Archive of Our Own

So here's the thing.

"Kacchan, I don't - I don't know what to say."

Shouto knows that eavesdropping is bad.

"I - yes? Oh my god, yes, of course I will, I -"

He knows it's a rude thing to do, and also that he fully deserves the way guilt starts to tickle at his insides the longer he stands here without making his presence known.

But snooping at corners has also saved him a lot of trouble in the past.

It's helped him to avoid both the worst parts of his father's rage and the petty family arguments between his brother and sister he's never really cared to observe. If he hadn't taken to listening in on the hushed conversations he'd heard around the house as a kid, he'd undoubtedly have walked right into any number of unsavory situations, and while one could argue that it's gotten him into trouble as much as it's helped him avoid it, he's never really thought the ratio of good to bad was that disparate before.

He's never considered the possibility that one day he was going to hear something he wasn't prepared for, and maybe he should have thought about it a little harder, because -

"Kacchan. God, I'm so happy, this - this is so exciting!"

Oh.

Oh no, this is starting to sound an awful lot like something that Shouto really shouldn't be privy to, something special between his two best friends - and yet he can't seem to pull himself away, rooted to the spot as his breath catches in his throat.

There's a wet noise then, like Izuku is crying.

Based on context clues, he probably is, and Shouto can't quite hide the way his face pinches when it's followed up with the sound of fabrics rubbing together, of two people falling into an embrace that's been a long time coming.

"Come on, nerd," he hears Bakugou say, voice softer than Shouto's ever heard it. "Don't cry."

Despite the plea, the next sound Midoriya makes is a sob, and Shouto's trembling hand clenches into a fist where he's hidden behind the staircase.

"This was supposed to be a good thing, you idiot -"

"It is good! I really am happy, Kacchan, I can't even believe it -"

"Then why're you fucking crying?"

"I just… it just doesn't seem real. After all these years, and all this time -"

Bakugou groans. "Don't remind me. Hear it enough from Shitty Hair already."

"And you deserve it," Midoriya replies with a watery laugh. "You deserve all of the crap that Kirishima gives you, and then some, because -"

"Yeah, yeah, I get it. Took me forever to get my shit worked out."

"But you did."

"…yeah. Guess so."

Denim slides against linen again, the soft, subtle noise loud in the stillness of the night.

It's like nails down a chalkboard, and it's easy enough for Shouto to imagine the way Bakugou's arms must wrap around Midoriya and hold him tight. He's a handful of centimeters taller than Izuku, is probably able to press his face into Midoriya's curly hair and breathe in the smell of him as he tugs him in; Shouto can guess at this, because he's taller than Bakugou and Izuku both. He knows exactly where the both of them stand when they're all pressed close, and so he thinks he can paint a pretty good mental picture of the way he and Midoriya would fit together.

It's something Shouto also wants.

He also wants to sleepily stumble out into the kitchen in the morning, groping blindly at the wall until his hands alight on strong shoulders and a trim waist. He too wants to press his face into the rasp of Izuku's undercut, and relish the way it would scrape against his jaw like stubble.

It's an intimacy he wants so badly, he aches -

But it's also one he's never allowed himself.

Touching Midoriya that way is something he's never quite dared to reach for, because that sort of thing is generally reserved for lovers, yeah?

It's something only certain people do with one other, and since he hasn't ever said anything about his feelings for his best friend, or how being around Midoriya so much is at once both the best thing that's ever happened to him and the worst sort of torture imaginable, he's never let himself get too close. He hasn't spoken up, because he fears those feelings aren't quite reciprocated, and now, well.

It seems like maybe he's too late.

Because that is a confession if he's ever heard one, an admission of feelings so heartfelt and awkward and true that Izuku's crying for Bakugou.

And sure, that isn't exactly difficult to achieve.

Shouto does it regularly, just by owning up to certain truths and being (mostly) open about what he does and doesn't want in life. Izuku's tear ducts operate on a hair trigger, forced into overdrive by things as complex as intergenerational trauma and war wounds and as simple as bunny rabbits and two-for-one sales on ice cream, and so Bakugou doesn't exactly deserve a prize for making him a little weepy.

But context in these things is important.

It's everything, even, and again, Shouto is hit with an overwhelming wave of guilt, of shame.

He shouldn't be hearing this.

He shouldn't be - sneaking around, going behind his friends' backs and listening in on conversations where he's not wanted. That's just basic common decency, even if his only intent in coming down in the first place was to hand off the hoodie Bakugou had accidentally left inside, and so he shudders, pushing up and out of his hiding place and back up the stairs towards the apartment he shares with Midoriya.

It's quiet in their living room. Everything is just as they'd left it, the remains of the dinner Bakugou had so painstakingly cooked for them this afternoon still sitting out on the kitchen table, blankets and throw pillows from their movie marathon scattered all across the couch.

For once, Shouto's grateful for the mess.

It gives him something to do with his hands as he waits for Izuku to finish up his good-byes and come back inside, and so after putting away the leftovers, he gets to work on the dishes, setting the dirtier pots and pans in one half of the sink to soak while he attacks the plates and utensils in the other.

Rinse, scrub, rinse, repeat.

Rinse, scrub, rinse, repeat -

He's just about finished with it all when a glass slips from his hands and shatters, bursting into a thousand tiny fragments all over the kitchen floor. The leftover juice inside spills across the off-white tiles like blood, seeping into the grout and leaving sticky-sweet trails everywhere; it fills the air with the scent of strawberries, and for a moment, all Shouto can do is stare.

Then -

"Fuck," he mutters, grabbing for a rag to wipe off his slippery hands. He's surprised to find that they're shaking, and the tremors don't stop when he reaches across the counter to grab for the broom.

Still, he manages to clean up the mess without cutting himself, carefully tipping the smaller shards of glass into the bin with the dustpan after picking out the larger ones with his hands. He's able to keep things under control as he hangs everything back up, even if he does shove the broom back into the corner a little harder than necessary, and when he hears the soft sound of the front door opening and closing, signaling Izuku's return, he thinks he's mostly regained his composure.

It nearly crumbles the second he turns and sees Midoriya standing in the doorway, a dreamy sort of smile on his face as he shucks off his jacket and hangs it on the back of a chair.

But Shouto is nothing if not strong.

He's very, very good at stuffing his own discomfort down deep inside, and his voice is low and even when he clears his throat and says, "Bakugou forgot his hoodie."

Midoriya blinks at him slowly, like he's coming out of a trance.

"Oh," he says. "That's -"

His gaze drifts down to Shouto's sleeves, pushed up to his elbows, and the stack of dishes now resting in the drying rack off to the side of the sink; he takes in the shattered remnants of the broken glass lying on the counter, the sticky red trails of juice on the floor that he hasn't gotten around to cleaning up yet.

"Ah, I… broke your All Might glass," Shouto admits, looking away. "It - slipped."

Instantly, Midoriya is at his side.

"Oh, crap, are you okay?" he asks, grabbing for Shouto's arm. "You didn't cut yourself?"

"I'm sorry," Shouto replies, not quite answering his question. "I don't think we can fix it."

Izuku rolls his eyes, giving his arm a gentle squeeze.

"I don't care about the glass, Shouto," he huffs. "I care about you, so… no cuts? You didn't step on any pieces, or get any stuck in your fingers?"

"…I don't think so."

"Good."

Izuku releases him from his grip, grabbing for a dishrag to help clean up the mess.

"Seriously, don't worry about it," he adds, shooting Shouto a cheerful smile as he gets down on his hands and knees. "It's just a cup; I can always buy more. That one wasn't even limited edition, so really - you've given me an excuse to go out and buy the new set that just came out!"

It's not just a cup, Shouto thinks.

It's something of Midoriya's, something he cared for; he had spent valuable time and effort getting that glass when it had first come out, and Shouto had carelessly let it slip from his grasp. He's as good as thrown it away, and while a part of him realizes this is him displacing his dismay over Bakugou's confession onto an inanimate object, getting upset about something that really isn't a big deal because he can't get quite so upset about something that is one, he also can't help it.

He can't change it, can't pull back the way his mind's already twisting and turning, and it's not just a fucking cup -

"Hey."

Shouto's surprised to see Midoriya's already moved on from the kitchen, the rag gone from his hands; he's picking up the blankets and straightening pillows now, carefully moving Bakugou's hoodie from the coffee table to the entryway.

Fuck.

How much time has he missed?

How long has he just been standing here?

It's difficult to say, and the strange look Midoriya's giving him is unreadable.

"Are you sure you're okay? You seem a little… off.”

Then, realizing how that must sound, he squeaks and waves his hands, taking a few short steps towards Shouto as he says, "Not, like, bad off! Just different, like - you sound a little spacey, maybe?"

"I'm fine," Shouto says, the answer automatic and not quite true. "I'm - fine."

Izuku hesitates, biting his lip.

"Are you sure?" he asks.

Shouto's beginning to get a little frustrated now. He doesn't particularly care for being so seen.

But then again, Midoriya's always been able to read him when no one else could, like he is a book written in a language only Izuku can read; he's perceptive and caring and kind, and Shouto -

Doesn't know how to do this right now, he really doesn't.

He doesn't know how to act around Midoriya, given this new set of circumstances he's not supposed to know about; he's not sure what he's supposed to say here.

Should he be… happy for his friend, he wonders? Upset it's not him?

Were he sixteen, he thinks he'd be furious; he thinks he'd try his best at picking a fight with Izuku, inflicting hurt in a twisted bid to make himself hurt less. He'd lash out in anger, all because he was incapable of saying the things that he truly meant.

But at twenty-five, he just feels cold.

The awareness of Bakugou's confession makes him feel strangely hollow, like someone has taken an ice cream scoop to his middle to tear out all the parts that matter, and kind of numb. He is uncertain of so many things, with no idea how to proceed, and so he's reverting back to his old ways, to familiar patterns of behavior.

He's closing himself off, shutting down -

And Midoriya, obviously, can tell.

Still, he doesn't want him to worry; he doesn't want to give his friend grief when the rest of the day's been relatively pleasant, and so he nods, clearing his throat.

"I'm sure, Midoriya," he says. "I'm fine."

Izuku doesn't look like he believes him. It kind of seems like he has more to say.

But he doesn't.

He bites his tongue and stays silent, and when Shouto mumbles something about going to lay down, about a headache, he doesn't try and stop him. He doesn't reach out and grab for his hand as he moves past him, and when Shouto's door slides shut behind him, it's with a quiet sort of finality that Midoriya doesn't try and broach.

Shouto isn't sure whether that's a blessing or just another tiny hurt.

This would be easier, Shouto thinks, if he disliked Bakugou.

Unfortunately, he doesn't.

He can't, even, because sometime between their first and second year, the loud, obnoxious boy who'd made certain classes and hero training exercises a living hell had become a friend. While he lacks Midoriya's kind, easygoing smile, and can't quite match Uraraka's relentless positivity or Iida's exuberance, Katsuki Bakugou possesses a raw, unflinching sort of honesty that Shouto's always admired; the way he huffs and puffs and throws out hard truths is sometimes exactly what Shouto needs, and he can't think of a better person to have his back in a fight with a villain.

Bakugou's relationship with Midoriya, though, is complicated.

It's complex, colored by years of shared history and childhood memories, and undeniably intimate. Glimpsing it up close has always made Shouto feel like something of an outsider, and while both Bakugou and Midoriya have insisted that's not the case, that he's just as close to either of them as they are to each other, and just as important, it doesn't always feel that way.

Rather, a lot of the time he feels like he's intruding, like he's taking up extra space in a room only big enough for two, and that -

Sucks, honestly.

It really, really sucks, especially when he now knows that both he and Bakugou have been in love with Midoriya for almost a decade.

Because how can Shouto compete with that?

Why would he even want to?

Something about Midoriya and Bakugou has always felt kind of inevitable; they are soulmates, in every sense of the word, opposites and equals and partners, and Shouto -

He can't get in the way of that.

He cannot ask his best friend to pick him over the boy who's always been his everything.

