Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Izuku is five years old when he feels the first prickle of pain that isn’t his own.

It’s shocking.  One moment he’s sitting in his room messing around with his action figures, Kacchan flipping through comic books on the floor across from him, and the next he’s clutching at his arm in alarm as it burns, pulsing like someone is trying to rip it out of its socket.  He’s so shocked that he cries, digging his fingers into his shoulder like that will somehow take away the phantom pain that has no explanation.  But of course that just leads Kacchan to tease him about being a crybaby, to punch him in that same shoulder out of disbelief, and Izuku cries and cries and cries.

His mother calls it a blessing, when she barges in at the sound of Izuku’s screams and finds him grabbing at an injury that doesn’t exist.  She tells him that it means he has a soulmate.  That it’s a good thing, and the highest honor he could possibly be given.  Not everyone has a soulmate, after all, and though Izuku doesn’t understand it at the moment, for someone without a quirk to have a soulmate isn’t exactly common.

In that moment, all Izuku understands is that having a soulmate hurts.  And if having one means that his shoulder has to hurt like this all the time, he doesn’t think he wants one very much.

His mother tells him that he’ll be thankful for it when he’s older and leaves it at that.  From now on, whenever you feel unexpected pain, you’ll know that it’s your soulmate falling down or getting a scrape!  It may hurt now, but it’s a blessing, Izuku.  Your soulmate is your other half.  They’re the one person that will be with you forever!

When he tries to tell her that this wasn’t a scrape, that his arm felt like it was about to pop off, she laughs and says that he’ll get used to it, that it had probably just surprised him. 

That night, the idea of soulmates strange and fresh in his mind, he sits on his bed and stares at his arm.  He imagines he can see it, the place where the pain came from.  He imagines he can see red indentations, which appear like fingerprints against his frost-pale skin.  His mother had told him that when his soulmate felt pain, he would briefly be able to see the marks the pain originated from.  But he didn’t check his arm when it happened, and whatever mark there might have been is long gone now.

Izuku pinches his arm and watches redness flush to the surface, and wonders if his soulmate can feel his pain, too.  If he can see the mark.  If he knows he’s there.

It only escalates from there.

When he’s six, he swears he feels his wrist break before he looks down and sees nothing but a pale imitation of the bruise his soulmate surely has.  When he’s seven, a fist-shaped blot of red and purple appears over his ribs as something large and powerful and horrible strikes him right across the side, and strange burn marks blossom all around it.  But the worst of it comes when he’s eight, and something hot and terrible tears down the left side of his face and it feels like it boils his skin right off of his skull. 

He’s in class when it happens, and everyone who already bullies him gets to see the way he curls into a ball and cries as a massive, blistering scar creeps its way up over his left eye.  The teacher sends him to the nurse, sweeping him quickly out of the way so he doesn’t disrupt class, but the damage has been done.  Bakugo corners him after school the next day, just when the mark has begun to fade from his face, and twists his arm and punches him and calls him foul names.  He tells him that his soulmate is a weak piece of shit for getting himself burned like that.  He tells him that a worthless dog like him has no use having a soulmate in the first place.  He tells him things that are far, far worse than that.

Izuku cries that night, shoving his face into his pillow and touching at the blank skin around his eye.  He wonders if his soulmate is blind in one eye now, and how he got hurt.  But more than that, he hopes he’s okay.  He’s still very young, but he somehow understands that something about this situation isn’t right.

And then, after that, all pain from his soulmate stops entirely.

It’s strange.  Before, he would get stubbed goes, pinched fingers, sore muscles, and burns on the regular.  But all of the sudden, it just…stops.  Nothing.  Not even the tiniest zip of pain.  And though Izuku’s mother tells him that it’s fine, that his soulmate has just gotten over his ‘rough and tumble phase,’ as she calls it, Izuku isn’t so sure. 

For Izuku’s ninth birthday, his mother gifts him a delicate pen fitted with a sharp but very small nib of metal instead of a normal pen tip.  For very, very surface level scratches, she says.  So shallow that they don’t even draw blood, and there’s only the slightest nip of pain.

Izuku is confused for a moment.  But then his mother smiles and explains that the pen is specially designed so that soulmates can communicate without wounding themselves, and he lights up all over.  He takes the pen and disappears into his room and doesn’t hesitate.

Hello, he writes on his arm.  I’m Izuku Midoriya.  The tip of the pen bites his skin, leaves behind shallow furrows that will probably fade within the hour, but his mother has assured him that it’s enough.  His soulmate…his soulmate will be able to read what he writes!

He waits a few minutes.  Then, when there isn’t a response, he writes, are you there? 

There’s nothing.

Oh, of course!  You must not have a pen.  My mother says that we can get special pens that let us write to each other, so you should get one right away so we can talk.  Try to get one as soon as possible!  I want to know you!

There still isn’t a response, but this time Izuku isn’t as scared.  His soulmate must not have a pen to talk to him with, that’s all.  It’s fine.  He’ll get one soon, and then they can talk all the time!  They can tell each other their names, where they live, and they can finally meet.  Then Izuku will finally have a friend, and he can make sure that his friend isn’t hurting. 

He gives it a month.  Then he tries again.

Hey!  Have you gotten a pen yet?

And there’s nothing.

This is when Izuku begins to suspect that his soulmate is dead.

He doesn’t tell anyone.  At the tender age of nine, he has resigned himself to life alone.  By now, it’s clear that he’s never going to develop a quirk.  And now his soulmate—the only thing he could cling to—is gone too. 

Of course, he can’t keep it a secret forever.  He isn’t sure how Bakugo finds out, but he finds out and he gives him hell for it.  Every day, all the time.  He corners him after school and bends his fingers back so far he thinks they’ll break.  He punches him in the side and pinches his arms and trips him when he walks by.  He blows up his backpack with his quirk, which grows stronger and stronger every day, and eventually he isn’t satisfied with just destroying Izuku’s possessions.  He wants to destroy Izuku.

Every once and a while, he sits down in his room and draws on his skin with that special pen.  He’s long since given up on getting a response, but sometimes it feels good to pretend that someone is there. 

Quirkless, loveless Izuku.  That’s what he hears whispered behind him as he walks the corridors of his elementary school.  Izuku, who doesn’t have a power.  Izuku, who doesn’t have a soulmate.  Izuku, who wants to go to U.A.  What a joke. 

I wish you were there, he writes one night, nursing a black eye.  I wish someone was there. 

But no one is.

He likes to think that he’s not a negative person.  That he can make the best out of any situation, grave though it may be.  But it wears on him.  The years pass, and it wears on him.  Steadily.  Unendingly.  And even though he smiles, tries to keep his spirits up, tries to make friends and analyze heroes and find ways to stay cheerful, he can only do so much.

It all comes to a head in their last week of junior high. 

“Hey Deku, you useless nerd!”

He’s heard far worse from Bakugo.  But he still cringes, knowing that the words never preface anything good.  He’s just trying to gather his things and leave, why does Bakugo always have to—?

A hand slams onto his desk, a burst of fire puffing out in a rough explosion that sears the wood.  “Oi, Deku!  Pay attention when I talk to you!”

Izuku very carefully does not make eye contact, as if that will help.  “H-hey Kacchan,” he manages, but his voice is shaking.  This never ends well.

“I heard that you actually went ahead and applied to U.A.,” is Bakugo’s scathing comment.  “Didn’t I tell you not to apply?  How can a quirkless loser like you expect to get into the hero course?  Just don’t bother to show up for the entrance exam!”

“T-they said that anyone can apply now, even without a quirk, so—”

“Without a quirk and without a soulmate,” Bakugo sneers.  “You have nothing.  What makes you think that U.A. would ever want someone like you?”

Izuku goes quiet.  He can’t defend himself.  He used to try, but now…

Bakugo grips his shoulder with biting force.  Intense heat sears into Izuku’s skin, but he doesn’t flinch.  He’s learned not to flinch.  It only makes things worse.  “You’re lowering the standards of the school just by applying, Deku.  Do yourself a favor and don’t bother taking the damn test!”

“Kacchan—”

“Quiet!”  Bakugo’s fingers bite down, and Izuku can’t help a whimper as a low explosion rings out.  “Don’t you dare show up to that exam, shitty, quirkless Deku!  If you do, I’ll kill you!”

His blood runs cold.  No, no—he’s going to take the test, he has to take the test, he needs to get into U.A.!  He may not have a quirk, and he may not have a soulmate, but if he just gets this one thing right…

Bakugo must be able to see the conflict in his face, because he leans close with something that can only be described as a growl.  “You don’t deserve to go to a school like U.A.  If I see even a glimpse of you at the entrance exam, I’ll make sure everyone knows how useless you really are.”

Izuku gulps as Bakugo’s palm seals to his forehead.  The skin heats, and Izuku is once again reminded that if he really wanted to, Bakugo could kill him.  Easily.  Without any sort of struggle.

He crumbles on the inside.  Maybe Bakugo is right.  If he can’t stand up to someone who wants to hurt him…if he can’t stand up to a bully…what would he do against a villain?

Bakugo shoves his head into the desk with a sickening thud.  “If you want to go to U.A. so badly, there’s only one way you can get there.  Fling yourself off the roof and hope that you have a quirk in your next life.  And who knows?  You might actually have a soulmate, then, too.”

Izuku keeps his head down.  It’s safer that way, as Bakugo barks out a laugh and leaves him there, satisfied with his work.  And Izuku…

He stares blankly at the singed desktop.  Outside, the sun is setting.  He folds his hands in his lap and closes his eyes as tight as he can.

Shitty, quirkless Deku.  Just throw yourself off the roof already.  Kill yourself, loser.  What do you have to lose, without a quirk and without a soulmate?

He takes a deep, deep breath.  And then he lets it out.

He goes home.  He does not jump off the roof.  Even if there’s a small part of him, perhaps larger than he wants to admit, that wants to follow Bakugo’s command, he won’t.  There’s still hope.  He can get into U.A.  He can become a hero! 

I’m going to U.A., he writes on his arm.  It’s the same as any of the dozens of times he’s done such a thing in the past, but this time feels…different.  I’m going to become a hero, so that whatever happened to you doesn’t happen to anyone else.

He stares at the red lines, spread sloppily across his skin.  He touches them and feels them sting.

No one thinks I can do it.  But I think you might have believed in me, whoever you were.  I can be a hero.  I can be a hero.  I can

He doesn’t finish the sentence.  He slumps, letting the pen clack against the desk. 

“Who am I kidding?” he whispers.  “Without a quirk…without a soulmate…”

What’s the point?

And then he lapses. 

