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April 20th 20XX: Bakugou Katsuki's 26th birthday party
The restaurant buzzed with soft jazz and the clink of cutlery, but Table Seven—their table—was pure chaos.
Denki Kaminari leaned back in his chair, drink in hand, grinning wide. They’d taken over the corner booth of a cozy, upscale izakaya with warm lighting and high ceilings. The long wooden table was packed shoulder-to-shoulder with their old friends—no, their family—from U.A.’s Class A.
It was Bakugou Katsuki’s birthday. The first of them to hit 26.
He hadn’t wanted a party. Of course he hadn’t. “I don’t want a goddamn spectacle,” he’d said, arms crossed, scowl sharp enough to cut steel. But he showed up anyway, because of course he did. Because despite himself, he never missed a gathering. Especially not one with them.
Bakugou sat at the head of the table, glowering half-heartedly as Kirishima shouted, “To the big 2-6! Old man Bakugo’s officially eligible for senior hero discounts!”
“I will end you,” Bakugou growled, stabbing at a skewer of grilled chicken.
The laughter was loud and familiar, food was flowing, drinks kept coming. There was a comfort to it all—like slipping back into an old hoodie that still smelled like campfires and teenaged dreams.
Mina was already tipsy, cheeks flushed, leaning against Jirou with a bright giggle. “We haven’t done this in forever,” she said, dragging out the word, arms waving. “We need to play something. Come on!”
“Like what?” Ojiro asked, polite as ever, sipping soda.
Mineta’s eyes sparkled with chaos. “Truth or dare,” he said, like he was summoning a demon.
Groans erupted.
“No way,” Jirou said. “We’re not fifteen anymore.”
“Exactly,” Mineta countered, grinning wickedly. “Which means we’ve got better stories now.”
Denki rolled his eyes but couldn’t help laughing. “This is the dumbest idea ever. I’m in.”
“You would be,” Jirou muttered, flicking his ear.
And somehow—it always happened this way—it spiraled. One empty soju bottle appeared, placed dramatically at the center of the table like it was an ancient relic.
Bakugou scoffed. “This is stupid.”
“No one said you have to play,” Mina shot back.
“I’m not gonna.”
“Then shut up and eat your gyoza, Katsuki,” Sero said, tossing a napkin at him.
And that was that.
The bottle spun.
A few rounds in, it was mostly harmless. Jirou admitted she once performed in a punk band under a fake name. Aoyama dared Tsuyu to speak only in frog noises for five minutes. Midoriya admitted he still kept All Might action figures on his bedside table. (No one was surprised.)
But then the bottle pointed at Shouto.
Shouto Todoroki, sitting calm and content between Iida and Yaoyorozu, sipping a cold barley tea. Number Two Hero. Ice-and-fire powerhouse. Public darling.
Denki saw it happen in slow motion: the lazy spin, the final clink against the wood, the slow rise of curious eyes around the table.
Mineta leaned forward like a goblin.
“Alright, Todoroki,” he said, rubbing his hands together. “Truth. We all know you’re crazy strong and hot and probably break hearts on the daily. So. Spill. What’s your dating history like?”
Shouto blinked once. “History?”
“You know, like… how many people have you dated? Been with?” Mineta waggled his eyebrows. “Kissed? Hooked up with? That kinda thing.”
Shouto tilted his head slightly, a curious furrow between his brows. “I’ve never dated anyone.”
A beat of silence passed. Denki almost dropped his glass.
“Wait,” Mina said slowly. “Like… never ever?”
“I don’t think I’ve been on a date,” Shouto said, expression thoughtful now, like he was trying to remember if maybe he’d blacked one out. “Unless going out with my mom and Fuyumi counts.”
“It doesn’t,” Kirishima blurted.
Momo blinked in surprise. “What about after graduation?”
“No.”
Denki leaned forward. “But like… you’ve kissed someone, right?”
Shouto looked at him, wide-eyed and absolutely sincere. “No.”
“You’re messing with us,” Jirou said, eyes narrowing.
Shouto shook his head.
“Wait, wait,” Sero cut in, holding up a hand like a referee. “You mean to tell us that you, Shouto Todoroki—Number Two Hero, with a fanbase that could topple governments—have never kissed anyone? Not even a little peck?”
“No,” Shouto replied, completely unfazed. “I haven’t really had the time. Or interest. I like my hobbies. And you guys.”
Denki stared.
Around the table, jaws dropped. Aoyama clutched his pearls. Ochako made a squeaky noise. Even Shoji’s eye narrowed in disbelief.
Bakugou, ever tactful, barked a laugh so loud it made the table rattle. “You’ve never been laid? You’re a virgin?”
Shouto blinked. “I guess.”
Denki’s world tilted.
This man—this beautiful, terrifying, deeply weird man—was 25, sculpted like a Calvin Klein ad, sweet as a cinnamon bun, and had somehow made it through life untouched.
It was like finding out a god had never known sin.
He set his drink down slowly. “We have to fix this.”
Mina nodded, looking deadly serious now. “We absolutely have to fix this.”
“Fix what?” Shouto asked, confused. “I don’t feel broken.”
“That’s what makes it worse!” Denki stood suddenly, pointing. “You’re walking around like this!” He gestured wildly. “Looking like that, being all polite and charming and making bowls in your free time like a Studio Ghibli side character—and you’ve never even made out with anyone?!”
Shouto tilted his head again. “Is it that important?”
