Archive of Our Own ^beta

“The first song on a playlist is for happiness.” 

Izuku bounced as he said it on their way back to the dorms, wrapped twice in a scarf. Shouto’s own scarf draped across his shoulders—usually, Shouto forgot he had it on most days. Even buried under layers to keep himself warm, Izuku was eccentric with his movements and eager to help Shouto solve his problem. Granted, Izuku had already told Shouto this tidbit about the first song. Besides, Shouto didn't think it was an issue when he had mentioned it. But, he should have known Izuku would dedicate himself to a project. Even something like making sure Shouto heard an appropriate number of songs a day.

“It needs to be peppy. Loud. Fun,” Izuku snapped his fingers. A feat considering he was wearing mittens. “Makes you want to dance.” 

“But you told everyone you didn’t know how to dance,” Shouto said, followed by a serious question. “Did your quirk mutate again, making you good at dancing? I don’t know if All Might was ever a good dancer, but I guess I could alway ask him.”

All Might was always around now, eager to have someone talk to him. It would be pretty easy to find out. Beside him, Izuku had ceased his movements, staring at him with wide eyes and pink cheeks, kept under his scarf. 

“Don’t ask All Might that. And my quirk didn’t mutate again,” he rubbed the back of his neck, looking over to their side, “don’t be ridiculous.” 

Ridiculous was having two quirks—Shouto would know—but at least his made sense together. The terrifying thing that was Izuku’s quirk mutating earlier in the month was strange. A conundrum if Shouto thought about it for any stretch of time. So, he didn’t. If Izuku wanted to keep what happened to himself, for the time being, Shouto would let him. 

Calming down, Izuku continued, “makes you want to dance in the sense that you can’t help tapping your toe or bobbing your head or I guess just closing your door and dancing. However terrible that might be.”

“I don’t think you’re a terrible dancer, Midoriya.”

“Well, you don’t see me with my bedroom door closed,” Izuku said. “And I won’t see you with yours closed, so feel free to dance away.”

Shouto had trouble imagining that he would. The idea of “letting loose,” as Ashido put it, didn’t apply to him unless he was facing off against an obstacle at school or a villain. He wouldn’t even know where to start. He’d ask Izuku, but he was already doing too much with the whole playlist debacle.

“I added like ten-ish, songs to the playlist,” Izuku said. “Give them a listen tonight and tell me you what you think. If you absolutely hate them then we’ll start again. But if you like a few make note of that! We can work on it from there.”

Shouto didn’t have to listen to the playlist to know that the idea of disliking any of them was absurd. Everything Izuku had given him since their Sports Festival had been great. Izuku was just like that. Everything he touched became good.

Not that Shouto, who didn’t know how to wear a scarf properly and was approaching the dorms rapidly, would ever say that. Instead, he would go up to his room, feigning that he was going to do homework and put the wired headphones in his ears—also Izuku’s—and try to exist in a world that sounded as great as his friends.

“I thought I’d find you out here,” Uraraka says. She’s holding herself, gripping either of her arms. She’s tired. But they’re all tired, so maybe he can’t judge much off of that.

He pulls the cap off the pen that a kind nurse had given him when he woke up to too many people in his room, giving condolences and asking how he was for a throat Shouto couldn’t speak out of. 

In careful handwriting, he asks, “I was missing?”

Uraraka shakes her head, sitting by him on the bench outside of the hospital. Their view is limited to cracked courtyard sidewalks and a purple sky. Shouto pauses his phone.

“You haven’t gone to see him, yet,” she states.

“So other people can visit him first,” he writes. 

Uraraka and Iida had visited Shouto when he woke up, but he could see in their shadows that they hated being away from Izuku’s room for even their brief visit to him. Shouto got it. He wanted to see Izuku when he first woke too, only limited by stern doctors. Not that they could do much to stop him once the lights in the hall dimmed.

But, now that he can go anywhere he wants—in the hospital at least—he finds himself avoiding a certain hall. He doesn’t know why. 

“He’d want you there with us too, Todoroki-kun. You're just as close to him as Iida-kun or I.” 

Maybe that’s true. He writes something else instead. “Did Bakugou see him?”

“Screamed,” she says, “but yeah, he came. Everyone has.” 

Shouto frowns. 

He hasn’t been sleeping, which isn’t too unusual. He’s always had trouble sleeping since he was young. But, before where it was smoke monsters of his father, a crying mother, and a ghost of a brother in a gray house; now, its crumbled city remains, crawling to Izuku’s body once it’s clear that the villains escaped and finding him cold. He never wakes. 

It’s silly to be so scared of a dream. From all accounts, Izuku has stabilized and will wake within a few days. But every time he tries. He finds himself frozen stiff.

There are other fears, of course, that maybe once Izuku wakes he’ll realize that Shouto is a monster. If two people who share a name were evil, who would question that the third one is as well?

“I’m not telling you to go tonight,” Ochako says. “Just whenever you feel like it. I know he misses you.”

Shouto knows it's not necessary to tell Uraraka that Izuku can't miss him; he is unconscious. Uraraka moves on from the topic anyways. 

She asks, “what are you doing out here, anyways,” kicking her heals under the bench. 

“It’s loud,” he writes, “it’s quiet out here.”

“It is.” 

They fall into a steady silence, and Shouto debates asking Uraraka a question just to quell it. He’s been so focused on his family, in some respects Izuku, that he has neglected his other friends too. He can’t place the feeling of unrest in her stance, her eyes specifically. Like she’s holding onto something that she’s decided she can’t let go of. But, before he can try an attempt to put his concern into words on paper, Uraraka turns back to him. She sees more than she had when she had first sat down.

“I didn’t know you listened to music,” she says.

Shouto’s immediate, “I don’t,” gets holed up in his throat. Instead, he opens his phone, showing her the playlist. The song he was listening to before she sat down. Immediately, her eyes glow, and a grin stretches across her lips. 

“Oh! I love that song,” she says, “I wouldn’t have pegged you as someone who listens to such upbeat music.”

“I don’t,” Shouto writes before scribbling it out as obviously he had been before she sat down beside him, “it’s part of a playlist.”

Uraraka doesn’t comment that she can obviously see that, instead reading out the title, “Songs for Happiness,” drawing conclusions that won’t necessarily be true. 

Izuku said songs made people feel a wide variety of emotions. The title of the playlist could either elude to those emotions, or to something else. Shouto figured Izuku liked to be reminded to be happy—even when there were plenty of songs on the playlist that were not. As Izuku’s playlist, Shouto didn’t care what Izuku called it as long as he could listen to it whenever he wanted. 

“Do you want to listen with me?”

Uraraka blinks twice up at him before her smile somehow gets larger. In a lot of ways, she reminded him of Izuku. She’s as kind, outspoken, and strong. She nods, taking the closest earbud and placing it in her ear. He matches her, easing back into the bench, starting the song over at the beginning.

As it finishes, Uraraka doesn’t pull out the earbud, closing her eyes to the next song. Shouto’s not quite sure what gets him to ask what he does next. Question him five months ago, and he’d say he didn’t particularly care about music. Ask him last week, and it would be whatever Izuku had shown him. 

He takes out his notebook again and writes, “what are some of your favorite songs?”

This time instead of staring, Uraraka begins to list off songs. Too many for Shouto to keep track of. He places the notebook in her hand. She thanks him with a smile and then sets off writing, explaining why they are her favorite. By the time she's done, purple has long since changed to indigo, and maybe, Shouto thinks, it won’t be too bad to go and see Izuku. 

Hey, Deku-kun! 

I don’t know when you’ll get around to listening to this, but I’m hoping soon! The first song was something my dad used to sing to me when I was very young. To this day, it’s one of my favorites. I still find myself humming whenever I have downtime. The rest of them have smaller meanings. Just nice songs that I like to listen to whenever I’m in need of a pick-me-up. 

Enjoy!

Iida finds Shouto two days later in the hospital's gym—gym is a choice word for a handful of treadmills, ellipticals, and mismatched weights. Shouto’s testing his strength on a treadmill. His endurance is only a fraction of what it was prior to the attack. He has been reassured by doctors that because he is young, and has some natural protections against fire, he will make a short and quick recovery. As it is, Shouto can already talk. Not that Shouto thinks his scratchy, sore throat is something he is overly eager to share with anyone else, which may have led more people to argue that he is hiding. 

He is not.

He and Bakugou spent the previous evening in his room, eating shitty hospital food and complaining. Well, Bakugou complained. Shouto kept finding himself staring at the bandages barely hidden under his clothes and matching them with the injuries he had seen firsthand. Bakugou told him to knock it off. Shouto stared at his own bandages instead. 

So really, encountering Iida at the treadmill beside him is not unwelcome. He pulls a cord out of his ear and slows down the machine.

“Oh, I didn’t mean for you to stop,” Iida says, “I just wanted to inform you that the class is putting together another ‘Get Well’ basket for Midoriya as we did the last time he was seriously injured in a hospital bed.” 

Shouto frowns, chasing away that memory. No one got kidnapped this time. Besides, it’s not like he could have stopped Izuku from over-extending himself last time. And, this time, Izuku had made it certain that he would take the brunt of the attack, making Bakugou’s injuries all the worse.

“The doctors are guessing he’s going to wake up either today or tomorrow morning, so we want to be ready,” Iida continues. “It’s important we appear as a united front when we offer Midoriya our insurance, and the knowledge that the top pros are working to rectify the situation.”

It makes sense. Shouto hasn’t left the hospital, and the staff he’s interacted with are professional enough not to comment on his role in the dire state of the world. One only had to look outside the front entrance and see the mob of angry protesters clamoring to get inside. If Izuku saw that first, Shouto wouldn’t put it past him to overreact.

Shouto slows to stop on the treadmill. “I was done,” he says before Iida can assure him not to stop again. “I have money in my room.”

He steps off the treadmill, heading to the door, when Iida calls, “Wait, Todoroki-kun.” Shouto pauses, turning back to his friend, who’s waving his phone in his hand, “you forgot your phone.”