He tells himself it’s the only time it will ever happen.  Because he knows better, because he doesn’t want to die.  Even if he hates himself, he wants to live for the possibility that things will get better.  For the possibility that he can become a hero.  But in that single moment of weakness, he just…

He puts down the pen.  The pen with the razor-sharp nub that scratches but doesn’t draw blood.  And he burns.

There’s a steak knife in the kitchen.  One that his mother won’t notice going missing.  And it’s not the most elegant tool, but in the moment he doesn’t care.  He locks himself in his room and he holds the knife in his hands, a solid, slick weight in his sweaty fingers, and he bites his lip. 

And he cuts down.

He doesn’t want to die, he tells himself.  He just wants to know what it would feel like. 

He carves one line, a swift, shallow gash against his forearm.  It slices right through the words, I can be a hero, and blood drips quickly to obscure the angry line.  He stares at it.  He feels—gone.  Like he can see the blood, and he can feel the pain, but he…

He cuts again.  Just to know what it feels like, again.  It’s deeper, and blood drips to the desk beneath him.  He watches in fascination.  It’s him, but it’s not.  It’s not him.

 He counts.  Three.  Four.  Five.

And then he stops.

He holds the knife between his fingers and he nearly throws up.  Blood is dripping to the desktop in soft, wet splatters, and he watches them through glazed eyes.  It’s his blood, isn’t it?  When did so much of it come out?

Downstairs, he hears the door open. 

“Izuku, I’m home!”

He scrambles to his feet with a curse, spraying blood onto the carpet as he does.  He’s quick to shove the knife, sticky with coagulating blood, into the desk drawer.  He doesn’t have time to clean up the rest, so he throws a few blankets over it to hide the mess and tugs a long-sleeved shirt over his head.  But oh, of course the blood soaks right through it, so he has to throw a coat over that and hope that the waterproof exterior works just as well to keep fluid in as it does to keep it out. 

His mother doesn’t suspect a thing.  Izuku goes out and smiles and pretends that everything is fine, and he doesn’t touch his arms and he doesn’t wince as the blood dries and starts to pull at his skin.  It itches. 

Later, once his mother has gone to bed, he slips back into his room and cleans up the mess.  The blankets will have to be thrown away, but he manages to get the blood out of the woodgrain and off of his arms.  Then he wraps the cuts in bandages, careful to disinfect them thoroughly before doing so, and hides them behind another long shirt. 

He sleeps, and he doesn’t let himself think too hard about what he’s done.

Until it happens again.

It’s after a particularly rough day at school.  One of Bakugo’s friends had found him at lunch and held him down while another friend kicked him, over and over again, in the head and in the sides, and Izuku had shivered and cried for hours afterward.  By the time he’d made it home, his shirt had been soaked with snot and tears, and he’d burned with a mixture of rage and confusion and hurt that he hadn’t known how to get out.

Except he does know, he does know how to get it out—the knife is still in his desk drawer even though the last cuts are nothing more than faded, raised bumps across his forearm, and he grabs it and he cuts down and he—

He hisses through his teeth at the first bite of the blade.  But it feels good, it feels right.  His shoulders slump and he sighs as the tension from the day melts right out of him.  He can hear the blood dripping again, a dull blip against the wood, and he loses himself to it.  It feels good.  It feels good.

He gets three cuts in, dragging the blade along his skin and feeling it split, before it happens.

His right arm—the one entirely devoid of cuts—blossoms with sharp, biting pain, and he gasps.  The knife clatters from his fingers, and he hears his mother call out in concern but he doesn’t answer.  His arm.  His arm hurts.  Why does his arm hurt?

Frantically, Izuku claws at his sleeve.  He practically tears it off of him in his desperation, his confusion, and he shoves it messily up to his armpit before he flips his arm over and gets a good look at the searing pain that’s just made itself at home in his skin.

STOP THAT

He stares in shock.  The lines are red and raised and wide with coarse roughness, as if the person who put them there had used his own fingernails.  But that’s not possible, because his soulmate is dead.  His soulmate is dead; he hasn’t felt anything from him in years, and so there’s no way that someone is writing on his arm.

Izuku bites back another hiss as the pain returns.  It feels like someone is tearing into him.  The words are short and messy, containing a sort of careful conservatism that is necessary when one is ripping their own skin with their fingernails.

Idiot.  Stop.  Please.

He can barely make out the words.  But he touches them, astounded, as if they hold the secret to the universe.  His soulmate.  His soulmate.

He is gripped with fear and revulsion and joy all at once, and it nearly makes him sick.  He scrambles for his pen, discarding his knife in favor of a much smaller nib of metal, and presses it to the blank space on the back of his arm.

Are you really there?

He waits, holding his breath for the response.  But…nothing happens. 

Frantically, Izuku tries again.  Don’t leave!  Please, I need you!  I thought you were dead. 

Nothing.  And a part of Izuku understands, if his soulmate is using his own nails to scratch messages into his skin, but another part of him hates this.  Hates that his soulmate won’t respond except for when he thinks he might be really about to kill himself.

He…he isn’t trying to kill himself, though.  Really.  He would never.

But the thing is, now he knows that cutting himself is a way to get his soulmate to respond.

It’s not okay.  He knows that.  He knows that it’s awful and manipulative, and he knows that he shouldn’t do what he’s doing.  But he can’t help it.  As time drags on and he can’t get another response, he can’t hold himself back.  One month later, he breaks.

Again.  He cuts again.  Deeper this time, because he thinks maybe he’ll get a faster response that way. 

Hey, I told you to stop that!

Thinner this time, but shaky.  Like he’s writing with a needle, or a pin.  He slices again, but he doesn’t get another response.

Then again, three weeks after that.  Deeper still.

You’re hurting us.  Stop.  Find someone to help you.

And again, two weeks after that. 

You don’t have to do this.  What will your friends think if they see your arms?

One more time, one week later.

Please.  You’re going to kill yourself.

But his soulmate is responding.  How can he stop when this is the only way he can talk to him?

Suddenly, it’s happening every night.  Over and over, until all the skin on his arms is taken, and he moves to his legs.  His soulmate responds faster and faster, more and more often, every time he feels the first bite of the blade against his skin.  He begs. 

Until one day, it goes too far.

Izuku doesn’t mean for it to happen.  He just slips.  He’s holding the knife to his wrist, because the marks there have mostly healed and he can cut again, when he presses just a little too hard, a little too deep, and that’s that.

He wakes up on the floor of his bedroom after the sun has set, staring at the ceiling past a pounding head and fuzzy spots in his vision.  His wrist is pulsing with dull pain, and he realizes very quickly that he’s gone too far.  When he tries to sit up, he can’t. 

He groans and rolls onto his side.  His wrist is still weeping, but the blood has mostly stopped.  He’s lucky.  He could have died.  Should have died, maybe.

His thigh is absolutely covered with writing.

Please, not again.  You can’t keep doing this.  Put down the knife and

What was that?  It’s never felt like that before.  What did you do?

Hey.  Hey!  Answer me!  My wrist feels numb, what did you do?  Please, answer me!

Are you there?  I told you that you were going to go too far if you kept this up!  Write back.  I’m worried about you.

My father is going to kill me if he sees all of this writing.  So just hurry up and answer me!

It goes on like that, sprawling across his skin and terminating in a weak, please be okay.  And Izuku nearly passes out again, because he just doesn’t know how to process this.  The love and attention of his soulmate, but at what cost?  He knows that he nearly died tonight.

He finally manages to sit up, fumbling for the pen with weak fingers.  He has no idea how long he’s been out, but his soulmate is probably freaking out.  He needs to tell him he’s okay. 

But then, the pain just got sharper.  Are you awake?

Izuku’s stomach flips.  His soulmate has never said anything to him outside of the cutting sessions.

I’m awake, he writes simply, but he doesn’t know what else to say.  How can he explain?

There’s a pause.  Then, go to a hospital. 

I’m fine now, really.  I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to cut that deep.

No.  Go to a hospital.

It’s fine!

No, it’s not.  Idiot, you nearly died!  I could tell.  It’s never hurt like that before.  Go to a hospital; they can help you.

I don’t need help, I just need you to respond!  It was getting you to respond.

My words aren’t worth your life.  Throw away the knife and go to a hospital.  Get help.  See a therapist.  I can’t do this anymore.

Wait, why?  You’re talking to me!

Because I thought you’d killed yourself!  Look, I can’t be the person that enables you to keep hurting yourself.  I care about you because you’re an innocent person in this mess, but I can’t be your soulmate.  I’ve already chosen my path, and it doesn’t involve you.  I’m sorry.

Izuku stares at those words, uncomprehending.  He reads them a few times through the fog in his head, but they don’t make any more sense.  He…can’t be his soulmate?  But they are soulmates.  That’s not possible.

The words continue.  I can’t be the reason that you keep hurting yourself.  If you cut yourself again, I won’t answer.  I’m sorry.  Goodbye.

Izuku watches his thigh absently, not really seeing the words, until they start to fade from his skin.  He feels cold.  All of this…and his soulmate doesn’t want to be his soulmate?

He stares at his wrist.  At the deep, horrific gouge he’s created in the skin.  It’s a miracle that he’s still alive.

Right.  A miracle.

He has no quirk.  His soulmate doesn’t want him.  His oldest friend hates his guts and wants him dead.  U.A. is a distant dream.  And Izuku…

Izuku is done.

He doesn’t try to kill himself, not yet.

Or, he doesn’t try to kill himself obviously, or consciously.  But somewhere in there, deep down where Izuku doesn’t like to look, he thinks that maybe the truth is a bit more complicated than that. 

He floats through the rest of the school year in a haze, keeping his head down as he struggles to endure Bakugo’s relentless bullying.  The knife is still in his desk drawer.  It’s untouched and clean, left abandoned since the night his soulmate told him he wouldn’t talk to him anymore, and even though Izuku hears the blade whisper to him at night he doesn’t let himself answer.  He doesn’t want to cause his soulmate pain, and causing himself pain was never really the goal after that first, unfortunate night.  The goal was to feel like someone was there.  To feel like someone really cared about him.  Now that the incentive has been removed, that his soulmate won’t talk to him, he doesn’t see the point in continuing.

But oh, he wants to.

Izuku very resolutely does not allow himself to touch the knife.  The school year begins to draw to a close, the few months before the U.A. entrance exam looming large, and he forces himself to live. 

Except then his life goes right on ahead and presents him with the perfect opportunity to let go, and his resolve is tested.

The day he meets All Might for the first time is perhaps one of the worst days of his life.  The day he looks his idol in the eyes and hears that he can never be a hero, he feels the last scrap of hope being wrenched away from him.  He has no quirk, no soulmate, and now he has no future.  If he can’t be a hero, then what has all of this been for?  Why does it even matter if he’s here, if he can’t help anyone?