“YES,” the table shouted in unison.
Kirishima clapped his hands together. “Bro. This is serious. You’re the last virgin in Class A.”
Sero nodded solemnly. “The Chosen One.”
“I don’t think that should matter,” Iida muttered, but he looked a little distressed himself.
“But it does!” Mina cried. “He's gonna turn 26 soon, and this is just—this is tragic!”
“You all seem very invested,” Shouto said, looking around.
Denki placed both palms flat on the table and leaned in. “Because you’re our friend. And we love you. And we cannot let you hit your 26th birthday without at least knowing what a kiss feels like.”
“I know what pressure points feel like,” Shouto offered. “I studied them since I was younger.”
“That is not the same!”
“I can show you if—”
“Nope,” Jirou cut in. “Nope, we’re good.”
Denki turned to Mina, eyes lit with electric purpose. “We need a plan.”
“I’m already on it,” she said, pulling out her phone. “We’ll call it Project First Flame.”
Kirishima raised his drink. “To breaking the dry spell!”
Shouto just looked faintly puzzled. “I’m not thirsty.”
Bakugou snorted so hard his drink came out his nose.
Denki sat down slowly, staring at Shouto like he was looking at a very rare, very beautiful animal at the zoo. He turned to Midoriya. “You knew about this?”
Midoriya flushed bright red. “I-I suspected… But I didn’t want to pry! He seemed happy!”
“He is happy,” Ochako said gently. “Which is why this is hilarious.”
Denki rubbed his hands together. “Alright, then. The mission is clear. We’ve got less than a year to get Todoroki Shouto laid.”
Shouto raised a hand. “Do I get a say in this?”
“No,” Mina said. “You clearly can’t be trusted to handle this yourself.”
“Don’t worry, Shouto,” Denki said with a grin. “We’re professionals.”
He nodded, as if reassured. “Okay. Thank you for your support.”
Denki exchanged a look with Mina. This was going to be harder than they thought. But it was a challenge worthy of Class A.
The Great Deflowering of Todoroki Shouto had officially begun.
Several days later
Mina stood in front of Shouto Todoroki’s apartment door, bouncing on the balls of her feet like she’d had five shots of espresso instead of just her usual morning smoothie. Denki was beside her, grinning like he was about to pull off the biggest heist in hero history. Sero leaned lazily against the wall, sipping from a boba cup. Kirishima, holding a bag of pastries, looked more excited than nervous, and Jirou had earbuds slung around her neck like a battle accessory.
Mineta, who had not been invited but had somehow shown up anyway, stood behind them, clearly vibrating with barely contained perv energy. Izuku was fiddling with the spare key Shouto had given him years ago, mumbling to himself about whether this counted as a home invasion. And Bakugou, for some reason, also had a key and opened the door first.
The door clicked open.
They filed in like a squad of overly enthusiastic commandos. Mina took point, grinning as she stepped into the cozy, tidy space that smelled faintly of mint tea and cedarwood. The windows were open, sunlight spilled across the floor, and Todoroki was on the balcony, squatting peacefully beside a plant, gently misting it with a spray bottle.
“Shoutooo~!” Mina called out in her sing-song voice.
He turned around, surprised but not alarmed. His hair was slightly ruffled, and he wore what looked like the softest sweater in the known universe. It was several sizes too big and hung off one shoulder. His pants were simple linen, rolled up to his calves. He looked—Mina had to admit—like a hot dad from a slice-of-life anime.
“Oh. Hello,” he said. His smile was real, soft, and utterly oblivious to the chaos approaching him. “I wasn’t expecting anyone.”
“You never expect us,” Denki said, grinning as he flopped onto the couch. “That’s half the fun.”
“I brought pastries,” Kirishima announced, raising the bag like a peace offering.
“I hope you like cinnamon,” Jirou added, scanning the space and choosing the biggest cushion to sit on the floor.
Todoroki stepped inside, setting his spray bottle down. “Would anyone like tea?”
Mina clapped her hands. “In a minute, handsome, but first: mission briefing!”
Todoroki blinked slowly. “Mission?”
“You,” Denki said, pointing dramatically, “are about to go on your very first date!”
Everyone settled around the living room like it was a war council. Todoroki handed Bakugou a cup of tea, which he accepted with a grunt and a “Tch,” before glaring at Mineta, who was already talking too much.
“First date?” Todoroki asked, setting a tray of drinks on the table.
“You’re not nervous?” Izuku asked curiously, sipping his tea.
“No. Should I be?”
Mina shared a look with Denki. This was going to be harder than they thought.
Phase One: The Dating Profile
Denki opened his tablet, typing furiously. “Okay, profile name—keep it simple. How about ‘ShoutoT25?’”
“That sounds like a Wi-Fi password,” Jirou muttered.
“Make it ‘HeroWithAHeart,’” Mina offered, fluttering her lashes dramatically.
“I don’t have a heart quirk,” Todoroki said, genuinely puzzled.
“Not literal, babe,” she said, patting his knee. “Now, we need photos.”
Todoroki stared blankly. “Photos of what?”
“You,” Sero said, already pulling out his phone. “Looking fine as hell.”
They posed him near the balcony, by his bookshelves, even beside his plant wall. In each one, he looked either mildly confused or like a statue carved by a love-struck Greek.
“Smile!” Mina called.
“I am smiling,” Todoroki replied, lips barely curved.
“It’s giving ‘tax accountant,’” Jirou deadpanned.
