Work Text:
Sweat trickles along Izuku’s skin, coating every inch of his body in sticky residue, soaking into sheets that he had washed only hours ago yet already feel grimy. The heat and humidity are oppressive; exhausting, but rendering sleep impossible.
Maybe if he takes a cold shower…
Would that even work, though? Heat would transfer from his skin to the water, but if the air is already saturated with moisture, it won’t evaporate. It’ll just warm up and stay there on his skin, no better than sweat.
A dry heat might be tolerable. But this humidity… ugh. Why had he thought it was a good idea to rent the top floor unit of this poorly ventilated house?
It hardly seems worth it, even with the impossibly cheap rent.
The shower could be worth a try anyway. He might feel cool enough for long enough to fall asleep — maybe remaining asleep in this heat isn’t as difficult.
He fumbles for his phone and tilts it until the screen illuminates. The brightness barely affects the room as a whole — with his window and curtains left as wide open as possible in hopes of a breeze or some other miracle, the moon is doing a good enough job lighting his room, even at— ah, 3:30AM. Wonderful.
Best to just lie there with his eyes closed, willing himself to believe the delusion that sleep might come anytime soon.
It must have, eventually, because Izuku wakes up. The room is bright with genuine daylight now, but something is…off. Shadows in the wrong place, like the sun is— Oh. It’s well into the afternoon.
“Fuck,” he groans.
At least it’s not Friday. His advisor probably wouldn’t be too pleased if he started skipping meetings because of his body (in)conveniently forgetting that humans are supposed to sleep at night.
He hasn’t written anything all week. One more reason to be grateful it’s not Friday yet.
“Just bring two new pages of work to every meeting,” Professor Aizawa had told him, when he’d first started this PhD program. “I don’t care what’s on them, as long as it’s vaguely related to your research.”
Izuku had been skeptical of such an approach. Two pages of whatever propositions, lemmas, and corollaries he’d happened to work out that might be vaguely related to the Yagi Discrepancy Conjecture? But four years in, while several of his peers are suddenly panicking over how they’ll possibly generate enough mathematical content to write a dissertation, he has plenty. It’s just a matter of sifting through it to find the most relevant stuff and putting it together into something cohesive and coherent.
Still, he hasn’t actually proven it yet, just made some headway on special cases. It’s probably enough to successfully defend whatever thesis he could put together from what he’s already got, but if he could actually prove it… Maybe one day he could co-author a paper with Yagi Toshinori himself.
Well. Regardless of whether he wants to solve the whole thing or just slap together a dissertation, he needs to be able to think. An activity which is currently impossible in the sweltering afternoon heat.
Googling air conditioning units is fruitless and frustrating — the old house has non-standard windows and nothing will fit. Getting a custom-fit window air conditioning unit (or installing centralized AC) would cost three or four months worth of rent. Reviews on dehumidifiers suggest limited success, with them taking moisture out of the air effectively enough but heating the room up in the process — the same principle as why leaving a refrigerator door open doesn’t actually work to cool the room down.
An apartment search is equally useless — everything else available is at least two or three times as costly as this place.
Finding somewhere with AC to work isn’t a problem; it’s that he needs to sleep during the very specific window of tolerable temperature. And a sleep schedule of 4 or 5AM until around 1PM leaves a lot of wasted hours of potential productivity with most cafés closing around 10 or 11PM.
A google search for late night cafés does yield promising results. There’s one within walking distance of his place, open from 7 until 7 (PM to AM, unlike what would normally be expected).
A Mad Banquet of Darkness is a bit of an odd name for a coffee shop, but maybe coffee shops that are exclusively open between sunset and sunrise can be expected to have strange names.
He can make this work.
The guy who runs the café has an actual raven on his shoulder. Wearing all black, with heavy black eyeliner, and jet black hair swept up and back, the man looks a bit like a raven himself.
Izuku squints at the menu, written in calligraphy on a chalkboard that spans the entire wall behind the counter. The surrounding walls are black, too — are they all chalkboard surfaces, or is it just for the aesthetic?
He frowns. There doesn’t seem to be any descriptions of what the drinks actually are. There aren’t even ingredients listed. “Um, what does the vastness of eternity contain?”
“Indeed.” The man — Tokoyami, according to the name tag (where does one get custom script embossed name tags made?) — blinks at him.
“Uh.” Izuku swallows. “I mean, the drink? With that…name?”
“He won’t tell you.”
Izuku jumps and turns around to find another customer waiting in line behind him. His mouth drops open. Even with a disengaged expression, and one eye entirely hidden behind thick bangs swept to one side, this guy is really, really pretty.
(Is that a dye job? Stripping color so thoroughly to get such a true white would be nearly impossible if the red is his natural color, and if that isn’t his natural color, it would be difficult to maintain such a vivid red, and there’s no sign of natural roots growing in…)
“My best guess is that the vastness of eternity is made up of espresso, chocolate syrup, milk, and foam,” the gorgeous stranger says, “but I couldn’t tell you the proportions.”
“Syrup.” Behind him, the word is almost a growl.
Izuku turns back to the counter to find Tokoyami shaking his head and leveling a flat look at the stranger. Is...Is the bird glaring, too? Or is that just what ravens always look like?
Shit, the other guy is probably a regular who knows exactly what he wants to order, and Izuku is causing a delay.
“Uh, sorry— You go ahead, I’m still…deciding?” How does one decide on something when given no information?
“The inevitability of mortality, please.” The stranger steps forward as Izuku steps to the side. “And a strawberry cake pop.”
Tokoyami pulls out the cake pop — from a skull-shaped case full of cute, pastel-colored treats — and passes it across the counter before turning to make the drink.
“Is, uh, the inevitability of mortality any good?” Izuku whispers.
“Great question,” murmurs the stranger, twirling his cake pop. His lips curve into a ghost of a smile, and Izuku might just die. Inevitability of mortality, indeed.
“It is complete.” Tokoyami places a mug on the counter. He turns his attention to Izuku. “And now, you must choose.”
“Uhhh.” Izuku scans the list again as if that will do any good. “I’ll have the comfort of the night.” That one actually sounds nice, at least. And he’s not really that picky. He’ll just order something different each time until he finds something he likes.