Listening to music while exercising did seem to be too much of a hassle. He’ll have to let Izuku know when he wakes up.

“I see you were listening to ‘All Might’s All Forces Down Soundtrack,’” Iida says once they are both walking to the door. “I also like to listen to music scores when I’m working out. I find other music distracting.” 

Shouto wraps his earbuds around his phone. Honestly, he couldn’t tell that he was listening to a movie score rather than something else. He guesses it did go a long time without anyone singing any words. Izuku’s reason for putting the song on the playlist was obvious. He probably listened to every song that had to do with the former Number One Hero. Watching the movie should be a better experience, but maybe like Iida, Izuku likes listening to songs without distracting lyrics.

Regardless, he uncurls the wires and opens his notes app, turning back to Iida to ask, 

“What songs would you recommend?”

Izuku laid on his stomach, focused on his phone, pulling at his bottom lip. Shouto was beside him, reading a book, only pausing whenever Izuku’s thoughts broke free of his mouth, muttering between them. He was working on his playlist, which he insisted was Shouto’s playlist. Izuku’s actual playlist, apparently, was a mess and represented a version of him before UA. Shouto didn’t know what that meant, assuming people just edited and changed these things as they went about, but Izuku had said it wasn’t so easy. Just because he didn’t want to listen to a song now, didn’t mean he didn’t want to listen to it one day. 

Regardless, Izuku listened to mostly albums now, which was what he was combing through to curate Shouto’s ultimate listening experience.

Perhaps feeling his gaze, Izuku looked over at him, dropping the phone ahead of him. Caught, Shouto averted his eyes back to his book, but Izuku quickly nudged him, getting his attention once more.

He asked, “how do you feel about music without words?”

“Like old people music?”

Izuku laughed. Cut short as he muffled it under his hand. He shook his head. “Not like that,” he said, “and young people can listen to to that stuff too.” He rolled over on his side. “What I was actually interested in, is if you like what was playing during the show we were watching last night?”

It took Shouto a moment to recall what it was they watched—Izuku was adamant he got Shouto caught up on all the movies and tv shows he had missed growing up, another ongoing project. It was a show set in space and involved wizards or something. Did he think the music in it was striking? He supposed it was nice. He told Izuku as such. 

“Okay, but would you want to listen to it while you’re walking, studying? Or do you think it’d get annoying? The only reason I thought about it was because you said you liked that longer instrumental section in that one song and well I like listening to movie scores, so maybe,” Izuku trailed, shaking his head, “never mind. It’s weird. I’ll stick with the classics or what’s normally accepted on an ultimate music playlist.” 

“Don’t,” Shouto said. “I mean, I want to listen to them too. Whatever you think I may like.”

Izuku nodded, “and classical?”

Shouto shrugged, “if you like it, I’d be willing to try.”

Izuku shoved his leg, “I’m not creating a playlist for myself, silly. It’s for you. You still have to tell me if I put anything on here that you don’t like. We’re curating your interests, remember?”

The thing was, Shouto’s interest was Izuku. Whatever he was doing and was willing to share with Shouto. Just thinking it, though, was embarrassing and better kept to himself. 

Eventually, Izuku returned to his phone, scrolling through songs before deciding that the best experience was listening to the whole soundtrack. Long lists of songs all added at once to “Songs for My Happiness.” Shouto returned to his book.  Comfortable under the afternoon sun and relaxed next to the boy beside him. 

Midoriya-kun!

It’s imperative that you keep pushing forward. I hope that these songs motivate you as much as they’ve come to motivate me. I find that seeking extra encouragement from things such as music is very admirable! Let me know if you want to discuss further about our shared music preferences. There are many more songs that I know that I think you’d enjoy!

“I think some of the hardest songs to try and sparse out are songs to listen to when you’re angry and just want something that makes you feel seen,” Izuku said. They were running around the track inside UA’s gym instead of outside in the blizzard. “Or at least something you can scream along with in the showers.” 

“Would you not worry that someone might hear you?” Shouto asked, keeping a steady pace with Izuku, who he knew was holding himself back from sprinting around the track. It had been a while since they had a race to see who was the fastest in the class. One day, Izuku would come to rival Iida’s speed. Granted, Iida had family secrets and tricks that gave him the edge for now.

“If I’m angry, I don’t care who hears me.” Izuku said, “I want the world to know. A good singing off the roof song.”

Shouto didn’t ask if Izuku had experience doing that. Shouto’s own experience with roofs, relegated to quiet viewings of the sunset—another quest properly undertook by the pair even if Izuku hadn’t stopped shivering even with Shouto’s quirk. 

“So, you want songs to listen to when you’re angry, to feel angrier?”

They passed Sero and Kaminari, who were in the middle of some game that included poking each other every few feet.

“When you put it that way it sounds sort of foolish.”

“Nothing you do is foolish, Midoriya.”

“Oh, I could name a few things,” Izuku said, “pretending to have a goatee and a fake accent is just one.”

Shouto’s left brow raised, “not squaring off against a known serial killer without calling for backup.” 

“Hey,” Izuku said, slowing so he could poke Shouto in the arm. “I texted yo—the whole class—and you showed up, saving me from my recklessness.”

“I guess you better just keep me around then,” he paused, “just in case.”

“Yeah, whatever would I do without my knight Todoroki-kun,” there was a teasing lilt in his voice that made running around the track easier. A couple more laps and they would be done. Then Shouto could take a nice, long shower—angry music pending. He hadn’t thought far enough ahead to what he’d be eating, but hopefully something warm, considering the weather.

“So what are the parameters that make a song ‘angry’?”

“Well, for one, like most music, it’s highly individualistic, but I prefer songs that have a lot of drums and guitars. The louder it plays the more it vibrates in your ear makes whatever issues you’re having all the more real.” Shouto nodded along. “It doesn’t have to just be the instruments that are loud. Sometimes vocal lend a lot to the feeling, amplifying everything.”

“But what if I don’t want to be angry?”

Izuku stopped mid-sentence about being careful with the volume of the music, staring up at Shouto, saying softly, “all emotions are valuable. Even anger. It’s better to face it in a song then letting it marinate and consume you.” 

There was wisdom in that. Izuku was always insightful over small things.

He was going to ask what made Izuku angry enough to listen to music when a third person joined them on the track besides Shouto. 

“Do you two have to be gross here too? Some of us are trying to train.” 

“Hi, Kacchan,” Izuku said, ignoring Bakugou’s scowl. “Todoroki-kun and I were talking about music. What songs do you listen to?”

Bakugou scoffed. “As if I’d tell you." He then looked at Shouto. “You either Half ‘n Half, so don’t even try.”

Shouto didn’t, instead stating, “Midoriya was telling me that it was good to listen to music when you’re angry. Maybe you should try that.”

“What was that you two-toned Bastard?”

Contrary to Shouto’s opinion about running, he actually was pretty adept at it, which was why he could keep up when Izuku grabbed his hand and started sprinting as Bakugou yelled behind them, hot on their heels. He knew sometime later Bakugou would get his revenge, but in that moment, he only squeezed Izuku’s hand, relishing in the warmth of Izuku’s face as he smiled.

Izuku leaves UA; he does not tell anyone. 

He does not tell Shouto.

A wad of paper hits the side of Shouto’s head. He scowls at it, grabbing it with his left hand and incinerating it. It’s followed by a second one, forcing Shouto from glaring over the file he was reading to glaring at Bakugou. Bakugou has his own work in front of him—trying to coordinate sightings while his father plays chicken in accepting an audience with a bunch of children. It’s slow work and unrewarding, which is why Bakugou is do for a distraction. 

Shouto pulls on the cord of his earbud, awaiting whatever Bakugou needs his attention for. Bakugou focuses on that. “Geez, Halfie, you plan on going deaf in the next five years?” 

Shouto reaches for his phone and lowers the volume. It's face down on the table to keep himself from checking it every five seconds, hoping that maybe this was all a mistake. Izuku hadn't left with the intent of not coming back. At least he hadn't left with only his intentions written in a copy-and-paste letter revealing too much and too little.

Deep down, Shouto knows that this was probably the only outcome for a situation like this. People didn’t care about him. They didn’t stick around too. A selfish thought, given the fact that the class hasn’t stopped crying. Izuku is important to everyone. It’s Shouto’s fault for thinking he is special in holding Izuku close to his chest.

Bakugou’s not satisfied with simply letting Shouto turn down his music, however. He grabs Shouto’s phone off the table, unlocking it to see what Shouto’s listening to. A pinched, concentrated face, turning curious as he says, “Dutch Heavy Metal. I wouldn’t have guessed you had decent music taste.” 

“Give me back my phone.” 

Bakugou pulls away enough to be out of his reach, scrolling more. “Actually, I take that back. What is some of this shit? This playlist makes no sense.”

“Bakugou.” 

“Don’t tell me you don’t know how to format a proper playlist. It needs to have a mood. A meaning." He continues, “right now you just have too much stuff. I’d say just delete it and start back over.”

“Don’t,” Shouto says. Bakugou only looks up because Shouto’s chair stutters against the floor. “Don’t you dare delete that.”

Bakugou seems to get the hint, relinquishing the phone to the table. Shouto’s too quick to retrieve it, knowing it reveals more about his state than he wants anyone to know. He’s fine. He read the letter and took it well. He’s helping Bakugou because Bakugou asked. Uraraka will be there with them soon. He’s fine. He does not miss Izuku more than he ought to.

He scrolls through the list of songs. There really are too many. However, nothing seems to be amiss. He sighs and finds his chair. Ready to go back to the task at hand.

But, Bakugou speaks first, “that’s Deku’s shitty attempt at a mixtape isn’t it?”

“It’s not shitty.” 

“He’s not DJ-ing my wedding.” 

“We’re sixteen.” 

“Tch,” Bakugou clicks his tongue. “But he’s the one who made it for you right? You didn’t start obsessively carrying those headphones until after Christmas, and you and him were always whispering about songs, keeping me awake all night during our internship.”

