Chapter Text
It had been so weird to run into him again. Class 1-A got together from time to time and Todoroki always saw him then, but he realized as the breeze ran its hands through messy locks of dark green hair and wide, childishly round eyes stared at him—he realized that seeing Midoriya again was different when he was prepared for it. And he did prepare himself for it mentally. He must have. Somehow, subconsciously. He only realized the armor was there when he got caught without it one cold December morning. He only realized when he was standing in the street, having just secured a villain and looked up to see Midoriya Izuku staring at him from the sidewalk.
Midoriya had a bright scarf wrapped around his neck three times, so Todoroki could not see his expression other than those wide eyes. Eyes that looked younger than his physical age.
And then tiny creases appeared around the edges and his cheekbones seemed to round. Despite the column of marigold knit reaching up to his nose, Todoroki could tell Midoriya was smiling.
I’m completely fucked, aren’t I? Todoroki thought.
* * * * * *
Heat. His own and Midoriya’s. Their bodies so close. He had held Midoriya, stroked his hair, shushed him gently, and tried to remember what he was supposed to do. Then it turned, the nightmare faded, and the first kisses were apologies. Or so Todoroki assumed. They grew hungrier and more demanding. He couldn’t catch his breath.
* * * * * *
Once the villain was handed over to the police, Midoriya suggested they catch up at a coffee shop he knew nearby. Todoroki had no reason to refuse. Coffee could be nice. Coffee could quiet his mind, currently distracted by layers of memory. Coffee could remind him that they were not teenagers anymore, they were not on work study, the League of Villains was gone, One for All was gone … that phase of their lives was over.
Why did he need to be reminded of that when Midoriya seemed so oblivious to the past? His bright smile. His easy manner. He seemed genuinely happy to see him.
“I thought for sure if they inherited anything, it would be anti-gravity,” Midoriya said. His voice was as tender and soft spoken as Todoroki remembered. When he laughed, it was so cheerful, bright like the chime of a polished silver bell. “Imagine my surprise!”
“Did you know fire quirks ran in your family?”
Midoriya shrugged.
* * * * *
Darkness. So much darkness. He could see better if he activated his left side, but as intimidating as the darkness was, if it wasn’t there, he felt for sure that the lips would stop sucking on his neck and the hand snaked in between his legs would stop exploring, teasing, testing…
His head was spinning. What was even happening? It had happened before; would it happen again? Was this part of his routine now? By day: clear rubble, console and comfort survivors, help rebuild from the final war… By night: kissing and touching and groping in the darkness.
* * * * *
“My Dad… apparently his quirk was fire-breathing,” Midoriya noted.
Although they had known each other for years, and had been bonded by tragedy and intimacy, moments like this forced Todoroki to admit to himself that he did not know much about Midoriya. They did not talk about personal things. Part of Todoroki still sort of believed that All Might was Midoriya’s father. It was jarring to introduce the idea of someone else. Someone else in past tense, no less. A past tense introduced all sorts of questions Todoroki had no right to ask.
“But I don’t know beyond that,” Midoriya continued. “I don’t know very much at all about my father’s side of the family. My mother can float small objects, so I figured if anything … they’d inherit that and it would just … refine …or be confused for the Anti-gravity.”
“They might still. Your youngest is how old … two?”
Midoriya nodded enthusiastically.
“Too young to tell.”
“True,” Midoriya said. He looked excited, as if in talking about his kids he was also talking about future heroes he would be able to document and lecture on. “And I was very glad this one was not congenital! You don’t want to find out your oldest burps fireballs when they’re still breastfeeding.”
Midoriya said breastfeeding so casually, it made the flash of squimeashness that Todoroki felt all the more embarrassing. Not only was Midoriya married. Not only did he have kids. But he was a committed father and family man, as fascinated by the realities of human development as he was of quirks.
“Ochaco, is so stressed about it…”
Todoroki never had great instincts about people. He had no charm during interviews. He did not handle subtext well. It was too easy for villains to surprise him. He didn’t have a great sense about people, but even he could feel the danger in those words. A small voice kept saying don’t, don’t do it. over and over in his head. Midoriya kept talking about internet searches and consumer safety reports—what to do when your toddler is an open flame?—and the dread built up higher and higher until the inevitable inspiration finally hit and Midoriya said:
“Oh! Do you think you could give us some pointers?”
Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t…
“Pointers?” he asked dumbly.
“Yeah! Like Banana stem sap? Spinach juice? Or coconut shell extract? We can’t afford to get the whole house done up in Marlan!” Excited, Midoriya was waving his arms and talking way too loudly. Other people were looking now. Adrenaline pumped through Todoroki—Don’t do it, don’t do it, don’t do it—a fight or flight response that was most definitely skewing towards flight.
“There’s so much we’re trying to figure out,” Midoriya continued. “I mean, all the information I have is about adults. I don’t even know where to begin with fire quirks in kids.”
Those green eyes were glossy and shimmering. Desperation… but also, excitement. Todoroki was sure of it. As worried as he might be, as overwhelmed as he was by the turn of events, once a geek and a fan boy, always a geek and a fan boy.
“Running into you today,” Midoriya sighed. “It was so lucky! It’s like fate.”
* * * * * *
He could forgive Midoriya anything. His kindness was so complete it was a form of cruelty. It was a curse being that kind-hearted. Like an affliction. Midoriya suffered it, he endured it and because of that, Todoroki could forgive him anything.
Honestly, it was a bit of a relief when Midoriya imposed. When he was permitted to be kind back to Midoriya. When he was chosen for that. It was not his exclusive privilege—Midoriya would accept kindness from others in Class 1-A now and then. Even if they had to beat him up a little first.
Midoriya accepted kindness from so many others. But Todoroki was pretty sure Midoriya didn’t kiss anyone else.
Midoriya giggled. It was a little manic, his eyes slightly bloodshot. He looked nervous and apologetic, still jittery.
Todoroki’s lips were tingling. He licked the feeling of Midoriya’s kisses off the tender pink flesh of his mouth and swallowed hard before opening his eyes again.
Midoriya had pinched a lock of Todoroki’s hair between his fingers and when Todoroki’s eyes refocused, he noticed the tips were frozen. How embarrassing.
“That’s never happened before,” he said quickly. Although Midoriya was smart enough to realize that at seventeen, it was unlikely Todoroki had any experience other than Midoriya.
Still… Midoriya’s smile was bright and carefree. Moments ago, he’d been a twisted mess, trapped in horrific memories, clinging to Todoroki, crying, trembling… When he came out of these fits, he always wanted to kiss. And touch. Comfort, Todoroki supposed. Distraction, too.
Todoroki’s cheeks were burning, but thankfully not with actual flames. He pushed his face into the pillow and groaned. This was so embarrassing.
“It’s okay,” Midoriya said. “It felt nice, actually. Refreshing.”
“It won’t happen again.”
He felt Midoriya’s fingers brush his bangs away from his face and tuck a few strands behind his ear. “It can happen again,” he whispered. “Just don’t singe my eyebrows, okay? We’d have a difficult time explaining that.”
He was teasing, which was unfair, but Todoroki could forgive Midoriya anything.