“Is that the extent of your desires?” Tokoyami lifts an eyebrow and flicks his eyes to the pastry case and back.
“Oh! Um.” Izuku blinks. “Can I have a rainbow cupcake?”
Dessert in hand, Izuku looks it over. It really does seem to be a normal cupcake. Hard to imagine this guy making them himself, though.
Once his drink is ready — judging from the look of it, there’s a decent chance he just paid a lot of money for hot milk — he finds a table and lays out his notebooks and laptop.
Cake Pop seems absorbed in a similar setup in the far corner. Maybe he’s also trying to get some work done somewhere nice and cool.
A wave of exhaustion hits at around four, and Izuku yawns. Ugh. His muscles protest at how long he’s been sitting in the same position. At least he’s actually managed to make a little bit of progress on the corner case he’s been working on for the past few weeks. Maybe if he manages to prove it for enough corner cases, one day he’ll look back and realize that if he puts it all together then he’s got a proof for the generalized statement.
He rolls his shoulders, and glances over toward the door, as if just looking outside will somehow tell him whether the heat has subsided enough to make sleep worth attempting. He could get up and step out to check; it’s unlikely that anyone would be around to run in to steal his stuff off the table in the middle of the night. But it’d be weird to just get up and abandon his things without saying anything, right?
Cake Pop is still there, too, typing away at his laptop. The nominal cake pop has apparently been eaten.
“Excuse me,” Izuku says, and the typing stops as the — really, unfairly attractive — guy looks his way. “Do you mind watching my stuff for a minute? I just need to go outside for a sec, to see if it’s cooled down a bit, and I’d rather not have to pack everything up if not—”
“I don’t think it’s at risk of being stolen,” Cake Pop says, and there might be a hint of amusement in his voice? Maybe? Maybe not.
“Yeah, I know.” Izuku chuckles and rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “Just habit, I guess? Sorry to bother you.”
“I’ll keep an eye on it.”
Oh. Okay, then.
Izuku stands up — oh, fuck, leg’s asleep — and hobbles ridiculously to the door.
Outside, it’s still a warm night, but not unbearably so. He dashes back in and starts packing up his stuff.
“I’m watching that for someone,” Cake Pop says. “No stealing.”
Izuku gapes. Does he— Does he not recognize him? He’d been gone for, like, thirty seconds, tops.
“I’m— It’s me? I’m the one who— I was just—”
There’s that hint of a smile, again.
“Oh,” Izuku says. “You— Heh. Funny.”
It is, a little. Because they’d just been talking about how unlikely— Well. He’s not going to over-explain a joke to himself in his own head. Cake Pop seems to have an unconventional sense of humor hiding behind that neutral exterior.
“Well, uh—” Izuku shoulders his backpack. “Have a good night. Morning? Day— A good one. Have a good one.”
“Take care,” Cake Pop says, before his gaze drops back to his screen.
Tokoyami must be in a back room, or something, since he’s nowhere to be seen behind the counter.
“Thank you!” Izuku calls, anyway.
There’s an answering “kraaaw” from the back.
“I’ll try the endless unknowing this time, please,” Watch-My-Stuff says. “And a slice of chocolate chip banana bread.
Shouto lifts an eyebrow as the new guy fidgets with the strap of his backpack. He seems jittery enough already without a triple shot of espresso.
Tokoyami states the total owed and Watch-My-Stuff flinches.
“I got it,” Shouto says, reaching past him with his card. Or rather, his dad’s card. Might as well make it useful for something unselfish.
“What? No, I couldn’t!” Watch-My-Stuff turns around and waves his hands, eyes wide. “I can pay, it’s fine!”
“Don’t worry about it.” Shouto nods at Tokoyami, who takes the card. “Really.”
Watch-My-Stuff’s mouth twists, his brow furrowing, cheeks flushed. “I’m getting yours next time.”
Cute.
Shouto smirks. “You can try.”
Tokoyami gestures with the card. “Todoroki, what would you like to order? I would rather perform a single transaction.”
“Mm.” Shouto steps around Watch-My-Stuff and scans the menu. “Darkness eternal. And a strawberry cake pop. Please.”
The endless unknowing is ready first, of course. “Thanks, um— Todoroki, was it?”
“Todoroki Shouto.” Shouto nods. “It’s no trouble.”
“M-Midoriya Izuku.” There’s a tentative smile playing at Watch-My-Stuff’s — Midoriya’s — lips.
“It’s nice to meet you properly, Midoriya.” Shouto says, and nods at Tokoyami as he takes his drink from the counter.
Midoriya smiles fully, then. Wow. “Nice to meet you, too.”
“You know,” Shouto starts, “this place gets pretty crowded around midnight on Fridays. A club meeting, or something, I haven’t paid much attention.”
Midoriya’s brows twitch down. “Around midnight on Fridays... As in, tonight? Or tomorrow? Like, 11:59PM Thursday? Or 12:01AM Saturday? Because you could mean either one, with colloquial use.”
He’s a very animated speaker, hands illustrating his thought process in the space in front of him. Shouto tracks the motions. It’s good reference material. It also puts that slice of banana bread at risk of flying right off the plate Tokoyami had placed it on.
“I mean tonight.” Shouto gestures at his usual corner. “I’m saying we could sit together, if you want.”
“Oh!” Midoriya’s eyes widen. “Yeah, sure! As long as you don’t mind me muttering about induction and counterexamples and whatever.” He chuckles, shifting from foot to foot.
Ah. A mathematician, then. Well, this one seems harmless enough.
“I don’t mind.”
Midoriya’s stuff takes up quite a bit of the table real estate, but he seems to be making an effort to be considerate, keeping his notebooks stacked until he needs one rather than spreading them out. It’s fine, though; Shouto just has his laptop and a small notebook.
Shouto props his chin on his hand and pages through his little book. The current scene has been troubling him for days. He’s never been able to write the beginnings of romantic realization without being able to summon up the feelings in himself. Not convincingly, anyway.
He could jump ahead and start on a later scene, where the protagonist is kidnapped by sellswords…or he could go back and figure out what the problem is with what he’s already written that’s causing him to struggle to connect to the emotions of the moment.