That would be selfish of him, greedy, and also probably a little unfair; Midoriya has already given him so, so much, and so how can he possibly think to ask for more?

He can't do that.

He won't, because what he already has is enough.

Midoriya is the best friend he could ever have asked for, and an excellent roommate; he's Shouto's confidant, his sounding board. When Shouto gets too lost in his own thoughts to make sense of things, it's Midoriya who sits him down and pulls him out; when he's having a bad day, it's Izuku who wraps him up in blankets on the couch and pushes mugs of hot chocolate into his hands, and while Shouto wants more, yes, as long as he can have… this, he thinks he'll be fine.

As long as he still has some piece of Midoriya's friendship, he'll manage; the bond they share is too strong for anything less, too strong to ever truly fade, and he's certain that once enough time has passed, things between them will get easier and go back to normal.

Still, he thinks, sucking down an inhale past the lump in his throat that won't quite go away -

It hurts.

It stings, because why couldn't Midoriya have wanted Shouto?

(He knows why, deep down.

Though he's worked through a lot of his past, and is a lot better at opening up to people and sharing his thoughts than he used to be, he's still quiet. He's still awkward, not very good at certain things, maybe a little boring, and that's saying nothing of the family baggage he would bring to any sort of relationship he might have.

He's not sure he would've wanted himself, either.)

And it's not like he thinks Midoriya owes him anything, of course -

Just because he has big, romantic feelings for Izuku, that doesn't mean he's entitled to Izuku having feelings for him. It doesn't mean that one day, in some warm, hazy future when they finally have time to themselves and everything starts to slow down, he expects Izuku to turn to him with a ring and a promise to make all his dreams come true.

Midoriya hasn't, at any point in the last decade, ever hinted that that was a possibility they were angling towards, even when they'd moved in together, and gone furniture shopping, and even talked about adopting a cat, and so why would he do so now?

That's not how it works, and Shouto knows that - he knows that, knows he has no claim on his friend.

Nor does he want a version of Izuku that only wants him back out of obligation. He doesn't want to be the last possible option, someone's very last chance to earn their happy ending.

That's almost worse than not being wanted at all, and so while he can lament the fact that he hadn't spoken up while he had the chance, and hates that Bakugou's confession has essentially made his choices and put an end to his hesitance for him, there's not a whole lot else he can say.

There's not a whole lot he can do, not without seeming like an asshole.

The window on that particular opportunity has closed - and he's going to have to be okay with that. He's going to have to live with the consequences of his own inaction.

Shouto exhales out a shaky sigh into the quiet of his room.

He rolls onto his side so that he's facing away from the door, the strip of light shining out from underneath the wood. He doesn't think Midoriya would just barge on in him, because it's both way too late at night for conversation and his door's been closed for hours now.

But he can't be too careful, not when his eyes burn and his chest hurts, and besides -

This side of his futon is nice and cool from his quirk.

It feels good against his face when he presses his cheek into the pillow; there's something soothing about curling up into a little ball and tugging the blankets up and over his head, and so he nestles deep into the comfort of his bed, hoping against hope that sleep will come soon.

Sure enough, he feels better in the morning.

Not because he's gotten any sleep, or because his big, stupid feelings for Midoriya have somehow evaporated overnight - but rather, because he's so exhausted from overthinking that he's beyond feeling much of anything at all other than fatigue, and so he quietly trudges out of bed and makes his way into the kitchen, finding himself in desperate need of a cup of coffee.

He's not surprised to see that Izuku is already awake, sitting at the kitchen table over a bowl of rice and grilled fish; he's always been a bit of an early riser, and sure enough, he's shoveling breakfast into his mouth with gusto, too intent on whatever news article he's reading on his phone to really bother paying all that much attention to something as trivial as good manners. There's bits of food sticking adorably to his cheeks, and also a few pieces on his nose.

Shouto leans in and brushes them off, his thumb lingering a bit at the corner of Izuku's mouth -

In light of the previous night, it's shockingly inappropriate. He has absolutely no right to touch his friend this way, not when he's given his heart to someone else, and so he jerks his hand away before Izuku can say something, an apology already forming on his lips.

But Izuku doesn't seem to notice.

He just continues chewing, absently flicking his head towards the mostly full coffee pot by the stove, and when he finally glances up at Shouto, taking in his dark circles and bedhead, his smile is fond.

"Coffee's ready," he says. "No offense, but you look like you need it."

Shouto bites back a grimace and heads for the caffeine.

"Rough night?"

"I didn't sleep much," Shouto admits.

Izuku takes another bite of his breakfast, swallowing it down with a mouthful of juice.

"Did you… have nightmares?" he asks, a little hesitant.

Shouto makes his way over to the table, kicking out the chair opposite Izuku. He plops down as gracefully as he can manage, bringing his coffee to his lips for a long drink before he replies.

"No," he says, hating the thought that he's made Izuku worry for him, that his weariness is so transparent. "It wasn't anything like that."

"…but you couldn't sleep?"

Shouto nods, eyes downcast.

He's not at all surprised when Izuku reaches across the table to try and grab at his arm, or when he eventually gives up and stands, the distance too great for his shorter limbs to cross. The way that Izuku folds him into a hug without even having to ask if he needs it is bittersweet, and when he nudges at Shouto's shoulder, urging his head up and out of the vicinity of his ribcage so he can look him in the eye, Shouto goes willingly.

"Do you wanna talk about it?" Izuku murmurs.

Yes, Shouto thinks - he does.

And no.

There's a part of him that does want to ask Izuku if what he'd heard last night is true, if Bakugou really had confessed his feelings for him. Though it's not really any of his business, it would certainly clear up any of his lingering doubts that he'd maybe heard incorrectly, and also help him start to get some closure on the situation.

But getting closure is just that.

It's an ending, the back cover of a book that you put back on the shelf, and there's another, maybe larger part of him that doesn't want the daydream of a happily ever after to end just yet. So long as his questions remain unspoken, he can pretend that there's still some chance that his feelings are returned, and that -

"Shouto?"

Izuku's voice is a murmur, the look in his eyes as he peers down at Shouto so, so soft.

Some last bit of resistance melts away in Shouto's chest at the sight, because who is Shouto kidding here?

Who is he trying to fool?

He's never had the strength to deny Midoriya anything, even if talking about this particular subject feels like one of the hardest things he's ever done, and so he opens his mouth, takes a deep breath, and asks, "Did Bakugou… say something to you last night?"

Izuku blinks, brows dropping down into a frown. "What do you mean?"

Flushing a bit, Shouto does his best to elaborate.

"When you came back inside after walking him out, you looked… happy."

"Of course I was happy," Izuku says easily. "I got to spend the afternoon watching hero movies with the two of you, and then Kacchan made us the best curry I think I've ever had. I kinda want to steal the recipe from him, even though I know I wouldn't be able to replicate it."

He most definitely would not be able to replicate it.

Izuku, bless him, has never met a dish he could not fuck up; the nuances of cooking anything that isn't pre-packaged and frozen are utterly beyond him, and the both of them know it.

"Should I have been… not happy?"

"I - no."

"…no, I shouldn't have been happy? Or no, I shouldn't have been not happy?" Izuku narrows his eyes in thought. "I never did understand how double negatives work -"

"No, that wasn't what I meant," Shouto clarifies.

"Ah."

"I meant that it was different. When you came back inside, you looked - different than you did when you left, a different kind of happy, and so I just wondered - why."

Izuku's expression shutters.

He hesitates, sucking his lower lip between his teeth in lieu of immediately giving an answer; his gaze slides somewhere to the right, even as his cheeks flush a damning shade of pink, some secret he's keeping tall as a wall between them, and -

Oh, Shouto thinks, devastated.

He was right, after all.

"Well, that's… we did talk a bit, while we were waiting for his ride."

He was right, Bakugou had confessed; Shouto really has missed his chance to tell Midoriya how he feels about him, that he loves him. He's too late, too late, too late -

"And he did tell me something that made me really happy, so… yes, I guess?" Izuku lets out a nervous laugh, his free hand coming up to card through his hair. "I was pretty excited!"

To his surprise, Shouto doesn't feel that all upset.

And maybe it's just the fatigue clouding his senses, making it hard for him to really make heads or tails of all the thoughts running rampant in his head. Maybe he's just too damn tired for this conversation.

But rather than heartbreak, a strange sort of numbness just settles over his shoulders.

He feels nothing at all when Izuku hastily adds, "It's really not a big deal, though! Or, well - it is, but Kacchan asked me to keep it quiet for now, so I can't - I can't really say anything, you know," and offers up a slow, hazy sort of nod as Izuku keeps going.

"It's really great news, though!" he gushes, gesturing excitedly with his hands. "It's really - I've been waiting for him to tell me something like this for a long time, and last night, he finally plucked up the courage to say something, so."

He grins at Shouto, soft and sweet and so beautiful, it hurts.

"Yeah, Shouto. I'm pretty happy."

Fuck.

Fuck, his chest is starting to burn again, that blessed numbness finally giving way to real emotion. It's starting to sit heavy in his stomach, and also deep in his heart, and Shouto -

He swallows, thick.

He wills his face not to betray him as he looks back up, offering Izuku a smile he hopes isn't too wobbly, and pulls out of his grasp to take another drink of his coffee, long gone lukewarm.

He doesn't even think to remember that he could heat it back up with just a touch.

"Good," he manages, staring down at the table. "That's - I'm glad you're happy."

"…you are?"

"Of course. I want you to be happy."

Izuku, damn him, melts at that, unable to resist pulling him back into another hug. Shouto does his best not to go too stiff in his arms, patting absently at his side as he slowly extricates himself - but it doesn't last very long, because Izuku glances down at the clock on the stove, curses, and springs into action. He cleans up his dishes with almost supernatural speed, shoving his phone in one pocket and his wallet in another, and then makes for the door, his work bag already standing upright near the pile of shoes.

Relieved, Shouto moves towards the sink, dumping the dregs of his coffee down the drain. He just doesn't quite have the stomach for it, he finds, even as his body drags with exhaustion.

Maybe some food would do him better -

But then again, maybe not. He's pretty sure anything he ate right now would come right back up, and he's always hated the way getting sick makes him feel, so.

He'll just have to try again later.

"Hey, Shouto?"

Shouto twists, peering down the hallway towards the genkan where Izuku's putting on his shoes. He's mildly surprised Izuku hasn't left yet, considering the time -

But then again, Izuku has a sense for these sorts of things.

He knows when something is off, and is also very, very caring, and so he's often willing to risk being late if it means he can put something to rights before he leaves in the morning.

Today, it seems, is one of those times.

"I want you to be happy too, you know," Izuku says. "I want to see you smile."

Shouto's breath catches in his throat, his eyes widening at the sincerity in his friend's voice.

I am happy, he tries to say. I am smiling.

But he's not.

He's really, really not, not at the moment, even as he really, really wants to be, and so he looks down at his hands, clutched tight around the stainless steel ridges of the sink.

"Okay," he says instead. "I'll try."

It's… not quite what Izuku wanted to hear, if the slightly fond, exasperated noise he makes is any indication. But he's really running late now, pushing the limits of what his boss will allow, even for one of the top five heroes, and so he huffs out a good-bye, grabs his things, and heads out without much of a fuss.

Shouto, on the other hand, lingers.

He has the day off, the first break he's had on his schedule in a long time, and so he stands there at the kitchen sink for what feels like hours, staring at the little droplets of water as they drip down the sides toward the drain. He watches them fall one by one; he stays until his feet start to hurt, until his back starts to ache from having nothing to support it, and even then, he only goes as far as the kitchen table, sinking down into a chair and burying his face in his arms.

He isn't going to cry, he tells himself.

He's not.

But that's as much because he doesn't know how to cry anymore as because he doesn't want to, because he's long since learned to force raw emotion away through sheer force of will, and sure enough, after another indeterminable amount of time, the burning in his eyes slowly starts to fade. It lessens, the ache in his chest shrinking down to something smaller, something he thinks he can manage.

Shouto sits up, glances over at the clock on the stove.