After an hour, they finally had a few shots where he looked both devastatingly handsome and vaguely human. Mina started writing his bio.
“Favorite hobbies?”
“Making chopsticks,” he said instantly. “And bowls.”
Mineta snorted. “What is he, a grandma?”
“They’re beautiful!” Izuku defended. “He’s really skilled.”
“Turn-ons?” Denki asked.
“On switches?" Shouto replied, without a trace of irony.
Jirou choked on her tea. Mina snorted. Sero slid off the couch laughing.
“No,” Denki wheezed. “Like… what do you find attractive in someone?”
“I’m… not sure,” Todoroki said, tilting his head. “I’ve never felt attracted to anyone.”
A pause fell across the room.
“Like… ever?” Mina asked gently.
He shook his head. “Not really. I like people. I care about all of you. But I don’t think I’ve… wanted someone.”
Denki looked over at Mina. Her expression had shifted slightly—still bright, but more serious. She nodded once.
“Okay,” Mina said. “We’ll start with girls. Just see how it goes.”
Mineta, ever the inappropriate one, leaned in. “Wait, if you’re not into anyone, how do you, uh… handle things?”
Todoroki blinked. “Handle what?”
“You know…” Mineta waggled his eyebrows.
“I don’t,” Shouto said, sincerely. “You’re being very vague.”
“Masturbation, dumbass!" Mineta screeched and Jirou smacked him upside the head.
“Oh,” Todoroki said. “People do that often?”
Bakugou nearly choked on his drink. “WHAT.”
“Midoriya,” Shouto said, calmly turning to him. “Should I be doing that?”
Izuku made a sound like a kettle boiling.
“We’re moving on,” Mina declared, practically flinging herself between them like a pink fog of rescue. “We got the profile up, and guess what?”
The tablet buzzed.
“Shouto,” she beamed, “you have a hundred and forty-seven messages.”
He peered at the screen. “Is that a lot?”
“Yes,” Sero said. “Yes, it is. We’re going to find you someone awesome.”
Phase Two: The Wardrobe Crisis
Shouto opened his closet. It was a sea of grays, muted blues, and earth tones. Everything was loose-fitting, soft-looking, comfortable—and completely unsexy.
“This won’t do,” Mina said, hands on her hips.
“I like these clothes,” Todoroki said, mildly offended.
“They make you look like a monk,” Mineta said.
Kirishima held up a tank top. “What about this one? Show off those arms.”
“I don’t like when people stare,” Todoroki replied. “It makes me feel like I forgot to lock my door.”
“Okay, no crop tops, got it,” Mina muttered. “What about… a nice button-up? Tailored jeans? Loafers?”
“I prefer my sandals.”
“You’re going on a date, not grocery shopping!”
Eventually, they agreed on a soft burgundy sweater that clung just enough to hint at his build, dark jeans that hugged but didn’t cling, and boots. When he stepped out, the room went quiet.
“Holy shit,” Jirou breathed.
Denki clapped a hand over his heart. “Ladies and gentlemen, the hottest man in Japan.”
Shouto blinked. “I thought we were just choosing clothes.”
Mina clapped his cheeks gently. “You’re gonna kill someone with your face.”
That night, they walked him to the door of the restaurant, like a team sending their precious child to kindergarten.
“You got this!” Kirishima encouraged.
“Remember: talk about her, not soba!” Mina said.
“If you panic, think of us!” Denki added.
Todoroki nodded solemnly and walked in.
Sero turned to the group. “So how long before she comes out and says he’s the cutest, most confusing guy she’s ever met?”
Mina checked her watch.
“Ten minutes.”
To his credit, the date lasted longer than any of them expected.
Izuku Midoriya—Pro Hero Deku, Number 11 in the current rankings after his return to the field last year—was currently jammed awkwardly between Kirishima and Sero in the backseat of Katsuki Bakugou’s matte-black Porsche. A luxury vehicle absolutely not built to fit seven adult-sized former U.A. students. Kaminari had the binoculars. Of course he did. He’d wrestled them from Jirou in the first thirty seconds of their completely illegal stakeout.
They were parked across the street from the cozy, dimly-lit restaurant, squashed together with half-eaten convenience store snacks between their knees and tension thick in the air.
“Is she laughing?” Kirishima asked, craning his neck around Kaminari’s shoulder. “She’s laughing, right?”
“She’s definitely laughing,” Kaminari confirmed, fiddling with the focus. “That’s at least the third time in five minutes. And he hasn’t made any smoke clouds or frozen the drinks, so—”
“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Jirou muttered arms crossed. “We are literal pro heroes. This is stalking.”
“It’s not stalking,” Kaminari said quickly. “It’s support. Friendly surveillance. Big difference.”
“No, it’s stalking,” Jirou said flatly. “And I’m only here to make sure you losers don’t scare the girl off.”
In the driver’s seat, Bakugou growled low under his breath. “You’re all idiots.”
“You drove us here,” Izuku pointed out helpfully.
Bakugou scowled and shoved another sour candy into his mouth.
Izuku adjusted the collar of his shirt and tried not to blush again. He still hadn’t recovered from the conversation earlier in Shouto’s apartment. The moment Mineta had opened his mouth, he knew things were going downhill.
“Masturbation is a basic part of development!” Mineta had declared, sounding genuinely scandalized. “You’re telling me you’ve never—”
“No,” Shouto had said plainly, eyes calm and direct. “I don’t feel compelled to.”