He scrolls up.
His blue eyes, oceans of hopelessness, glimmered with unshed tears.
Blue. How many times has he referred to eye color — literally or metaphorically? His gaze shifts across the table, where Midoriya is tapping his mechanical pencil against his lips as he mumbles something about Mersenne primes.
Maybe it’s not too late to go with green, instead. Oceans can be green. Right? Could change it to something about fields… Whatever. His editor will catch any metaphors that don’t make sense for green eyes. He’ll probably end up cutting most of that anyway. His usual style is to stick more closely to concrete, physical observations of the point of view character, rather than making use of flowery prose. He’d wanted to try something different this time, but every time he reads over a passage where he’d deviated away from his comfort zone, the phrasing seems stilted and awkward.
Midoriya’s eyes flick to meet Shouto’s, and he smiles. “You okay there, Todoroki?”
“Mm?” Shouto blinks. “Sorry. Lost in thought.”
Eye color probably isn’t the real issue. But now that the image is in mind, it won’t leave, so he goes through and makes the changes anyway.
People filter in as midnight approaches, and their chatter provides decent ambient noise as background for his thoughts.
It’s in this moment that Emilio is supposed to look into Roberto’s eyes and realize that his desire to pull him close and hold him until all is right in the world is not fueled by friendly feelings, but by something more. But it’s not clicking. Something’s off.
It’s supposed to be a joyful realization. But given the tragedy of the situation it would be a jarring tonal shift. Ugh. It’s all wrong. He highlights two chapters worth of writing and hovers a finger over the delete key.
No. He shouldn’t scrap it without any idea in mind for what to replace it with. He pulls out his notebook and frowns down at it.
Time to eat the cake pop, with his hands being free for the moment. And cake makes everything better.
What if they realize their feelings in a mundane, peaceful moment? And then tragedy strikes. Might be more impactful that way, actually… His heart aches just thinking about it. Good.
“Todoroki?” Midoriya’s voice is gentle, and Shouto looks up.
“Yeah?”
“Sorry to interrupt… You just— You look really sad. Is everything okay?” Midoriya bites his lip. The genuine concern in his eyes is sweet, really.
“Oh, don’t worry.” Shouto huffs a laugh. “Just hurting myself with my own plot concepts.”
Midoriya’s teeth release his lower lip, and his mouth forms a small O shape. “You’re a writer?”
“Mm.” Shouto nods. The question is already forming in Midoriya’s expression, so Shouto preempts it. “Fantasy romance.”
Midoriya’s eyes narrow for a moment — probably trying to figure out if Shouto is joking — but then he smiles, relaxing. “That’s really cool, Todoroki.”
“What are you working on?” Shouto asks. Turnabout is fair play.
Midoriya tilts his head. “Ah, um, I don’t know how much background you might have…”
“You’d be surprised.” Shouto smiles wryly.
Midoriya lifts an eyebrow. “I’m trying to prove this as-of-yet unsolved problem called the Yagi Discrepancy Conjecture. It’s about—”
It can’t be helped — Shouto laughs. Long and hard.
Midoriya frowns. “What? What’s funny?” His lower lip juts out slightly in almost a pout. “It’s a legitimate problem to work on! Numerous relevant mathematicians are confident that it is provable.”
“Sorry.” Shouto wipes at his eyes. “It’s just— My dad’s been working all his life to disprove that conjecture.”
Midoriya’s mouth opens and closes a few times. “Well,” he says, eventually, “your dad is an idiot, then.”
Shouto blinks at him.
Midoriya’s eyes go wide with horror. “Oh my god! I can’t believe I just said that! It’s just— It’s really strongly theorized to be true? Everything seems to point that way, and computer simulations have proven it to be true for really, really large number of cases, and I myself have managed to make headway in a lot of…” He trails off, expression shifting to confusion.
Shouto grins wider.
“You— You’re not upset?” Midoriya grimaces.
“No, I’m not upset.” Shouto chuckles. “I think we’re on the same page about my dad, actually, if not for the same reasons.”
“Oh.” A crease appears between Midoriya’s brows. “I’m guessing your dad is Todoroki Enji? I didn’t want to assume, but there really aren’t that many mathematicians who’ve publicly speculated the Yagi Conjecture to be false, so it would be a pretty big coincidence if it were some other mathematician sharing the same name.”
Shouto just nods. He scans Midoriya’s face. Is he going to pry? Ask about Shouto’s reasons for disliking his own father?
But Midoriya just gives his head a little shake. “What a small world, right? How bizarre that we ended up sitting together.”
“Mm, I have to disagree.” Shouto resists the urge to smile. “I make it a habit to lurk in cafés not too far from campus in hopes of luring unsuspecting number theorists into my clutches.”
Midoriya stares.
And then Shouto’s lips twitch, and Midoriya laughs.
“You’re a little bit strange, Todoroki.” Midoriya grins.
Shouto shrugs. “Is that so bad?”
Midoriya shakes his head. “Not bad.” His eyes sparkle, and Shouto’s heartbeat is loud in his own ears. “I think I kind of like it.”
Shouto approaches the café a few minutes before it’s scheduled to open, and finds Midoriya waiting outside already. He looks terrible: dark circles under hazy, unfocused eyes; shifting slowly from foot to foot as though having difficulty keeping himself upright; rumpled clothing.
He makes no sign of having noticed Shouto come up beside him.
“Midoriya?”
Shouto winces as Midoriya almost falls over due to the startled jolt that visibly runs through him.
“Oh my god, Todoroki!” Midoriya bends over, hand to his chest. “You scared me.”
“Sorry.” Shouto tightens his grip on the strap of his satchel. “I didn’t mean to. Are you alright?”
“Yeah, sorry — not your fault,” Midoriya says, shaking his head. “I’m just really tired. Had to wake up at a reasonable hour to meet with my advisor.”
He’d had to wake up early? “Why did you stay so late at the café, then?”
Midoriya groans. “It’s too hot to sleep at my place. It cools down around four in the morning, so that’s when I head home. I tried to nap earlier, but it’s even worse in the afternoon.”
That explains his disheveled appearance.
“What about you?” Midoriya asks. “Why do you spend all night at AMBOD?”
