friend with him for a possibly extremely triggering discussion with an authority figure? Shouta saw how Todoroki reacted when the police even hinted at Midoriya or Iida facing jail time– he was absolutely ready to fight the goddamn cops. Shouta doesn’t want this conversation to be any more confrontational than it needs to be.

“I’m sure you know why you’re here,” Shouta begins, voice as placid and even as he can make it. Not any more or less kind than he’d be if they were discussing the math homework. He’s hoping the normalcy will ease Todoroki’s nerves. It doesn’t seem to be working so far. “We need to discuss what happened yesterday afternoon.”

“It was my fault,” Midoriya immediately blurts, drawing a whiplash head-turn from Todoroki, whose expression has not changed. 

He isn’t sure if it shows, but Shouta’s face contorts with a certain amount of confusion. “You’re not here because you’re in trouble– Midoriya, I’m not even sure why you’re here at all. Technically, you should probably still be sleeping off Recovery Girl’s work.”

“I’m not tired,” Midoriya lies– or, at least, Shouta guesses that it’s a lie. 

Shrugging, Shouta continues, trying to look as unperturbed about this strange behavior as possible. He’s never known Todoroki to be easily shaken, but now he looks as fragile as a crisp autumn leaf under a kindergartener’s boot. “We’re here more as a formality than anything. We, as a school, have a certain obligation to our students to ensure that their wellbeing is preserved and promoted as best as we can–” Shouta hates that part of the school mission statement, it dodges the point, and he can’t always uphold it like he wants to– “and after the circumstances that came about yesterday evening–…” and then Shouta trails off. He can’t just sit here and feed Todoroki a string of business jargon and watch while he closes himself off, while Midoriya’s eyes harden and compress. These are his kids . 

Shouta sighs. “Todoroki, what happened? Just tell me. I can’t help you if you don’t tell me– if it’s something you don’t want to talk a lot about, just tell me how I can help. I’m… I’m worried for you.”

Nothing changes in the emptiness in Todoroki’s mismatched eyes, but he still says, “My father called me yesterday evening. He was very upset and he told me not to come home. The paperwork for it should come through sometime next week, and then I’ll technically be an orphan.” The line is delivered monotone. Dispassionate. Like Shouta’s opening words: the same normalcy as a discussion of math homework. Like this isn’t a punch between the ribs. Shouta doesn’t ask about Todoroki’s mom– a kid hardly forgets their own mother. His father disowned him, and his mother is out of the picture enough that he doesn’t feel the need to mention her. 

Holy fuck, how is Shouta supposed to deal with this. Does he ask why Endeavor disowned him? Would that just set him off again? Does he ask what he’s got planned for the future? This happened last night, so it’s not like he’s had time to think about it. And besides, he’s in his first year of high school– kids that young shouldn’t even have to worry about this! Shouta realizes that he’s already decided Todoroki’s innocence before knowing the full story. He doesn’t want to ask the full story, he wants to tell Todoroki that he’s coming home with him and that’s that. That’s his kid , and for some fucking reason, his parents don’t want him. Are they lunatics? Do they not see how amazing he is? How smart and resourceful and insightful he is? Don’t they see his loyalty and passion and drive? Do they not see the weird face he makes after someone tells a joke he doesn’t understand, one that Kirishima usually ends up explaining to him, and just immediately see a person they could just never stand to let go?

“Sensei?” Midoriya prompts, and it’s only then that Shouta realizes he hasn’t said anything in entirely too long. Shouta’s hands are clenched around fistfuls of his sweatpants, and he releases them before blinking his more biased thoughts out of mind.

“Todoroki–”

“Todoroki has a place to go,” Midoriya interjects. “I called my mom this morning, she’s on her way here.” Out of all Shouta’s students, it’s not often that Midoriya will look at an experienced pro hero, or even just his teacher, and tell them what is and isn’t– pretty much he’ll only do that once in a blue moon to Toshinori– so Shouta knows he’s serious. 

“I’d like to discuss this with your mother, when she gets here.”

Izuku’s nervous energy is coiling in on itself and bouncing in his ribcage like the secret lovechild of a slinky and a spring. He can’t sit still. Where Todoroki seems composed, though sullen, and stoic, though hurting, Izuku feels like he couldn’t reign in this anxiety if he had a lasso and ten good ranch-hands. He won’t ask Todoroki how he’s feeling, because Todoroki made it clear this morning that he doesn’t want to be asked (“don’t ask. You already know and I don’t want to talk about it”). However, he definitely can’t wait for Mom to get here so he can stop awkwardly shuffling his feet while Aizawa-sensei looks on with vague, distracted interest and Todoroki tries his best not to freeze or burn the room, despite his body’s attempts to betray him.

When he finally gets the text– Im out front what room are u guys meeting in? – and he hears Mom’s flats (the ones he knows she wears when she expects a fight) thwap down the linoleum hallway, he feels relief seep into his pores. Nothing like a mother’s reassuring presence to settle a child down. 