Izuku had almost choked on his tea. That level of sincerity? That quiet, unbothered confidence? That completely honest response? It was so… Shouto. He didn’t even realize the bomb he’d dropped. No shame, no embarrassment. Just a fact.
Now, hours later, they were crammed in a car watching their very attractive, socially oblivious friend on his first official date—and it was going weirdly well.
“She touched his arm!” Kaminari whisper-shouted. “That was definitely a touch. On purpose!”
“She’s totally into him,” Kirishima agreed. “Look at that body language. She’s leaning in.”
Izuku bit his lip. “Maybe… maybe it’ll go somewhere. He seems relaxed. Kinda. For Shouto.”
“His shoulders are only half-tense,” Jirou observed. “That’s basically a full smile for him.”
Mineta, seated on the floor of the backseat like a gremlin, hissed out, “Do you think she asked what he does in bed? Or maybe she’s into the whole ‘virgin hero’ aesthetic—”
“I swear I'm gonna throw you out the—” Bakugou growled, knuckles white on the steering wheel.
“Shh!” Kaminari hissed. “They’re standing up. They’re leaving!”
Everyone squashed to one side of the car, pressing faces and limbs to the tinted window like a pile of overexcited puppies. Shouto and the girl stood just outside the restaurant, talking softly. She reached out first—arms around his neck in a light hug—and he blinked in surprise before awkwardly returning it, arms hovering for a second before landing gently on her back.
“She hugged him!” Sero said.
“She’s smiling,” Mina whispered. “Oh my god, is this it? Did we do it?”
“She’s walking away,” Izuku noted, watching her head down the street. “She’s… turning around. She waved!”
The car was silent as they watched Shouto cross the road. He opened the passenger door, slid into the front seat like he didn’t just have seven of his friends crammed behind him breathing heavily, and buckled in.
“She was nice,” he said simply.
Everyone burst into conversation at once.
“What did you talk about?”
“Did she ask about your job?”
“Did she try to kiss you?”
“Did you hold her hand?”
“Did you make her laugh?”
Shouto blinked at them, confused. “She talked about her job. She works in hospital administration. I told her about pressure points in the neck and how incorrect treatment can cause nerve damage.”
A pause.
Izuku watched the group collectively deflate.
“…That’s what you talked about?” Kaminari asked, voice rising.
“She asked about my interests,” Shouto replied earnestly. “I thought it was relevant.”
Mina leaned forward, squinting. “Did she look… bored?”
“No,” Shouto said. “She seemed very engaged. She asked me where the carotid artery was.”
“She’s definitely not coming back for a second date,” Jirou muttered.
“But she hugged me,” Shouto pointed out, brow furrowing.
Izuku smiled softly. “That’s good, though. Right?”
Shouto tilted his head. “I think so.”
Later that evening, Kaminari’s phone buzzed.
Voice Message - From Kana (The Date Girl)
“Hi! Just wanted to say thank you again for setting me up with Shouto. He’s… wow. Like, wow. Is he even real? I thought people like that only existed in historical dramas. So calm. So polite. And he’s absolutely gorgeous. Like, not fair levels of gorgeous. I felt like I was talking to a work of art.”
“He talked about nerve endings and showed me how to relieve shoulder tension with one finger. I swear my soul left my body for a second.”
“But um… I don’t think there’s, like, a spark. He didn’t really… flirt? Or pick up on my hints. At all. I don’t think he sees people that way. But he’s incredible and I’d love to be his friend! He’s just—he’s one of a kind.”
Kaminari played it on speaker.
The group sat in silence.
“Okay,” Mina finally said. “So… he’s like a really hot, sweet houseplant. Beautiful. Soothing. But not romantic.”
Izuku sighed. “Maybe we need someone who’s more direct? Or who won’t mind doing all the heavy lifting?”
Mineta perked up. “What about a professional—”
“No,” Bakugou and Jirou said in unison.
Kaminari looked thoughtful. “Maybe… we can try with guys?”
“Let’s just… not give up,” Izuku said, smiling. “It’s Shouto. He’s worth the effort.”
Shouto, across the room, quietly sipped his tea and watered the little bonsai plant on the window ledge, entirely unaware that his closest friends were preparing Date Plan #2. And #3. And #4.
He hummed softly, he was grateful. It had been a good night.
And pressure points were always useful.
Eijiro Kirishima knew exactly two things when he took charge of Operation De-Virginize Todoroki:
- Shouto was not normal.
- Normal plans would never work.
So when it was his turn, the morning after Date #1, Eijiro had been hunched over his kitchen counter, spoon-deep in protein oatmeal, thinking. Kaminari’s voice note was still echoing in his head.
“Bro. She said he was like—like a mythical beast. Like a hot folklore forest spirit who talked about muscle pressure points for fifteen minutes straight. She was enraptured. Then she hugged him and he said ‘thank you for the embrace.’ Like—verbatim, bro. Verbatim.”
Eijiro snorted into his mug. Yeah. That tracked.
He tossed ideas around. Kaminari wanted a double date. Mina wanted to throw him into a love hotel with a model and hope for the best. That got shot down fast. Bakugou said to "leave the damn virgin alone" but also added a "if you're gonna do it, at least pick someone who won't eat him for breakfast."
And that’s when it clicked.
“He’s always happiest when he’s talking about those bowls,” Eijiro said aloud, pacing his living room now, energized. “Like he goes full nerd mode, man.”
So he had an idea.