Shouto snorts. “Never let Tokoyami hear you call it that. As for why — I can’t sleep either.”
A tiny spear of guilt stabs into him at the implied lie. It’s true enough that he has trouble falling asleep at his apartment, but it sounds like Midoriya would probably be thrilled to trade places with him and end up with state of the art air conditioning and a luxurious amount of space.
But if Shouto tells him the whole story, he’ll probably consider him spoiled and ungrateful. Maybe he’d be right.
A large man in a pastel pink apron carrying an empty tray backs out through the café door, and Shouto pulls Midoriya out of the way.
“Have a good night, love!” The man calls, before the door swings closed.
Shouto glances sidelong at Midoriya, who meets his gaze with a raised eyebrow and a not-quite suppressed smile.
This guy and Tokoyami? Huh.
The man flashes the two of them a cordial smile before heading on his way, and Tokoyami himself comes to let them in a moment later.
Midoriya is too spaced out to object when Shouto tells Tokoyami to wait for both orders before charging him.
It’s not until they get to the table that he seems to realize. “I was going to pay this time!” Midoriya folds his arms.
Shouto just shrugs and gets to work. Sellswords kidnap Emilio. Roberto is furious.
Within a few hours it becomes clear that Midoriya is far too exhausted to concentrate on his work, given how he keeps nodding off every few minutes and jerking awake each time his head tips forward.
“Midoriya,” Shouto says.
Midoriya inhales sharply. “Yes? Huh? What?”
“You’re falling asleep.”
“Sorry!” A few rapid blinks clear some of the haze from his eyes.
Shouto huffs a laugh. “Don’t apologize to me, apologize to the proof you’re at risk of drooling all over.”
Midoriya’s eyes drop to the notebook in front of him. “Sorry,” he says, and Shouto snorts.
Hm. There is supposed to be a scene, later, where Roberto falls asleep on Emilio’s shoulder. It’s hard to mentally simulate exactly where the weight would settle, what the points of contact would be.
But it would be weird to suggest it, even if Midoriya really does look like he could benefit from a shoulder to rest his head on.
Then again, maybe weird isn’t so bad.
(I think I kind of like it.)
But no. Another time, maybe.
It’s doubtful that Midoriya gets anything productive done, but he powers determinedly through the night until their part of the world has been out of view of the sun long enough to forget its warmth.
“I’ll walk you home,” Shouto says, once Midoriya starts packing up his stuff. “Otherwise you might fall asleep on the way.”
“Are you sure it’s not too much—” Midoriya yawns, stuffing a fist against his mouth, and Shouto finds himself yawning, too. “Not too much trouble?”
Shouto shakes his head. “It’s fine.” Getting a little more energy out before he heads back to the apartment is probably a good idea, actually.
Midoriya’s place isn’t far, and he’s too sleepy to make much conversation on the way back. He’s nice enough company anyway, all slow blinks and sleepy smiles.
When they arrive at the destination — an older house, a little run down — Midoriya turns to him.
“Thanks for walking with me,” he says, smiling softly. “You’re a good person, Todoroki.”
Shouto waits on the sidewalk as Midoriya climbs some steps up to a side entrance to the upper level, gives a little wave, and disappears through the doorway.
It’s several moments longer before Shouto finally drops the hand he’d lifted in answer.
Izuku catches his first glimpse of the scar almost a week after Todoroki first started walking him home from the café.
There’s nothing specific that happens, other than Todoroki absently pushing his hair out of his face while they’re saying goodnight outside Izuku’s place.
Todoroki freezes in the act, eyes (for once, both visible) widening and flicking to Izuku’s.
For a moment, it’s like he’s waiting — for Izuku to react? To ask about it?
But it’s not like it’s a fresh injury — which might warrant a what happened, are you okay? — so it doesn’t seem constructive to call attention to it.
“Remember,” he says, instead, “I’m paying next time.”
Todoroki finishes tucking his hair behind his ear and relaxes, exhaling slowly as his shoulders drop back into a neutral position.
“You can try.”
Izuku grins and heads up to his door. “Have a good one.”
“Take care, Midoriya.”
For someone who seems actively disinterested in doing math of his own, Todoroki has a tendency to interject with surprisingly insightful comments during Izuku’s muttering.
“Almost sounds like you could model that as a directed graph with weighted edges,” Todoroki says, offhand, as if he’s commenting on Izuku’s choice of t-shirt.
“Uh.” Izuku blinks. Actually… “I’m going to try that. Thanks, Todoroki.”
“Mm.” Todoroki goes back to staring at his notebook.
“It seems like you know a lot about—” Izuku cuts off as Todoroki tenses, knuckles tightening on his pencil, jaw working. “Ah… Never mind. Sorry.”
Todoroki sighs. “No, it’s a reasonable thing to ask. I am familiar — uncomfortably, involuntarily familiar — with quite a few fields of mathematics.”
“Oh.” Izuku frowns.
“I don’t want to go into detail.” Todoroki glances away.
“That’s fine,” Izuku says, quickly. “I didn’t mean to pry. I mean, I would listen, if you wanted to— but it’s fine. You don’t have to.”
Todoroki meets his gaze, and there’s something there, in the depths. “Maybe some other time.”
“Well, regardless,” Izuku says, “you’ve been really helpful, so… I don’t know if there’s some way I can return the favor, but let me know, if so.”
“Sure.” Todoroki’s eyes linger on him a moment longer, and then he’s back to his outline.
The surrounding chatter from the Friday midnight crowd seems to grow louder.
Izuku takes the awkward silence between them as an opportunity to take a bite of his lemon tart. It goes well with the fear of the beyond, which seems to be, essentially, a cappuccino dusted with cardamom spice.
Modeling what he’s been working on for the past few days as a graph is promising; framed like this, it’s vaguely reminiscent of a problem that he’s pretty sure someone solved fairly recently. He’ll have to bring it up with Professor Aizawa at their meeting tomorrow. Today. In a few hours. Ugh.
“If you were unexpectedly reunited with your lover who has been in mortal danger for the past few months,” Todoroki says, breaking the silence, “would you be skeptical that it’s really them? Or rush to them immediately?”