She’s wearing the deep blue sweater that she’s had ever since Izuku can remember, with the white embroidery pattern starting to wear down on the cuffs and the hem, and one of her many skirts, with, of course, her fighting flats– the same ones she wore when she was called to the office in middle school to pick Izuku up after his backpack got burnt, again, and Kacchan had managed to turn the fault on him. And, immutably, her most polite, determined smile flashes with sharp teeth when she introduces herself to Aizawa-sensei, bowing just slightly. She doesn’t trust UA with a hair on her head, or her son’s, for that matter. 

“Midoriya Inko. Thank you for taking care of my son.”

Aizawa-sensei doesn’t rise to the barbed comment, just bows and replies, “Mrs. Midoriya, I’m Aizawa Shouta. I’m glad to meet you, even if these aren’t the best circumstances.”

“Mr. Aizawa–”

“Call me Shouta, if you want.”

“Alright, Shouta then. I’m here to take both of these boys home with me for the weekend. I only came up here because my son said you’d like to speak with me.” Her etiquette dances a line of ferocity that Izuku isn’t used to seeing from his mother. Clearly, Mom is on her last legs with this school, and, while Izuku doesn’t agree a bit, he can’t blame her. 

With a prematurely exhausted expression, Aizawa-sensei nods understandingly. “And I’m grateful to you for that. If you have the time, I’d like to speak with you in private.”

Mom’s lips twist in a grimace of distrust, maybe even a little annoyance– Izuku hasn’t seen her annoyed in years– but she nods. “Alright. Izuku, can you and Todoroki go pack up anything he needs for the weekend?”

“Sure, Mom.” Izuku nudges Todoroki, who was definitely zoning out, and he follows wordlessly out of the office. When they’re safely in Todoroki’s room, Izuku heaves a breath and exhales dramatically. “I haven’t ever seen my mom that mad,” he admits, “Man, even Aizawa-sensei might die.”

“She was mad?” Todoroki blinks, entirely, blissfully unaware. 

“Super mad. Like, she might try to beat up Aizawa-sensei mad.”

“Oof.”

It takes Izuku much longer than it should to register the joke, but then he cracks a grin. “Oof?” he echoes.

Todoroki shrugs, “Kaminari taught me that one. He said it’s what you say “when someone takes a Big L.”” If his lips didn’t turn up in the slightest way, Izuku would hardly have known he even found it funny. 

“Alright,” Izuku grabs the All-Might-themed duffel bag he’d brought from his room on the way up, “what do we pack you for this sleepover? Probably pajamas, a change of clothes, and a toothbrush. Right?”

While he grabs the aforementioned items from various drawers, Todoroki adds, “Maybe my notebooks? So I can study? I can’t just be useless all weekend.”

“Sure you can!” Izuku overwrites him almost immediately. “There’s no homework, and we don’t have a test Monday. We can work out or something– I’ll show you my favorite beach!– but I think we’re good on studying.” 

Immediately dropping his clothes, Todoroki crosses the room to kneel next to Izuku and put a warm hand on his forehead. “Midoriya, are you feeling ill?”

If Izuku had a normal, healthy appearance before, it flies out the door when a self-conscious blush covers his freckles and he stutters, “W-w-w-w-what? N-no, I’m f-f-f-fine Todoroki. Why would you even ask-k that?”

It’s too late by the time he realizes that Todoroki was half-kidding, he’s already withdrawn his hand from Izuku’s forehead. “You, of all people, saying we don’t have to study?” Todoroki explains, “I’d think you were dying if you didn’t look so fine.” A beat passes, then two, and Izuku swears he can see Todoroki’s neck turn pink beneath his sweater. “Fine as in healthy,” he clarifies, “of course.”

“O-of course,” Izuku agrees. 

And then, because they’re both fifteen and self-conscious, regardless of the circumstances, they each independently pretend to be extremely busy with some minor task so they have an excuse not to look at each other until they’re not blushing anymore. Todoroki grabs things from his dresser and desk, notebook included, and Izuku packs it neatly into the duffel bag. It’s not really enough stuff to even begin to fill a duffel bag, but that’s fine, it’d be a pain to change the bag at this point anyway. 

“You–” Todoroki clears his throat, “You don’t need to grab anything from your room, Midoriya?”

“No, I’m alright. I’ve still got clothes and stuff at home,” Izuku replies, voice still a little thready. 

“Not even your notebook?”

And then Izuku recollects where he is, what year it is, the fact that he’s upright and walking, and that “Oh, yeah, I wanna grab that.”

So they stop by Izuku’s room and they grab his notebook– just in case he sees a pro and has a chance to take notes– and then they head for the office where they had left Mom and Aizawa-sensei. 

They find the pair just outside the office they had been in, lingering in the hallway and smiling and speaking to each other in animated voices– miles of difference from the scene they’d left not an hour before. 

“Shouta, if all the staff at this school were like you, I wouldn’t feel so hung up sending Izuku back every Sunday night,” Mom is telling Aizawa-sensei.