All Might leaves, and Izuku can no longer resist.

He walks home and fantasizes about what he could do.  He could slit his wrists, but then his soulmate might feel unnecessary pain.  Maybe he could try pills?  He isn’t sure if those would hurt, or if he’d just get to go to sleep.  He could take Bakugo’s advice and throw himself off the roof, but still, that leaves the risk that he might live and cause his soulmate horrific pain.  He wants it to be quick.  He doesn’t want to cause anyone pain.

But no, no—he isn’t really going to try, he doesn’t want to die, he’s just…considering.  That’s what he tells himself.

Except when his walk home is interrupted by the sight of Bakugo, twisted up and choking to death at the hand of the same villain All Might had just defeated, he sees his opportunity and he takes it.

Later, All Might will praise him for moving without thinking, for throwing himself in harm’s way in order to save Bakugo.  Izuku will never admit the truth—that saving his classmate hadn’t been at the forefront of his mind.  He’d seen the sludge, the mess, the death, and he’d reached for it.  He’d thought that maybe, just maybe…

All Might says he can be a hero.  It’s a strange reward for trying to kill himself.

After that, Izuku takes the knife out of his desk and chucks it into a dumpster outside.  Because he knows that being told that he’s going to inherit All Might’s quirk is far from a fix-all for the creeping depression that been settling over him for years, but he does know that he can no longer justify his death.  It’s not quite a positive thing in his eyes.  He’s been betrayed and burned and rejected at every turn, and he can hardly bring himself to believe that someone might actually give a damn about him.  He meets All Might at the beach and can’t relax, because he feels at every turn that he’s about to be laughed at and sent away.

It never happens.  All Might is kind and reassuring, meeting his anxiety with a steady hand and a wide smile.  He starts him on a training regimen and promises, you too can be a hero!  And Izuku, perhaps foolishly, believes him with all his heart.  Because if he doesn’t, he isn’t sure he’ll be able to hold on.

He may not have a soulmate, but maybe he can have a quirk.  And maybe he really can be a hero.

He inherits All Might’s quirk.  He takes the entrance exam.  He gets into U.A.

It’s like his entire life has been turned on its head.  Suddenly people are smiling at him in the halls.  The principal calls him and Bakugo into his office and congratulates them on their success, and even though Bakugo beats him half to death after school, he keeps smiling.  He got into U.A.  He got in.

Unfortunately, his new quirk isn’t easy on his body.  The first time he uses it, in the dead middle of the entrance exam, he shatters both his legs and one arm.  It’s agony.  It reassures him that he made the right choice by not jumping off the roof.  He feels every bone splinter, feels the shock wave tear through his body and turn his fingers and toes numb, feels his world shift, and he screams.  And though his brain is too clouded with pain when it happens for him to think about it too hard, later he will shake with horror as he realizes that his soulmate, wherever he is, will have felt that same earth-shattering pain.

His soulmate doesn’t try to talk to him, though.  He keeps his word.  Even when Izuku is lying on the ground of the testing arena and sobbing, unable to move, no words appear on his skin.

“Oh, you ridiculous child!” the healer chides when she fixes his injuries.  “How do you expect to be a hero if you can’t use your power without hurting yourself?  You’re not just causing pain to yourself, you know!  What will your poor soulmate think?”

Izuku wonders what his soulmate thinks.  He wonders if he thinks that he tried to kill himself.  But he doesn’t have long to think about it, because he keeps moving forward and all of it falls by the wayside.

He starts high school.

“Hey, it’s you!”

Izuku nearly flinches back as he is immediately greeted by an excitable bunch of students when he walks into his classroom for the first time.  He stops himself at that last moment by reminding himself that this isn’t middle school, that the people here probably aren’t just going to attack him right out of the gate, but only just.

The student standing in front of him is tall and rigid, somehow, like he can’t allow himself to relax for even a moment.  He chops a hand at him mechanically and proclaims, “You derived that there was something else to the entrance exam!  I underestimated you!  I’m glad to see that you were accepted.”

Izuku stutters, “O-oh, I didn’t really…I mean, I just kind of…?”

The man bows sharply.  “Please forgive my impertinence!  My name is Tenya Iida.  And you are?”

Izuku flushes sharply and tries to answer, but he doesn’t get far before more people are flooding in behind him and talking over him, greeting each other excitedly, and he looks back to see—oh, hey!  The girl that had saved him in the entrance exam!  He ducks his head sharply as she bounces right up to him, not because he thinks she’ll do anything but because it’s just a reflex at this point, and god, he really needs to figure out how to stop that before someone notices.

Luckily, no one seems to notice just then.  Their teacher arrives a few moments later, a tired-looking man with ragged hair, and he gets them all in their seats and quiet in a matter of moments. 

Izuku looks around as their teacher begins to explain how the hero course works.  It’s so very strange, finally being at U.A. after all these years of believing he wouldn’t make it.  All his classmates look so strong.  He wonders what they can do.  He wonders if maybe, just maybe, he can make a few friends here.  He sees a few people that look like absolute powerhouses, all muscles and sharp edges, and he doesn’t miss the lithe grace and power contained in all the others.  Even the smallest of them, a girl with dark green hair and a wide, sloping mouth, looks like she could overpower him in a heartbeat if she tried. 

He looks a little further behind him and freezes.

Bakugo.  Of course he’d known that he would be in his class, having seen him when he walked in, but it’s one thing to know and another to understand.  His childhood tormentor is staring at him with a sharp, furious look, like he’s imagining what it would be like to rip his bones out and crack them between his teeth, and Izuku shudders right down to his core.  What if—

What if Bakugo turns them all against him, like he did in middle school?

Izuku’s heart is in his throat.  His teacher is talking, but he barely hears what he’s saying.  He feels cold all over.

No, I’m going to be a hero!  I have a quirk, and I got into U.A.  I just need to learn to control it, and then Kacchan will never be able to hurt me again!  No one will!

But Bakugo glowers at him like a demon, and Izuku isn’t so sure.

All of Izuku’s suspicions are proven correct the instant they start their assessment test.  Bakugo snarls and snaps and scowls at him the whole time, making some of his classmates give the two of them odd looks as they go through the test. 

“You’re lucky I didn’t see you at the exam,” Bakugo growls in his ear, when no one is looking.  They’re in the middle of the grip strength test, and he squeezes the little machine so hard that it nearly explodes.  “I’m going to kill you, useless Deku.  I’ll figure out how you cheated to get into U.A., and I’ll have you thrown out.  And then, once you’re gone, I’ll hunt you down and make sure you never draw another breath.”

Izuku flinches, because he can’t help himself this time.  But he doesn’t get so far as opening his mouth before a wave of cold washes over him, and Bakugo is suddenly recoiling with a yelp. 

Izuku stares, uncomprehending, and the spike of ice that has just shoved Bakugo away from him.  Then he turns, shocked, and sees—

There’s a boy standing there.  One of his classmates.  His expression is somehow caught between apathy and irritation as he watches Bakugo, and his hand is extended with snowflakes dancing at his fingertips.  The source of the ice, no doubt. 

Bakugo stops for a moment in disbelief.  Then he lurches forward, palms already sparking, and roars, “Just what the hell do you think you’re doing?  You nearly knocked me over, you little—”

The boy turns his palm flat as Bakugo tries to advance, blowing him back with a well-placed wall of ice.  His hair flies back from his face, split down the center in a strange mix of red and white, and Izuku’s stomach flips with compassion as he sees the bright red scar that circles one side of his face.

“Back off,” is all the boy says, his expression cold as the ice that springs from his palm. 

“What’s it to you, you two-toned freak?”

“Nothing,” is the sharp response.  “Except, it hardly seems befitting of a U.A. student to murder one of his classmates.”

Bakugo looks about ready to explode at that, as his fingers twitch with blind rage in Izuku’s direction.  But he restrains himself at the last moment, seeing how his new classmate lowers his stance and prepares to hit him again.  “I wasn’t going to kill the bastard,” he mutters, turning away. 

“Your actions said otherwise.”

“Fuck off, its none of your business what I do to a quirkless loser like Deku!”

Izuku’s stomach twists.  Quirkless.  He isn’t quirkless.  The class is going to think he’s quirkless and hate him now, because Bakugo doesn’t know how to keep his mouth shut.  He shrinks in on himself.

“Quirkless?” the stranger echoes softly.  His eyes sweep over Izuku, curious.  Then his expression hardens and he says, “Quirkless or not, that’s one of our classmates.  You have no right to threaten his life.  If he’s as useless as you think he is, he’ll be expelled at the end of the day and you’ll never have to deal with him again.  So get out of here and leave him alone.”

And Bakugo, though he’s fuming with repressed fury, listens.  Izuku thinks it’s more out of a loss of interest than out of unwillingness to fight this newcomer.  But still, it works.  Bakugo sneers, turns, and stalks off to his own corner of the gym to finish his test.  The stranger turns away, as if meaning to leave, and Izuku lurches forward.

“Wait!”

The boy stops.  His back is still turned, but he doesn’t move further away.

Izuku gulps.  “I, um—thank you!”

“It was nothing.” 

“I do think it was something, actually!  It’s just…no one has ever stood up for me before.”

The boy turns.  His eyes are alight with something that lands, once again, somewhere between apathy and concern.  He doesn’t seem very good with emotions, Izuku thinks.

“I’m sorry for being a bother,” Izuku continues shakily. 

There’s a pause.  The boy is still looking at him, deep in contemplation.  Then, “Your name is Deku?”

“Ah, no—that’s just what Kacchan likes to call me.  My name is Izuku Midoriya.”

The boy freezes.  Literally, ice creeps up his face and down his arm.  His eyes are as wide as saucers. 

“Um…are you okay?”

There’s a beat.  Then the boy shakes himself and turns sharply, as if trying to get away from something that has rattled him very badly.  “I’m fine,” he says, low and rough. 

“Then, um, what’s your name?”

“It’s—” He breaks off.  Hesitates.  “Shoto Todoroki.”

“Todoroki,” Izuku repeats, testing the name.  It rings sweet on his tongue.  “Then it’s nice to meet you, Todoroki.”

Todoroki is very quiet.  He gives a shallow nod, manages a murmured, “Nice to meet you,” and then hurries off to the other side of the gym.  Izuku watches him the whole way, entranced.  Something about him…

He doesn’t get much of a chance to think about Todoroki for the rest of the day.  He finishes up his exam by breaking one of his fingers, a shock of bright, burning pain that laces up his wrist and down his spine, and he silently apologizes to his soulmate as the ball goes flying further than the eye can see.  He apologizes, but he isn’t truly sorry because it works, and he gets to stay at U.A. 