A pottery girl.
A calm, artsy, maybe slightly awkward girl who made handmade dinnerware and liked slow mornings and quiet cafés. Someone who wouldn’t pressure Shouto, who might actually enjoy his dorky side, not just tolerate it. Someone who didn’t expect Prince Charming and would be pleasantly surprised with Dorky Forest Spirit instead.
And Eijiro? He knew just the girl.
A week later
“You what?” Mina blinked at him like he’d grown two heads.
“I said, I know a girl. She’s a friend of Tamaki’s cousin, met her once at that charity art market last year. She’s cool. Super chill. Makes ceramics and sells them at local fairs. She gave me this cup,” he lifted a hand-thrown mug with uneven red glaze, “and called it Passion Meat Juice ‘cause she thought it sounded ‘courageous.’”
Mina squinted. “That’s either terrible or amazing.”
“Right?” he grinned. “She’s got Shouto vibes. Quiet but intense. I think it could work.”
Izuku hummed from where he sat beside Kaminari. “You think she’d be interested in, um... Shouto?”
Kirishima chuckled. “Have you seen him? I’m pretty sure she’s got eyes, dude.”
Bakugou, lurking at the fridge like a grumpy cryptid, muttered, “Tch. Don’t set him up with someone who’ll explode when he says he doesn’t know what libido means.”
“We’re not!” Eijiro said defensively. “She’s like, a slow burn girl. Probably lights incense and cries over clay cracks.”
Mina grinned like a predator. “Perfect. We’ll arrange a date. But this time, no stalking him in a car.”
Kaminari’s jaw dropped. “What?! That’s half the fun!”
The day of the second date arrived and Eijiro personally drove Shouto to the café (he didn't even have a car).
It was a cozy little place in an artsy neighborhood—plants hanging from the ceiling, mismatched chairs, ambient jazz playing in the background. The girl, Aiko, was already there. She wore a beige cardigan over a black dress, her curly hair pulled up with a pencil, a clay-smeared tote bag at her feet. She looked up and smiled softly when they entered.
Shouto looked at her, blinked once, and turned to Kirishima.
“She looks nice.”
Kirishima grinned, gave him a clap on the back. “Go knock ‘em dead, champ. Talk about your bowls.”
“I brought her one,” Shouto said, pulling a small, lidded ceramic bowl from a tote bag of his own.
Kirishima paused. “Wait, like—a gift?”
“Yes. It’s glazed with pine ash and has a subtle ripple texture. I thought she might enjoy the craftsmanship.”
Kirishima looked like he was about to tear up. “You beautiful idiot. That’s... actually sweet as hell.”
An hour later, Kirishima was waiting outside the café like an anxious dad.
He pretended to scroll his phone, but really, he was listening.
Inside, he could hear low voices, gentle laughter. At one point, Aiko exclaimed, “No way! I use that same glaze recipe but with river sand instead of pine ash!”
And Shouto said, “Interesting. Have you tried birch wood?”
Kirishima smiled.
The boy was in his element.
When Shouto finally emerged—bowl-less now—he slid into the passenger seat and shut the door calmly.
“She accepted the bowl,” he said. “We talked about clay for seventy minutes. Then she showed me a photo of her cat.”
Kirishima tried not to laugh. “So... how’d it go?”
Shouto tilted his head in thought. “It was enjoyable. I liked her. I think she liked me too. But she said I reminded her of a calm mountain that she wanted to climb as a friend, not romantically.”
Kirishima winced. “Oof. That’s poetic. Also kinda harsh.”
“She said I have ‘soothing therapist energy.’”
Kirishima laughed this time. “You do, man. You do.”
The debrief happened that night.
Back at Bakugou’s apartment, the squad had assembled.
“He gave her a handmade bowl,” Kaminari said, holding his heart like it hurt.
“She loved it,” Kirishima confirmed, “but she still friend-zoned him.”
Jirou snorted. “They always do. He’s like... human white noise. You can’t fall in love with white noise.”
“I like white noise,” Shouto said quietly from the couch.
“Exactly,” Mina pouted. “You are white noise. That’s the issue.”
Mineta leaned forward with narrowed eyes. “So you two talked clay and nothing else?”
Shouto blinked. “We also talked about the history of kintsugi and the philosophy behind broken pottery being more beautiful after restoration.”
“Oh my god,” Kaminari whispered. “This is worse than I thought. He’s too wholesome.”
“No,” Izuku said suddenly. “Not worse. Just... different.”
They all turned to look at him.
Izuku chewed his bottom lip. “Maybe he’s just... not wired for this the way we are.”
Shouto tilted his head. “You mean sexually?”
Mineta choked on his soda.
Izuku turned scarlet. “N-not necessarily! I mean emotionally. Or romantically. Or—or—maybe both!”
Jirou crossed her arms. “Like he’s ace?”
Mina’s brows furrowed. “Huh. That... would explain a lot.”
Kirishima looked at Shouto, thoughtful. “What do you think, man?”
Shouto shrugged, sipping tea from a delicate mug he’d made himself. “I don’t know. But I’m not in a rush to find out. I like my hobbies. My friends. I feel... fulfilled.”
For a moment, there was silence.
Then Mina clapped her hands. “Okay, but like—what if we just try one more date—”
“Mina.”
“Okay two more—”
To be clear, he tried to stop it.
“I’m telling you, this is a fucking mistake,” Katsuki grumbled, arms crossed, shoulders tense as he leaned against Todoroki’s kitchen counter. “Camie’s gonna eat him alive.”