He's surprised to find the whole day's gotten away from him, the sun in an entirely different place than it was this morning when Izuku had left for patrol.

He only has a few hours left before he needs to start thinking about dinner, and he'll spend most of that working on the presentation he has to give tomorrow back at the office. His window for doing some laundry and running to the store has closed, and yet -

With a sigh, Shouto pushes to his feet.

His body feels heavy as he traipses down the hall towards the bathroom, and he's only half-aware as he starts up the shower and steps underneath the spray. The way he washes himself clean is mechanical, and he doesn't bother digging out a clean pair of clothes when he's finished. The ones from yesterday will do just fine, and so he slowly pulls them back on and then crawls back into bed, all thoughts of being productive abandoned.

He just can't quite summon the energy to care.

It gets easier.

The initial sting of rejection fades a bit, even if he knows that's not really what this hurt is -

Probably because for all that Midoriya and Bakugou are together now, Shouto never actually sees them together, has never once walked in on them doing anything that isn't strictly platonic. They're taking great care to not expose that new aspect of their relationship to him, and while part of Shouto worries about that, wonders whether or not they know how he truly feels and just want to spare his feelings further, another, more rational part of him argues that it's because Bakugou's a pretty private person.

Despite being a popular hero, he's almost shockingly tight-lipped about his personal life with the press; he's never wanted to tell the media anything more than was strictly necessary for an interview, and there's no reason this would be any different.

Of course he wouldn't want to reveal something so sensitive like that.

Of course he wouldn't want to subject Midoriya to even more intense scrutiny than he already is.

If Shouto ever thought to ask, Bakugou would probably huff and puff and grunt out something about it not being anyone else's fucking business, including yours, Icyhot, and so that's that.

They're not telling anyone, and Shouto can respect that.

He can also give them the space their new relationship needs to grow and develop, so -

He starts to withdraw a bit.

He turns down invitations he once would have accepted, and makes excuses when they ask if he wants to tag along to the movies or out to dinner. He finds reasons to hang out with their other friends, and when that welcome wears thin, only so many nights in a week that he can mope on Uraraka and Iida's couch, discovers a new cafe down the street that's open twenty-hours a day and doesn't begrudge him the booth in the back that he takes to calling his own.

Though it's impossible not to notice the stricken way Izuku looks at him when he shirks away from an embrace he would've once melted into, he doesn't give in to the temptation to keep close; it's hard to misinterpret Bakugou's gruff, awkward scowls for anything other than the concern he knows they are, and yet he finds the will to gently rebuff their advances, even when one of them digs in their heels and starts to get downright clingy.

He always manages to get away.

If he's telling the truth, it stings; he's gotten used to Midoriya's affection over the years, has come to depend on Bakugou's casual slaps on the back, the way he ruffles Shouto's hair. Going back to the way things had been before high school, when he could go days or even weeks without a single friendly touch -

It's terrible.

He hates it, hates it so much.

But this is the way things have to be now, he reminds himself. This is just something else he has to get used to, at least until Midoriya and Bakugou are comfortable enough in their relationship to reveal it to him, comfortable enough that Shouto doesn't feel like he's intruding, and so Shouto sucks it up.

He swallows down the hurt, buries the jealousy down deep.

And he is jealous, he finally comes to accept.

He's incredibly jealous, if not of Bakugou himself then of the relationship his two best friends get to have with one another - because that's what he wants. That's something he yearns for, that sort of bond with someone an intimacy he's always, always craved; he wants it, desperately.

He burns with the heat of his own desires -

And then freezes with disgust for himself, wracked with guilt over his own envy.

Because these are his friends he's talking about.

Midoriya and Bakugou, Katsuki and Izuku, two of the very best people that Shouto knows. They deserve to be happy, he thinks; they deserve all the happiness in the world, because they've always given so much of themselves to him. His best friends are good, kind people, even if Bakugou would pitch a fit at being labeled as such, and it's that, surprisingly, that helps him reconcile things the most.

The conviction that his friends deserve this, that they deserve each other.

It helps, even when it sometimes feels like it shouldn't; the knowledge that the people he loves most in this world are happy together is therapeutic, and slowly, just as he'd known it would, Shouto feels himself regain his equilibrium. The world resettles on its axis, and things go back to (somewhat) normal.

Little by little, day by day, the hurt smooths out into something he can stand.

Izuku seems relieved at the change; he wells up into happy tears one night when, for the first time in several months, Shouto clears his throat and suggests the three of them order in for dinner. He darts up from his place on the couch, runs over to where Shouto's standing by the counter, and throws his arms around his shoulders with a sob -

Only to immediately tear himself away, eyes going wide as he stares up at Shouto.

"Oh, shit," he curses. "I'm sorry, I didn't - I just didn't think."

Shouto awkwardly pats his arm, shaking his head.

"It's alright," he says, fingers clutching the takeout menu in his hands hard enough that the paper starts to tear a bit. "I don't mind."

And he doesn't, honestly.

Not anymore.

So long as it's Izuku initiating the contact, and not Shouto demanding things that aren't his, or invading space he shouldn't take up, he figures a little bit of casual touch is fine.

That, he thinks, is something he can allow again.

"Are you sure?" Izuku asks, biting his lip. "This is okay?"

Shouto's gaze flicks over to where Bakugou's sitting on the couch, watching the two of them with narrowed eyes; something about his gaze is curious, and maybe a little confused - but he doesn't protest when Izuku hesitantly steps forward and hugs Shouto again, and within the span of a few more seconds, he goes back to his phone, writing them off entirely.

It kind of feels like permission.

It feels like acceptance, and maybe also a bit of admonishment, a what the fuck, give the nerd a damn hug, so Shouto lifts his arms and gives Izuku's shoulders a tentative squeeze back.

The way Izuku fits against him and sighs is - perfect. Warm, comforting.

His head fits neatly beneath Shouto's chin, and though Midoriya's definitely the stronger of the two of them, his body dense and packed with muscle, Shouto's remained just that much broader; his shoulders are just that little bit wider, which means he can easily wrap his arms around Midoriya's entire frame and tug him in close.

Immediately, Shouto is surrounded by Izuku's familiar, woodsy scent.

He breathes it in as discreetly as he can, holding the breath in his lungs until they ache - and then he exhales it out all at once and steps backwards, looking down at the floor instead of whatever expression might be written across Izuku's face.

God, he'd needed that.

He'd needed it so badly, his nerves alight at all the places their bodies had touched; he feels better than he has in days, with very little of the hurt he'd been expecting to feel, and maybe…

Maybe he can do this.

Maybe learning to live with his feelings will be easier than expected, not quite as painful as he'd led himself to believe. For all that things have obviously changed between the three of them, Midoriya is still Midoriya; he's not going to start treating Shouto differently just because he's suddenly dating someone new - of course not, that wouldn't be like him.

That would be shallow and cruel, and since Midoriya is neither of those things, Shouto really can't imagine a future in which Izuku willingly leaves him behind like that.

Besides, he tells himself, a little firm -

It's not like things are really all that different from how they were before.

It's not like Shouto hasn't been swallowing back this truth for the better part of ten years, and none of his feelings are new; the only thing's that really changed is the bittersweet tint his memories of all the moments they've shared together have started to take on his mind, his hope for what he might someday have the courage to reach for dying on the branch.

But bittersweet is better than bitter.

The happiness and joy Midoriya's friendship still brings to his life is a wonderful thing, even if it isn't quite what he really wants, and so - yes, he decides, resolute.

This will be enough. He will manage.

It's an encouraging thought, and Shouto flips open the menu and turns it around to present to Midoriya so he can make his dinner selection.

"Oh!" Midoriya exclaims, even as he grabs for the paper. "Do you not - do you not need to look at it first? I mean, we've only been to this place a couple of times -"

From the couch, Bakugou glances up from his phone and snorts.

"Do they have soba?" he demands.

Midoriya hums and scans over the menu. "Looks like it!"

"Then that's what Icyhot's getting," Bakugou finishes.

"Well, you don't know that," Izuku huffs, putting a hand on his hip. "Not for certain, anyways."

The both of them turn towards Shouto, who just kinda scratches at the back of his head.

"I did… want the soba, actually," he admits.

Bakugou barks out a laugh as Izuku hangs in head in defeat.

But it's a friendly sort of sound, edging towards fondness as Izuku retreats back towards the couch so he and Bakugou can figure out the details. It too doesn't hurt, and so Shouto busies himself making tea.

"Hey. Shouto."

Izuku finds him there a few minutes later, after Bakugou's been given the not-so-desirable task of going and retrieving the food. He's chewing nervously at his lip, even as he comes up to Shouto and gently bumps him with his shoulder, his hip.

"I'm glad you're feeling better - not that you were sick or anything!" he quickly adds, "But I could tell something was bothering you. I just wasn't, um, sure what to say?

"And I mean, that's pretty presumptuous of me, thinking I could help at all! I know I can't fix everything, and - maybe you didn't want anyone's help, you know? Like, maybe there are some things everyone just needs to work through on their own. But I -" He takes a deep breath, his cheeks tinged pink as he looks up at Shouto. "I care about you, Shouto; I care about you a lot, and seeing you spend so much time alone…"

Shouto grimaces, a little pained.

"I didn't mean to worry you," he replies. "I didn't - that wasn't what I wanted."

"I know," Midoriya murmurs quickly. "I know you didn't."

Then, lips curling up into that soft little smile Shouto loves so much, he adds, "But I think I was going to worry regardless, if it's you."

Yeah, Shouto thinks, guilty. Probably.

"Do you, um… do you want to talk about it?"

Shouto glances up through his bangs, uncertain; the hesitation must be clear on his face, because Izuku quickly takes a step back and waves his hands.

"Never mind!" he says. "Don't worry about it, that was too soon; I shouldn't have asked, and - seriously, just forget I said anything! Forget I even brought it up!"

"Izuku," Shouto interrupts, as gently as he can.

"…yes?"

"I'm alright," he implores. "I'm going to be fine."

Izuku swallows. "Are you sure?"

For once, Shouto manages to smile; for once, it feels real.

"Yes," he agrees, nodding. "I am."

Midoriya takes a deep breath.

"Okay," he says. "Okay, that's - good. I'm glad."

Then, before Shouto has a chance to protest, he hugs him again; though Shouto knows he probably shouldn't, he allows it. He just kind of melts against his friend, his entire body going lax in his hold, and even when Bakugou returns with a shout and an unnecessarily sharp kick to the front door, the warm feeling in his stomach doesn't go away.

Rather, it builds, only growing stronger as the three of them settle into the couch and pull up a movie to watch as they eat their dinner, and by the time Shouto goes to bed, he kinda feels like he's floating. He kinda feels like everything is going to be okay.

It's the best night he's had in a long time.

Still, there are bad days.

"Shouto," Momo finally says, her voice soft. "Darling."

"You don't have to say it."

"…I'm so sorry."

Shouto takes a deep breath, nodding. "Yeah. Me too."

"Did you… have to spoken any more to Midoriya about this? Or Bakugou?"

"Not really."

"…is that an 'I don't know what to say' not really or a 'I can't be in the same room with either of them without wanting to cry' not really?"

Despite himself, Shouto snorts. He glances up at where Momo is sitting at her vanity, twisted towards him instead of the makeup her girlfriend is supposed to be applying to her face.

"I don't know," he murmurs. "Both, I guess."

Momo reaches for his hands, beseeching; Shouto's all too willing to reach back, letting her curl their fingers together and give his palms an encouraging little squeeze, even as Kyouka huffs and sets her makeup brushes down just in time to avoid a very serious blush mishap.

"My heart bleeds for you, Todoroki," she says drily. "Truly, it does - but if you all could have your weekly vent session after my girlfriend's first appearance on my radio show, that would be great."

"Kyouka!"

"I'm just saying, babe. Nearly ruined half an hour's work there."

Momo sighs and lets Kyouka finish painting her face.

It doesn't take long.