Izuku blinks. “Uhh, I guess it depends on the situation? But in the moment, I’d probably be too overwhelmed with emotion to worry about it. So I guess I’d rush to him. Or her. Them.”
Todoroki nods. “Thanks.”
“Can I hold your hand for a moment?” Shouto asks, about halfway to Midoriya’s house. A flush creeps into Midoriya’s cheeks, visible even in the street lighting. Shouto continues, quickly, “For reference, I mean. I’m planning a scene.”
Midoriya had offered to help. This request isn’t coming out of nowhere. He’ll just say no if he’s uncomfortable or unwilling for whatever reason.
But Midoriya’s throat bobs, and he says, “Sure.”
Shouto takes his hand. Palm in palm. No. Fingers interlaced. Wait; there’s asymmetry involved — what if he switches— Well that just feels wrong.
“Which way feels natural for you?” He frowns.
“Uhh…” Midoriya adjusts their hands so their fingers are interlaced once again, and it’s comfortable. “Like this, I think. Is it for Emilio and Roberto?”
“Maybe. I’m also considering a different project.” Shouto hums. “So, if you wanted to affectionately… Right, yeah.”
Midoriya’s thumb glides along Shouto’s skin, over the knuckle of his own thumb. But if he were to return the gesture, the range of touch would be along the side of Midoriya’s index finger.
The caressing stops, but Midoriya allows their hands to remain loosely linked up until they arrive outside his house. It’s… nice. Simple physical contact. Gentle.
It’s a little disappointing when it’s over.
“Thanks,” Shouto murmurs.
“Anytime.” Midoriya rubs the back of his neck. “I mean, happy to help.”
By the time Shouto arrives at his apartment and flops into bed, all hopes of being exhausted enough to pass out immediately have been thoroughly dashed. Alongside his usual misgivings about staying in this place, he can’t help but replay his interaction with Midoriya again and again.
He presses his hands over his face. Why does he have to be so fucking awkward all the time?
Can I hold your hand?
Jesus. He rolls onto his side and wraps his arms around his middle. Midoriya is probably looking up apartments for rent right this moment in hopes of being able to move, just so Shouto will no longer know where he lives.
Fuck. For reference. What the fuck.
Midoriya isn’t at AMBOD when it opens Friday evening.
Maybe he’s running late.
Shouto doesn’t even have his number to check in with him about having possibly made him uncomfortable.
Midnight comes and goes, and there’s still no sign of him.
Tokoyami comes by the table to ask if Shouto wants a refill for the heart of the void, which makes sense considering it’s just black coffee.
Maybe Midoriya had just been too tired after waking up early for his meeting. Had it been cooler than usual today (yesterday)? Maybe he’d been able to get some sleep at a reasonable hour. Or maybe he thinks Shouto is a creep and he’s found a new late night coffee shop to frequent.
Shit.
“You can’t sleep here, kid. Library’s closed.”
Izuku jerks upright. What—? Oh.
“Sorry.” He ducks his head. “I didn’t mean to.”
The librarian — a short, disgruntled-looking old man — rolls his eyes and gestures impatiently as Izuku stuffs his belongings into his backpack.
It’s dark when he gets outside. How long had he been asleep? He’d just intended to spend a couple of hours at the library before the café opened. And now it’s— Fuck, it’s almost one o’clock.
There’s not much point to making the trek across campus and over to the café just to spend an hour or two there. Todoroki is probably relieved to have a night off from Izuku’s mathematical mutterings, anyway.
Izuku grimaces. He might have made things weird, actually, clinging to Todoroki the whole way home after being asked to hold hands for just a minute. At first, he’d been waiting for Todoroki to indicate that he’d gotten what he’d needed, but he hadn’t said anything. And holding his hand had been… comfortable. Easy.
But unwanted, maybe. Todoroki could have been waiting for him to let go. So… he might appreciate a little space away from Izuku, even without regard to Izuku’s other obnoxious tendencies.
“Midoriya! You’re back.”
Izuku raises his head from examining the cracks in the sidewalk outside the café.
“Oh, hey, Todoroki.” Izuku tucks his hands into his pockets and smiles apologetically. “I’m sorry about the other night, with the…hands.”
Todoroki slows as he approaches. “Sorry for what? I was about to apologize.”
Izuku purses his lips, frowning. What would Todoroki be apologizing for? And if he doesn’t know what Izuku would be sorry about, then… “I guess I was just overthinking it!” He shrugs. “And I don’t think you have anything to apologize for, because I’m not upset about anything.”
“Oh.” Todoroki visibly relaxes, hand dropping from gripping the strap to resting on his satchel. “When you didn’t show up last night, I thought maybe I’d scared you off.”
“Nope,” Izuku says, tilting his head. “You’re stuck with me.” He keeps his tone light, but trains his eyes on Todoroki’s face to gauge his reaction. After what he’d said, it doesn’t seem like he feels like Izuku’s presence at the café is a nuisance or encroachment on his space, but sometimes people say things they don’t mean.
Todoroki’s expression shifts, but not to annoyance. He smiles. Izuku’s heart flips, and he grins back.
“Shall we?” Todoroki gestures at the door.
Midoriya places a stack of papers on the table instead of his usual notebooks.
“Precarious,” Shouto says.
“The prof wants me to get all this grading done by Monday, ugh.” Midoriya drops his face into his hands. “This isn’t even all of them, but my backpack is only so big.”
“What course?” Shouto eyes the exam on top of the pile.
“Calc for business students.” Midoriya drags his hands down his face, pulling at his cheeks.
“Ugh.” Shouto grimaces.
“Ugh is right.”
Judging by the height of the stack, Midoriya will have to either spend all of the next two nights on this, or work insanely efficiently.
“Give me half,” Shouto says. “I’ll take care of the obvious ones and send anything questionable your way.”
Midoriya blinks at him from across the table. “Are you sure? I mean, I don’t doubt that you’re capable, but…don’t you want to get your own stuff done?”
Shouto shakes his head. “I don’t mind. I’m stuck on something anyway; I need to let it rest.”
Midoriya bites his lip. “Technically, I could get in trouble… confidential student info, et cetera.”
“Ah.” Shouto nods.