Mina ignored him. She was too busy adjusting her sparkly phone stand to take the perfect angle for a “progress report” selfie with Denki and Jirou. “He already knows her, Bakugou. It’s way better than sending him out with another stranger.”
“That’s worse,” Katsuki barked. “She’s been trying to climb him like a damn jungle gym since he was fifteen!”
From his seat on Todoroki’s couch, Denki shrugged. “I mean… she's hot. If anyone could tempt a man out of eternal virginity, it’s her.”
Jirou rolled her eyes. “You say that like it's a curse.”
“It is,” Mineta muttered bitterly from the floor, where he was dramatically curled up in front of Todoroki’s living room table. “I’d give my entire life to be in his position.”
“Shut up, Mineta,” everyone said at once.
Izuku was the only one pacing. He couldn’t sit. He was wringing his hands and glancing at the door like it was going to swing open any minute with Shouto half-undressed and traumatized. “I just… I don’t know. Maybe we should’ve warned him? Or prepared him more? Camie’s kind of… forward.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Katsuki grunted.
“She’s gonna pounce on him the second he says ‘pressure points,’” Sero added from where he was lounging upside down on the armchair. “It’s like a mating call.”
Mina clapped her hands. “Guys. Trust the process.”
“The process is setting a toddler loose in a lion’s den,” Katsuki snapped, the vein in his forehead throbbing. “And that toddler is six-foot-three, hot, and stupid.”
As if summoned by the gods of timing and chaos, the front door creaked open.
Everyone froze.
There he was.
Shouto Todoroki, Number 2 Hero, war veteran, culinary enthusiast, and walking thirst trap… stepped inside his apartment like nothing had happened.
He looked… fine. Shirt open—of course—but no visible injuries. No glowing embarrassment. No flushed cheeks. No wide, horrified eyes. Just… Shouto. His expression soft and a little tired, like he’d just come back from a long meeting instead of a date with a woman who once offered to sit on his face through an emoji.
“Oh my god,” Jirou whispered.
Mineta’s jaw hit the floor. “He survived.”
Kirishima sat up straighter. “Dude—what happened?”
Shouto blinked at them all. Then, as if this wasn’t weird at all, he closed the door, kicked off his shoes, and walked past them with that unnervingly serene expression he always wore. He went straight to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and took out a bottle of cold green tea.
“She was nice,” he said, completely casual.
“That’s it?” Denki screeched.
“She wore red lipstick,” Shouto added thoughtfully. He glanced down at the faint smear on his collar. “I think this is hers.”
“Did she kiss you?” Izuku asked, somewhere between hopeful and horrified.
“No. She leaned very close to explain a meme and accidentally touched my cheek.”
Katsuki closed his eyes and counted to three.
Shouto continued, sipping his tea. “We talked about hero work and some cases she has had. And I explained some pressure point techniques she could try for muscle tension. She seemed interested.”
Mina was clutching her head. “You gave her a pressure point lecture?”
“Yes. She said she has trouble sleeping sometimes.”
Sero wheezed. “And that’s what you went with? No flirty banter? No accidental touches? Nothing sexy?”
Shouto paused, looking down at his hands as if it was the first time he saw them. “She complimented my hands. Said they were big.”
“They are,” Mineta whispered reverently.
“Then she hugged me goodbye and said she’d love to hang out again.” He looked at them all, calm as still water. “I told her I’d be busy for a while.”
The silence that followed was thick.
“…Shouto,” Izuku started gently, “are you… okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said, smiling slightly. “But I’d appreciate it if you all stopped trying to set me up. The dates are… tiring.”
“You’re tired?” Katsuki exploded. “You were gone for two damn hours and came back looking like a fucking cologne ad! She even left her lipstick on your neck!”
“Oh,” Shouto said, touching his cheek. “I forgot to check.”
Mina stood. “Shouto, sweetie—don’t take this the wrong way—but do you… understand what these dates are for?”
He tilted his head. “You wanted me to meet someone. I met them.”
Denki flopped onto the couch like a man defeated. “He’s a lost cause.”
“I’m not a cause,” Shouto said, quietly amused.
Katsuki watched him, this man they’d grown up with, bled beside, fought wars with—standing there with tousled hair, sleepy eyes, and not an ounce of awareness about the chaos they’d thrown him into.
“How the hell are you real?” he muttered.
Shouto took another sip of tea. “My mother asks the same thing.”
Then he walked into his bedroom and closed the door, probably to water more plants or meditate or—hell, who knew.
The group sat in stunned silence.
“…So,” Sero said slowly. “We’re giving up, right?”
“No,” Mina said. Her eyes were glowing with that dangerous sparkle. “We’re just getting started.”
Katsuki groaned. “You people never learn.”
But even he had to admit—this shit was more entertaining than any of them had expected.
And Shouto Todoroki? Still a damn virgin. Still entirely unbothered.
Unbelievable.
Several months later: January 11th 20XX
The restaurant was fancy.
Not "Momo-rented-the-whole-place" fancy, but close. Warm wooden panels lined the walls, and the soft clatter of ceramic bowls and chopsticks filled the air like ambient music. The place smelled like heaven—soy sauce, grilled meats, scallions, miso broth—and it glowed with soft golden lights that made everyone's cheeks look a little warmer, smiles a little brighter.