Shouto doesn’t want to admit he’s right, covering his phone with his hand. He’s not sure how much more disappointment he can take. The playlist is the only thing he has left that is truly just his from Izuku. If he finds out he is just one of many who has access to it, he’d probably break.

But somehow, Bakugou’s expression reveals sincerity. Bakugou might have been quick to dismiss it, but he misses Izuku too. In a way that might not have resembled the rest of the class or Shouto. But it’s still grief. If Bakugou had something like this, he’d keep it close too—or maybe he would delete it out of spite. Show Izuku exactly how little he needed him also—though that didn’t make much sense anymore. Bakugou was leading the charge in bringing Izuku back.

After a long stretch of silence, Shouto nods. He curls his fingers around his phone. He knows better than to lift his palm, check and hope beyond doubt that there is a hidden notification among it all. 

“He found out I didn’t listen to music and wanted to change it. It’s a work in progress. I’m supposed to tell him what songs I like and dislike and work out any kinks that come along the way.”

“And let me guess, you haven’t told him that you’ve disliked any of the songs.” 

For someone who claims he didn’t want to be Shouto’s friend, Bakugou sure was perceptive when it came to these types of things. 

He is right. Shouto doesn’t want to delete any of the songs, even if he likes some more than others. All of them are important to Izuku. It makes them important to him. Especially, when Izuku added a new song to the batch and then waited to ask Shouto what he thought about it. Izuku shined whenever Shouto commented on a part he liked in them. It made them important to Shouto. The playlist itself important to Shouto, just maybe not so meaningful to Izuku. 

“They’re good songs,” Shouto reasons. 

“Okay,” Bakugou says, “then scoot over and give me one of those.” He points to the earbud still dangling from Shouto’s neck. “I’ll let you know how he did and then I’ll tell you all the songs you should be listening to instead.”

Shouto obliges. If anything, to share with Bakugou what little of Izuku they have still. It’s perhaps too obvious in his expression. 

Just as Bakugou is fixing the earbud in place he says, “we’re going to bring him back. He has to pay for assaulting my ears with this crap.” 

Shouto can respond, again, defending Izuku’s song choices, but he knows as Bakugou concentrates—seemingly on the paper in front of him, but actually on the song that comes on next—that Bakugou needs this too, just until Izuku comes back home. 

Hey, Nerd. Icy Hot locked me in a closet with a microphone and told me if I didn’t say something nice, he wasn’t going to spar with me again—so just know this whole bullshit plan is his idea. However, I stand by my choices. My songs are fucking great. So you better take the time and listen, put down the pencil, shut your goddamn notebook, and just relax for once in your life. The world's not going to fall apart without you; we won’t let it. 

Fucking enjoy or whatever. 

The water runs down Shouto’s body to the drain, clear. Unsatisfying to watch. While his father gets to go out and come back covered in grime like a badge, marking all he has done, or the way fear and ash covers citizens, seeking shelter from an unsafe world, Shouto is kept clean. He is kept apart. No one says who they’re attempting to keep safe with this development. Cementos is in the process of building another shelter for UA students, but, until then, almost everyone has gone to see their parents, intermingling with the crowd, who whisper about them behind raised hands. Nothing bad, save for the lies they tell about Izuku. 

Shouto’s not around to hear what they have to say about him. There’s a reason he’s alone. Sequestered to a forgotten corner with only his family, until Bakugou sends him the message, and they begin. Before he left, Bakugou was certain that the plan would work. Uraraka was too. Adamant that if they just kept pushing, something would give. 

But still. 

Shouto kneels, wrapping his arms around his chest. An old familiar stance he hadn’t made since he was a child and had no other way to face the bleeding and the scars that reached places he could not see. The echoes of taunts he tried not to hear. Only, now, it isn’t his father's jeers but scenarios that have yet to happen, though inevitable.

Shouto had discovered a few things in the last few days before they all left UA’s dorms to make room for civilians. Bakugou and Uraraka’s letters are different than the rest.

Uraraka admitted it first, citing it as a reason why they had to act now as opposed to waiting longer. Izuku needed them. He just didn’t realize how much. 

Bakugou’s was a mistake. He didn't want the class to know; therefore, only Shouto, and Izuku, knew. A throwaway line about a reference to a childhood memory that had annoyed Bakugou enough he snapped about it a handful of days later while they were training their quirks.

Shouto had reassured Bakugou he wouldn’t tell anyone. Quietly, he told himself that out of the whole class, it made the most sense for Bakugou’s letter to be different. There was a history there that Shouto knew nothing of. 

Uraraka’s made sense too. She was Izuku’s first friend. There was no reason to acknowledge who Shouto’s first real friend was. It didn’t matter. It didn’t.

Shouto presses against himself tighter. Really, if Shouto wasn’t a Todoroki—accessible to the Number One Hero—the class wouldn’t need him. Bakugou doesn’t need to tell Shouto when they are leaving. He doesn’t need to be there. What can Shouto say or do, to convince Izuku he needs to come back? That Shouto needs him?

The whole class does.

Shouto isn’t original in that regard. 

That his heart is confused and mistook passing friendship for something more? Wishing for more, which he can’t pinpoint because the world has gone to shit, and the one person he trusts to make sure there is always a little hope, has up and left him behind because he doesn’t think anyone is strong enough to stand beside him? Least of all Shouto.

Shouto sucks in a desperate breath of air. His limbs shake, and his face is warm. At least in the safety of a shower, there’s no evidence if he cries. But cry for what? The unwritten lines in a letter that spoke about the truth about One for All?

You don’t matter to me Todoroki-kun. 

We’re just friends. One of many in our class. 

Your brother’s a villain. Your dad’s a disgrace. Why would I ever reveal anything to you? 

Open up to you?

If I never saw you again, that would be okay. 

Shouto’s skin is pruned and waterlogged when he shuts off the water. He dries himself with stiff limbs, pulling on a shirt and some sweatpants, pausing the song on his phone. The songs about grief, Shouto does like. Each one is worth putting on repeat. Finally, understanding what Izuku meant when he added them. 

He shoves his phone in his pocket and shuts off the light. He expects to find an empty hall how he left it. He finds his sister there instead. Fuyumi stands, holding her arm above her elbow, unsure as she bites her lip. Her hair is down. Shouto can’t remember the last time he saw his sister with her hair down. 

“I’m sorry, were you waiting long?”

She tucks a piece of hair behind her ear. “It’s pretty late.”

Shouto nods, but he’s never been one to get to bed early and stay asleep. Hawks said it was important that their family present as a united front, but Shouto has trouble truly placing himself in that image. It was always either a picture of him and his father at some hero event Shouto was too young to be at or Natsuo, Fuyumi, and Touya with a maid. Though if he’s close to anyone in that house, barring his mom, it would be Fuyumi. Unlike her brothers who left, Fuyumi stayed put. 

“Do you want some tea,” Fuyumi continues, “I was making a pot when I heard the shower. It’s a little presumptuous, but I just thought.”

More than anything, Shouto wants to go to his strange room with its gray walls and western-style bed, lay on the unfamiliar mattress, listen to whatever other songs come on next on the playlist, and fall asleep unbothered by the actions of a friend, maybe not-friend. 

But Fuyumi’s eyes are pleading. Round and wide under her glasses. So, Shouto agrees, following her down a short hall to the kitchen living room combo, far smaller than any room in their father’s house. The tea is off of the burner. Steam wafts up from it. Fuyumi instructs Shouto to sit at the barstool before pouring them both a cup, sitting beside him. 

From there, the silence grows. Shouto wonders if she is expecting an apology from him. Sorry, I didn’t bring him home. Sorry, I was born at all, which caused him to leave. Sorry, I caused all of this. 

Fuyumi doesn’t, though. She says, picking at the edge of the mug. “That song you were listening to, that last one. I used to listen to it obsessively when my first boyfriend broke up with me back in high school.”

“You had a boyfriend?” It’s out of his mouth before Shouto can dwell on it. Fuyumi’s in her twenties, of course, and she had a boyfriend. 

“Several, actually,” she says, “but the first one hurt the most when we broke up, which might be just because I thought it was true love,” she shakes her hand, dismissing the thought. “I had just thought maybe—I know people listen to different types of songs for all sorts of reasons—but that maybe you were in a relationship, and it was rocky, and if you needed to vent, I can be here to listen.”

Shouto’s lucky he isn’t sipping his tea as his sister finishes his statement because he would have choked. He can feel ice, creeping to the opposite side of his body to cool him down as he shakes his head.

“Nope. No relationships.” He says, “a little too hard for that considering it’s the end of the world.” 

Fuyumi just looks sad at the statement. “You’re sixteen, Shou, you’re allowed to be a child and go on silly carnival dates, no matter what responsibility people put on you. You should get to enjoy your youth too.” 

There’s a ferocity in her eyes that’s familiar to their fathers. But, her statement is nothing close to what their father asks of him. Fuyumi is asking him to do something for the sake of himself, not the sake of his future career or legacy. The look filters out as Fuyumi continues.

“Are there really no girls in your class that you find just a bit cute? You’ve been with that Uraraka-kun girl a lot these past couple days and she’s seems nice.” 

Shouto shakes his head before she was done, saying, “we’re just friend. Really, there’s no one. It was just a song someone recommended, that’s why I was listening to it.”

“Okay,” she says, “I just don’t want you to hold yourself back because you didn’t get the chance to know what real love feels like growing up.”

Shouto ponders how much he should and should not reveal to his sister. The notion that he thought, maybe, maybe he did know. That he could name the fluttering in his heart as something more than gentle friendship. 

However, he did read that wrong. 

Shouto is comfortable in his heart's ability to yearn for something he never grew up having, but not in its ability to see if those same feelings were reciprocated. 

It would have been easier if Shouto had got over himself two months ago and asked Izuku. At least then, the embarrassment would have been easier to get over than this disappointment with no resolution.