“But…” Midoriya purses his lips. “It’s tempting. And I know you wouldn’t do anything shady. But, like, if the wrong person came in and saw…”
“We could go to my place, instead.” Shouto glances away. “I have air conditioning.”
“Oh— You do? Then what…?” Midoriya trails off, question incomplete.
Shouto sighs and looks back at him. “I do have trouble sleeping, but the problem isn’t the heat.”
Midoriya’s brows are pulled together in confusion. “Okay…?” He chuckles. “Noisy neighbors or something?”
Shouto sighs. “Not exactly. It’s hard to explain.”
“Sounds ominous.” Midoriya’s grin is a little too wide. “But whatever. Should we ask Tokoyami to transfer these into to-go cups?” He gestures at their mugs.
Shouto blinks. Are there to-go cups at AMBOD? Tokoyami might be dedicated to the experience of ceramic mugs.
But Midoriya returns with paper cups — black, of course — and hands one to Shouto.
Drinks in hand, they head out.
Shouto grows increasingly antsy as they get closer. It’s not far — just a few minutes’ walk.
“I thought my place was on your way home!” Midoriya exclaims, when Shouto stops outside the building. “You’ve been going out of your way all this time?”
Shouto shrugs. “I don’t mind the exercise.”
“This looks like a really nice building.” Midoriya’s eyes trail up the facade and back down, eyes widening as he gazes through the glass doors into the lobby. “Is that a concierge? Your building has a concierge?”
Shouto shifts from foot to foot. “Come on,” he says, stiffly. “Let’s go in.”
He cringes as Kamaji calls him “Mr. Todoroki” as she greets him.
Midoriya’s eyes bug a little as Shouto taps his keycard and hits the elevator button for the top floor. The cityscape gradually comes into view through the glass wall at the back of the elevator.
“Okay, so—” Shouto huffs a sigh. “This building is owned by the Todoroki family, going back, like, three generations, or something.”
“Wow,” Midoriya breathes, attention rapt as the elevator ascends and the cityscape comes into view through the glass wall. And then his brows twitch down, and he turns to Shouto. “So…what’s the catch? You said ‘the problem isn’t the heat,’ suggesting that there is a problem.”
Shouto glances up at the security camera in the top corner. “I’ll tell you in a minute.”
The elevator opens directly to his apartment, with the penthouse suite being the only unit on the top floor.
“Holy shit.” Midoriya follows after him, walking slowly.
Shouto twists his mouth. “Do you want anything? Tea? Juice?”
“Just water, please,” Midoriya says, quietly, wide eyes still scanning this stupidly fancy apartment, ridiculous view of the city, absurdly expensive furniture.
Shouto fills a couple of glasses and places them on the counter facing the living area. Midoriya takes a seat on one of the two raised stools.
“Getting into…everything…will take all night, and we have exams to grade.” Shouto leans on the counter, elbows resting on the cool marble surface. “The gist of it is that my family is really fucked up, and my dad thinks he can use money to make up for two decades of being a terrible human being to all of us.”
Midoriya blinks. And frowns. And then his brows draw up together in sympathy as he meets Shouto’s gaze. “I’m really sorry you had to go through all that, Todoroki.”
“I hate this apartment.” Shouto clenches his jaw. “I feel like staying here makes him think he’s right, that he can just—that it’s that easy for everything to be forgotten. But it also feels like it would be colossally stupid to turn it down when living rent-free means I can actually do what I love for a career.”
“But you can’t sleep,” Midoriya murmurs. “Until…what? Until you’re too exhausted to care?”
“Yeah, basically.” Shouto runs a hand through his hair, and then stiffens — but once again, Midoriya doesn’t react to his disfigurement. “You don’t think I’m an ungrateful brat?”
Midoriya tilts his head. “Well… I feel a little stupid for assuming— I don’t know why I thought your situation was anything like mine. I guess I should have known you’d have a nice place, since, I mean…” He trails off, gesturing vaguely at Shouto.
“What?”
“You have a nice computer, you always pay… I’m embarrassed knowing you’ve seen my crappy place, even just from the outside.” Midoriya sighs. “Are you okay, though? Is he still—?” His teeth tug at his lower lip.
Shouto shakes his head. “I’m okay. He’s mellowed out a lot. I think he’s been going to therapy, maybe.” He curls his hand into a fist. “But that doesn’t change anything that happened, you know?”
“Yeah,” Midoriya says, softly. “Makes sense.”
Shouto exhales heavily. “Anyway— Sorry. I didn’t mean to dump all that on you, I just— I felt like I owed you an explanation.”
“It’s okay.” Midoriya’s hand shifts to lay gently on Shouto’s forearm. “I— You can talk to me if you want. I know we’ve only known each other a couple of weeks, but…” His eyes slide up to lock with Shouto’s. The rest goes unsaid.
“Yeah,” Shouto breathes. He could get lost in those depths, easily. He could just lean in… Fuck. Too much time spent thinking about romance scenarios; is his brain primed to go down those pathways, now? He rubs at his face. “Should we get started on these exams?”
Midoriya breaks eye contact to reach for his backpack, hand moving off of Shouto’s arm. The moment passes.
TS: Do you want to come by my place this afternoon and continue working through those exams?
TS: We could order food
Izuku drags his teeth over his lip. He’d headed home last night at around the same time he’d otherwise have left the café, not wanting to impose in case Todoroki had started to feel tired enough to sleep. But there had been a moment when it had almost seemed like…
No. He’s just reading too much into things. Todoroki insists on paying because he’s rich and likes doing nice things for others. It doesn’t mean anything. He’d felt obligated to explain his history once Izuku had seen his apartment because Izuku had been nosy and asked invasive questions about his sleeping troubles.
He’s probably just inviting Izuku over now because his place is well-suited to get the work done, and it’s the friendly thing to do. And they’re friends. Right?
So it wouldn’t be so out of line to accept the invitation and spend a few hours in a nice environment while keeping a friend company.
MI: are you sure it’s not too much trouble?
MI: you said you don’t like spending time there
Todoroki texts back almost immediately.
TS: It’s not so bad when you’re around
Izuku drops his phone on his face.
“Fuck!”