Denki Kaminari was bouncing his knee under the table. He didn’t know why—maybe it was the cold, maybe it was the nervous energy of having almost twenty adult pro heroes crammed into a soba shop like it was the damn school cafeteria again.
Maybe it was just the birthday boy.
Shouto Todoroki.
Sitting at the center of the long table in an oversized dark green turtleneck, his mismatched eyes warm, posture relaxed, and smiling like some divine being who didn’t know mortals had started wars over less than his jawline.
"Happy birthday, Shouto!" Mina grinned, raising her cup. "You don't look a day over 19!"
“Thanks,” Shouto said, that signature soft voice of his barely rising above the chatter. “I feel twenty-six.”
Kirishima chuckled from across the table. “Well, that’s ‘cause you just carried a collapsing bridge two weeks ago, man. You’re getting old.”
"Speak for yourself," Bakugou muttered, stabbing a piece of tempura like it insulted him.
The whole of Class A—well, the old Class A—had made it. Even Tokoyami, who sat brooding next to Ojiro like the world had wronged him personally. Even Aoyama, who’d brought sparkly homemade cookies. Even Hagakure, still invisible, still waving arms in dramatic gestures, even though no one could see them. It was chaos in the best way. Like nothing had changed and everything had.
Denki leaned in, elbow knocking against Sero’s. “Hey, did you see the custom bowl they gave Shouto? His name’s engraved on it in kanji. With a snowflake.”
“Classy,” Sero nodded. “Bet he cries when he’s alone.”
“I bet he has,” Jirou said under her breath.
Mineta, unfortunately, was also here. “Hey, hey, hey—sooo, birthday boy,” he leaned over the table toward Shouto, who calmly sipped his soba like nothing could touch him. “Any birthday wishes? Maybe a girl-shaped one? You still single?”
Denki winced. “Bro, seriously?”
Izuku looked ready to choke on his tea. “M-Mineta-kun, it’s his birthday. Can you not—?”
But Shouto just blinked. “No wishes,” he said. “I’m content.”
Mina wasn’t going to let it go. Of course she wasn’t. She had eight months of bottled-up matchmaking trauma and nowhere to put it. She leaned forward, chin resting on her hands like a gossip columnist waiting for a scoop. “Just curious. Do you really not want our help again? Like, ever? We still have that Camie backup plan, but I swear—”
“No,” Shouto said with a soft chuckle. “Thank you, but… it isn't necessary.”
“That sounds suspiciously like you’re hiding something,” Denki said, narrowing his eyes in mock-detective mode.
Shouto paused. And then—he did it. The Bomb Drop.
“I’ve been seeing someone,” he said, with the exact same tone one would use to announce they’d bought a new plant. “Since May.”
The entire table went dead quiet.
Even Bakugou froze with a dumpling halfway to his mouth.
Mina slammed both hands on the table, sloshing miso soup. “EXCUSE ME?”
Izuku’s jaw dropped. “W-Wait. What?!”
“What the hell do you mean ‘seeing someone’?” Jirou said, eyes narrowing.
“Who?” Kirishima asked, already leaning across the table like it was a police interrogation.
Shouto blinked at the sudden attention, unfazed. “Aiko,” he said. “From my second date. The one Kirishima arranged.”
“The bowl girl?!” Denki screeched.
“That’s the one,” Shouto confirmed. “We’ve been making chopsticks together.”
Mineta choked on his drink. “That better be a euphemism.”
“It’s not,” Shouto replied flatly.
Momo looked genuinely scandalized. “Why didn’t you tell us?”
Shouto glanced down at his noodles, serene as ever. “I didn’t think it was necessary.”
“You hid a relationship from all of us,” Mina gasped, wounded. “Your best friends. Your ride-or-dies.”
“I didn’t hide it,” Shouto said with a shrug. “I just didn’t talk about it.”
Katsuki grunted. “Bastard.”
“Wait,” Denki said, fingers twitching like he was buffering. “You and Aiko… like, boyfriend-girlfriend?”
Shouto tilted his head. “Not really. She says we’re ‘companions on a shared journey of soul craftsmanship.’”
Tsuyu blinked. “That sounds serious.”
Ochako laughed. “Sounds like poetry.”
“Do you—like her?” Izuku asked softly.
Shouto looked up at that. His smile was small, honest. “I think so. She understands me. We don’t… do romantic things. Or physical things. But we make each other laugh. She teaches me about glaze techniques, and I make her dinner.”
“That’s so you,” Jirou whispered.
“That’s so wholesome,” Kirishima said, like it physically pained him.
Mineta looked like he was dying inside. “So you're still a vir—?”
“DON’T!” everyone chorused.
A beat of silence passed. The soft clink of bowls. The warmth of steam. The crackle of disbelief slowly melting into acceptance.
Denki leaned back, exhaling a long, slow breath. “So… all this time. You were just happy. Without romance. Without sex. Just—being you.”
Shouto gave him that soft, calm look that always made people shut up. “Yes.”
Denki smiled.
They hadn’t gotten their virgin friend laid. But maybe, somehow, they’d helped him find something better.
And yeah, he was still weird.
But he was their weird.
Epilogue
The sun filtered through the curtains of Izuku’s apartment, bathing everything in that soft, golden light that only spring seemed to offer. It was warm enough to crack open a window, let the breeze carry in the scent of fresh blossoms and the faint chirping of birds. He stood in front of the mirror, adjusting the collar of his dark green shirt for what felt like the tenth time. Not because he was nervous—he wasn’t. This wasn’t a real date. Just a “double date” organized by Kaminari for reconnaissance purposes.