Though Shouto's never really felt any sort of physical attraction towards women, he can acknowledge that Momo is beautiful. He knows that Kyouka's accentuating the features she already has rather than trying to cover up any perceived flaws, and also that harsh makeup isn't particularly flattering in the warm, ambient lighting that Kyouka prefers for the backdrop of her show when she records. It takes maybe five more minutes for her to dab a shimmery coat of gloss across her girlfriend's lips, to dust her cheeks with delicate gold powder; then she's spinning Momo around and telling her to finish getting ready, and Momo, predictably, heads straight to Shouto for help zipping up the back of her dress.

"Have they said anything to you yet? Either of them?"

Shouto shakes his head and dutifully does the clasp at her neck.

Then, realizing she can't see him from this angle, he sighs.

"No. Not yet."

Momo clicks her tongue, one of her heels tapping a staccato rhythm against the floor as she works through a thought.

"I just don't understand what they're waiting for," she finally says. "Surely they don't think you're going to be angry with them? Or judgmental, or prejudiced?"

"To see if it sticks, maybe?"

Both Momo and Kyouka turn to glare at Denki Kaminari, who thus far this afternoon, has elected to mind his own business and mindlessly scroll through Twitter instead of joining the conversation.

"What?" he demands, flushing at the sudden scrutiny. "I'm just saying, not all relationships work out! Maybe they're giving it, like - a trial run or something, before they tell people. Just in case it goes bad."

He shrugs, then, lifting his hands to the air.

"Orrrrrr, they really don't wanna tell you, man. I mean, if they wanted to, they would, yeah?"

Kyouka throws an earring at his head; it bounces harmlessly enough off his nose, but sinks down into the cup of coffee he's been nursing for the last half hour or so with a sad, hollow plop.

"Aw, come on!" he whines, pouting as he starts to fish it out. "Was that necessary?"

"Was anything you just said necessary?" Momo shoots back.

"Excuse you," Denki huffs. "I am trying to help poor Shouto here."

Kyouka lifts an eyebrow at Shouto, curious. "Is it working?"

Shouto doesn't even have to think about it.

"Not at all," he deadpans, and despite the mood, they laugh. Kyouka cackles and tosses another piece of jewelry at her boyfriend, Momo giggles and hides it behind her hand, and even Denki, the ever unfortunate butt of the joke, rolls his eyes and huffs out a snicker.

"Well, I tried," he says. "I tried to help a guy out -"

Kyouka snorts, crossing her arms over her chest.

"You've never been helpful a day in your life," she asserts.

"I have, too!"

"Oh, yeah? Name one."

Denki blinks, taken aback.

"Name one day," Kyouka continues. "Give me one time when your advice was helpful."

"Well, I… you know. That one time, when I did the - when I did the thing -"

"Uh-huh. That's what I thought."

The two of them bicker for a while longer, their retorts quick but lacking any real heat; Shouto watches it all with a strange sort of detachment, fascinated at how easily they banter. Though they spew insults back and forth, everything they say is laced with a current of something he thinks is real, genuine love and affection, something deep and strong and true.

Is that what it's like, he wonders, when you love someone that much?

Is that what it's like to have a partner who's also a friend?

He and Izuku are close, yes, and he likes to think they have their fair share of dumb, silly arguments where neither of them are super invested. But this…

"Disgusting, aren't they?" Momo asks.

This is something else entirely.

"Are they always like this?" he asks, glancing her way.

"Unfortunately," Momo sighs. "I don't want to say I enjoy the nights that Denki spends back at his own apartment instead of ours, but there is a certain peace that I dearly miss whenever he's around."

Shouto huffs out a quiet laugh. "Yeah. I can see that."

Grabbing him by the elbow, Momo gently steers him towards a pair of chairs across the room.

"Let's leave them to it," she advises. "Have a cup of tea with me, before I have to go and talk about myself to a bunch of strangers for an hour."

Shouto doesn't need to be told twice.

He sits down in the chair as instructed, watching as Momo quickly whips up a couple of mugs, a teapot, and what looks like a box of very expensive matcha. It's not to her tastes, he thinks - but it is to his, and he sends her a grateful look when she hands over the cup.

"So - do you want to talk about whatever it is that has you hiding away in my dressing room? Or shall we just pretend watching Kyouka doll me up is a normal occurrence for you?"

Shouto winces into his cup, seen.

"It's stupid," he says quietly.

"Shouto. Darling." Momo reaches out to pat his hand. "You have many, many wonderful talents - but you are an absolutely dreadful liar."

Shouto shoots her a look, annoyed -

But he knows better than to try and argue the point, and so he relents with a quiet, much aggrieved sigh.

"Midoriya and Bakugou are out of town," he says.

"Oh?"

"They're out of town together, working on an assignment."

Understanding colors Momo's face; she nods and takes a sip of tea before setting the delicate porcelain cup on the side table as she studies Shouto's face for signs of discomfort.

"And you feel left out?" she guesses.

"I feel… resigned," he corrects.

"Ah."

He has no right to feel this way, Shouto thinks.

There's no reason for him to feel so down about this, not when they all go out of town regularly for assignments, providing back-up as needed across the country. It's not like he and Midoriya haven't also taken weekend trips to Hokkaido to help with icy conditions, or he and Bakugou to Okinawa to bring down villains taking aim at helpless tourists. It's not like they all haven't split the costs of food and lodging by rooming together, by cramming themselves into cars and airplanes and trains together as they scramble to get their reports done on time. And yet -

He does.

He feels sad, and a little lonely, whenever he thinks of what his two friends are getting up without him. They're probably relishing the time alone, enjoying the couple of hours each day that they get to themselves after they're done with patrols.

He knows he would, in their shoes.

"I thought that things were getting better between you three again," Momo muses, cutting into his thoughts before they have a chance to get worse. "I thought you were back to talking, and didn't you and Midoriya go to that gala together last week?"

"We didn't go together," Shouto replies. "We just - both went. To the same gala."

"I don't really see the difference."

"Both of us had to give speeches, and it didn't make sense to go separately," Shouto huffs. "That doesn't mean that we went together."

"Mmm. Your coordinating suits were just happenstance, then?"

Shouto pouts and refuses to answer the question.

"You know, I don't want to sound insensitive here," Momo says carefully, steepling her fingers together. "But I can't help but think you're making this harder on yourself than it needs to be."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if our situations were reversed, for instance, I think I'd try for more distance."

Shouto frowns, considering.

"I'd probably try to move on, move out maybe, try to meet some new people, and - well, correct me if I'm wrong, Shouto, but it just doesn't seem like you're trying to do that."

Move on.

Get over Midoriya, date someone new -

"I don't get the sense that you want to move past this," Momo says gently, grasping for his hand, and like - she isn't wrong, Shouto thinks. She's not entirely off base.

She's also not entirely right, because how could Shouto do such a thing?

How could he love someone else the way he loves Midoriya?

In twenty-five years, he's only ever felt this way about one person; he's only ever been attracted to Izuku Midoriya, in both the romantic and the physical sense, and while he's not sure what the label for that sort of situation is, or how best to describe himself, he does know one thing to be true - his feelings aren't going away anytime soon. They will not, ever, because if ten years of quiet yearning hasn't been enough to sway him, what could possibly change his mind?

Nothing, he thinks.

There is no one else for him, no one else he wants -

And he knows that sounds dramatic.

He knows that must seem terribly pathetic and overwrought, just as he understands that most people probably can't empathize with his particular situation. Most people, he thinks, would try to do exactly as Momo had suggested and make some attempt to move on, to try again with someone else - for their pride, if nothing else.

But Shouto knows himself.

He knows how he feels, and how simple loving Izuku has always felt to him. How right.

It's one of the few things in his life that has always, always made sense, and so he will not give that up, even if it never amounts to anything more than what he already has.

Glancing back at Momo, he fears she already knows what he's about to say - which is why he doesn't bother deflecting, and merely says, "I don't know that I can," in as a level a voice as he can manage.

Momo sighs, giving his palm a squeeze.

"Are you sure?" she asks. "There's no one else you think you could be happy with?"

Shouto shakes his head.

"There's no one else," he agrees. Then, his voice a little softer, he adds, "There never has been."

To his surprise, it's not as lonely an admission as he'd once feared.

The thought of being on his own the rest of his life doesn't scare him, doesn't fill him with dread and dismay - because he's not really alone, is he? He never has been, not since he walked into Class 1-A all those years ago; his life is filled with wonderful people, amazing friends who have taught him so, so much, none of whom would ever let him spend the rest of his days all on his own.

He has bad days, yes - but they're so much less common than the good days, so easily outnumbered that it's easy enough to manage, to keep putting one foot in front of the other.

It's so much more than he'd ever thought he'd have, and so who is he to complain?

Who is he to say that that's not enough?

When he says as much, Momo just sighs, shaking her head at him.

"Has anyone ever told you you're too good for this world?"

Shouto frowns. "I - that doesn't make sense."

Momo pats his hand. "I know, darling. I know it doesn't, just - promise me something, alright?"

"Sure. If I can."

"Promise me that no matter what happens between you and Midoriya, you'll take care of yourself."

"It's not like that," Shouto says, shaking his head. "It's not - you know it's not, Momo."

"I do," she agrees. "Midoriya's kind, and I don't think he'd ever hurt you on purpose. For what it's worth, I don't think Bakugou would do such a thing, either; he's mean, but not cruel. Something about this whole situation still seems rather off to me though, and I don't want you getting caught in the crossfire, so -

"Promise me, Shouto. Please."

Shouto stares at her for a moment, uncertain.

He wonders what she sees in this that he doesn't, what's too close for him to understand.

But Momo's never led him astray before; she's always, ever, been something closer to a sister than just a friend, and wise beyond her years, and so he nods, downing the rest of his tea.

"Alright," he says. "I promise."

As it turns out, it's a promise he doesn't need to keep.

He doesn't need to protect himself, because Momo had been right - the situation was off, his perception of real events skewed by his own misunderstanding. He'd only ever gotten one side of the story, had asked exactly the wrong sort of questions to get to the truth.

And it's Katsuki Bakugou, of all people, who finally sets him to rights.

"Alright, Icyhot - lay it on me."

Shouto sighs into the communicator in his ear, rubbing at his temple even as he glides effortlessly down the streets of Musutafu, trailing ice in his wake.

"What'd you wanna talk about so badly that it couldn't wait 'til after this patrol?"

"You're the one who insisted we talk, Bakugou," Shouto points out, a little petulant. "Not me."

Bakugou snorts, the burst of sound loud enough to make him wince.

"Yeah, well - that's what happens when you walk around looking like a kicked puppy. The fuck, Shouto, you dying or something?"

"What?" Shouto blinks. "No, I'm in perfectly good health."

The answer earns him a few precious moments of silence; he relishes it as he turns a corner, waving to a handful of kids who've seemed to spot him. Then -

"Don't tell me you're leaving the agency."

"I'm not leaving."

"We just fucking got that take-out schedule optimized! You leave and it all goes to shit, because god knows me and Deku can't agree on noodles -"

"I wouldn't do that without -"

"I don't trust your opinion on much, because you're sheltered as fuck and kinda repressed, but dammit if you don't know a good ramen place from a bad one -"

"Bakugou," Shouto snaps, loud enough that the feedback rings in his ears. "I'm not leaving the agency."

"Oh. Well, good."

Shouto breathes a sigh of relief, coming to a stop outside the jewelry store he's supposed to investigate for signs of a robbery. He ducks beneath the police tape after making his presence known to the officers, pressing on the door with his shoulder to avoid leaving fingerprints everywhere, and manages one good glance around the entirety of the storefront before Bakugou is once again yelling in his ear.

"The hell's got you acting so miserable, then?"

Shouto frowns. "I am not acting miserable."

"Fuck off, you've been in a terrible mood for weeks."

For once, Shouto's glad that he's alone.

He's glad there's no one around to see his face as guilt stabs through his chest at the thought that he's been worrying his friends.

Because while the last few weeks have been - good, things between them aren't perfect.