Everyone’s eyes are on him when he fights Bakugo in combat training the next week. 

Izuku stands there, fists raised, and faces down the person that has tormented him for most of his life.  Bakugo’s palms spark with power, and he flinches despite himself.  But he stands at the ready, and he takes punch after punch and hit after hit, feeling fire lick through his clothing and explosions bounce off his back and his body strike the floor time and time again, and he bears it because he knows he has to.  He spares a hazy thought for his soulmate as he lies there, entire body screaming with pain, and he blinks back tears.

Everyone is seeing how useless he is.  Everyone is seeing that he can’t hold his ground.  Everyone is seeing that he’s a shitty, quirkless—

No, no!  He has a quirk!  He can…

But—his soulmate!

Bakugo’s hand gets hooked around his throat, and it happens before he has the chance to execute his plan.  He feels the burn of an explosion against his bare skin, and he screams. 

“Bakugo!  Young Bakugo, enough!  Let him go!”

Bakugo pretends not to hear, and burns Izuku around the throat for a few seconds longer than necessary before letting him fall.  His vision spots with white as he hears All Might yelling so loud that it reaches him even through Bakugo’s earpiece. 

And that’s when he realizes.  If he fights, he’ll cause his soulmate pain.  If he doesn’t fight, he’ll cause his soulmate pain.  So, what’s the point?

He aims his fist at the sky, staggers to his feet, and shatters every bone in his arm to pieces.

He wins.

Later, as he’s laid out on a stretcher and floated to the infirmary, he thinks he hears All Might scolding Bakugo through his earpiece.  Telling him he went too far, that he could seriously hurt someone, that there was no reason to effectively torture a classmate.  Even later than that, once Izuku has made his way back to the classroom with bandages around his arm, he sees that boy—Todoroki—dipped low in conversation with Bakugo, an expression of pure fury on his face.

“You have no spine,” Todoroki rumbles, and that’s all Izuku hears because the moment he spots him he stops talking.  Bakugo tries to get a rise out of him, but it doesn’t work.  Todoroki sits stiff and furious in his chair and waits for Bakugo to wear himself out. 

“Hey Midoriya, that was awesome!”

“Yeah man, you totally stood up to Bakugo!  Good going!”

“I can’t believe you won.  I thought once he got a hand around your throat you were finished!”

“You scared the crap out of us, man.”

Izuku recoils in shock as a flood of students descends upon him.  His first instinct is to run, to protect himself, because they saw Bakugo nearly kill him and now they know.  They know that he’s useless.  Except, he won that fight, didn’t he?  Maybe they won’t want to throw him out.  Maybe…they want to be friends?

Their smiling faces pin him down, and he shakes but he smiles back.  “Um, I’m sorry!  I didn’t mean to scare anyone.  I just, um…”

One of them, a fiery redhead, shoves forward.  “Hey, I’m Kirishima!  You did great out there!  I thought you were dead for sure, man.”

“Seriously, Midoriya, that was hardcore.”  The small girl with the green hair and the wide mouth blinks at him curiously.  “Call me Tsu.”

“And I’m Sero!  Nice to meet you!” 

More come after that, swarming him to introduce themselves and offer their congratulations for his victory.  And it’s so weird.

“O-oh!”  Izuku looks nervously between them all, and he can’t help but think that the last time he was in a group this big, they were holding him down and beating him.  It’s strange and terrifying, to see so many smiling people looking at him.

There’s an exasperated huff to his left.  When he turns, he sees a girl with long brown hair watching him clinically.  Yaoyorozu, he remembers.  “It was a victory, but it wasn’t very clean.  I hate to be the one to say this, but how do you expect to fight regularly if your power breaks your body?  Your poor soulmate, Midoriya.  What must they think when you shatter your arm?”

He recoils.  He tries not to, but he can’t help it.

“Woah, hey!” Kirishima protests.  “That’s kind of personal, isn’t it?  Let the guy figure out his power without worrying about soulmates.”

“It’s a serious question!” Yaoyorozu protests.  “Do they know you want to be a hero?  It seems cruel to put them through so much pain on a daily basis, if you intend to continue like this.”

“I’m trying to get it under control,” Izuku says weakly.  “One day I won’t have to hurt him.  But, um, I don’t think it matters all that much, anyway.”

He doesn’t even want me.

“Doesn’t matter?  How on earth does that make sense?”

“Because my soulmate and I…we don’t really—”

“Oh, can it about soulmates already!” Bakugo roars from the corner, nearly blowing up his desk.  “I’m sick and tired of hearing you idiots yap!  Deku doesn’t have a soulmate, got it?”

The room goes very, very quiet.

“…Dude, that’s messed up.  Don’t joke like that.”

“Yeah, seriously, Bakugo!  You’ve put the guy through enough torture for one day, don’t you think?”

Bakugo bares his teeth.  “I’m not fucking joking!  You think you want to be friends with that idiot when his own soulmate doesn’t even want him?”

Izuku’s heart shatters. 

“You’re wasting your time,” Bakugo presses relentlessly.  “Who wants someone whose own soulmate rejected him?”

Izuku feels like his insides have turned to ice.  A part of him is hoping, praying that someone will step up to defend him, like Todoroki with his ice.  But it seems that none of his classmates have the head to defend him this time, as they stare between him and Bakugo in mute shock. 

Then, the sound of a chair scraping the floor.  Todoroki shoots out of his desk, hand raised like he intends to attack, and Izuku doesn’t think. 

He runs away.

He hears yelling in the room behind him as he goes, spiraling up and up and up until he reaches the roof.  Not to—to jump, no.  Just to hide, because he can’t go back to that classroom knowing that all his classmates know.  They know that he’s useless.  That his soulmate doesn’t want him.  That he’s just Deku.  They’re going to hate him now.  They’re going to jeer and taunt and bully him just like in middle school.  They’re going to hold him down and kick him until he bleeds. 

I have a quirk.  I can defend myself.  They won’t touch me!  But then my soulmate will feel the pain and hate me even more, and I—!

Izuku paces in circles, tugging at his hair, his sleeves, his skin.  He—he needs to feel.  He was only cutting himself back then to get the attention of his soulmate, but now he just wants it, wants the burn, wants the pain, wants to feel it.  Wants to feel in control.

He scratches at the now-healed scars on his forearms, hidden by his school uniform, and burns on the inside.  It’s like there’s fire in his veins, pressing in an attempt to get out, and he doesn’t know how long he can contain it.  He wants to scream.

He looks at the ground beyond the edge of the roof, which telescopes nauseatingly beneath him.  He can see the place where the shadow of the school building ends, stamped there like a target, and he grips the railing that keeps him from falling.  Not to climb over it, not to lean over it, just…to ground himself.

“Deku!”

He jumps at the name.  He whirls, arms up, ready to defend himself.  But it’s not Bakugo.  It’s not him.

Uraraka is standing there, eyes wide.  Iida is behind her, looking equally worried.  The two of them step onto the roof together, playing nice, but Izuku knows.  They’re not here for anything good.  No one ever is, once they find out about how his soulmate rejected him and he doesn’t—didn’t—have a quirk.

But Uraraka’s eyes are gentle as she approaches, holding up a soothing hand.  “Izuku,” she corrects herself, seeing how his nickname had made him recoil.  “Are you okay?”

“Rest assured that Bakugo’s actions have been reported to Aizawa,” Iida tells him when he doesn’t answer.  “What he said was cruel and inappropriate, and he will be punished.  There’s nothing to fear!”

But now the class knows.  They know, and he can’t take it back.  He can’t face them.

“Izuku?” Uraraka whispers.  She takes another step forward.  “Hey…don’t cry, please.  It’s going to be okay!  No one believes what Bakugo said anyway, so you can just take a few deep breaths and come back to class with us.”

But it’s true.  My soulmate hates me. 

“Midoriya,” Iida says, breaking him out of his trance.  “We’re not going to ask if what he said is true.  But know that even if it is, no one is going to judge you for it.  If your soulmate rejected you, understand that it only reflects poorly on them.  Never on you.”

“Yeah!” Uraraka agrees.  “You’re great, Izuku!  You stood up to Bakugo even though you were terrified, and you won us the match!  Anyone who rejects that is out of their mind, and everyone knows it!  So please, don’t worry about the rest of the class.  No one cares what your soulmate does; it’s all about you!”

They’re kind words.  But Izuku has been lured in and beaten before.

But…the two of them look so kind.  So genuine.  Maybe, just this one time…

Uraraka sits beside him.  And oh, when had he knelt down?  He’s on his knees, rubbing them ragged on the rough rooftop, and he hadn’t even noticed.  How very strange.

“Come back to class,” Uraraka says softly.  “I promise that no one thinks any differently of you.  Though I will tell you, a lot of people are pretty mad at Bakugo right about now!”

“They’re mad at Kacchan?” he echoes, surprised.  “But—why?  No one is ever mad at Kacchan.”

Iida’s expression hardens.  “Yes, well.  Unfortunately for him, we are no longer in middle school.  His bullying will not stand here.”

It…won’t?

Uraraka purses her lips in an attempt to hold back a laugh.  “Todoroki threw him out the window.”

“He what?”

“You heard me!  I don’t know why he was so much more heated than everyone else, but he was literally smoking.  Though it wasn’t just him; Sero and Ashido got in their own hits, too.  You should have seen the place after you left!  Everyone was furious.”

“But not at me?”

“What?  No, of course not!”

Izuku sits there and tries to wrap his head around it.  People are mad at Bakugo.  For…bullying him?  The concept is foreign.

“Midoriya,” Iida says, troubled.  “Just what was your relationship with Bakugo like before you came here?”

He shakes his head and refuses to answer.  But as it turns out, that answer is informative enough for the two of them.

“I see,” Iida says tightly.  “Then we will just have to make sure that Bakugo understands that that kind of behavior is unacceptable at U.A.  Uraraka, I assume I will have your support?”

“Of course!  Don’t worry, Izuku, we’ll make sure Bakugo doesn’t get anywhere near you again!”

It’s too good to be true.  But there, crouched on the rooftop with the grim reminder of his past spread across his shoulders like a deadweight, he can’t bring himself to distrust it.

He leans his head against Uraraka’s shoulder when she offers it, and he cries.

Things do change at school after that.  But not in the way Izuku was expecting.

When he walks into class the next morning, having gone home early the previous day, no one looks at him funny.  No one says anything about the incident.  No one teases him, or approaches him, or anything.  He’s bewildered when he sits down.  He’d expected someone to say something, at least.