“You’re thinking too hard,” Fuyumi says, “if you’re not careful your face is going to get stuck like that.”

“No it’s not.” 

Fuyumi hides her smile around the brim of her teacup. Out of all of his family, Fuyumi is the safest. She has always been the safest. She used to hide him in her closet when they were little. Later she talked him through applying burn creams through the door to the bathroom back when they weren’t allowed to speak—she took care of his first burn when their father couldn’t stand the sight of him. She made his favorite food whenever she knew he didn’t like what their father requested.

“There is someone,” he says, interested in the pale counter ahead of him. “But we’re not dating or broken up. We’ll probably never be.”

Fuyumi’s body frowns, and she pushes the cup away from herself. “I’m sure that’s not true. You’re a catch. Anyone in your class would be lucky to have you. I say you text one of your friends. That angry one, Bakugou-kun, and see about setting up a meeting. I used to sneak you out all the time, I’m sure I can do it again. You can go find your mystery person and tell them how you feel. After all, it’s times like these where people need to be told that they’re loved—or at least liked. You’re a little to young for love.”

Shouto frowns, pressing his hands tight against the cup. He doesn’t want to disappoint his sister, who seems eager, already forming a plan, an outfit, picnic basket, or another meal, something grand to admit his feelings over.

“I can’t really do that.”

“Nonsense. I know it might be scary but—

“They’re not here. They’re not at UA.” 

Fuyumi gets it without having to have him specify. Technically, Shouto knows several people who don’t go to UA. The Shiketsu students or that kid he met in Europe. But Fuyumi’s not looking at him like she’s sad he can’t write a pen pal. She’s looking at him like she knows.

Maybe Shouto’s always has been obvious, and this is Izuku’s kindest way to turn him down by not saying anything at all. 

“Oh, Shouto.” 

Shouto rubs his cheek, but the shower had all his tears. He can ignore the way his eyes burn. He’s done it enough. 

“It’s okay,” he says, “the class, we, have a plan. I know he’s not going to be gone forever.”

Fuyumi reaches between them and pulls his hand into hers. They’re ice cold but familiar.

“I’m sure he feels the same way about you. He’s probably convinced himself that he’s protecting you by being gone. He is a hero after all.” 

Shouto tries to smile in a way that lies to his sister about how he feels. He knows Izuku doesn’t. He has a stupid letter proving just that. Luckily, Fuyumi hasn’t read it. She will never know that he keeps it safe because even if it's cruel, it’s something Shouto has left—at the bottom of his duffle, looking far more worn than a handful of days he’s had it.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” he says. Grateful that his voice at least gets to sound sure. “He’s the one who recommended the song to me, actually. A whole playlist of them so that I could start to figure out my music taste.”

“Have you?”

Shouto shakes his head. “There’s a lot of songs.”

“He’s being thorough then.” 

“You could say that.” 

Izuku had a whole notebook dedicated to the subject with lists and charts that he was planning on transferring to his computer sometime around the start of the summer. Shouto doesn’t know why, but that was the end goal. 

Shouto doesn’t want to think about it anymore, not about Izuku, so he changes gears.

“What songs would you recommend?”

Fuyumi smiles, it’s knowing, but she lets it be. He is grateful to her. Will always be grateful to her. “Well, besides crying my heart out to the latest breakup song, there’s this new pop song I really like…” 

“Right here,” Izuku said, dropping the picnic basket. The park they were in wasn’t an actual park. They were in one of the many mock cityscapes that UA had for training, but since there was snow on the ground, they couldn’t exactly go on a picnic, checking off one of Izuku’s more errant requests. Shouto didn’t know why they couldn’t just wait, but Izuku had woken up with extra energy that day, and he took one look at the word picnic and practically demanded that they go on one. 

Demanded was probably too strong of a word. If Shouto didn’t want to go, Izuku would have let him say so. But Shouto relished any opportunity that allowed him to hang out with Izuku without the rest of the class or even their friend group. There was an extra thrill in captivating all of Izuku’s attention. Especially when he did something that made Izuku smile, or greater yet, laugh.

Shouto unfolded the blanket he had brought with them, spreading it out. As soon as he could, Izuku sat down, diving for the basket and pulling out everything they needed. It was sort of a mess of snacks, two misshaped sandwiches, an eclectic assortment of drinks, and paper plates. Shouto grabbed a carton of juice, leaning back as Izuku muddled over everything they had grabbed from the dorms until he was satisfied. He chose a soda from the pile, snapping the lid open before turning to Shouto. 

“What do you want to start with first?”

Shouto eyed all the food. There was no way they would eat it all, even with Izuku’s enormous appetite.

“Sandwiches?”

“Good call,” he said, “then we can graze on the other stuff when we’re done.” 

While Shouto started taking his sandwich out of its foil, Izuku fiddled with his phone before playing a new song. It was different than the last batch, inherently sad and full of longing. Izuku beat him to answer the question before asking it. 

“I added some break-up/ballad-ish songs to the playlist—in the nature of making sure we have a good array of music covering all feelings and what not. They might have been my favorite songs to listen to back in the day.”

Compared to the last batch of songs, the one that was playing was a lot softer than the drums and rock music of the songs Izuku classified as “angry.” He balanced his sandwich on his knee and pulled the closest bag of chips to him. As he opened it, he said, “I didn’t know you had a girlfriend in middle school.” 

Izuku coughed, shooing Shouto off when he asked if he was okay while chugging his soda. While Izuku got a hold of himself, Shouto continued. Albeit, he kept his attention on Izuku in case the other wasn’t okay, and he’d have to do something drastic, like CPR.

“I don’t see why anyone would break up with you,” he said, “you know so much, and you got that smile, and you’re super nice. They’d be foolish,” and stupid. While Izuku had managed to stop coughing, his flushed cheeks didn’t immediately subside. 

Finding his voice, he corrected Shouto, “I didn’t—I don’t. No one’s ever broken up with me. I’ve never broken up with anyone. Then or now. I’ve never been on a date or know how to date, or how to be romantic or kiss,” Izuku sucked in a deep breath, working himself up, “I’d be a bad boyfriend. Who doesn’t know how to kiss?”

“I don’t,” Shouto said, “but then again, I don’t know a lot of things.”

Hence the picnic, the playlist, the movies, and the trips to the store where Izuku showed him where all the coolest action figures were. All Shouto knew how to do was fight. He was bred for that. 

“Hey,” Izuku said, serious, “we’re getting there, right? We just got to add one more thing to the list: Learn how to Kiss. It shouldn’t be too hard for you with the whole,” he waved his hand toward Shouto but did not elaborate on that further. 

Shouto almost offered to practice with Izuku—Izuku was the one teaching him most things, it stood to reason he could teach him this too—but Izuku had a nasty habit of wanting everything to be perfect. He’d want to go out and collect “data” or something else absurd and then return to Shouto. The idea of Izuku kissing several other faceless blobs settled in the pit of Shouto’s stomach. 

“Anyways,” Izuku said, searching the food, “romantic breakups aren’t the only types of breaups there are. I, uh, mostly listened to them when I was missing my friends, people that outgrew me back then.” 

It was a peculiar way to word it. Izuku closed himself differently than the immediate panic of denying he ever dated anyone. Izuku's past was a cloudy thing. Sometimes Shouto thought he could make his way through it but other times found himself lost. Lost without knowing what it even was he was looking for. He wished Izuku would open up a bit more. Give words to the reason why he shrunk away from loud noises or never seemed to stop apologizing for even the smallest of issues. Izuku knew all the reasons Shouto did. Shouto gave that freely. However, he wouldn’t push Izuku to give it up to him either. Even if he wished he did.

All Shouto could do was reassure.

“I won’t outgrow you, Midoriya,” Shouto said, “I will never break up with you, friendship or otherwise.”

Perhaps too hefty for kettle popcorn and candy shaped like fishes. It got Izuku back on him and not lost in a vision of the past that made him look older—the tightness of skin that fear acquires—and younger—the way a child looked when they were facing something they could not defeat. It slowly dissipated as Izuku took in what he said, grabbing the nearest bag and pulling it open. The blush that filled his cheeks now rosed.

“I won’t break our friendship either, Todoroki-kun,” he said, picking out a sour candy and shoving it in his mouth, grinning around his fingers as he said, “or otherwise.”

Gosh. I don’t know what to say. Shouto said I could say anything, and you’d probably adore it, but I don’t know about that—who cares about what their best friend's lame older sister says? But this is important to Shou…you’re important to Shou, and I hate to disappoint him. 

These are my favorite songs. Each one with a particularly fond or not so fond memory. Which I guess that’s the beauty of music, finding the wonder amidst all that pain. Being able to enjoy life and love even in the face of despair. Or, maybe it means nothing at all. That’s for you to decide.

As always, Thank-you, Midoriya-kun.

Shouto got to see Izuku dance in March.

He pushed open Izuku's bedroom door with his foot, holding too many textbooks for their upcoming finals, and was met with an upbeat song in English. For a boy who claimed he struggled at English, Izuku was not struggling now—though forgetting their routined study session every day at this time. Izuku's back was to him, and he was holding a pencil like a mock microphone singing with the lyrics, playing from his phone at his desk. 

Shouto froze. Not because he was scared he'd get caught, seeing something he wasn't supposed to, but because he was struck. Izuku leaned back, singing the last lyric of the song. The full afternoon sun behind him made him glow, making him ethereal. Completely relaxed, in a novelty t-shirt and All Might boxers. The effort it took to be embarrassed by openly staring at his friend, suffocated by the all-encompassing want. 

All he wanted. 

Izuku, happy, singing in his room in his underwear. 

It was a strange want. 

Something he was beginning to unpack day-by-day. But there'd be their second year, third year. The whole of their careers where they'd be fighting side-by-side because the truth of it was that Shouto wanted to be wherever Izuku was. So far, it seemed like he would let him. 