And Sensei grins back at her, his awkward, toothy grin and says, “It’s a relief to hear that, especially given this whole situation with Shouto.”

And now it’s Shouto , not Todoroki but Shouto . Neither of them has ever called Todoroki by his first name, but now they’re both on a first-name basis with him. Todoroki doesn’t seem to mind, or notice, where he stands next to Izuku, but Izuku notices. It seems they’ve both gotten to know Todoroki very well, without any input from Todoroki whatsoever, in the time it took Izuku to help him pack an overnight bag. That doesn’t sit right with him. At all. He remembers the cool respect he once had for Endeavor, and he compares it to the hitching breaths and the coughing sobs and the flaking, burning skin from yesterday. Now, here are two adults– ones Izuku trusts with his life, but ones that Todoroki barely knows or trusts– calling him by his first name. Izuku feels his fists wind themselves into little balls of knotted yarn at his sides, frustrated and tense. 

“So you’ve decided Todoroki’s fate without him, have you?” Izuku snaps. And he’s surprised at himself for it. It’s not like him to snap at anyone (Kacchan does not count, he’s a bastard)– especially Mom! But Izuku can’t reconcile the things Todoroki must be feeling, no matter how well he hides it, with the seemingly haphazard actions of Aizawa-sensei and Mom. Todoroki has so little agency in a life that has thus far been extremely unfair to him, and Izuku feels obligated to defend what control Todoroki can have over the situation. Then Izuku is distracted from his righteous indignation by the doe-eyed, sappy stare Todoroki is sending his way. 

Aizawa-sensei grumbles something about “problem children” under his breath, but says “Nothing of the sort. Nothing has changed. I’ve just had a lovely discussion with your mother in which we had a short-lived custody battle.”

“Custody battle?” Izuku and Todoroki both repeat.

Mom nods enthusiastically. “Shouta here wanted to take Shouto in himself– pardon the informality, dear, but we didn’t think it right to use your last name, give the context– but I told him he’s got no business adopting children at this point in his life. Right at the height of his career, out of the blue, without a sound financial status.” She sighs in that way she does when she has a point and she knows it, “I’m a single mother, working part time and living mostly off of life insurance checks. I’ve got the time for kids, I’ve got the physical needs already provided, and I’ve got one little rascal, so I have the patience for it.”

If Izuku didn’t know Aizawa-sensei to be a stoic, expressionless man, he would have thought he saw a slight flush to his cheeks, but Izuku is sure he imagined it. “What your mother means to say is–”

“Don’t speak for me, Shouta, I’m getting to the point. What I mean to say is that your teacher loves you both to death–”

“Please don’t tempt me.”

“– but he’s not ready for a kid, and I am.” 

When Izuku glances to his side to check Todoroki for a reaction, he sees a lot more than he bargained for: Todoroki looks close to tears, jaw clenched tight, brow knitted like he’s not sure what’s going on, lips pursed with questions he doesn’t know how to ask. 

“You, of course, can choose to go with either of us, or someone else,” Aizawa continues, unifying his features to exhausted passivity once again, “but you need somewhere to go. Inko and I only had that discussion to work out what we think the best choice is. You don’t have to agree.”

Shouto is floored, to say the least. Yesterday his own father calls him to say he’d like to never see him again, and today Mrs. Midoriya and Aizawa-sensei are having conversations specifically about what will be best for him. Best for him! As if they care about him! And maybe they do, but Shouto has no metric with which to measure the truth in the words of those with power over him. Certainly, they have no reason to lie, but his father had hardly needed a reason to beat him, had he? Their words are too good to be true, and, by Shouto’s judgment, should be false.

But Midoriya’s staring at him like he’s seeing a supernova, the death and rebirth of a star, a brand new color flickering into life. And Midoriya doesn’t lie, not if he can help it, and not this well. Shouto doesn’t trust people who try to hold authority over him, but he trusts Midoriya. Midoriya broke bones for him. Midoriya burnt flesh for him. Shouto hates that he can remember the way Midoriya’s skin felt when he held him too close for comfort, even when both of them sizzled and froze at once. He doesn’t want that memory. But he can’t forget it and he’ll trust Midoriya until the day he dies. 

So he’ll trust him here too– and, by extension, his mom, and their teacher. 

“Ok.”

Only when those two syllables are verbalized and nobody really reacts does Shouto realize that all of the prior logic and their ramifications were reasoned out inside his head, and nobody else knows what he means by ‘ok.’ 

“I mean, I’ll live with the Midoriyas,” but he’s not on super stable footing on any of this, so he adds, “If that’s alright with you, ma’am.”

“It’s fine with me,” Mrs. Midoriya says, “as long as you don’t call me ma’am. Call me Mrs. Inko or Mrs. Midoriya– Mom, if you’re comfortable with that– but ma’am sounds so impersonal.”

And then Aizawa waves them goodbye to grade some papers and file some paperwork, and Shouto and Midoriya and Mrs. Inko go to their house.