They're not fixed, because Shouto still wakes up some mornings and forgets his best friends are dating until he walks down the hall and finds them with their heads buried together over breakfast and paperwork at the kitchen table, thick as thieves. He still occasionally takes one look at Midoriya and feels a little like throwing up -

And he knows it's not on purpose.

He really does, because he's aware enough to realize that both Midoriya and Bakugou are his friends; neither of them would ever intentionally hurt his feelings, and they've all gotten a lot better over the years at understanding one another's motives, at reading between the lines.

He's trying to do better here. He's trying to be better, it's just -

Hard, sometimes. Still.

"Icyhot?" Bakugou's voice cuts through his spiraling thoughts, re-centers him and gives him some much needed mental clarity. "You still there, princess?"

Shouto takes a deep breath, for once not protesting the nickname.

"I'm here, Bakugou," he murmurs, stepping through the shattered remains of a display case as he slowly starts to inspect the store. "I'm on scene."

Bakugou sighs. "I wasn't talking about the fucking case. But what the hell, what do you got - look like standard B and E to you? Any signs of quirk activity?"

Shouto eyes a sticky green glob of… something dripping down the side of a ruined counter. It's completely out of place amidst the rest of the carnage, the smell of it sweet and rotten, and also a sure sign that their thief isn't just armed with lockpicks and burlap sacks.

"Yeah," he replies, bending over for a closer look. "I've got something."

"Fuck. Okay, I'm en route - ten minutes."

Bakugou goes silent after that.

It gives Shouto the time to get a head start on the investigation, and he looks around the shop for more of the strange green substance. Sure enough, it's adhered to most of the display cases; the pieces of wood that it touches are rotted, warped with age… some kind of decay quirk, then? That would explain the smell, he thinks, and also how the thief managed to break into the building without the use of force; they could have simply rotted the back door and walked right in, and if the locks weren't broken, it wouldn't have triggered the store's security system.

It's a good theory.

He wades through the mess to peer down the back hallway, and sure enough, there's a person-shaped hole in the black door that leads out to the alley beyond, small bits of green goo still clinging to the frame.

"That how the guy got in?"

Shouto doesn't jump at how close Bakugou's voice is to his ear -

But only because he's long since had that particular reflex beaten out of him.

His heart still stutters a little at the sudden proximity, and he twists towards the other hero with a very unimpressed look on his face.

"Well, they certainly didn't use the front door," he drawls.

Bakugou snorts, leaning forward to inspect the slime for himself.

"Stuff stinks," he says. "Kinda reminds me of that shit Pinky shoots out, but it's more… rotten? Smells like garbage that's been left out in the sun all day, and it looks fucking gross."

Shouto nods in agreement.

"I don't think it's acid, though," he murmurs. "It's not… burning through the wood, and look at the pieces on the edge, closest to the hole." Shouto lifts a hand, points to the border. "They're still decaying compared to the rest of the door… maybe because they were exposed to more of the substance?"

"And the bits near the hinges are still mostly intact."

"Exactly."

"Fucking hate to be the guy who's gotta clean that up."

Shouto hums. "I hope they have good gloves."

"I hope they've got a good stomach," Bakugou snorts, stepping away from the door. "But that's not my problem. Now c'mon, princess - let's go check out the rest of the place."

Shouto doubts Bakugou will find something when he didn't - but he follows along just the same, turning over bits of debris and trash as he goes to make sure he hasn't missed anything. They comb over the rest of the store in silence, working both quickly and efficiently with the police team that's providing them back up, and when neither of them find anything else of note, they turn to the lead officer with a grimace.

"Definitely quirk-related," Bakugou grunts out, "and premeditated. But unless this places's got cameras, I don't know what to tell you; they're smart enough not to leave anything behind, other than this green shit. There's nothing else to take as evidence."

The woman sighs.

"Well, they had cameras," she says, flicking a hand up to the corners of the room. Shouto glances up and sees the spots she's indicated, the green goo dripping from the corners. "But to your point, that was the first thing the perp took out when they got in the room. They knew they were there and completely destroyed them. None of the footage is usable."

"And the neighboring stores?" Shouto presses. "Could any of them have seen who did this?"

"We've asked around, and we think the florist next door might have something on the alley - some camera to check for deliveries, I think the owner said."

When the woman pauses, Bakugou frowns, twisting towards her impatiently.

"So?" he demands. "We go get the footage then, comb over it and see what we find."

The officer sighs.

"She doesn't want to hand anything over without a warrant."

"Ah," Shouto muses, loud enough that he hopes it covers up the sounds of Bakugou's curse. "That's unfortunate."

"She seems to think that if she helps the investigation in any way, she's gonna be targeted next," the officer replies, shifting on her feet a little. "We've tried to explain to her that this particular thief only seems interested in targeting luxury retailers... but she isn't budging."

Shouto nods, resigned. "We need that warrant, then."

The woman lifts her hands, placating.

"I've already put in the request with my superior," she explains. "We'll have it in a few hours. But until then, we're restricted to whatever we can find within the store."

Bakugou kicks at a piece of rubble with his shoe, sends it flying into the opposite wall.

"Fine," he mutters. "Give us a call when you get it, then. And keep an eye out for any activity in the rest of this district, make sure they're not just laying low for a few hours."

Then, grabbing Shouto by the arm and forcefully dragging him from the store, he adds, "You, Half-n-Half, are coming with me."

Shouto doesn't have time to protest as Bakugou's prodding fingers start to push and poke at his back almost hard enough to bruise; he doesn't even get in a good-bye before he's marched down the street and into a nearby park, and when he's shoved down onto an empty bench, one very unimpressed Katsuki Bakugou glaring down at him from on high, he scowls.

"That was unnecessary," he points out.

"Was it, though?"

"You could have just asked me to come along with you."

"Bullshit. You'd have run away."

Shouto opens his mouth to protest, the hot retort already on his lips - but then Bakugou huffs out a breath and plops down beside him, spreading his legs wide as he makes himself comfortable. He glances over at Shouto with barely concealed concern as he says, "And I wanna hear what's been bothering you," and just like that -

Shouto finds his annoyance fading away into something more muted.

Shame floods him, and also remorse, because Bakugou is only trying to help. In his own unique, slightly abrasive way, he's trying to get to the bottom of what's had Shouto so down lately, and while Izuku might be willing to take Shouto at his word, to not pry into something he knows is difficult for Shouto to talk about, Bakugou isn't so easy to dissuade.

He's starting to realize he's gonna have to give the guy something.

Which is probably why he sighs and runs a hand over his face, scrambling to put together the words in his mind before he finds the courage to speak them aloud.

"Take your time," Bakugou mutters, glancing away as he strips off his heavy gauntlets and sets them neatly on the ground at their feet. "I ain't going anywhere."

Shouto's heart squeezes in his chest.

It shudders, threatening to bubble up his throat and out of his mouth, and it's only the very, very tight lid he knows how to keep on his emotions that keeps it at bay.

He doesn't deserve them, he thinks.

He doesn't deserve either of them, neither Bakugou nor Midoriya, and while he's always known that was true, it's little things that this that serve to remind him of just how lucky he is to call the two of them friends, to have them in his corner like this.

They care about him. They love him, and that -

He has to tell them, he suddenly realizes. He has to tell them the truth.

He doesn't feel quite ready for it, if he's being honest, and he's definitely still a little under prepared. He doesn't know how to say even half the things that he wants to voice.

But he also doesn't like keeping secrets from the people he cares about. He hates making the two of them worry like this, so - no longer, he thinks. No more secrets.

It all comes out today.

Twisting towards Bakugou, he rests his hands on the edge of the bench beneath him; he grips the wood hard, and tries his best not to ice everything over as he speaks.

"I know about you and Midoriya."

Bakugou grunts, looking up at the sky.

"Okay," he slowly repeats. "You know about me and the nerd."

"I didn't - mean to, but I overheard when you told him. I heard what you said to him."

Shouto hopes that's enough.

He knows it isn't, knows that it's not exactly much to go off - but Bakugou's always been smart, running in circles around the rest of their classmates and villains alike, and so Shouto holds on to the idea that maybe Bakugou can glean his meaning from just that one little statement. He hopes, desperately, that that's enough for him to make sense of all this.

But then Bakugou makes a frustrated sound, pinching at the bridge of his nose, and Shouto knows it isn't.

"You're gonna have to get a little more specific, princess," he says. "'Cause I don't know what the fuck you're talking about. I don't even know when you're talking about -"

"The other night," Shouto says again. "Three months ago, when you came over for dinner."

"Fuck me, three months ago? This has been going on that long?"

Shouto nods.

"Shit, okay." Bakugou wipes a hand over his face, thinking. "What did I even fucking make that night, gyudon? Curry?"

"I - yes, it was the curry."

Bakugou squints at him. "The fuck did I say to the nerd on curry night?"

Shouto swallows, hard; his fingers flex around cracking wood, ice digging into the tiny holes that form around the indents of his nails.

"You asked him to - you told him you finally had your shit together," he explains. "You told him not to cry about it, asked him something I didn't quite catch, and then - you hugged him."

"That not allowed?"

Taken aback, Shouto blinks and looks up.

"What?" he asks.

"I can't hug the nerd?"

Shouto frowns. "Of course you can."

Leaning in a little bit, Bakugou quirks an eyebrow at him. "Then what's the fucking problem with what I said? What's the big deal with a fucking hug?"

Shouto takes a deep breath, steeling himself.

"That's just it, Katsuki," he says. "There isn't a problem."

He sits back on the bench, folds his hands together in his lap.

"I'm okay with it. I'm okay with - with you and Izuku."

It's only as he says it out loud that Shouto realizes it's finally become true.

Because it hurts to know that what he feels for Midoriya won't ever be reciprocated, yeah.

The awareness that he really, truly is on the outside of their relationship stings, and also validates all of those tiny, insistent little voices in the back of his mind that tell him he doesn't need friendship or love, that he doesn't deserve that sort of care and affection. They sound remarkably like his father.

But he also wants the both of them to be happy.

He wants that fiercely, wants the two people that he cares about most in this world to have the ending they both deserve; the strength of that belief is finally enough to overcome the sadness of not getting to be a part of it himself, and instead of making him feel raw like it once had, and terribly exposed -

Shouto feels nothing but calm.

He looks back up at Bakugou then, wanting to give him - some form of congratulations.

But Bakugou has gone wide-eyed in Shouto's brief moment of introspection, something like panic shining in his crimson eyes.

"Woah, woah, woah - back up, princess," he says quickly.

"I'm happy for you both."

"You are - what?"

"I'm happy for you and Izuku," Shouto clarifies, smiling. "You two are good together, you - you make a good couple."

Bakugou goes very, very red in the face, mouth working furiously as he tries (and fails) to come up with a proper response. It would be kinda funny, if Shouto were in a position to laugh about it; as it is, he just sits there and waits for the inevitable explosion, and sure enough, Bakugou finally works it out.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"…I don't know how to answer that."

"Are you fucking dumb?"

Shouto's smile slips.

"I regularly scored within the top five in our class," he points out, uncertain.

"And yet you're still this fucking hopeless, Christ."

Bakugou wipes a hand over his face, pained.

He seems to be working his way up to something, contemplative; when he finds it, he turns back towards Shouto with a determined expression.

"Okay. Listen up, you idiot, because I'm only gonna tell you this once - I know it's a fucking cliche, and I kinda hate you for making me say this. But this is not what it looks like."

Shouto blinks.

"What you overheard doesn't mean shit about my feelings."

"…oh."

Bakugou snorts. "Yeah, oh."

"What did it mean, then?"

"Huh?"

"What did you ask Izuku to do? What did he agree to, why were you so - it seemed important."

"That's -"

Bakugou's mouth snaps shut.

He looks away, swallowing down something that looks an awful lot like embarrassment, and is that - wait, is that actually what's going on? He's feeling uneasy, or even awkward?

It's an odd look on him, Shouto thinks. Disconcerting.

"Look," Bakugou finally bites out. "I know how this must've seemed to you."

Shouto nods. "It sounded like a confession."

Bakugou snorts at that, shaking his head.