Shouto cleared his throat. Izuku jumped four feet in the air and screeched. Some unseen force seemed to keep him up there a bit longer than gravity should allow, but leave it to Izuku to figure out how to defeat the laws of physics. He fell to the ground on the balls of his feet. 

"Please tell me you just walked in and didn't see anything?"

Shouto walked further into Izuku's room, shutting the door.

"You mean how I'm officially calling you a liar and questioning everything you’ve ever said to me?"

"It's not like that." 

"That looked like dancing to me." Shouto made sure his incredulous look was properly situated on his face with one singular raised red eyebrow. 

"Hey, I said I dance in my room alone." Izuku said, "you can't hold that against me." 

"It seemed a little bit more put together than simple, ‘tapping your toes,’” Shouto quoted.

"That's because it wasn't," Izuku muttered, staring at his feet. "But that's not because I'm a good dancer, I just know one thing." For emphasis, he raised one finger. 

Shouto nodded, dropping his books to the ground before sitting crisscrossed next to the bed, looking up expectantly for Izuku to continue. Izuku didn't appear that he wanted to or, at least, was debating himself from launching into a tirade. As if that would stop him.

"I didn't have a lot of movies growing up and one of the ones we did have, was one of my mom's favorite. She used to play it all the time and they danced to songs in it and I thought one day that it'd be nice to surprise her by performing a talent show—all contestants may have been just me with different t-shirts on—and one of my performances was to this song where I learned all the movies choreography and everything, which I really should've forgotten by now, but whenever I need a pick-me-up it's my go too song. Maybe not my favorite but up there."

"Can you add it to the playlist?"

Shouto wasn't going to promise he'd ever learn to dance it. But he wanted to remember that still image of Izuku, and what better way than through the song that created it? 

"Really?"

Shouto frowned, tilting his head, "why wouldn't I want it on the playlist, I've liked all the songs you've recommended." 

Izuku gave him a look that implied that very thing was a problem. Shouto did not care. He could not find it in himself to care. Now, when Izuku asked him what he was listening to, he'd get twice as excited when Shouto not only told him the name of the song but the piece—lyric, accompaniment, etc.—that he specifically liked. Shouto was starting to see what he was missing before when he used to avoid music. 

"Musicals aren't everyone's favorite thing, and they can vary widely from one another. In sound, tone, quality. And really, you should experience a whole musical before picking and choosing random songs. They tell stories—well all songs tell stories—but the purpose of a musical is different." 

"Then tell me how." 

Izuku froze, mid-arm raised, "What?"

Shouto pushed himself off the floor to stand.  He grabbed Izuku's hand, trapping them in his own. Considering all the music Izuku had given Shouto so far, it didn’t seem like that big of a request. Izuku showed Shouto how to do things—that’s just how it was. They went to parks and museums, watched YouTube videos, and listened to songs. All the things friends got to do—the things missing from Shouto’s life before. Izuku was a natural at it.

Something changed in Izuku’s expression, part disbelief, part resolve. As if in the half-a-minute Shouto sat there holding their hands, he discovered a great secret.

“You really do want to know, huh?”

“I thought that was obvious. You're a great teacher Midoriya.”

Izuku tilted his head, causing a curl to fall between his eyes. “Just a teacher, nothing else?”

Shouto swallowed, noting how his hands might have been sweaty, and how it probably felt gross to have wrapped around. But Shouto couldn’t get himself to let go of Izuku’s hands. He liked this prolonged contact—he never liked prolonged contact.

“My friend.” After a moment. “My closest friend.” 

“Best friend?” Izuku was searching for something in that. Shouto found himself searching too. The sound of best friend was nice. Its shape was tangible and whole. But it was missing something. It didn’t encompass all that was Shouto’s rapidly beating heart at that moment. What he could see in Izuku as he drew himself closer.

“You're my favorite person,” was what he ended up settling on. 

Izuku blinked twice as if he couldn’t quite believe it, then he broke into the biggest grin Shouto had ever seen—and Shouto had thought he had seen the grandest of them. 

“You’re my favorite person too, Todoroki-kun. I—,” Izuku chuckled, cutting himself off. “You're very special to me. Don’t ever doubt that.”

A week-and-a-half later, there was a letter under Shouto’s door. It did not say any of that.

Maybe Shouto shouldn’t have expected it to have. 

“Excuse me, uhh, Todoroki Shouto-kun?”

Shouto halts, taking a deep breath. He’s the fool thinking he can walk down the halls without being spotted. Bakugou is already itchy. He doesn’t need to be exasperated by Shouto’s tardiness. But Shouto is an easy target. Even in the new dorms, while his class didn’t treat him any differently, the other students certainly did. They eyed him as if they were just waiting for him to attack, reveal himself as some sort of traitor, and destroy what little the heroes had left. It rolled in Shouto’s stomach.

But it’s rude to anticipate resentment. Shouto has not so easily fallen back to old habits. 

“Yes?” He turns, finding an older woman, far shorter than him, with green hair and worry lines.

With his attention on her, the woman falters, eyes fleeting elsewhere as she scratches her face. In his hand, his phone buzzes again. He is going to get it now. Luckily, the woman seems to strengthen her resolve. 

“You are Izuku’s friend, right?” Shouto isn’t sure what part he stiffens at. The easy way she says Izuku or the word “friend.” Did people see him and assume he and Izuku were friends? Or was it something more basic? Shouto and Izuku were in the same class; therefore, they were friends. 

He nods regardless. 

The woman relaxes, “Oh, good. I’ve been trying to find you. But then everything happened, and they said civilians couldn’t speak to your family, but I had made a promise, so I was hoping to find you.”

“A promise?”

Understanding paints her face. “For Izuku, dear, he’s my son,” she pushes her hand between them, “I’m Inko.”

If the green hair didn’t give her away, her mannerism should have; they were just like Izuku’s. Shouto shakes her hand, trying not to appear as dumbfounded as he felt. 

The only proper conclusion he can make as to why she is here now is that somehow she blames him for Izuku leaving. Maybe if he hadn’t avoided Izuku’s hospital room so much and was there when he woke up, he could have convinced him to abandon this martyr’s quest. He doesn’t think Izuku would have listened to him, only that he wouldn’t have been able to do anything to keep Shouto from following him. Shouto would follow him anywhere. 

“I’m sorry, Inko-san, it’s been a long day.” 

“I’m sure it has, you heroes in training rarely get a day off. Izuku always did say you worked twice as hard as anyone else.”

If anyone worked hard, that was Izuku. Where Shouto had thought he had struggled to learn half of his quirk, Izuku had started at square one, and then blew past everyone in months. He was amazing. Shouto already knew that.

“I’m sure Midoriya says everyone in class works hard,” he says, “he does too. He’s a great hero.” 

“Yes, he does mention them from time to time. I’m grateful to Uraraka-kun and Iida-kun. They were very kind when we were all waiting in the hospital for him to wake up.”

Shouto focuses on his shoes to keep the world from shifting sideways. “Well, they were his first friends. They know him best, after Bakugou.”

“Possibility,” Inko says, “but Izuku talked about you the most. You should have saw him when he first woke up. He barely registered his own injuries before he was asking about the class, Katsuki-kun, and you. He said you were hurt the worse and shouldn’t be left on your own. Toshinori said that you weren’t and he relaxed a bit after that.”

Izuku being concerned about others' well-being was not new. While he disappeared without telling anyone, that didn’t mean he stopped caring about the class. He cared too much that was why he was gone.

But, “I wasn’t the most injured,” Shouto says, “with healing quirks I was back to normal in under a few days.” 

“Izuku wasn’t worried about your injury, dear.”

No, of course not. One of the last fights Izuku was coherent enough to see was between Shouto and his undead brother.

“Yeah, well, that’s taken care of too. I’m good.”

Inko may know he’s lying, but she just smiles at him instead.

“Are you going somewhere,” she asks, “I can walk with you a bit.” 

Shouto nods. He can't form the words that tell Inko that he's on his way to find her son. Inko had seemed to accept whatever had happened to Izuku. Likely because she knew what exactly it was and how he had left. Shouto doesn’t know if that makes it better or not.

“As I was saying,” Inko continues once they’re moving. “Izuku wanted to speak with you. I think he was worried about how you would take it—I think he was worried the most about what you’d think of him.” 

If Izuku is worried about him, his letter wouldn’t have been so cold.

“I’m not mad at him for keeping it a secret. I understand.” 

“That’s not what he was worried about,” she frowns. “You children are facing something I’ve always been lucky enough to avoid. Heroes with heroes' hearts. But at the end of the day, you still are just children. Strong children yes, but scared. Scared about the things that any normal sixteen-year-old would be scared of.” 

“Izuku doesn’t run when he's scared,” Shouto says, which is true. Every time Shouto has seen that swell of panic crashing against a rocky shore, Izuku has slowed, retook the playing field, and overcome it. Even when they were feet away from All for One last summer, Izuku was the first person to start delegating a plan of action to save Bakugou.

“I think he is scared when it comes to this,” Inko says, “nervous at the very least. You’re very special to him, Shouto-kun. He doesn’t want to lose you.” 

He left. 

He left Shouto behind in a hospital with no warning. No way to get in touch with him. 

He’s gone, and not even Bakugou is completely confident that they’ll be able to convince him to come back.

“So, he plans to come back,” Shouto tries.

“Yes,” Inko says, “he and All Might made that very clear once they were done. However, Izuku’s not scared about that, though I wish he would be. He’s scared of something else that he would not say, though my intuition knows to be true. You care about him a lot too, don’t you.”

Izuku is the closest person to him. 

His person. 

He—it doesn’t matter how he felt about Izuku. Izuku doesn’t feel the same way. It’s just taking time for his heart to pick up on the memo. And as it is, he’ll probably always care about Izuku. No matter what. 

Inko is still waiting for his reply, watching him respectfully as they walk. He nods first before he says, “he was my first friend. I don’t know what I’d do without him.” 

“He’ll be back,” Inko says, “after all, if I’ve learned anything from your class, you all already have a plan to bring him back home.” 