A secret mission.
Which sounded insane. Because it was.
Izuku sighed, letting his head fall back slightly as he caught sight of Ochako behind him in the reflection. She was tying her hair up in a loose ponytail, still in her socks, humming to herself. The soft kind of hum that made it obvious she was trying not to laugh.
“I still can’t believe we’re doing this,” Izuku muttered, smoothing out a wrinkle on his sleeve. “Like… this is real. This is our evening.”
Ochako grinned, finally meeting his eyes in the mirror. “You’re the one who agreed.”
“I didn’t agree agree,” he protested, turning around. “Kaminari texted me seventeen times in a row and said ‘we’re counting on you, bro.’ That doesn’t feel like consent.”
“Oh, come on.” She gave his shoulder a light nudge as she passed by. “It’ll be fun. Besides, I kinda wanna meet Aiko.”
“I mean, yeah, me too. She sounds cool. I just…” Izuku glanced at his phone. There were at least three unread messages from Kaminari and a voice memo labeled “IMPORTANT—DON’T IGNORE.”
He wasn’t opening that.
“It’s just dumb,” he continued. “This whole ‘deflower the Todoroki’ operation is the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.”
Ochako chuckled, tugging on her sneakers. “Yeah, well. He’s the most gorgeous person I’ve ever met, and he doesn't understand that. It’s driving them insane.”
Izuku flushed a little. “I’m just saying… it’s none of their business. He’s happy. He’s healthier than he’s ever been. He smiles now. He has hobbies. He makes his own bowls.”
“Handmade soba bowls,” she said dreamily. “He gave me one last Christmas. I use it for cereal.”
“I’ve seen it,” Izuku mumbled, grabbing his jacket. “It has little clouds carved in. You didn’t even realize they were clouds.”
She gasped. “They’re clouds?!”
“Yeah. He told me.”
They stepped out into the hall and walked toward the elevator. Outside, the sky was pale blue, dotted with thin white streaks. The kind of weather that made your heart slow down, that made everything feel like it would be okay.
They arrived at the restaurant ten minutes early. It was one of those cozy, wood-accented places with paper lanterns and a quiet hum of conversation. The soba was handmade. The scent alone made Izuku’s stomach grumble.
Aiko and Shouto were already there.
Shouto looked… happy. Calm. He was in a dark gray cardigan over a pale blue button-up, hair neatly tucked behind his ear. Aiko was waving at them from across the room, wearing a mustard yellow dress with little specks of clay on her fingers. She looked like she’d just come from a workshop—and probably had.
Izuku’s immediate thought was They match.
Not just their clothes. Not just the colors. The whole energy. The vibe. It was like they existed in the same slow, warm frequency.
“Oh my god,” Ochako whispered under her breath as they approached. “They’re an old married couple.”
Shouto stood up and greeted them with a smile that was so soft it made Izuku’s chest ache a little. “Hey,” he said simply.
“Hi!” Aiko waved both hands. “I ordered barley tea for everyone. I hope that’s okay.”
“Perfect,” Ochako said brightly as she slid into the seat next to Izuku.
Aiko beamed, then turned back to Shouto with a fond little smile. “Shouto was just telling me about how nerves in the forearm connect to pressure points in the hand. He showed me the one that helps with anxiety. It’s like—here—”
She reached across the table and gently tapped a spot between Shouto’s thumb and index finger.
Izuku blinked. Okay… maybe they’ve hugged. Maybe.
Shouto nodded. “It’s called Hegu. It’s used in acupuncture.”
“You’re so full of this kind of knowledge,” Aiko said, voice warm. “It’s like talking to a really kind encyclopedia. One that makes bowls.”
Ochako gave Izuku a look like are you hearing this?
He gave her a look back that said yeah, but also they’re adorable, shut up.
The server came by and took their orders. Aiko picked a tofu soba with spicy broth. Shouto got cold soba with grated daikon. Izuku and Ochako ordered whatever the daily special was. Throughout the meal, the conversation flowed easily—much easier than Izuku expected. There were no awkward silences. Just laughter and quiet observations.
Aiko told them about a recent commission she had: a full dining set for a couple getting married in the mountains.
“I told them each plate would have to be different,” she said. “They asked why. And I said—‘because you’re different people. Your food won’t taste the same on each plate, and your lives won’t either. Isn’t that the point?’”
Ochako clapped her hands together. “That’s so poetic!”
Shouto, chewing quietly, looked at Aiko with a kind of reverence that was unmistakable.
Izuku caught it. He wasn’t sure Aiko did.
Later, when dessert came—a simple mochi sampler—Aiko broke one in half and handed it to Shouto without even asking. He took it wordlessly, like it was routine. Natural.
Ochako leaned close to Izuku and whispered, “So… virgin?”
“Still,” Izuku whispered back. “I think.”
“But like…” She nodded at them. “That’s love.”
He watched them—Aiko laughing softly at something Shouto said, Shouto watching her with a look of quiet joy—and realized she was right. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t dramatic.
But it was love.
Maybe not the kind Kaminari and Mineta wanted to confirm. But it was love, and it was whole.
Izuku sat back, letting out a quiet breath, the tea warm in his hands.
“Let them be weird,” he whispered.
Ochako smiled. “They’re our weirdos.”
And Denki could keep his mission. Izuku was off the clock.