"I mean, I guess you're not wrong," he mutters. "I was letting the nerd in on some pretty big news. But I wasn't confessing my feelings for him. Mostly because I don't fucking have any, but also - what the fuck, Shouto, because he's completely in love with you?"

Shouto's calm shatters. His heart stops.

"It's obvious to anyone who's ever been in the same room as the two of you, and also super fucking gross. Don't even get me started on the way he looks at you."

It fucking clenches in his chest, the squeeze of it so painful his vision swims for a moment.

"Oy, don't go making that face at me," Bakugou says hastily, shoving him backwards when Shouto starts to sway forward a little bit. "Don't you dare fucking faint!"

"How does he look at me?" Shouto asks, quiet. "How does he… Katsuki. Please, how does he - I don't know what you mean. I don't -"

His voice breaks.

It splinters, drops half an octave and then rockets right back up and promptly lodges in his throat, the lump that forms there so painfully tight he can't speak around it.

Luckily, Bakugou takes pity on him.

"Shouto," he says quietly. "Listen to me."

Shouto nods, a little desperate.

"I don't know why Izuku's never said anything to you; I don't know why he wouldn't tell you how he feels.

"But think of what he's done. Think of what he's shown you.

"Izuku has a big heart. He always fucking has, even when we were kids and bastards like me gave him shit for being quirkless. He has a lot of love to give - which makes him a really good hero, because he cares really deeply about people who don't even deserve the fucking time of day, let alone to be rescued. He cares about fuck-ups like me, who told him to -"

Bakugou breaks off with a ragged sigh, scraping a hand through his hair.

"He just cares a lot about people, yeah? The nerd's pretty fucking selfless, doesn't ask for a whole lot in return. He doesn't ask for anything, insists he's doing just fine.

"And he is, obviously. He's doing great, because he's got people like us backing him up and keeping him honest. We refuse to let him wring himself dry again.

"But he's also only human; he's still got things he wants, even if he doesn't say it out loud, and fucking hell, Shouto -" He glances up at Shouto. "I've never seen him want anything half as much as he wants you."

He snorts then, resettling back against the bench now that it's obvious Shouto isn't going to pitch forward onto the ground and set the grass on fire.

He laughs it off, as if he hasn't just turned Shouto's entire world upside down.

"He wants you bad, princess - because you're his person, yeah? The one he comes home to when shit gets rough, when he feels like he can't live up to all the pressure?"

He nods then, more to himself than to Shouto.

"I know what that looks like," he adds. "I know how that feels - and you wanna know how?"

Shouto doesn't reply, afraid that if he moves this moment will break, that it will shatter into a million pieces just like that glass of Izuku's he'd inadvertently destroyed.

Bakugou answers anyway, his expression going a little pinched.

"I know, because it's the same way Eijirou looks at me when he gets home after an especially brutal patrol, after some bullshit has him feeling like he wants to give it all up."

That breaks Shouto from his stupor.

He frowns, mouth parting in surprise, and murmurs, "Kirishima?"

"Yeah," Bakugou agrees. "Fucking Shitty Hair."

Shouto blinks, utterly confused.

He finds himself at a complete loss for words, because Bakugou really isn't one to shirk away from a hard truth; he means what he says, even if you have to search through the litany of curses and insults to dilute his words down to their purest, rawest form, and so if what he's saying is true, if he's being honest here…

Oh, Shouto thinks, a little dazed.

Oh, fuck, this is -

He's made a mistake.

"You and Kirishima are… together?" he finally manages to choke out.

Bakugou only hesitates a moment before he gives a sharp jerk of his chin, hands flexing where they sit on his thighs. "Yeah," he murmurs. "We are."

Shouto swallows, hard.

"For how long?" he rasps. "Since when?"

"I dunno, forever?" Bakugou snorts. "Feels like it sometimes. Feels like I've been dating him longer than I haven't, even though I know that ain't true because we didn't even meet 'til high school -"

"But you're not open about it."

Bakugou sighs and rubs at his forehead.

"No. We're not."

"Are you… ashamed of being seen with him?"

Bakugou's eyes flash at that, some of his usual heat slipping through before he can tamp it down. "Fuck no," he says. "Of course I'm not fucking ashamed. I just don't wanna have all the shit the media piles on me falling to him, because Eijirou is -"

He bites off the sentences with a huff, considering.

"He's great. He's fucking amazing at what he does, always fucking smiling, even when shit hits the fan, and the way he puts up with all my crap?"

Bakugou snorts, fond.

But then the sound turns a little sad, his smile fading a bit at the edges.

"I don't deserve him," he admits. "I don't - nothing I do will ever be enough for me to deserve someone like that. And don't give me that fucking look, princess, I don't need your pity."

Sheepish, Shouto looks away, the hand he'd been about to put on Bakugou's arm in comfort frozen in place between them.

"It's the same way you feel about Izuku, huh? You love him, but feel like you don't deserve him?"

Shouto blinks, unaware he was being so obvious.

"Does anyone?" he shoots back, unthinking, and oh -

It's just the right thing to say to diffuse some of the tension.

Bakugou barks out a laugh at that, catching Shouto's outstretched hand. He tangles their fingers together as he pulls him in for what Shouto thinks is an attempt at a hug; though his grip is just shy of bruising, the intent is not. He finds himself leaning into Bakugou as he rustles his hair, even as the slap on the back he gets sparks at his uniform and scents the air with sticky-sweet nitroglycerin.

"Nah," Bakugou mutters. "Probably not."

Letting go of Shouto as abruptly as he'd grabbed him, he fixes Shouto with a pointed look.

"If anyone was gonna come close though, princess, it'd probably be you."

Shouto isn't so sure about that.

He isn't always sure he deserves good things, even if his therapist and friends are quick to tell him otherwise; old habits and thoughts patterns can be difficult to break.

What he wants, though… he's certain about that.

That is a different story, and if what Bakugou is saying is true, if he's actually dating Kirisihima and Izuku has been within Shouto's reach all this time -

Maybe he can allow himself to hope.

Maybe they both can.

"You deserve to be happy, Katsuki," Shouto says. "You deserve Kirishima."

Bakugou exhales out a shaky breath, eyeing Shouto sideways. "Yeah? You think?"

Shouto nods. "I do."

"…yeah, okay. Maybe."

Then, poking Shouto in the thigh, he adds, "So do you, Shouto. You and the nerd, you deserve each other."

"I… are you -"

"If your next question is 'are you fucking sure' I will punt you across this field like a fucking football."

Startled, Shouto chokes out a laugh.

He smiles, even as Bakugou playfully punches his arm and makes a face that could turn milk, and sinks back into the bench, relieved. Though he feels a little stupid for misjudging the situation so badly, he feels lighter than he has in weeks. He feels free, like anything is possible, and so he just sits there for a moment, glad to have finally cleared the air.

But something is still gnawing at him.

Bakugou still hasn't answered his initial question, the one that would maybe solve all the remaining riddles; he twists back towards him, determined to get an answer.

"What did you tell Izuku, then? That one night, when you didn't confess."

To his very great surprise, Bakugou blushes.

He turns red as a beet, and also chokes out something that sounds kind of like a curse, glaring at Shouto as he says, "Jesus, you aren't gonna let that go, huh?"

Shouto blinks, nonplussed.

"Okay, so when I say me and Shitty Hair have been together forever, I mean that kinda literally - it's been ten fucking years since we got together, and we're both about ready to fucking dial it in, so…" He swallows and looks away. "Couple months back, I asked him to marry me.

"And I don't want some fancy ceremony," he quickly adds, ignoring the way Shouto's entire face lights up with happiness for his friend. "None of that shit's necessary, not when we've been together for so long. I don't wanna make a damn spectacle of it, and everything suddenly gets way too fucking expensive when you tell people it's for a wedding. It's a damn racket, so - we're just gonna do something quick at the court house downtown, then maybe invite a few people back to ours later for a real party.

"But here's the thing," he grimaces, turning back towards Shouto. "For some reason, our signatures ain't enough. We gotta get a couple other people to stand as witnesses and sign for the damn thing."

Several things click into place all at once.

The puzzle pieces come together, forming a picture in Shouto's mind he can't possibly misinterpret.

"Ah," he says, enlightened.

Bakugou snorts. "You finally with me, Icyhot?"

"I… think so. You asked Izuku to stand for you?"

He's rewarded with a grunt, as well as a little card that Bakugou digs out of one of the pockets in his suit; he thrusts it at Shouto with little fanfare, tapping the time and date he sees stamped on it.

"Yeah, he's coming. You too, princess - we wanted you to stand for Eijirou."

"I - of course I will. I'd be honored."

Bakugou pretends to throw up, shoving at Shouto's shoulder even as he takes out his phone and puts the date into his calendar; synced up with Izuku's as it is, he's only a little startled when he sees the "super duper secret surprise" event that's already blocked off on that particular day, accompanied with confetti and fireworks emojis galore.

"Do I need a suit?" he asks. "Or something more traditional?"

"Wear anything other than business casual, and I will explode it the fuck off you."

Shouto snorts. "Noted."

"And don't bother with a gift. I don't fucking need anything, and neither does Shitty Hair."

"…is Izuku buying you a gift?"

"Of course he's getting us something. He's the fucking nerd, he can't not buy people things -"

"Then how come I can't do the same?"

"Because Izuku's gonna get us something extra, like an All Might themed toaster that prints his face on the damn bread - you would actually buy something nice."

"I can buy you an All Might themed toaster."

"Please fucking don't."

"How about an All Might themed rice cooker? I think I saw one the other day that yells 'Your Rice - Is Done!' when it's finished cooking."

"Fuck off."

"I'd offer to get you the full set of Endeavor kitchenware. But it got pulled from production because parts kept melting while the appliances were being used, and also, I hate seeing my father's face everywhere."

Bakugou chokes. "Yeah, bump that shit."

Then, glancing down at his watch, he makes a noise that is half-grunt, half-groan and pushes up to his feet, grabbing his gauntlets as he goes.

"Alright, enough of that mushy crap. Glad we fucking sorted that out, good talk," he says, strapping the heavy gear to his wrists. "But we should get back to that jewelry store, see if they've gotten word on that warrant or found any other evidence."

Shouto frowns but follows suit, falling in step beside Bakugou as they head back to the street.

"I thought she said it would take a couple hours," he points out.

"She did, yeah."

"…it's only been thirty minutes."

"Yeah, okay, it's been half an hour - what are you, my keeper?" Bakugou huffs, glaring at him from the other side of the sidewalk. "Jesus, you're as bad as Deku."

"I'm just pointing out the obvious," Shouto replies, prim.

"You're being obnoxious, is what you are. But whatever - annoying Icyhot is better than sad Icyhot, and you're still better than half the other extras we work with."

"Wow. I'm so flattered."

"You should be," Bakugou snaps. "That was high praise."

They walk in silence for a while, sidestepping the occasional pedestrian as they make their way back down the road. It's a comfortable sort of quiet, one Shouto doesn't really mind -

He breaks it all the same, to say what needs to be said.

"Katsuki?"

"Fucking - yeah?"

"Thank you."

Bakugou stops dead in his tracks, whirling around.

He's just in time to see the small, tentative smile Shouto offers up, the one he hopes conveys both his apologies for misunderstanding as well as his sincere gratitude for setting him to rights. He's not sure he would've worked up the courage to figure it out on his own, and while he's never been very good with words, always getting them tangled up in his mouth when he tries to speak them aloud, this…

He thinks Bakugou gets it.

Shouto thinks he understands the enormity of what he's trying to convey, if the sudden red-hot flush to his cheeks and widening of his eyes is any indication.

Still, Bakugou is quick to brush it off, to replace his surprise with a scowl.

"Don't fucking thank me for that," he snaps. "And don't make that face at me, it's weird!"

Shouto nods, his smile fading. "Okay. I won't."

"Just - don't do it again, yeah?" Bakugou sighs. Kicking at another pebble in the road, he adds, "Scared the shit outta me and the nerd, seeing you act like that. Was afraid something bad had happened. You looked like someone had fucking up and died on you."