Shouto can’t confirm or deny that statement. Too wary of adults who might attempt to stop them. All Might catching wind and warning Izuku. Izuku somehow watching them and preemptively moving further away before they could even reach a hand out. 

“Just when he gets back, forgive him for being scared. He’ll tell you one day why—Izuku’s never been good at containing his heart.” 

“I will.” Because no matter what Izuku has done, Shouto cannot hate him. He cannot despise him and push him away. He will sit in his room and wait, lie to himself that one-day things will go exactly back to the way they were—if not exactly back to before, just to be able to experience anything new with him once more. 

They still have a way to walk until Shouto gets to where he needs to be, but Inko doesn’t seem to have anything else to add.

Shouto can’t accept the silence, though. Especially, so heavy as it is. He asks, “is it true that Midoriya used to learn the dances to your favorite musical’s growing up.” 

All at once, Inko brightens. “He told you that?” She laughs, saying under her breath, “of course, he did,” and then louder, “Yes, yes he did. I have a recording of one or two. I’ll have to show you them one of these days. He was a firecracker back then.” 

“I’d like that.” 

They walk a half or a meter more or so, before he’s asking, “Inko-san, what other songs are your favorite.” 

Like her son, she’s all too eager to share. 

Hi Love, it's mom. I don’t think there’s a single song here that you will be surprised to hear, but Shouto-kun, such a sweetheart, was so earnest when he asked. I couldn’t stand to disappoint him. So, here they are, my favorite songs. 

Much love, Izuku.

The class does as they promise; they save Izuku.

Shouto watches from afar. 

“What’s that song you’re humming Todoroki-kun?”

Shouto stopped, only now realizing he was making noise, to begin with. They’re in his room though they usually study in Izuku’s, and Shouto was not facing Izuku, lulling him into a sort of comfort—granted, he could see Izuku out of the corner of his eye, and Izuku was never silent.

“It’s nice,” Izuku continued, “like a summer afternoon. It makes sense that you would listen to pretty music.” Izuku was staring off, leaning on his hands that were spread behind him. “What other songs do you listen to?”

Shouto looked at his pen. There was a novelty All Might on the cap, which stared up at him with a big grin. It matched the All Might notebook he was using, one he only used for homework in an attempt to make it last longer.

“I don’t listen to any other songs,” he said, “I don’t even listen to that song.” He turned All Might’s face in a different direction. “Is that weird?”

Izuku didn’t immediately respond. Shouto was scared to face him. Not because Izuku would easily ridicule him, point, and laugh, but because the look Izuku got just before he decided to upend Shouto’s world was always the same. It hurt to hurt Izuku, even through something as soft as an admittance of the things he missed growing up.

Izuku grabbed the notebook from Shouto’s lap and then the pen, setting them aside. On his knees, he said, “nothing you do is weird, Todoroki-kun. Look at it this way, we just have another task to tackle. What’s the name of the song? We can start there.”

Shouto did not know the words to it. He barely remembered a melody. It was something his mom used to play from time to time, carrying him on her hip while she maintained the house while his father was gone. She’d sing the song into his cheek, making him giggle before pulling away again to sing the next verse.

Izuku understood as soon as Shouto’s finished saying such, though he was quick to rectify it. “I’ll ask her when I see her next. I’m sorry.”

Izuku shrugged, saying, “don’t be,” before he jumped up, heading toward his backpack. Shouto recognized the notebook he pulled out. It was the one with all the list of movies Shouto was slowly working his way through. Izuku flipped to a different page, somewhere in the middle, sitting crisscrossed next to him. 

“We’re just going to have to start off fresh. If you think about listening to music, what sound or type do you think you’d be drawn too? Like has there ever been something playing in the Common Room that’s made you pause and just take in.”

When anyone else played music, Shouto tuned it out. Save for one time, when Izuku’s headphones weren’t in his phone, and it took him half a song to figure it out. That song sounded nice. It was something that made Izuku smile around the tip of his pencil before he realized his mistake. 

“Whatever you listen to, would be fine.”

“Yeah, but just listening to my music might get boring.” Shouto doubted that. Nothing Izuku did was boring. “But,” Izuku eventually said, “it may be the easiest to start there. Though, you have to get the name of the song from your mom. I want to know your favorite song too and when we’re done with my favorite music, we’re going to tackle the rest of the class. No stone is going to go uncovered.” 

“Okay,” Shouto said, “I will.” 

Satisfied, Izuku returned to his notebook, titling the top of the page, “My Songs for Shouto :)” before numbering the rest of the lines. 

“The first song,” he said, “is for happiness.” 

One by one, the class disperses after it’s clear Izuku will not wake again. While they did a better job hiding their fatigue, it is clear that after the fight, the rain, and the civilians, they wanted nothing more than to collapse in their new bedrooms and fall fast asleep. Izuku looks to need it too, listing towards his right. If he stayed like that all night, he’d be in pain the next day. Gently, Shouto tucks the blanket around him before he lifts Izuku off the couch.

In the elevator, he leans against the wall. The railing digs into his back, and if he pulls Izuku a little bit closer, no one is there to reveal him. 

Izuku doesn’t smell familiar. He used someone else’s shampoo instead of his, which was a bit sweet and buttery. He mumbles in his sleep, non-sensical, which is familiar. Shouto holds his breath, watching the number switch from one to two, wishing that it lasts longer than it does. He knows, inevitably, he will have to leave Izuku in a room bare of all things Izuku and go back to his room and fight nightmares, which state that they had failed.

Izuku’s muttering gets more consistent, a quiet “Shouto” against his chest. As the elevator opens, Izuku opens his eyes, blurry with sleep.

“Go back to sleep, Midoriya.” 

Izuku shakes his head, “I have to apologize. I can’t sleep.”

Shouto adjusts his hold on Izuku, walking down the hall as he assures him. “You already apologized to All Might. He forgave you. It’s going to be alright now.”

“He’s not the one I’m talking about.” 

Shouto has to stop because they’ve reached Izuku’s room. He doesn’t need to look into Izuku’s eyes, furrowed brows, and frowning face to get who is unspoken. Though, Shouto does not need it. All he wants is for Izuku to be safe. If he could have more than that, be happy. Being back at UA at least accomplished part of that.

“It’s okay.” 

“It’s not—

“I’m not mad at you,” he settles on, managing to open the door. He leaves it open and heads to the bed without grabbing the light, knowing that it will be what wakes Izuku up for good. He doesn’t want to have this talk, argument, or confession right now. He can’t focus on any of it without the possibility of breaking down because he’s scared. He’s scared that Izuku will admit what he’s accepted since he left.

I mean nothing to you; you mean everything to me.

It’s dangerous, counterproductive, and they have more important things to battle than shitty 16-year-old emotions. Shouto will get over it. He will.

“I don’t believe you,” Izuku says. “You’re quiet.” 

“I’m always quiet.” 

Izuku shakes his head, blinking into the pillow, trying to wake up properly. “Not with me.” 

If Izuku already knew, Shouto will face it another day. Not tonight. Izuku needed rest tonight.

“Look,” Shouto says, digging in his pockets until his fingers brush along a small object. He pulls it out. Izuku doesn’t focus on it, still searching him, so Shouto turns it around to show him the holographic sticker on the other side because, given the short notice, it’s all he was able to do. One of the support kids had it. If they didn’t, Shouto’s not sure how he would have found a way to go about it. But he did. A small MP3 player with black headphones, just in case Izuku doesn’t have his own. “If I was mad at you, I wouldn’t be giving you a gift. I’d be asking you to spar or something.” 

Izuku’s attention does shift to it, and Shouto places it on the table beside his bed.

“Promise me you’ll listen to this tomorrow. Start to finish, no shuffling or skipping.” He takes a deep breath. “And I’ll promise you that I’m not mad.”

“As long as your not mad,” Izuku says, yawning, his eyes drifting close. 

Shouto stays kneeling on the ground a minute or two longer, waiting for Izuku to wake. A part of him almost wants Izuku to fight to say whatever he needs to tell Shouto. Another part of him is relieved that he stays asleep. 

Shouto leaves just as quiet as he had come.

The playlist, start to finish, runs 8 hours, 43 minutes, and 2 seconds. If Izuku starts it at 6 am, when he’s most likely to get up, he won’t be done until mid-afternoon—and that doesn’t take into account things like pausing, eating, talking with their classmates, or the fact that Izuku might be too busy to listen to it all in one go. A conservative two to three-day commitment to get through the whole thing. 

In the end, it's only a little over two-hundred songs. If Shouto was better prepared, he would have asked more people. Every person he came across. As it is, it's five songs each for each student in class A, minus two. Six for a tired mentor who could not make up his mind. Thirty for Izuku's mother, after she decided on a whole production, minus one or two terrible songs as well as eight others that she couldn’t live without. Twelve songs for siblings he did not know but was trying to. Thirty-three from heroes looking for a break. Two from a teacher who told Shouto to stop bothering him as soon as he's done. 

And one from Shouto. An old song he barely remembers, but his mother had played it for him with her hands wrapped around one another, watching the video intently. 

It’s not much. It’s stupid. Shouto doesn’t know the first thing about music or what makes it good. Or how, given everything, that this would even attempt to mend old wounds. If Izuku wishes to throw it out after listening to it, so be it. However, while Izuku claims he does not need the class holding him back, Shouto knows that Izuku does need friends, them. So, he sits and waits. He does not interrupt. 

Hi, Midoriya. 

I don’t know if you’ll ever get this far down. It’s a lot to parse through, and while I think I’m getting good at figuring out your music taste by now, maybe you absolutely hate it when other people recommend you songs. I don’t think that’s true, however. You would have never asked me for my favorite song if that was the case. I hope you enjoy, Midoriya. I hope if you ever decide to leave again, you at least take this bit of us with you because I take yours wherever I go. 

Thank you for sharing them with me and, as requested, my favorite song. 