It’s really stupid, that his heart is pounding so hard over such a simple statement. Of course an otherwise unhappy environment would get better with a friend around.
But the image that comes to mind? Of Todoroki stepping close, cupping Izuku’s face, murmuring those words while his gaze shifts from Izuku’s eyes to his mouth. That’s not a simple, friendly image.
This is a crush. These are not strictly friendly feelings.
Izuku flips over and whines into his pillow. It had been inevitable, hadn’t it? A beautiful stranger with whom he suddenly finds himself spending most of his time, who writes beautiful love stories and is good at math and doesn’t find him annoying.
He should just tell him. It’s the easiest way to deal with these things. Get it out in the open and let the cards fall where they may. Todoroki doesn’t seem like the type who would callously sever all contact with someone because of unrequited feelings on their part. He’d let him down gently, keep things amicable.
But… Fuck. His stomach sinks. Why couldn’t he have realized one day earlier? If he says anything now, it’s going to look like it’s because he found out Todoroki is rich. But specifically not expressing interest just because of someone’s financial status isn’t fair, either.
Ughhh. He needs an outside opinion.
MI: does it work for you if I come by in a couple of hours? I have something I have to do first
TS: Sure, whenever you like
TS: I’ll tell Kamaji to let you up once you get here
“That is tricky.” Ochako taps her chin. “But I can't really bring myself to feel bad for you. New rich friend who keeps paying for your stuff and wants you to come hang at his crazy fancy apartment? Your life is so hard.”
Izuku groans and drops his head into his arms on the table.
“Really, you should be thanking me,” Ochako says. “If I hadn’t decided to move in with Tsu you wouldn’t have had to get a new place, and then you wouldn’t have ended up at that weird coffee shop and you’d never have met him.”
Ochako’s sudden decision to move in with Asui had caused more than a little bit of stress in Izuku’s life, but now is not the time to get into that.
“Thanks, Ochako.”
“You’re welcome.” She’s smiling when he lifts his head to look. “As for your current predicament…I’d say just continue to be your charming self and then he’ll be the one telling you about his feelings, and then you can safely reveal that they are reciprocated.”
Izuku hums. “But what if he’s waiting for me to say something?”
“Dude.” Ochako shakes her head. “He spoke to you first, suggested you sit together, offered to walk you home, invited you over to his place… Are you sure he doesn’t think you’re already dating?”
She taps her finger on the table to punctuate each point.
Wait…what? No, people don’t just start dating without ever talking about it. Do they? Is that a thing?
“Either way, he obviously has no trouble taking initiative,” she finishes.
Izuku had left out a few details that hadn’t felt right to mention to someone else. But…even those details support Ochako’s point.
“Okay. Maybe you’re right — not that we’re already dating. Just that he would probably say something.” Which means that, since Todoroki hasn’t already said something, he probably doesn’t feel the same way. Izuku sighs.
It’s strange being in a coffee shop with sunlight filtering through the windows and decor that isn’t all black. They had come here a lot when his waking hours had overlapped more with daylight.
He smiles apologetically. “Sorry we haven’t hung out much in the past couple of months, my sleep schedule has been…”
“Inhuman? Yeah.” Ochako laughs. “At least you found someone as weird as you.”
The elevator dings. “Todoroki?” Midoriya’s voice calls out from the entrance.
“Be right there,” Shouto calls back. He probably should have showered earlier, but he’s usually pretty quick and he’d figured Midoriya would give him a heads up via text once he was on his way.
Ah— an unread message on his phone shows Midoriya had texted around ten minutes ago, right after Shouto had stepped into the shower. It’s fine. He’s done, anyway — just a little damp, still.
He gets his t-shirt over his head and finishes pulling it down as he walks out to the living area. “Hey, Midoriya.”
“Uhhh.” Midoriya’s tongue darts out, wetting his lips. “H-Hi, Todoroki. Sorry— I texted? And then K-Kamaji said she’d been told to let me up whenever I arrived, so…”
“It’s fine,” Shouto says. “My own poor timing.”
“You look good.” Midoriya’s eyes widen. “I mean, well-rested.”
Shouto hums. “I slept better than usual, yeah. I think it helped, having you visit.”
“Oh!” Midoriya’s cheeks flush faint pink. “Well— I’m glad. I’ll come over whenever you like— Um, I mean, as long as it’s helpful.”
“You just want me for my air conditioning.” Shouto smirks.
Midoriya presses his hands over his face, pink deepening wherever Shouto can glimpse between his fingers. “Oh my god. I don’t— I just—”
Hm. He’d have thought Midoriya would be used to his particular brand of humor by now.
“Thirsty?” Shouto heads over to the kitchen. Midoriya squeaks.
Shouto frowns. Midoriya’s a little jumpy to begin with, but something’s off with him, today. “Water? Tea?”
The response is mumbled but could possibly be interpreted as ‘tea’, so Shouto clicks the button on the electric kettle and reaches up to retrieve the tea box and mugs from the cupboard.
Midoriya clears his throat. “I’m—I’m gonna get started on grading the rest of these.”
“Sure — let me know if you want my help again.” Shouto leans back against the counter.
Midoriya strides over to the other side of the living room and seats himself cross-legged between the couch and the coffee table.
Shouto narrows his eyes. Midoriya’s pen taps against the page, a staccato rhythm. What’s going on with him?
The water reaches a boil and the kettle clicks itself off. Color seeps out of the teabags into the hot water as he pours it into the mugs. Looseleaf would be nicer, but this is easier and Midoriya hasn’t shown himself to be picky about hot drinks, given that his order at AMBOD is totally unpredictable from one night to the next.
Midoriya’s back stiffens as Shouto approaches with the drinks, and Shouto hesitates.
“What’s wrong?” He frowns, stomach twisting. He’s obviously doing something to make Midoriya uncomfortable. “Did I do something wrong?”
“No, no— You’re perfect. Good! You’re good.” Midoriya runs a hand through his hair. “I’m fine. It’s fine. It’s nothing.”
“It’s obviously not nothing.” Shouto takes another step forward, gauging Midoriya’s reaction.
But Midoriya doesn’t tense up further — he drops his head into his arms on the table, instead.