 Bakugo walks into the room.  He’s later than usual, and he makes a beeline straight for Izuku’s desk, and he straightens in immediate preparation to defend himself, when—

Tokoyami is in front of him.  He says nothing, but he looms there like an oppressive shadow and stares at Bakugo like he wants to eat him alive.  Izuku is so busy watching that it takes a moment longer than it should to realize that Kaminari is there too, standing at his left and casually leaning on his desk.  Behind him, the conversation Sero was having with Mineta dies down, and Izuku feels a pair of sharp, accusatory eyes from over his shoulder.  Fixed on Bakugo, not him. 

“Did you need something, Bakugo?” asks Yaoyorozu from his right. 

There’s a tense, miserable silence as everyone stares each other down.  But then, astoundingly, Bakugo turns away.

“Whatever,” he grumbles, going to his desk.  And just like that, everyone relaxes and turns away.

And Izuku burns.

At lunch, when Bakugo tries to approach him, Iida and Uraraka find themselves conveniently sitting at his side.  In math class, Sato switches seats when Bakugo starts flicking wads of paper at him and glowers until it stops.  In combat training, Ashido accidentally melts the side of Bakugo’s gauntlet when he accidentally aims it at Izuku.  And after school, when Izuku is gathering his things from his desk, a spike of ice trips Bakugo before he can manage to make it all the way to his desk to start punching.

When Izuku turns, Todoroki is glaring. 

The apathy is gone.

“T-thank you,” Izuku manages, though he feels like his heart is in his throat.  He still just can’t believe it, that these people are standing up for him.  Like he means something.

Todoroki looks at him, and his expression is strange.  He looks all gentle and furious at the same time, and when he locks eyes with Izuku everything seems to slow down.  And Izuku doesn’t know why, but he is once again stricken with the thought that this is a very odd and very important person.  There’s just something about him.  Something in his eyes, in the way he holds himself.

What is this?

Todoroki dips his head slightly, though he never lets down his guard.  He’s still keeping an eye on Bakugo, who has retreated back to his own desk with an absolutely vicious series of muttered insults.  There are tiny crystals of ice in his eyelashes, Izuku realizes.  They cling like raindrops.   

“It was nothing,” Todoroki says finally, and he never stops looking at him.  His eyes are beautiful, his rather rare and striking heterochromia making it near impossible to turn away.  Izuku doesn’t understand how more people don’t stare at him wherever he goes.

Then he jolts, realizing that he’s been staring for way too long, and drops his gaze to his desk.  He feels all warm and strange inside, and he holds himself around the middle.

Todoroki gives him a quizzical look that also probably lasts longer than it should have, but he doesn’t say anything else.  Instead he turns, leaving Izuku to stew in that warm feeling in his stomach, and goes back to his own desk.

Izuku meets All Might for training that night, in the best mood he’s been in since he was very, very young.  His friends are protecting him, for as long as he can’t protect himself.  His friends.  And that means that he has to learn to fight so that he can return the favor.

Imagine the egg not exploding in the microwave.  Imagine!

He still breaks his hand that night, and it hurts like hell.  But it’s worth it, because he also throws a punch with his whole arm and ends up with nothing more than a sprain.  It’s progress.

Also that night, long after he returns from training, he sits down and picks up the pen that he has ferreted away in the lowest drawer of his desk.

I know you don’t want to hear from me, he writes, but I need to tell you that I’m okay.

He smiles and puts the pen down, watching the red line puff up on his skin.  He won’t get an answer, but it’s good to think that his soulmate won’t have to worry about him anymore.  Even if he gets hurt time and time again, he thinks that if he has his friends, it will all be okay. 

He closes the desk drawer and starts to stand.  But then—

I’m glad.  Izuku.

He can’t breathe.  He stares at the words as they form, smooth and self-assured on his left arm, right below where he’d written.  His soulmate.  His soulmate is…speaking to him?

Izuku hesitates.  Every time he’s tried to write back after his soulmate answers, he’s never gotten another response.  But maybe this time? 

I’m sorry I keep breaking my bones.  It’s part of my training to become a hero.

A long pause.  Izuku holds his breath.

Be a better hero then.  It hurts.

He can’t help it.  He laughs, wild and thrilled, and holds the pen so tight it almost snaps.  He moves to write, but his soulmate beats him to it.  He can only watch in fascination as the lines form.

I want to be a hero too, you know.  So you’d better not break any bones while I’m in the middle of a fight.

His soulmate is going to be a hero?  Are you enrolled in a hero course?  You never told me your name.

A longer pause, this time.  Izuku fears that he’s gone too far.  But then slowly, haltingly, I’m in a hero course, yes.  I can’t tell you my name.  My father has forbidden it.

Then why are you talking to me?  Now, after all this time?

I don’t know.  Should I stop?

No!  No, please.  I like talking to you.

Okay then.

The words stop after that.  Izuku watches his arm, expectant, but nothing ever comes.  So he writes, why doesn’t your father want us to talk?

But there isn’t an answer.  He frowns, but he isn’t too upset.  He can’t expect his soulmate to just start talking to him all the time after never talking at all for nearly eighteen years.  He’ll have to ease into things, if his soulmate will let him. 

He goes to school the next day with the whisper of words carved into his skin, hidden beneath his sleeves and atop the scars, and his new friends are there. 

I’m going to work even harder, he thinks, as he watches Todoroki decimate the entire practice arena during combat training.  I’m going to get strong enough to protect them, too.

Izuku gets stronger.

He competes in the sports festival and loses to Tokoyami in the quarter finals, which he counts as a win despite the broken fingers he receives in the fight.  Todoroki wins the festival, because he’s amazing, and Izuku greets him with a cheerful smile when he steps out of the arena.  There’s not a scratch on him. 

He completes his hero internship and learns how to use his power all throughout his body.  He throws a punch and doesn’t break his bones.  He jumps and flies.

He fights the hero killer with Iida at one side and Todoroki at the other.  His arms twinge with pain, probably from using his quirk too recklessly, and it burns in three places like he’s been stabbed, but he doesn’t let it slow him down.  He wins.

He survives an encounter with Shigaraki, and even though the man threatens him with death, he keeps his expression even and his heart resolute and he lives to tell the tale.

He trains and he trains and he trains.  He gets strong enough to go toe to toe with the strongest of his classmates.  And throughout it all, he actually makes friends.

Uraraka and Iida are always with him now.  They flank him in every class, at every opportunity.  And Izuku thinks that maybe he’s reaching a point where he doesn’t need their protection, but he wouldn’t give it up for the world.  Especially not during his bad days, where he cowers and hates himself and wonders why anyone bothers to put up with him.

Kirishima and Kaminari tend to gravitate toward Bakugo, becoming the closest thing to friends they can be with someone like him, but they never hesitate to rise to the occasion when Izuku needs their help.  Kaminari clasps an enthusiastic hand to his shoulder, Kirishima steps in to distract Bakugo whenever he gets too close, and it’s nice.  He likes them.

Tokoyami offers his support from a distance, glowering at anyone who decides that Izuku looks weak enough to pick on.  That gets less and less necessary as Izuku’s training begins to pay off, but the occasional asshole from class 1-B makes him a target, and so does Bakugo.  Jirou and Yaoyorozu keep watch from afar, and are never more than a few moments away when things get shaky.  Sero keeps an elbow at the ready whenever an unsavory character approaches, Tsuyu keeps a few steps in front of him during combat training, Ashido is cheerfully careful to keep tabs on Bakugo whenever he looks like he might try something, and so on.

And, Todoroki.

When he’d first seen Todoroki, right after he’d blasted Bakugo away from him, he’d been enamored.  Todoroki was so strong and brave, standing up to Bakugo like that.  Standing up for Izuku like no one else ever had.  After he’d made other friends, Izuku had expected his initial fascination with the hero to fade, as he found other people that were equally willing to stand up for him. 

Except, that hasn’t happened.  Even as his friend group has grown larger and larger, Izuku has never been able to put Todoroki out of his mind.  He doesn’t know what it is.  Something just pulls him to Todoroki, like an anchor deep in his gut that tethers him in place, and he doesn’t know where it comes from but he likes it. 

It helps that Todoroki, usually so cold and apathetic to his other classmates, seems to enjoy Izuku’s presence.  Seems to soften, almost, whenever he sees Izuku approaching.  Izuku doesn’t understand why.  But again, he doesn’t want to ask and potentially ruin things. 

Because the thing is, he’s never felt anything like this before.

When he watches Todoroki fight at the sports festival, nursing a broken arm from the bleachers, his heart flutters with pride and excitement, and he doesn’t know why.  When he watches him go up against Bakugo in the finals, facing him with cold determination and a barrage of ice, he cheers and shouts for him to win.  And Todoroki listens to him, stumbling mid-leap and turning just slightly in his direction as the words reach his ears, and he smiles.  Izuku can barely see it, his expression distorted by grainy cameras and smoke and fire.  But he does smile, a tiny quirk of his lips, and Izuku’s heart skips a beat. 

Todoroki incinerates.

After, Todoroki stumbles back into the waiting area on his way to the infirmary for a checkup, and Izuku is there.  Half of his uniform is burned to a crisp, the product of his fire being allowed to run rampant, and he’s ragged and sweaty and exhausted, but there’s not a scratch on him.  It’s incredible.  He’s just taken down Bakugo, and yet…

Todoroki looks at him, and he smiles with his eyes. 

“Ah—Todoroki, you were incredible!  I can’t believe you took down Kacchan without even a single injury!”

He shrugs, as if that isn’t something incredible.  “He was cocky and overconfident after wiping the arena with Sero and Tsuyu.  It was nothing.”

“It was not nothing!  I’ve never seen you use your fire like that before, it was…!” He waves his hands, unable to come up with a word for how incredible it was.

“I didn’t intend to use it,” is the simple response.  Todoroki stares at his hand, clenching the fingers almost obsessively.  Fire sparks on his skin.  “I was going to defeat him with just my ice, but then you yelled and…” He flushes, which Izuku tells himself is just because he’s just gotten out of combat.  “I mean, normally I don’t use my fire because of him.  But I was fighting, and I heard you yell, and I actually…forgot about him.  Just for a moment.  Just long enough for my left side to go up in flames.”  He flexes his fingers again.  “Was it okay, I wonder?  To use that power…”

Izuku doesn’t think.  He reaches up, clicks his tongue in admonishment, and bops Todoroki right on the forehead with his open palm.  “It’s your power, isn’t it?  That means it’s perfectly okay to use it whenever you think it’s right!”

Todoroki looks at him quizzically.  “You say it so simply.”

“That’s because it is simple.  Just because you get a quirk from someone doesn’t mean that you have to use it the way that person used it.”  Izuku would know that better than anyone, he thinks.  Not that he can say something like that to Todoroki. 