Izuku wakes mid-morning in a bed, clutching a pillow to his chest, trying to make sense of the bare white walls across from him. The light filters in from partially closed blinds. It doesn’t take him too long to figure out what happened the day prior. The sour taste of risk to be brought to a place like this. But before he can dwell on fluctuating anxiety, he spots something on the nightstand. A sticker first. A cartoon depiction of All Might, one that’s easy to find at a convenience store. Not so easy to find now that the risk of going to a store is life.

He picks up the device. Attached to the backside is a sticky note. In Shouto’s neat handwriting: In order. No Skipping. You promised. Izuku had. Or at least he thinks he had. Shouto carrying him to bed was as much of a dream as it could have been reality. Had Izuku been more lucid last night, he would have sworn he could have made the walk on his own. But half-awake Izuku was more interested in comfort after spending days without. Unbeknownst to Shouto, Izuku had been seeking him out for that very thing for months now.

Saving his frown, he grabs the earbuds and plugs them into the port. He’ll listen to one or two songs and then face the consequences of his actions. He’s still tired and could sleep for another twenty-four hours, but they don’t have time for that. He needs to train and help coordinate an attack strategy. He slides the headphones in. Obviously, he can be used as bait, All for One is still after him, after all, and they can go from there. He presses play. They’ll have to figure out how to separate All for One and Shigaraki, together they’ll be too—

Uraraka’s voice startles him into dropping the device on his lap and looking up, but no one is there. Only a chipper, “Enjoy,” in his ears, followed by a song. Izuku thumbs along the touchpad of the device before going back one. Shouto had said nothing about rewinding in his strict notes. Sure enough, Uraraka is there to greet him as he listens to the message, properly this time, wondering what exactly Shouto had given him. 

A knock wins out against Shouto’s sworn duty that he will get some sleep. It’s not unwelcome; he was expecting to be interrupted at some point today after Izuku had entered their training, enthralled by what he was listening to. The class knows. It's their voices that Izuku is hearing. They let him be as they sparred against one another. At dinner, Izuku hadn’t come down to eat, so Uraraka went to him. Shouto had thought about possibly going to find him after supper, but in the end, he decided against it, hanging out with Sero and Kaminari as they tried to make the best out of a bleak situation.

Shouto opens the door to the room he’s staying in. Izuku stands there, fiddling with the wire to his headphones. It takes him a moment to acknowledge Shouto outright, talking to himself under his breath, before attempting to say anything to Shouto. 

Shouto waits for him for half-a-second longer before asking if he wants to come in. Izuku nods, subdued at such a simple request, mundane, considering if they had been back at UA and the situation normal, Izuku would have stepped in as soon as Shouto opened the door. Right now, Izuku only shuts the door behind him but does not venture further into the space. 

“I owe you an apology.”

“I already told you, I don’t need one. No one needs one.” Shouto says, “we understand. It was a big secret, something to keep a secret.” 

Izuku frowns, saying, “that’s not what I need to apologize for.”

That gets Shouto to pause on his way to his temporary bed. He doesn’t attempt to understand what else Izuku could be apologizing for.

“You listened to the playlist, right?”

Izuku nods twice before pulling it out of his pocket, showing Shouto.

“Then you know, I’m not upset over anything, okay? I have no reason to be.” 

Izuku seems to hear Shouto this time, sighing, before slumping into the wall. Often, Izuku was larger than life. Anyone who saw him fight could attest to that. His whole essence demanded attention; Shouto, unable to look anywhere else since asked.

But there are also these brief instances when Shouto feared that he had no place to overstep or ask, moments when Izuku is so obviously a kid. Shouto’s a kid too, and he feels it. Feels how inadequate they are to be dealing with the things they’ve faced. 

Shouto walks back to the door, sitting down. He knows Izuku’s watching him underneath a halo of hair, but he doesn’t look up. He doesn’t make his presence heavier than it needs to be. 

He asks, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know where to start.” 

Shouto gets that. When he was younger and presented to other heroes, the need to talk always got stuck in the sludge of his throat. The weight of his father’s hand on his shoulder as he hissed in Shouto’s ear to smile more. Shouto’s only rebellion, refusing to do so while older heroes laughed and commented on how stubborn he must be. 

“How about why you think I deserve an apology.” He pats the ground between himself and Izuku’s slippers. Izuku falls, curling his knees against his chest and setting his head on them. He does not look at Shouto, so Shouto does not look at him either. The bare room meets them. 

“You should despise me,” Izuku says. Shouto bites his tongue. No reason to interject as Izuku works this out himself. “I’m a liar—not just with One for All. Even if the class, you, claim to understand that or with disappearing altogether, I’ve been lying to you this whole year since the first time you came to my room, asking for help.”

Shouto doesn’t know what Izuku’s talking about. He isn't sure he remembers his first trip to Izuku’s room. It became the first place he always went after he changed into more comfortable clothes. They studied together, and when they weren’t studying, hung out. 

“I don’t understand,” he says, “you’re a hero, of course, you’re going to help.” 

Izuku exhales, shakes his head in his arms, and doesn’t say anything for a bit. Shouto almost suggests they change the topic to something lighter since he’s uncomfortable. Izuku never has to tell him anything about what happened before high school. He stands by that.

“Not with what you were asking about. I should have just been honest with you from the get go,” Izuku lifts his head, “I don’t know the first thing about being a friend. I don’t know how to watch movies together, or what the best stores are in the mall to waste the afternoon at, or how to plan an ultimate summer weekend trip, or anything really. Well, I do know English, but thats just another lie, because every time I found out you hadn’t done something, I just thought: We could do that together. Even if it was mundane as studying. 

“I just like watching you earnestly take it all in, making those notes that you do whenever you learn anything new, so that you can do it at a later time with someone else, someone who did get it, and, and, you’d leave me behind too. So, I just kept jumping at any opportunity I could get. The playlist is just my latest attempt at keeping you close. It’s stupid. I’m stupid. You’re already ten times better at being a friend than me.”

Izuku falls silent, rubbing his face on his knee. It’s something Shouto didn’t expect to hear. Izuku, worried about losing Shouto? Izuku had left Shouto. He left Shouto with nothing save a playlist, a list of some tv shows to watch, and a letter. But just as Shouto is about to bring that up in a quick retort, he stops himself. Izuku already felt like he was a shitty friend. There's no reason to exasperate the issue. It didn’t do anything.

“I don’t care that you didn’t have friends before coming to UA,” Shouto says, “I didn’t come to you because I thought you’d be the best at it, but because you're my favorite person to be around, and you were always excited to show me something new.” 

“Not out of the goodness of my heart.” 

“Because you wanted a friend.” Shouto points out. “I wanted one too.” 

Izuku chews on his lip, eyes downcast. Even with sleep, they are dark, bruised, and weary. But if anything, Izuku is brave, saying, “I want more from you than friendship, Shouto-kun. I did ruin that. I couldn’t even,” he shakes his head.

“Uraraka-kun said that when we were in the hospital you were already asking people for their favorite music, and the day after I left, you asked her to help you make a playlist and then record a little message. I hurt you, yet you were still trying to do something for me. Why?”

Because whatever’s hurting Izuku has been hurting him far longer than the brief signature at the bottom of a piece of paper pushed under his door. How, whenever Shouto closes his eyes, he sees Izuku lying motionless, out of reach and not good enough rings on repeat. That, maybe, all he wants is that once Izuku came back home, Shouto had the opportunity to prove to him that he had a reason to stay. If not for him, for the class. The people who care about him. 

Shouto tries a version of that, but Izuku remains unconvinced, steadfast in his belief of hurt, making it fruitless to keep ignoring it. At the very least, Izuku’s never made him feel small for feeling the way he does. 

So Shouto, with his attention on his mismatched socks, admits, “The letter did hurt. Not because of your quirk, or quirks, or because you didn’t think any of us were strong enough to stand beside you, or even because you view it as being a bad friend. It hurt because—” 

I wanted too much? Expected something more? Tear stains and grief?

“—it didn’t feel like you. Like you weren’t actually saying goodbye to me but to an imaginary entity, forcing the whole class into a mold. It made more sense that you were kidnapped until I—” 

Bakugou had torn up his letter almost as soon as he got to Shouto’s room. Uraraka’s survived the class’s anger. 

“I knew that you hadn’t written all of ours the same. That you did say goodbye to Bakugou and Uraraka at least.”

It didn’t hurt to say as much as the initial realization of it. Shouto had already accepted it and was moving on. No more reason to keep rehashing it now that Izuku is back.

“I can’t lie to you and say it’s because I was going to talk to you before I left,” Izuku says. It stings in the way Shouto’s expecting. He doesn’t acknowledge the edges of it. Not in front of Izuku now. “I knew the moment the class found out either two things would happen: some would try to stop me from going and others would put on their damaged costumes and decide to come with me. It’s not hard to imagine which side you would have fallen on, you haven’t stopped rescuing me from my ill-minded plans since Hosu.”

He’s right. If Shouto had known, he would have shouldered some of the weight. A part of it to make right the horrors of the family, another part of it because it’s clear Izuku needed someone while he was out there, refusing to believe that there was anyone that could stand with him. 

“So, letters.”

“Yeah, letters,” Izuku lets go of his knees, pushing back against the wall. “After I decided what I was going to do, I set aside four envelopes for the people I wanted to write something specific for. Kacchan’s was the easiest. Uraraka-kun’s simple; I’ve been wanting to thank her for being there for me when no one else was. I started on the third, but then it got too long—I wanted too much for what I was going to do—so I scrapped it. I started on the rest of the class. I finished Iida-kun’s around then too,” which was new to Shouto. Iida hadn’t said anything about his letter being different. “All done until I got back to yours, the only one I had left, and I still couldn’t do it. So, I just put your name on one of the default ones, assuming it didn’t matter.”

He knows he shouldn’t take it this way, but Izuku deciding that writing a personal one to him was too much work was like swallowing barbed wire. Shouto would have taken anything than what he had, even if it was a quick, hastily written PS at the bottom.