"I didn't handle it very well," Shouto agrees.

Bakugou shakes his head and glances back up, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Nah, that's not it," he says. "It's not - fuck, Icyhot, you didn't do anything wrong. Did better than I fucking would have, that's for sure. Honest mistake, yeah?"

Shouto nods, mollified. "It was an honest mistake."

"Next time, though - fucking talk to us. Before you start jumping to conclusions, preferably."

"I did try, for what's it worth," Shouto points out. "But I think I asked the wrong questions. I wasn't very clear when I spoke to Izuku."

"Yeah, no kidding."

Then, thinking of something, Bakugou changes tack. His expression changes as he glances around at their crime scene, taking in the relative lack of activity and overall quiet of the intersection.

"Actually, speaking of Deku… why don't you just - take the rest of the day off."

Shouto makes a soft, inquisitive noise, caught off guard by the suggestion.

"What?" he asks, a little stupidly.

"Go home. Talk to Izuku, go be with the nerd," Bakugou urges. Jerking his head towards the police, he says, "I'll handle these dumbasses, and the rest of the investigation."

"Are you sure?" Shouto asks, swallowing. "You don't need my help?"

Bakugou leers at him then, his voice cocky when he asserts, "I don't ever need your help, princess - even if it is sometimes nice to have. Not with fucking breaking and entering, at least, so fuck off. Scram."

The look Shouto shoots him is flat, unimpressed.

But he's willing to take the out.

He's willing to let Bakugou have the win this time if it means getting home to Izuku faster. Already, a strange sort of anticipation is coiling up in his stomach; he wants to talk to Izuku, he realizes. He wants to confess, wants to hug him and touch him and - and kiss him, probably, if that's -

If that's something Izuku would also want.

He doesn't want to waste a single second of this second chance he's been given, and so he just nods, telling Bakugou to call him up if something changes and he needs backup.

"I fucking won't!" Bakugou asserts, annoyed.

But Shouto doesn't respond.

He's already turned away, gliding back towards their agency on a fresh sheet of ice, and it's hard to hear much of anything over the roaring in his ears, the thundering of his own heart.

He's going home.

Truthfully, Shouto remembers very little of how he gets there.

He can't recall whether or not the train is crowded, or if he bothers to change out of his hero suit and back into civilian clothing before he ducks out of the agency. He doesn't remember if he leaves his bag at the office or slings it over his shoulders, and he definitely doesn't remember getting off at his stop.

Honestly, he's lucky so much of his commute is committed to muscle memory.

Otherwise, he might've ended up in an entirely different ward, too lost in his own thoughts to bother recognizing that he needs to get off the train before it leaves the damn prefecture -

But he can hardly be blamed for that, he thinks.

No one can really hold his own anticipation against him, because when has anything like this ever happened to him before? When will it ever happen again?

Never, if Shouto has anything to say about it.

He's not going to mess up a second time.

Shouto takes the stairs up to their apartment two at a time, almost fumbles his key as he pulls it from his pocket and sticks it in the door; it's only as he's shucking off his shoes and pulling off his jacket that he realizes Izuku might not be home, that in showing up unannounced and early, he might've set himself up for a long, very tense afternoon, and so he pulls his phone out with a near trembling hand -

"Shouto? Is that you?"

He stills, the half-written text he'd started typing out forgotten, as Izuku pads out into the entryway.

He offers Shouto a tentative, almost sleepy smile, rubbing at his eyes like he's just gotten up from a nap; there are faint lines etched into his face, the pattern of one of their throw pillows embossed into his cheek, and his hair is a wild mass of curls. The shirt he's wearing is old, soft; the neckline's been tugged low, exposing one big, freckled shoulder to the rest of the world, the harsh ridge of the thick muscles lining his back, and his left sock has gone missing.

Oh, Shouto thinks, a little dazed.

He's so beautiful like that, all soft and sleep-warmed and cozy; Shouto wants to wrap his arms around him and hold him close. He never wants to let him go.

"Hey," Izuku breathes. "Welcome home."

Then, as if he's just now taking note of Shouto's silence, the way he's just kind of staring at Izuku, wild-eyed and a little panicked, he frowns.

"Um, is everything alright?"

Shouto finds he can't speak.

He can't say anything, the raw force of his own emotions making his palms sweat and his heart pound; though he'd talked over everything with Bakugou at length, and rehearsed what he wanted to say over and over again on the train, he finds himself at a loss for words now that he's actually here, because what is he supposed to say? How is he supposed to explain himself to Izuku, how does he make it all make sense?

It doesn't even make sense to him, and he's the one who's been living it.

Still, he has to try.

He has to make some attempt to tell Izuku the truth, and so he takes a few steps forward on tottering feet, feeling a little like a baby deer as he shuffles down the hall.

"I mean, don't take this wrong way, but you don't - you're earlier than usual and you don't look so good, so maybe - slow down a bit? Or come sit with me, on the couch?"

Izuku stretches out his hands, ready to catch him -

And all Shouto can do is fall.

"Izuku," he offers, his voice a little broken to his own ears as he staggers into Izuku's hold. Strong arms immediately come up to support his waist, keeping him upright even when his legs threaten to give out; a rough palm slides against his cheek to steady him, and Izuku's eyes have gone very, very wide.

"…Shouto?"

"I made a mistake," Shouto finally chokes out, clutching at his arms.

Izuku shushes him before he can start babbling; he drags Shouto over to the couch, forces him to sit down. Once he's gotten him tucked into a corner, taking the seat beside him to make sure he doesn't make any sudden movements, he wraps an arm around Shouto, tugging his head into the space between his jaw and his shoulder, and Shouto leans into him all too willingly.

"I messed up," he says again, running his nose along the length of Izuku's exposed collarbone. It's as much to draw comfort as for the simple joy of touching him, and despite himself, he takes a little thrill in it when Izuku shudders beneath him.

Izuku gives him a squeeze, breath hitching at the feel of Shouto's cold cheek pressing against his skin.

"What did you mess up?" he asks, gently. "Did something happen on patrol?"

"I - no."

"Did… you and Kacchan get in a fight?"

"Not a fight," Shouto clarifies. "Nothing like that. But we - talked about some things."

Izuku hums, like he understands.

"He'd mentioned he was going to try and talk to you," he admits.

"…he did?"

Izuku's chuckle reverberates up through his chest and up his shoulder; Shouto feels it as much as he hears it, and though he doesn't want to move a single centimeter from where he is, he pulls his head back, twists to the side so he can stare up at Izuku.

"I mean, he didn't say it like that," he explains. "He was very grumpy when he brought it up, and there were - way too many curse words involved. But we've been worried about you, Shouto. Both of us, we - we just can't figure out what's wrong, and I know you're trying your best, and neither of us blame you, but - he thought it was time for a more direct approach and also had patrol with you first, so."

He shrugs, his hand finding its way back to Shouto's cheek.

"Would you tell me?" he asks, giving Shouto a tentative smile. "What you told him?"

Shouto studies him for a moment.

He stares at Izuku, takes in the soft, open expression he's wearing; his mouth is slightly parted, just the barest hint of a pink tongue poking out every now and then as he licks at his lips. Shouto wants to kiss him so badly, wants to see him if he tastes as sweet as Shouto's always suspected.

But he needs to get this out.

He needs to say it, needs to speak his feelings into existence, and so he forces his gaze back up to meet Izuku's, ignoring the way those green eyes have gone a little darker around the edges as he says, "I thought he confessed to you. That night, when he asked you to be the witness for his wedding. I thought you were - I thought he'd told you he was in love with you."

Izuku blinks at him, stunned.

"You know about the wedding?"

With a wince, he shakes his head and quickly adds, "Wait, no, no, no, no - what the hell, hold that thought for a moment - you thought Kacchan and I were dating? You - what?!"

He sounds horrified at the thought; Shouto's uncertain whether that's a comment on the prospect of having Bakugou as a lover or simply dismayed by Shouto's assumption.

Maybe it's a little of both.

Shouto nods. "I thought you were together."

"Oh, wow," Izuku breathes, his hands to his face. "Oh, wow, that - okay!"

Barely able to hide his grimace, Shouto apologizes.

"No, no, don't - I can definitely see how you might misconstrue what he said to me that night, if you didn't know the circumstances and only heard bits and pieces of the conversation, but - oh, wow, this is a lot." He pauses to clear his throat, looking at Shouto determinedly. "You know the truth now though, right? You know Kacchan is dating Kirishima?"

"Yes. He explained it all to me when he asked me to be the second witness."

"Oh, nice! I mean, I knew he was gonna ask, but - that's so cool, I'm glad you'll be there!"

Then, with another wince, he says, "But that's not the point. Again, that's not important, not right now, because - let's go back to that other thing you said."

Shouto nods. "Okay."

"The thought that Kacchan and I were dating upset you? It… hurt you?"

Hesitantly, Shouto nods again. "It - yes. It did."

Izuku brings his other hand up to Shouto's cheek, so that he's cradling his face in his hands. He runs one of his thumbs along the soft skin just beneath his eye, and twists around a little so that his knees are more or less in Shouto's lap, pressing insistently into his thighs.

"Shouto," he breathes. "Sweetheart."

Very much against his will, Shouto groans.

He leans forward, letting his forehead knock against Izuku's for support, and clings to him.

"Why would that hurt you?" Izuku murmurs. "Why would that make you upset?"

Shouto blinks his eyes back open; he steels himself and forces his gaze to meet Izuku's, even as a part of him wants to shirk away and hide, because he cannot miss this.

He cannot miss the moment he tells Izuku the truth.

"It upset me because I love you," he rasps. "I have - feelings for you, and I thought -"

He breaks off, swallowing.

His mouth works furiously for several long moments as he tries and fails to find the words he wants to say, and though Izuku looks a little pained, like it's actually hurting him to keep quiet, he waits. He is so, so patient, quietly squirming as he gives Shouto the time to figure it out.

"I thought I'd lost the chance to ever tell you, because Katsuki told you first."

The noise Izuku makes is weak, soft.

But Shouto keeps going, determined to get the rest of it out now that he's started to talk.

"After that, I didn't want to get in the way. I didn't want - I didn't want to intrude, because if that was what you wanted, I… I wanted you to be happy. All I've ever wanted was to be close to you; just being your friend was enough for me, even if it hurt at first, and -" He breaks off then, takes a deep breath. "I was getting better at being okay, but sometimes it was just… hard for me. To be in the same room with you, and know that I didn't have you the way I wanted."

Now it is Izuku's turn to groan, as he nuzzles into Shouto's cheek.

"Shouto," he says , his voice shaking. "Shouto, baby - I need you to listen to me for a sec, okay?"

"Okay."

"I do love Kacchan," Izuku admits, after a moment. "I always have, I think - and I probably always will."

Then, with a sharp inhale, he adds, "But it's different from what I feel for you. It's not the same, not by a long shot, and you - I love you, too, Shouto. I love you so much, I am so stupid in love with you, I don't even know what to do with it. Please don't ever think that I don't."

Beneath him, Shouto goes very, very still.

Because Bakugou had told him as much, hadn't he? He hadn't really minced words.

But it's one thing to hear that sort of thing from a friend.

It's another thing entirely to hear that love spoken aloud, to have it voiced into existence by the very object of your affections, and so he just kind of melts into Izuku's hold, his voice very small and kind of faint when he asks, "Do you - do you really mean that?"

Izuku huffs out a breathless laugh, arms slipping down to curl around Shouto's shoulders.

"Yeah, baby," he says. "I really do."

Distantly, Shouto realizes he might be crying.

Though he hadn't shed a single tear in the past several months, not once, despite all of the anguish he's put himself through, there's a strange sort of wetness running down his face, and for the first time in maybe ever, it's not Izuku who's sobbing.

(Or, well -

Izuku is crying, as anyone would expect, but it's - happy, muted. The way he's tearing up is more or less normal, as opposed to the way Shouto is quietly bawling his eyes out. He's still functioning, where Shouto is very decidedly not, so.