There’s a beat, where Todoroki has that same disbelieving, amused expression.  But then he huffs and shakes his head, and that expression melts into one of resigned contentment.  “Leave it to you to make something so serious seem so trivial.  Do you ever get tired of being so much taller than anyone?”

“But you’re quite a bit taller than me, Todoroki.”

A hand lands on his head, sweaty and irony with a hint of blood, and Izuku blinks in surprise.  “Idiot,” Todoroki rumbles, but he doesn’t sound serious.  “That’s not what I meant.”

Now it’s Izuku’s turn to blush, as he feels Todoroki’s fingers curl in his hair.  It’s still greasy and dusty from his rather harsh fight with Tokoyami, and he cringes at how awful it must feel against his skin, but Todoroki doesn’t seem put off.  He tugs slightly, almost teasingly, before he steps away and leaves Izuku burning up on the inside.

“I should probably get to the infirmary before Recovery Girl comes to find me personally,” Todoroki says at last, gesturing to his burned uniform. 

“Um—right!” Izuku forces himself to look away.  “The winners podium waits for no man!”

Todoroki gives another one of those eye-smiles at that, and steps neatly around where Izuku is bouncing on his heels like an excited puppy.  He leaves with only a short farewell, and then Izuku is left staring after him and wondering, just what am I doing?

Whatever troubling revelation is awaiting him, he shoves it down for the moment.  Now isn’t the time.

But, when will the time be?

The time certainly doesn’t come after the sports festival, when Izuku crashes into a wall during training and Todoroki helps him hold his head back on the way to the infirmary so he doesn’t drip blood everywhere.  It doesn’t come when he touches him with gentle, scarred hands, pressing a wad of cotton up under his nose as they wait for Recovery Girl.  It doesn’t come when Todoroki gets a cold after overworking himself and Izuku brings soup to lunch, with an extra portion just for him, and they sit together and tell each other quiet stories as they eat.

It also doesn’t come when Izuku relapses for seemingly no reason, and stays home from school for three days straight so he can teach himself to breathe again.  He doesn’t know why, but some days are heavier than others.  Some days he feels the weight of the past tugging on his feet, and he feels paralyzed with ghosts that are gone, that he’s gotten rid of, but that somehow always manage to sneak back in.  He hits a patch of bad days right after the sports festival, spurred by the impending internships and his own failure to secure an offer after breaking all his bones live on television, and he hides away in his room while his mother leaves to go to work, and he tries to get everything working right again.

He’s had these lapses before.  They were more frequent when he first inherited All Might’s power, but these days they’re few and far between.  That only seems to make them hit harder.

He sits on the floor of his bathroom in the late afternoon, with thirty minutes to go before his mother gets back, and he leans his head against the wall and takes slow, calming breaths.  There isn’t any one thing that’s bothering him, which isn’t really a surprise.  These episodes always seem to be a flurry of scenarios, of memories, of shuddering recollections of pain and abuse from his past, all melding together and dragging him under until he can’t exactly pinpoint what’s wrong, only that something is wrong and it’s a collection of everything that has ever happened to him.

He’s fully prepared to sit there for the rest of the night, bringing himself back down.  Which is why, when there’s a sudden knock at the front door downstairs, he nearly jumps out of his skin. 

The person knocks again, whoever they are, and Izuku shoots to his feet.  And he trips, of course, because he’s a big idiot who’s been sitting on his legs for an hour and he can’t feel his feet.  His head slams into the wall and he yelps, his vision momentarily fuzzing over.  It’s not bad, he won’t have a concussion, but it’s just stupid and it hurts—

The downstairs door bursts open.

“Midoriya!”

Izuku blinks, sure he’s heard incorrectly.  He just hit his head harder than he thought, that’s all—there’s no way that voice belongs to who he thinks it belongs to.  

But then the bathroom door flings open, and the air is awash with a crisp, cleansing chill, and Izuku is staring in blank shock and confusion as Todoroki stands in the doorway, hands up like he’s ready to hit something. 

“Um—Todoroki?”

Todoroki just looks at him for a moment, uncomprehending.  But then the situation sinks in and he recoils, flushing with embarrassment.  “You—you shouted.  Were you in pain…?”

Izuku can’t quite wrap his brain around those words.  Eyes wide, he says, “I hit my head.”

“O-oh.  Oh.” 

He’s still staring.  “Um, Todoroki—did you kick down my door?  Wait, why are you even here?  I’ve never told you where I live!”

The absolute absurdity of the situation finally seems to hit Todoroki full force, as he lowers his hands and realizes that he’s just broken into one of his classmates’ homes.  “I…brought you your homework?  Mr. Aizawa asked someone to take the papers to your house and no one knew where you lived except Bakugo, and we weren’t about to let him deliver it.”

“And then you decided to break down my door?”

Todoroki winces.  “I…heard a thump?  I thought you’d hurt yourself, and I remembered some, ah, things that made me nervous about you being, um, hurt, and I…”

He’s stuttering, and it’s so not like Todoroki that Izuku can’t help but gape. 

He goes even redder.  “Just—accept my apologies!  I’ll pay for any damages caused by my recklessness.”

Izuku is so stunned that it takes him a moment to realize that Todoroki is waiting for a response.  “Oh, uh—I’m sure there’s no need.  Thank you for bringing me my homework, Todoroki.”

They stand there awkwardly.  Or, Todoroki stands, and Izuku sits holding the place where his head made contact with the wall.

Then Todoroki jolts.  “Are you okay?  You hit your head, right?  Do you need help standing up?”

“No, no, I’ve got it!”  Izuku sets his palms to the bathroom floor and pushes.  He gets himself about halfway up before he goes back down—or at least, he would have gone back down if not for Todoroki, who catches him with a hand around his arm.  “Oh—thank you!”

Todoroki frowns at him, his brow furrowing in concern.  “Are you sure you’re okay?  It feels—it looks like it hurt.”

“I’m fine, really.”  Izuku steadies himself with a smile.  His head hurts, but he’s not going to fall over again.  “I’m sorry for worrying you.  Please put it out of your mind.”

But Todoroki doesn’t look entirely reassured.  “I’ll see you to your bedroom, if that’s okay.  I’d rather not leave you to fall and hit your head again.”

Izuku huffs in amusement.  “You’re kind of forward for someone who just goes around breaking into people’s houses, huh?”

“Don’t try to embarrass me out of the room, Midoriya.  I’m getting you to bed.”

“Ah, I wouldn’t dream of stopping you.”

“No?  Are you always this open with people who break down your doors?”

“I’d probably be dead if I was friendly to everyone who tried to approach me,” is what he says, and he doesn’t miss the slightest hint of a wince that runs through Todoroki at the thinly-veiled reference to his upbringing.  He hasn’t shared everything with Todoroki, but he’s told him a few things, and even if he hadn’t, the hero is too observant not to notice the blaring signs of abuse.  “But anyway, I trust you, Todoroki.”

“Is that so?”

“Of course.”

It comes out softer than Izuku had intended—less of a teasing jab, and more of a sincere declaration.  He goes red to his ears and hides his face, hoping Todoroki hasn’t noticed. 

If he has, he doesn’t say a word.

Todoroki does get him back to his bedroom, and gracefully doesn’t say a thing about the room being absolutely covered in All Might posters.  Instead he helps get Izuku under the covers, which are also All Might themed, and disappears to grab the stack of papers he’d brought over and set it at his bedside. 

“…Midoriya?” he asks after a moment of letting Izuku leaf through the stack. 

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry if this seems like an intrusion, but you don’t seem sick.  Why have you been out of school for the past few days?”

He goes cold all over.

What is he supposed to say?  He can’t tell Todoroki the truth, that his past snuck up on him and his chest is tight and his lungs burn with every breath, and that he spent the whole day curled up on the bathroom floor because he couldn’t bear to stand.  He’s been making progress, really!  One bad day shouldn’t mean that he has to tell Todoroki, because then he’ll see him as a useless, quirkless loser—except no, no, he’s been over this, he has a quirk, Bakugo’s words from years ago shouldn’t still be able to get to him like this, he—!

Todoroki’s hand lands in his hair.  It’s firm and cool and grounding, and the swell of panic beneath his skin finally, mercifully, retreats.

Todoroki closes his eyes.  “I’ll tell Mr. Aizawa that you’re still sick,” he says, and he doesn’t press any further than that.  Izuku isn’t sure if he’s relieved or not.  “Please, come back when you feel better.  And call me if you hit your head again.”

“I, um—I don’t have your number.”

“Then I’ll give you my number.”

And it’s a logical next step, honestly—Izuku has Uraraka and Iida’s numbers in his phone, as well as a few of his other friends from 1-A, so it makes sense he should have Todoroki’s number too.  But it feels kind of buzzing and numb and unreal when he hands his phone to Todoroki, and gets it back with a new contact stored under his thumb.  He fixates on it, because there’s no way it’s real. 

“I’m sorry about your door,” Todoroki says again, as he takes a step backwards.  “But if I think you’re in trouble, I’ll do it again.”

“Then are you really sorry?” Izuku teases.

“Perhaps not.”  Todoroki looks over his shoulder.  “I should be going; my father is expecting me.”

Izuku doesn’t like Todoroki’s father.  He wrinkles his nose and says, “I see.  Please be careful around him.”

Todoroki nods resolutely, as if he doesn’t already know to be careful.  “Don’t worry about me.  I’ll see you back in school, okay?  Or whenever you hit your head again.”

“Ah, hopefully that isn’t for quite a while.”

“Hopefully, but I know you, so I won’t delude myself.  See you later, Midoriya.”

Izuku is so taken, staring after him as he departs, that he nearly doesn’t answer.  Then, by the time he does, he’s long out of sigh.

“See you later, Todoroki!”  And he whispers under his breath, “Shoto.” 

Even after that, Izuku doesn’t quite let himself put a finger on what it is that he’s feeling whenever he’s around Todoroki.  Instead, he sits in bed and does his homework and tries to ignore the furious flush to his cheeks.  He doesn’t go to school the next day, but he does go the day after that, and all his friends are waiting.  Uraraka and Iida greet him warmly, and so does the rest of the class.  When Izuku looks to the back of the room, Todoroki is sitting at his desk.  He isn’t smiling, but he’s smiling.

Izuku has to work with Bakugo on their final exam.

When the pairs are announced, Izuku stares silently at the ground and tries not to shake.  The rest of his classmates are just as tense, shooting nervous glances between him and his antagonist.  All of them are fully aware that the seeming antagonism between the two is one-sided, but the teachers are another story.  They see that the two of them don’t get along, and they seem eager to pin it on the both of them despite the fact that Bakugo is the sole reason they can’t be friends.  Their history—the taunting, the jeering, the burns and the insults and the beatings—it can’t be overlooked now.  It’s already been carved into Izuku’s skin.