Perhaps, then, it's nothing, but bitter curiosity, that gets him to ask, “what was in it? The one you couldn’t send?”

“It was cruel,” Izuku says. Shouto doesn’t believe Izuku can be cruel. Not out of spite. Izuku laughs with no humor, “not at all conducive for keeping you put because I,” he frowns. “I don’t think I wanted to be away—not from you at the very least.”

His mother planted flowers in the garden, and each spring, she would walk through the naked bushes, claiming that soon a bud would appear, gifting them a rose. When she left, Shouto thought that they would stop blooming too. Beautiful, fragile things were not his to keep. He doesn't think Izuku fragile, just small, unwilling to admit something, leaving this distance between them that used to be closed. He hates it. But also, the bushes did bloom after his mother left, still bloom now after her return. Just because pain tells him otherwise, does not mean it to be truthful.

“When I woke up and found out you were in surgery. I went to see you. It was the middle of the night. No one was around to stop me and my bandages. You looked so small, broken, as doctors and nurses worked to heal you. I saw a burn, and I thought that maybe you wouldn’t want to see me anymore. I could picture you waking up and saying that my brother was evil so that made me vile. Not something you would actually do, but it followed me around as the rest of the class raced to see you once you were stable.” 

Not enough to keep Shouto away long. It was easier at night when he couldn’t sleep to walk toward Izuku’s door and get stuck just before he could look in. He could not fathom getting to looking through the glass, let alone opening it, stepping inside, and whispering to Izuku all his fears. Only once did he go with the rest of the class, appeasing Uraraka. It was different than he expected, surrounded by all of them. 

Quiet. 

Izuku enchanted still. 

That night Shouto didn’t leave his room. 

“Then you were just gone and I thought, maybe if I had been there, if I wasn’t so scared, you wouldn’t have left. But, that’s just stupid. No one would have gotten you to stay. I just wish I had an opportunity to go too.”

Izuku doesn’t need him to protect him. Prior to the chaos, Shouto would have thought he didn’t need protection either. But, Izuku had pulled him out before he got incinerated in one of the few hugs he can remember receiving. 

“I get why you didn’t let us, or me, know. You wanted to keep us safe. But I missed you, and it made me feel foolish to miss you so much. I wasn’t even good enough for a proper goodbye.” He has to take a deep breath, keeping his emotions in check. “The playlist was a distraction. It got people excited. They had fun leaving messages to you. If I focused on that, then I could ignore the other stuff, leave Bakugou and Uraraka to plan your rescue. It was okay. You’re here and that’s all that matters now. You’re safe. And one day I know, you will be happy again too.”

At that, Shouto falls silent. Izuku makes no move to respond either. They sit side-by-side in the dark, only a pale facsimile of light coming through a crack in the curtains. It’s both wrong and right. Wrong, for the way the room sits, barely used with no character. Right, because for the first time in awhile, Shouto’s sitting beside Izuku again, and while he might ache, there’s a glimmer in the act itself. Once they did what they were bound to do, they'll return to this, existing in each other’s presence. He can’t stand the idea of doing what he just had, of living in a world without Midoriya Izuku.

“There’s more,” Izuku whispers, “in the letter. I didn’t think you’d want to hear it then, I have trouble believing you want to hear it now. But”—Izuku traces the scar wrapped around his right hand—“you should know that it isn’t a lack of care that caused this mess. Shouto, after my mom, you’re the most important person to me. You did deserve a better goodbye than the thing I left you with. I.” 

Izuku’s face crumples. Brows furrow with the deepest frown Shouto has ever seen on his face. Naturally, tears are there to meet it. Shouto does not know what draws his hand up to catch them as they fall down Izuku’s cheek, wiping them away. 

“It’s okay.” Izuku shakes his head. Already there, Shouto cups his cheek. “You don’t have to force yourself to tell me anything you don’t want to. We have the rest of our careers. Right? I’ll always been your friend, Midoriya.”

Izuku doesn’t move away from Shouto’s open palm, pressing against it. He closes his eyes. A few tears slip past to race down the curve of his cheek, disappearing under his chin. He’s been through so much, and all Shouto wants to do is be there for him now. In whatever way he will let him.

“You’re the most important person to me, too.”

Izuku nods but does not open his eyes. In time Shouto will realize it is because he is protecting himself, locking himself away against an idea of Shouto that does not exist. Nothing that Shouto could have done to prevent it. A whole history of bad guys to create a shadowed monster of himself who’s a cruel, callous thing. The same reason why Shouto was scared of facing Izuku before. Why he is scared now, or was at least before Izuku knocked on his door. Some scars are hard to see, certainly ones not spoken out loud.

With a shaky hand, Izuku digs out his phone. Shouto recognizes the playlist, his playlist, and watches as Izuku scrolls down to the bottom. There’s a new song there. One Shouto somehow missed today when he was listening to it. The title of it is unassuming. Izuku hits play before tossing it away from them. It spins in a half circle before coming to a stop. The screen aglow before dimming. 

The song itself is tinny, echoey from the phone speakers, and even without a first word, Shouto knows it’s an apology. It’s written all over Izuku’s form—the whole of their conversation. It takes Shouto thirty seconds longer to realize that there’s more to it than that. There’s a confession in it too. The singer's heartbreak is woven with longing. Of finally being able to admit to something they had previously forced themself to ignore. It’s a love song, Shouto thinks. Familiar to the breakup songs in spirit, save for the hope at the end as the last note fades out and the room is plunged back into darkness.

Izuku takes his time to say, “I think I love you, that is what your letter said.”

“You love me?” 

“I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t,” Shouto says, “Please, don’t take it back.” 

“It’s unfair.” 

“No,” Shouto goes further than cupping Izuku’s cheek, wrapping his arms around him. “No one’s ever told me they love me. Not like this.” 

Izuku hiccups. His chin propped against Shouto’s shoulder but otherwise hidden from view. It takes Izuku a moment, but soon enough, his arms, which were trapped between them, slide around Shouto too, keeping him close, as if Shouto would pull away. 

Shouto already knows the cadence of his own heart, racing to match Izuku’s. There’s acceptance in knowing who will be by his side, no matter what the day brings. If Shouto has a question, there is only one person he thinks to ask. In a litany of songs recommended to him, only certain ones that he will listen to with his whole body, lying on his floor and trying to picture himself as them—trying to imagine Izuku back beside him. 

If anything, it does not surprise him, then, that this is where this leads them.

Perhaps truncated. Perhaps rushed. Perhaps always meant to be. 

“I love you, too.”

It starts up Izuku’s tears. Shouto holds him through it. Through the rapid panic of, “it was so hard, Shou. I could barely help,” and, “I thought I’d never see you guys again,” and, "that you would hate me," and more, which just served to tighten Shouto’s heart.

Eventually, Izuku quiets, and Shouto twists him so he’s more comfortable. Izuku holds himself just away from fully collapsing against Shouto's chest. He clutches his arm, however, as if afraid to let go. His face is still wet, bruised, and a ghost that Shouto doesn’t yet know the whole story of, but it’s Izuku. 

They still have a lot to do. Izuku’s goals in leaving are not close to being met. Shouto’s brother is at large. Even if he doesn't know the specifics in all that Izuku fears, he gets them. He gets why he came back. 

“It’s going to be okay.”

“How do you know?” 

Shouto shifts, resting his chin on Izuku’s curls. It's a good sign that Izuku isn't immediately defensive—not stating that Shouto can't possibly know that.  

“Because I wouldn’t follow just anyone into battle. I only followed Bakugou because it was for you. I knew you wouldn’t hurt us.”

“It was a good plan,” Izuku says, “I should have known something like this would have happened.” 

Shouto doesn’t. If he ran away, he wouldn’t expect anyone from the class to chase him. He expects that it’s the same for Izuku, who’s always seen his life as expendable. Shouto can help prove to him that it isn’t.

“I’m glad you’re back,” he says. 

“Me too.”

It’s the closest thing Shouto will get as reassurance that night that Izuku doesn’t plan to leave again. At least not in the way he did. That if there is next time, and he decides that the world needs his heroism elsewhere, he will first ask if anyone wants to join him. Shouto will be the first one in line. Wherever he goes, as long as he wants him there. 

“Shouto,” Izuku whispers, “can you say it again?”

Shouto almost repeats that it will be okay before catching a smile against Izuku’s curls. 

“I love you.” 

He feels more than he sees Izuku’s echoing smile. It beats in their chest. In the way, Izuku's gone from clutching Shouto’s arm to merely holding Shouto’s hand within his own. Uncomfortable warmth and all.

“It’s nice,” Izuku says. “I’ve never heard it like this either.”

“Then I think,” Shouto says, his turn to run his thumb along Izuku's scars, “we’re just going to have to keep experiencing firsts with each other. I don't think that sounds too bad.”

Izuku lets himself fully lean against his chest. His breath tickles against his neck as he says, “No. No it doesn’t.” 

Shou!

I met absolutely the sweetest grandmother today. Actually, she might not have been a grandma. She didn’t mention any grandchildren. So, an older lady today, then. She was feeding birds out in the park—the one near Ochako-kun and Kacchan's new agency with the bridge and the flowers that make you sneeze. And you know me, I love a good run. But the song she was listening to! Gorgeous. I just had to ask her what it was, which I did, pending below. But she said that it was the song that was playing when she met her husband. How sweet is that? Can you imagine if there was a song playing this beautiful playing when we met? I would have kissed you on the spot. Granted, you were in your “I’m not here to make friends” phase and well I was an über dork with anxiety issues. 

We’ve somehow managed to make it work, though, huh?

Without further adieu, the latest addition to Songs for My Shouto

Love yo—WAIT! If you listen to this before you get home, please take the chicken out of the freezer for dinner tonight. I hate cooking with frozen chicken. WAIT, again, scratch that. I’ll text you. Please ignore. Oh, but do enjoy the song. It's a good one. 

I love you.