He decides it doesn't count.)

But that's okay, he thinks.

If ever there was a time for happy tears, it's now - with the love of his life perched happily in his lap, his strong hands on Shouto's back and his lips pressed against Shouto's cheek, murmuring all sorts of soft praises and gentle, affirming words that he can't even really make out through the awful, terribly embarrassing sounds clawing their way out of his throat.

Afterwards, Izuku wipes at his face and cleans him up.

He hands him a half-empty water bottle perched on the coffee table so he can take a couple sips, dries his tears with the hem of his shirt, and once Shouto feels like he can speak again, his emotions back under control and his nerves not quite so frayed, he clears his throat.

"I'm sorry I never said anything before," he says.

Curious, Izuku's head tilts to the side. "Can I ask why you didn't?"

Shouto swallows, thick.

"It's never been easy for me," he admits, "telling people what they mean to me, or how I feel - not when it's serious, at least, and I… I think a part of me didn't think that I deserved you."

"Shouto…"

Stubborn, Shouto pushes on. "I didn't think I'd done anything to earn that from you, not when you've already done so much for me, and if I told you the truth and you didn't feel the same way…" He shakes his head. "It would have ruined everything, when we were younger. I would have been - upset, and said things I regretted. I didn't want to lose you, and so I kept - quiet."

Izuku sniffles, brushing a stray piece of hair out of his face.

"I get that," he says, his voice a little sad. "I mean, if you couldn't tell how I felt about you, and what we already had was close enough to what you really wanted - yeah, okay. I'd never want to lose you, either, so… I can understand why you wouldn't have said anything."

He takes a deep breath then, pushing back a little so he can peer down at Shouto.

"Can I tell you something now?"

Shouto nods, rapt.

"I think I'm kinda to blame here, too."

Shouto opens his mouth to protest, the words already on his tongue -

But Izuku cover his lips with his hand, gently shaking his head.

"I know you don't think so," he says softly. "I know you think this is all your fault - but I didn't say anything either, Shouto. I didn't tell you I loved you, even though I've felt this way for years."

Something in Shouto's chest blooms at the admission, gooey and warm.

"You have?" he asks, his voice no more than a whisper.

Izuku laughs and wipes at his eyes.

"I'm pretty sure I've been crushing on you since high school, actually," he says. "It's… kind of embarrassing? And I tried to get over you, at first, because I didn't think you liked me back; I tried to date other people, and Uraraka and I had that - that thing, that one time, but then - then you wanted to move in with me. You wanted to build a life with me, came to me whenever you needed - well, anything.

"And, I dunno, maybe I was reading too much into it. Maybe you didn't mean it the way you did.

"But it seemed… significant? It seemed like something different than what we had before that, even it wasn't ever romantic or super affectionate or - oh, god - sexual, so I guess I just - assumed that was what you wanted?" Biting his lip, he adds, "Like, I thought that was all you wanted, that sort of partnership with somebody without the - without all the other stuff, and you never said otherwise, even when I kinda tried hinting around, so…"

"Hints? When did you leave me hints?"

"Ah, well… I mean, there's been lots of things!"

"…like?"

Izuku sighs. "Like the past few years, I've asked you to dinner on Valentine's Day. And the last time we went on vacation, I booked us that couple's massage."

Shouto vaguely remembers both occasions; they had been very nice experiences, the masseuse's quirk doing wonders for his aching back and sore muscles, and the Valentine's Day dinner at his mother's favorite restaurant had been intimate and cozy. But it's not like Izuku had ever bought him flowers, or anything; he hadn't held Shouto's hand, or told him to dress him up, or implied that what they were doing was anything out of the ordinary.

He'd just assumed Izuku had gotten a special deal for those sorts of things, like a two-for-one coupon, which… in hindsight, he's beginning to suspect is maybe a little naive of him.

He thinks he now understands what Bakugou had meant by all the little things Izuku had shown him over the years.

"Shouto," Izuku says gently, "you're in my will, for crying out loud. Apart from the money I've got set aside for my mom, if anything were to happen to me… it all goes to you."

Sudden understanding has Shouto blushing; he feels more than a little dumb at having missed so much.

"…oh. I see."

But Izuku is quick to try and assuage what is probably obvious embarrassment, frantically waving his hands even as he smiles down at him.

"Hey, shh, it's okay. I didn't - I wasn't trying to make you feel bad. I - oh, fuck, Shouto. I mean, I definitely could have been explicit about my intentions, and again - I never said anything to you either."

Nodding to himself, he adds, "We've both been a little dumb, I think."

Shouto blinks, trying to fit this new information into what he knows; he tries to make sense of what Izuku seems to have thought he's wanted all these years.

It's not… wrong, he thinks.

He does want to be Izuku's partner, and in a lot of ways, they've been moving towards that sort of arrangement for a long time, even if they hadn't labeled it.

But at the same time, it's not correct, because Shouto wants more.

He wants - so much more, more than he's ever wanted with anyone else, and that -

A warm hand lands on his cheek, tilting his head back so that he's forced to look up at Izuku.

"…am I wrong?" Izuku asks, tentative. "Do you want - anything else?"

Shouto swallows to ease the sudden dryness in his throat.

It's impossible to miss the way Izuku's dark eyes track the movement, the way his breath hitches low in his throat at the way the column of Shouto's neck works.

"I want to kiss you," Shouto murmurs, "I think I want - that, with you too, if you - if that's something you want, if you would want that with - me."

Izuku makes an incredulous noise, once again stunned.

"If I want you?" he repeats.

"I don't have a lot of experience," Shouto points out. "Any, really. I might not be any good."

"Shouto," Izuku groans. "Shouto Todoroki, you - are you serious?"

He pauses to press a kiss to the tip of Shouto's nose, and Shouto's heart just kind of - skips for a moment.

He'd thought that was something that only happened in movies and bad television.

"You are beautiful, and funny, and sweet, and I'm so in love with you, which is really all that matters, but also oh my god, you have never been bad at anything a day in your life, what the heck?"

"I could be. Maybe this is my weakness."

"Sex?"

Shouto suppresses the violent little shiver that runs down his spine at the word - but it's a near thing, the stab of want that flashes through him so sudden and unexpected he doesn't know what to do with it. Desire lances down his spine, settling deep in his stomach and flooding his body with heat.

Distantly, he thinks it’s a small miracle that he doesn't immediately burst into flames.

As it is, he just kind of finds himself staring at Izuku's mouth, wanting so badly to just - do it, to just lean forward and press their mouths together.

Is it that simple?

It looks that simple in movies and television, but then again, those are actors. Those are people being paid to emulate a feeling, and not really experiencing it on their own, so.

Maybe it's different.

A gentle tapping against his cheek has him glancing back up to Izuku's eyes; he's not at all surprised to see the way Izuku's cheeks are stained red, or how he intently he's staring back at Shouto. Izuku has always been rather intense, throwing himself into every little thing that he does, and -

Oh, Shouto suddenly realizes, quickly piecing a couple things together. It's not focus, not this time.

It's want.

Izuku wants him, like that, which -

"Shouto."

"Yes?"

Izuku lifts a shaking hand to Shouto's face, presses his thumb into the span of his lower lip. He digs the crescent moon of his nail in, just hard enough to leave a mark, wanton.

"I want to kiss you, too," he says. "I want to kiss you very, very badly, so - can I?"

Shouto's pretty sure his brain short-circuits.

He's pretty sure it goes offline entirely as he slams their mouths together, hard, and like -

In retrospect, he could've used a little more finesse; he could have… leaned in, gently, instead of pressing their faces together with enough force it's a wonder one of them hasn't chipped a tooth. Though he was telling the truth when he said he doesn't have a whole of experience here, he's knows enough to realize that that's how it's generally done, that first kisses are often tentative, searching things.

But Izuku doesn't seem to mind.

Instead of complaining, he just puts a gentle hand to Shouto's chest and pushes him back, smiling down at him as he tilts Shouto's head to the side a bit and says, "Try it like this," and oh -

That is better, Shouto thinks.

This kiss is so much better, because now he can actually feel the way Izuku's lips slide against his, how they're warm but slightly chapped - his mouth tastes a little stale, probably because he just woke up, but also like whatever mint candy he'd been eating before he'd nodded off, and Shouto loves it.

He loves it, relishes in the taste of him as he presses in close.

"Shouto," Izuku breathes, carding a hand through his hair. "Shouto."

The sound Shouto makes then can really only be described as a whine; his lips go slack with it, and he has to pull back a little to exhale out the cloud of steam clogging his throat.

"Oh," Izuku breathes, mesmerized.

He watches Shouto pant with something dangerously close to fascination in his eyes, and then, like he can't quite resist, he does it again. He leans down and catches Shouto's mouth with his own, licks at the seam of his mouth with his tongue.

The feeling is - overwhelming, to put it lightly.

It is so indescribably good, the way that Izuku moves against him; he's starting to feel hot all over, and not just because of his quirk. Rather, it's building from the inside, this warm, gooey feeling that's making his brain go fuzzy and something that feels like electricity spark in his veins, and when Izuku opens his mouth and deepens it -

"Fuck," Shouto groans, exhaling out more steam. "I can't - Izuku."

Izuku catches his lower lip with his teeth, bites at it.

"Good?" he asks, tugging lightly on Shouto's hair in a bid to get to him to tilt his head back. "Is this - do you like this, Shouto?"

Shouto nods, helpless with want at the way Izuku licks into his mouth like he owns it.

He can do little more than tremble and press back against Izuku, mimicking his movements as best as he can, chasing what feels good - and it's so easy to get lost in the moment. It's the easiest thing he thinks he's ever done, the way that Izuku kisses him as natural as breathing.

It is maybe the best thing he has ever felt in his entire life -

But then Izuku shifts against him, settling a little more firmly in his lap; he rolls his hips down into Shouto's even as he keeps kissing him senseless, and Shouto finds he cannot think, can't breathe. There simply isn't enough air in the room, not enough oxygen in the world to soothe the fire Izuku is stoking in his belly; it's too much and not enough, all at the same time, and though Shouto doesn't want to stop, he does think they need to go - slower.

He thinks he needs a minute, and so he wrenches himself away with a gasp.

Izuku stares down at him, eyes blown black.

"Shouto?" he pants. "What is it, why did you - do you want to stop?"

"No." Shouto shakes his head, squeezing his eyes shut as he grasps at the thin fabric of Izuku's t-shirt; the feel of the cotton beneath his fingers is grounding, as is the solidity of Izuku's body under the fabric. "No, I just - slow, please? Can we go slower?"

"Slow," Izuku repeats, nodding. "Slow, that's - okay. We can do that."

"This is… kind of a lot."

The next kiss Izuku presses to his mouth is soft, sweet.

It's not at all rushed, and Shouto loves him for it, loves that he's always so very careful when it comes to things like this; coming from anyone else, the way he gently adjusts them so they're lying on their sides might have felt infantilizing. It might have felt like he was being made fun of, pushed to the side like his inexperience was something to mock.

But Izuku just makes him feel oh-so-loved as he presses kiss after kiss to Shouto's face, giving him the time he needs to come back down to earth; his movements turn slow and languid instead of frantic, a gentle downward slide rather than a rapid hurtling towards the edge, and when he shifts again, this time it's to wrap his strong arms around his waist in a warm, familiar hug.

"Better?" he murmurs, smiling into Shouto's neck.

Shouto nods. "Better," he agrees.

Then, because he feels like he maybe needs to say it, he apologizes.

"Sorry?" Izuku splutters, frowning. "What are - Shouto, what on earth are you sorry for?"

"…needing a minute?"

"Don't apologize for that," Izuku says firmly, shaking his head. "Don't you ever feel like you need to - because we've got all the time in the world, yeah? I'm not going anywhere."

He smiles then, bright as the sun and twice as warm.

It's the most beautiful thing Shouto thinks he's ever seen.

"I wouldn't want to spend it with anyone else," he admits. "Just you. Only you."

Izuku just laughs and kisses him again.

"I know, Shouto. It's always been you for me too."