“This will be good for the two of you,” Aizawa says when Izuku approaches him after class and begs him to switch partners.  “You’ll have to work with Bakugo at some point if the two of you become pro heroes, so it will be good for the two of you to start overcoming your differences now.”

Overcoming your differences.  As if years of psychological abuse and trauma can be wiped away by something so simple as a shared final.

 Everyone is buzzing when Izuku delivers Aizawa’s verdict.  Kirishima and Kaminari are gone, probably trying to talk Bakugo out of killing him before the exam even starts.  No one is happy.

“He won’t actually kill you,” Sero assures him, though he sounds uncertain.  “He’s an asshole, but he’s not a killer.  He’s still trying to be a hero.”

It’s hardly reassuring.

“If he thinks he’s going to sabotage your chances at passing the final, he’s done,” Todoroki says.  His tone is calm, but his shoulders are drawn up in a tense line.  “Let him try.  If he throws one punch, I’ll throw two.”

That’s…significantly more reassuring.

The day of the final arrives quietly, sneakily, while Izuku isn’t watching.  One moment he’s dozing in class and the next he’s standing at the starting gate, squeezing his hands into fists to stop their trembling.  Bakugo is beside him, glaring at the gate and muttering under his breath about how ridiculous this is.

The alarm sounds.  The gate opens.

It all goes to hell.

Bakugo isn’t quite stupid enough to actively beat him in the middle of their final exam, but he gets in a few punches nonetheless.  Izuku is punished for the high crime of trying to cooperate with him, hitting the ground with a singed face and a bloody nose, and he coughs and spits out blood as Bakugo roars at him for daring to speak.  Of course his yelling attracts All Might, who immediately unleashes his power on them, and then it just…

Fire is everywhere.  Bakugo is screaming and Izuku is bleeding from the head and from his side, and he hits the ground wrong and wrecks his back, and he still has to get up and fight because that’s what everyone is expecting of him, and he drags himself up and tries to defend himself against both All Might’s unstoppable strength and Bakugo’s fury.  Even with his newfound control of his quirk, he can’t dodge when All Might comes at him.  He certainly can’t dodge when Bakugo attacks with no regard for his safety, putting him dead in the blast zone and not holding back.  A wayward explosion catches him in the chest and he goes down, his head bouncing on the concrete, and he sees white. 

All Might hesitates when he falls, and Izuku sees it—a split second where he considers ending the test out of fear for his safety.  But Izuku uses the moment to his advantage, gets up and runs, and it’s over.

They pass their final.  Izuku grabs Bakugo after he goes down in the desperate dash for the finish, very nearly breaking his legs in the process, and he flings them both through the escape gate.  Later his classmates will shake their heads and scold him for being willing to save Bakugo despite the abuse he’s put him through, but Izuku won’t listen.  Bakugo will never be his friend, but he isn’t going to leave him to fail.  Something about Izuku, some deep, inexplainable, self-destructive longing that has never really left him, tells him that he can’t let Bakugo go.  And besides, Bakugo had only hit him twice on purpose.  The rest had all been accidents, supposedly.  It’s sad, but it’s a record.

It really doesn’t make it any better.

When he’s sitting in the infirmary, Recovery Girl fretting over his burns and his back and his head, Todoroki’s final happens.  Izuku doesn’t get to watch, caught up in the infirmary as he is, but he knows he’ll pass.  He’s too amazing not to. 

“Ouch!”

Izuku lifts his shirt as little nips of pain spread across his side.  Red coils appear all over his skin, sharp and puffy like rope burn, and he frowns in confusion.  His soulmate practically never gets hurt, what’s going on?

Todoroki appears in the infirmary a few minutes later and says nothing, accepting healing with a grimace and then flopping himself down in a cot beside Izuku’s.

Izuku isn’t sure whether or not the final helps him make progress or not.  Being able to work with Bakugo, no matter how briefly, is a huge step forward.  But inside, he isn’t sure if he wants to take steps forward with his past abuser.  He thinks that sometimes relationships can be repaired and sometimes they can’t, and Bakugo is one of those that can’t, and that’s okay. 

After, having done away with his burns and scrapes and gone home for the day, Izuku sits at his desk and stares out the window.  He isn’t sure how he feels, but it isn’t exactly good.  He’s in the process of running his hands up and down his arms, feeling the ridges from past scars, when he feels a pinch of pain on the top of his left hand.

A flower.  His soulmate has drawn him a flower.

Izuku watches it, caught between amusement and confusion and wonder.  And he finishes the flower, drawing it a stem and a leaf and a little butterfly, and it’s an odd, wordless exchange, but it’s something.

He puts the pen down and feels conflicted.  Then he reaches for his phone.

Hey, Todoroki!  Do you want to come over?

And so it goes on like that.  Good days, bad days, days in between—but everything is okay, because Izuku doesn’t have to be alone anymore.  He keeps fighting.  He keeps getting stronger.  His soulmate even talks to him occasionally.  A few years ago, his soulmate talking to him would have made him the happiest person in the world.  It would have done wonders.  It would have stopped him from cutting himself. 

Now, it’s just…nice.  Like, he’s glad that his soulmate is talking to him, but it no longer feels like the massive deal it once was.  The Izuku that sat in his room and cut himself over his soulmate’s lack of a response feels very, very far away.  His soulmate still doesn’t want him, and even though that still bothers him deep, deep down, in some tiny part of his mind he doesn’t let himself acknowledge, it isn’t the thing that’s going to push him over the edge.

His friends are the important things.  And it sounds kind of silly, like something he would hear on those inspirational podcasts his mother used to listen to, but he doesn’t care.  It’s the truth.

He keeps getting closer to Todoroki.  And he still won’t let himself think too hard about it, but he suspects that maybe that’s part of the reason that he isn’t too bothered about his soulmate anymore.  Spending time with Todoroki is way better than spending desperate nights slicing into his skin in hopes that a distant soulmate will answer him, he thinks.  They’ve started seeing each other outside of school, first by coincidence, now by definite plan, and everything is so much brighter.

 They eat at Todoroki’s favorite café.  They go to the movies, which Todoroki isn’t incredibly fond of but tolerates for Izuku’s sake.  They study in Izuku’s room after school.  They go hiking.  And once, just once, they play board games and sit so close together that Izuku can feel the fire running beneath Todoroki’s skin. 

All of this is adding up to something, Izuku thinks.  Something momentous.  Soon, he’ll have to acknowledge it. 

But not yet.

One day the two of them are hanging around in the classroom after school, finishing up an assignment due the next day, and Izuku finally can’t help but ask.  Because he hasn’t put his finger on what’s happening yet, but he feels like it’s an important question, somehow.

“Hey, Todoroki—have you met your soulmate?”

Todoroki goes very still.  His pencil starts smoking. 

“Ah, was that too personal?  I’m sorry!”

He takes a deep breath and, with visible effort, gets the pencil to stop smoking.  “It’s fine,” he says, though his voice sounds tight.  “I was never allowed to communicate with my soulmate when I was young, so I can’t say I’ve spoken to him much.”

Him?  Oh…his soulmate is male, too.

“Your father didn’t want you to talk to your soulmate,” Izuku guesses, because he’s been around Todoroki enough to understand what his father is like.  “Right?”

“Right.  You know how he is.  He…wanted a quirk marriage for me.”

  It’s unsurprising, but it still makes Izuku’s blood boil.  He isn’t quick to hate, but he hates Endeavor with his entire being. 

“My soulmate tried to contact me when I was young,” Todoroki says at last.  His voice is quiet.  “Every time my father saw the words on my skin, he punished me for it.  I had to push my soulmate away and—and pretend I didn’t care.  I imagine he hates me now, for what I did to him.  Our relationship was…messy.”

“How could it be messy if you never spoke to him?”

“It just was.”

Izuku frowns, but doesn’t press.  Some things are private for a reason.

“What about you?” Todoroki asks after a moment.  “Bakugo told everyone that your soulmate rejected you, but is that really true?”

“Ah…” He looks away.  “Yes, it’s true.  I suppose we’re actually in similar situations, just on opposite sides of the coin.  My soulmate rejected me because he said he was on a path that didn’t allow for distractions.  I tried to get his attention for a time, relying upon more and more desperate methods, but…well, it didn’t end well.”

“And that’s why Bakugo hurts you.”

“Yes.  Well, that and…my quirk didn’t manifest until very late, like I’ve told you before.  Having no soulmate and no quirk made for a nasty combination.”

Todoroki’s expression is completely unreadable.  “Do you hate your soulmate?  If he hadn’t rejected you, maybe you wouldn’t have been bullied so relentlessly.”

Izuku hesitates, thinking it over.  He certainly doesn’t hate his soulmate.  And now, knowing that he has Todoroki—and his other friends, of course—it just doesn’t feel as important.  Sure, he’s still bothered by what his soulmate had done in the past.  But still.  

“I don’t hate him,” Izuku settles on finally, and a bit of tension leaks out of Todoroki’s body for reasons he doesn’t understand.  “I’m sad, that our relationship had to end the way it did.  I needed him back then, when…when things were dark.  I just…”

He trails off, but not because he loses his train of thought.  He trails off because Todoroki has reached over the desk, as gentle as ever, and clasped his hands between his own.

Izuku is silent, watching the place Todoroki is holding him.  One of the hero’s hands slides up, fingers kissing his wrist before moving to soothe over his forearm.  His scars are covered by the sleeve of his uniform, but Izuku’s heart skips a beat nonetheless.  For Todoroki to touch him there, when he doesn’t even know…

Todoroki leans his head down and touches his forehead to the back of Izuku’s hand.  “I’m glad,” he says softly, “that you’re still here.”

Izuku’s mouth is dry as sandpaper.  He gulps.  “M-me too.”

There’s a beat of silence.  Then, “I’m sorry.  Your soulmate is a fool.”

There’s some kind of weight to those words, Izuku thinks.  It latches onto him and tugs, but not in that cloying, sour way that his past tends to cling to him.  No…this is different.  It’s warm.  So, so warm…

When Todoroki pulls back there’s a very slight flush to his cheeks, and it’s beautiful.  He’s beautiful.  And Izuku is so, so glad that he didn’t jump off the roof when Bakugo told him to, that the knife never cut deep enough, because he never would have gotten to see this.  The way the fading sunlight plays off of Todoroki’s hair, setting him alight from behind.  The way his eyes shine with—with affection, and pride, and sorrow. 

This sight, right here.  Izuku wouldn’t trade it for the world.

And well, there are only so many emotions he can attempt to ignore before they get the best of him.

Oh.

Oh.

So.  Izuku figures it out.

He likes Todoroki.

And really, that just creates a whole slew of complicated feelings that he doesn’t want to deal with it.  Like, Todoroki was never allowed to contact his soulmate, but what if he wants to now?  Plus, you aren’t supposed to date someone who isn’t your soulmate, everyone knows that.  And what about Izuku himself?  His soulmate is actually talking to him now, sending him brief messages every so often, and doesn’t he have a responsibility to him?  But then again, his soulmate has never cared about him until now…and maybe Izuku should be allowed to like who he wants to like, regardless of what is expected of him.

After he realizes, all of their interactions suddenly feel different.  When Todoroki puts a hand on his back, he lights up on the inside.  When they have coffee together, Izuku has to stop himself from staring.  When he sees Todoroki blushing, which is far less rare than one might expect, his stomach flips in nervous circles. 

He still hasn’t decided what he should do about it.  Should he confess?  Should he pretend it isn’t happening?  Should he hope that the feelings go away?  He just doesn’t know.  All he knows is that suddenly, talking to his soulmate feels like a betrayal, and he feels sick and miserable and excited all at the same time. 

It’s too bad that just as he figures all of this out and starts to wonder if maybe he should do something to express how he feels, he gets abducted by the league of villains.

It happens during the training camp.  They’re attacked by the league of villains at a truly inopportune time, when they’re all out in the forest and separated from their teachers.  And of course Izuku is alone, and of course he goes up against a true beast of a villain, and of course he breaks nearly every bone in his body before he finally, finally saves Kota and descends back down into the forest.  By the time he gets Kota back to Aizawa and goes back out into the forest to find his friends, he’s in more pain than he thinks he’s ever been in.

I’m sorry, he thinks, as he hits the ground and gasps at the strain in his legs.  The bones aren’t broken, but they’re not fully intact either.  He can feel the hairline fractures in his shins.  My soulmate, wherever you are…you’re having to feel this, too.

His body threatens to give out on him as he searches.  The bones in his arms are pulverized.  They pulse with agony every time he takes a step, and he grits his teeth and forces his way through the pain.  He has to find his friends.  That villain said that they were after a few of their classmates, and he has to—!

“Midoriya!  Over here!”

He tries to turn on a dime, drawn by the voice of the one person he was most hoping to see, and immediately slips on the leaves that decorate the forest floor.  A bolt of ice catches him, but it really ends up being worse than hitting the ground because his broken arm slams into it at a bad angle and it’s agonizing.

Todoroki cries out, probably in alarm, but Izuku is focused entirely on the pain that courses through his entire being.  He slides down the wall of ice and rolls onto his back, tears beading at the corners of his eyes.  He’s broken bones before, but this is…

“Midoriya,” Todoroki rasps, crashing to his knees at his side.  “Oh, god, you’re in so much pain.  We have to…to get you to someone with a healing quirk, or…” He raises a shaking hand, and Izuku sighs as some of that flaring pain is taken away by a thin sheet of frost over his burning skin. 

“T-thanks,” he stutters, though he’s having a hard time talking.  Everything is fuzzy and strange, and he doesn’t think he’s just feeling his own pain.  His soulmate is hurt too, wherever he is. 

Todoroki moves like he wants to hold him but isn’t sure where to hold that won’t cause more pain.  “You fool,” he hisses, “what are you doing out here with these injuries?”

He tries to get up, but Todoroki pushes him back down.  “I—ah!  I found out that the League of Villains is after some of our classmates, and I was trying to deliver the message so we can protect them!”

“What about protecting yourself?” Todoroki demands, furious.  “You’re barely conscious!  If a villain had found you out here, you’d be dead!”

Now that he mentions it, everything is sort of fading in and out.  His arms pulse with agony, and his chest is tight.  It’s hard to breathe.  Oh, no—did he break his ribs, too?  Has one of his ribs pierced a lung?  No, surely he’s just imagining things!  He’s panicking, that’s all, and his panic is making it hard to breathe.

“I’m fine,” he tries, though he doesn’t feel fine.  “Just l-let me…”

“No.  Stay down.  I’m going to carry you out of here.”

“Todoroki, we have to warn—!”

He glares.  “I’m sorry to say this, but getting you to safety is more important than delivering that message.”

“No!  The League is going to kidnap our friends and kill them; we have to warn them before that happens!  They’ll die!”

“Midoriya, you’re going to die.  You’re having trouble breathing, aren’t you?”

“How did you…?”

“Just stay still, I’m getting you out of here.  I’ll deliver the message myself after you’re safe.”

Izuku bites back a scream as Todoroki picks him up.  He can’t help it; it hurts.  Todoroki gets him over his shoulder, soothing his pain with another wave of ice, but it’s just barely enough to take the edge off.  It’s getting harder and harder to breathe.   

Todoroki is grinding his teeth so hard that Izuku can hear it.  He’s hurting too, but why?  Is he injured?  Izuku hadn’t gotten the chance to check him over, but if he’s also in pain…

“T-Todoroki…?”

“Don’t speak,” he says breathlessly.  “Just…just rest, Midoriya.  I’ll get us back to camp.”

He does not, in fact, get them back to camp.

They almost make it there.  They get within sight of the building, even.  But then, just as they’re about to reach safety, the villains catch up to them.

It’s quick.  One moment Izuku is clinging to Todoroki, and the next he’s being flung to the ground by a gust of blue fire.  He chokes, hitting the ground so hard that his bones rattle.  He tries to get up, but his body isn’t listening.  Darkness edges in on him.

“Midoriya!”

“I’d worry less about your friend and more about yourself, kid.  You’re on the kill list.”

Izuku jolts at the sound of that.  He has to get up.  He has to fight!  He has to save Todoroki!  What kind of hero is he if he can’t even do that much?

Todoroki holds up his hand, readying his ice to combat the villain’s fire.  But something’s wrong.  He’s holding himself like he’s injured.  His breathing is labored, and he’s swaying like he’s trying not to pitch over.  What’s wrong with him?  When did he get so hurt?

He yells and flings out an arm, and ice is everywhere.  But it’s off balance, melting before it leaves his fingertips.  He’s drowning.  He’s losing.  Izuku can’t look away.

He has to get up.  He has to get up now.

The villain shoots Todoroki’s feet out from under him.  He falls and yelps as his shoulder strikes the ground, and it makes Izuku yelp too.  There’s fire at the villain’s fingertips, aimed at Todoroki’s head, and he—!

“Wait!”

The villain stumbles, thrown off by Izuku’s call.  Todoroki is staring up at him, stunned and in pain, and he curls onto one side as the fire dies down but he doesn’t attempt to retaliate.  He’s done.

Izuku staggers to his feet.  It’s quite possibly the hardest thing he’s ever had to do.  His chest is burning, and blood paints his lips when he coughs.  Oh, no—Todoroki was right.  He’s really hurt, isn’t he?

“D-don’t touch him,” Izuku begs.  “Please.  I’m on your list too, right?  Shigaraki said he wanted to kill me himself.”  And of course that makes Todoroki choke, because Izuku hadn’t told a soul about that encounter.  The one that had happened months ago in the mall, when Shigaraki had curled a loose hand around his throat and said, I’m going to be the one to kill All Might.  But to do that, I’ll have to kill you, too.

And it’s a gamble; Izuku knows this.  But he doesn’t see another way.

The villain eyes him appraisingly.  “Izuku Midoriya.  Yeah, you’re on the list.  Wanted alive.”

“T-then…” Izuku looks into Todoroki’s eyes.  They’re cloudy with pain, though he still can’t pinpoint where his injuries are.  “Just take me!  Leave Todoroki alone and take me back with you!”

Todoroki splutters audibly, but can’t seem to get himself standing again.  He tries and fails to roll onto his stomach.  “M-Midoriya—!”

Izuku very determinedly ignores him.  He’s a hero.  He can save Todoroki.  “Shigaraki is expecting me, isn’t he?  He wants me alive.  I know, because he told me himself.”

The villain narrows his eyes.  “He wants you alive, sure.  But you hardly look like you’re in a position to fight me.  As far as I’m concerned, I can kill your friend and capture you without effort.”

Izuku’s mind kicks into overdrive.  All of this is going to depend on how badly Shigaraki wants him alive.  If he miscalculates, Todoroki will probably end up dead.  If he’s right…well, Izuku thinks his own life won’t be too high a price to pay for his friend’s safety.

Izuku lets power flow through him.  Then, wincing with every movement, he forces his shattered arm up so that he can curl his fingers around his own throat.  “Step away from Todoroki,” he says, shaking.  “Unless you want to explain to Shigaraki why I died before he could kill me.”

He scoffs, “What, do you think I’m stupid?  There’s no way a brat like you would be willing to go that far.”  But he’s gone tense, nervous, and Izuku knows that he’s at an advantage here.  This villain isn’t sure if he’ll actually go through with it.  

“I’m sorry to disappoint you, but…” Izuku uses his teeth to tear down his sleeve, putting all of his rough, raised scars on display.  “I’m well versed in trying to kill myself.”

Todoroki is still as stone.  His mouth is open, and he’s staring at Izuku like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.  “Izuku,” he whispers.  Not Midoriya, not Deku—Izuku.

The villain’s expression goes from hesitant to understanding in a heartbeat, and a spark of urgency betrays itself in the way he steps away from Todoroki.  So he was right, then.  Shigaraki wants him alive, and he wants him bad.  Bad enough to let Todoroki go. 

“I’ll go with you,” Izuku bargains.  “I—I won’t fight, I swear.  But you have to let Todoroki go and call off the rest of your friends.”

“That’s a high price for the life of one child.”

“Yes, but I think you’ll pay it.”  Izuku flexes his fingers around his throat threateningly.  “If you kill Todoroki, I—I won’t have much motivation not to do this.  So please, get away from him!”

And yeah, it’s not perfectly true.  He’s been careful to develop a support system outside of Todoroki, and he likes to think that he’s left his suicidal days behind him.  But if it will convince the villain to back down…

It works.  The villain watches him for a moment, considering.  And then, slowly, he turns away from where Todoroki is coughing and gasping on the ground.

“Fine,” he says.  “But I want your guarantee that your little friend here won’t try to come after us the moment our backs are turned.”

Izuku bites his lip.  He can’t guarantee that.  This villain knows that he can’t guarantee it.

The villain snorts.  “Fine, let me put it this way.  Hey, kid!”  He points at Todoroki.  “Pass this message along to your little friends.  If we catch wind of you trying to rescue this one here, we’ll kill him.”

Todoroki goes absolutely pale, white as a sheet, and doesn’t say a word.

“Come on, kid.  Now.”

The villain is holding out his hand.  It’s bloody and scarred and horrifying.  It reeks like rusting iron. 

And Izuku has no choice.

He reaches out and takes it.