Shouto crouches down beside him, placing the drinks on coasters and sliding them out of gesture range, just in case. A tentative hand on Midoriya’s back is met with the slightest shudder, but no objection.
The pulse beneath his fingertips is rapid, but Midoriya’s breathing is slow and measured; deliberate.
“You don’t want to talk about it?” Shouto asks, keeping his voice soft.
Midoriya shakes his head, face still hidden.
“But you’d tell me if I were upsetting you somehow?” Shouto bites his lip.
A pause. And then a nod, and Midoriya turns his face up to meet Shouto’s eyes. “Can we just order that food? Maybe I’ll feel better after I eat something.”
The words ring hollow, and Shouto twists his mouth, but ultimately nods his agreement. “Your tea could help, too.” He nudges the coaster a few inches towards him, and Midoriya takes the mug, cradling it in both hands, eyes closed as he inhales the scent.
At last, Midoriya’s lips curve into a genuine, albeit small, smile. Shouto’s heart squeezes. Hopefully, whatever it is that’s bothering him won’t permanently mar their interactions with discomfort. Encounters with most people tend to be exhausting, but for whatever reason, it doesn’t feel that way with Midoriya. It would be a shame to lose this connection. Even more so without having had a chance to talk about what’s causing the problem.
Shouto pulls up a takeout place not too far and fills in his usual. “Here, add whatever you want.” Midoriya takes the offered phone. His eyes flick up and down the screen as he peruses the menu.
“Is that okay?” He offers the phone back to Shouto.
“Of course,” Shouto says, and submits the order.
“You didn’t even look!”
“Didn’t need to.” Shouto doesn’t bother to suppress his grin. Midoriya’s fruitless objections over Shouto’s paying for him puts the two of them solidly back within familiar territory.
“I’m craving the futility of reason,” Shouto says, pausing his typing. “We haven’t been to AMBOD in a few days. Nights.”
Midoriya hums. “You want to relocate there?”
Shouto shakes his head. Midoriya’s notebooks are spread all over the dining room table, each open to a specific page. It would be a pain to have to pack up and move everything. “We could just walk over there and get it to-go.”
“Sure.” Midoriya stands and stretches, shoulder blades pulling together and then releasing. “A little walk might be nice, anyway.”
Midoriya had been seated, basically unmoving, for two or three hours, at least. He must have been working on arranging the material he’s already developed, since in Shouto’s experience, he’s basically incapable of sitting still if he’s working through a new idea. Has he given up on proving the Conjecture as a whole?
In the elevator, Midoriya leans against the glass wall, city lights reflected in his eyes. Shouto almost asks him his thoughts, but stops himself, remaining silent instead, preserving the sense of calm permeating the small space, the brief moment in time. The descent from the top floor to the lobby used to feel like it took forever. This time, the jolt of the elevator reaching the bottom comes disappointingly quickly.
They head out of the building into the warm night air, side by side.
“Have you made any progress with your proof lately?” Shouto asks, tilting his face toward Midoriya.
Midoriya’s brow furrows. “I had an idea for an approach, but I couldn’t get anywhere with it. Feels like I’m missing something, though, like it should work. So I’m letting my subconscious work on it while I get some less cognitively intense stuff done.”
“Does that really work?” The idea of his dad ever taking a break in an effort to be more productive is laughable. “Your brain can make progress on abstract concepts like that without your active concentration?”
“Sometimes it seems that way. I woke up with solutions to a set theory assignment, once, back in undergrad. Had to scramble to write it all down before I forgot.” Midoriya chuckles. “It’s not like I’m accomplishing anything by staring blankly at it, so I might as well put my energy elsewhere.”
Shouto nods. It makes sense. If it’s not a result of Midoriya feeling demoralized, a break seems like it can only be a good thing.
They reach the café, and Midoriya holds the door open.
“I wondered at your absence.” Tokoyami rests his hands on the counter as they approach.
“Sorry,” Shouto says. “We’ve been frequenting the other darkness-themed midnight café in the neighborhood.”
“You have an interesting opinion on what constitutes humor, Todoroki,” Tokoyami says, flatly, and Shouto snorts.
“The futility of reason and the authenticity of the soul, please,” Midoriya says, shoving his card past Shouto into Tokoyami’s hands.
“Wait—” Shouto tries, but Midoriya holds a hand up.
“And two strawberry cake pops.”
Tokoyami hands back the card, transaction complete. Damn it. “Midoriya—” Shouto starts.
“I can’t let you pay every time.” Midoriya rubs the back of his neck. “Even if it’s no problem for you.”
Shouto sighs and folds his arms…but is forced to unfold them a moment later in order to pick up his coffee. Midoriya does a bad job hiding his smile.
“Goodnight, Tokoyami,” Midoriya says, waving with his cake pop.
“Until next we meet.”
The door swings shut behind them, and they’re back to wading through the swampy air.
“How’s the book coming?” Midoriya asks. “Did you finish the, uh, bit with the hand-holding?”
There’s a note of something in Midoriya’s voice, but it’s difficult to glean anything from his expression while he’s focusing intently on his cake pop.
Shouto hums. “It’s coming along. It’ll always need fine-tuning, though. I can never read anything I’ve written without feeling like something needs to change.”
“What, really?” Midoriya swallows his bite of cake. “You’re never happy with your own work?” he continues, more clearly.
Shouto squints. “It’s not exactly that I’m not happy with it. Just that it seems like it could be better. It’s not like math, where a proof is a proof.”
Midoriya purses his lips. “I mean, in terms of logical soundness, sure… But there’s benefit to rewriting a proof for clarity; it matters whether you’re doing a good job communicating the ideas.”
“I guess I can see that.” Playing nice with other mathematicians had not been a part of his dad’s syllabus. “Sorry if I sounded like I was dismissing your work.”
“I didn’t take it that way,” Midoriya says, and then looks sidelong at him, cheek dimpled by a half-smile. “Should I have?”
“No!” Shouto laughs. “I just apologized for maybe coming off like that.”
“Maybe you meant it that way before I made such an enlightening argument.” Midoriya nudges him, a light shoulder check.
“Pfft—” Shouto catches sight of Midoriya’s eyes, glimmering with amusement, radiant even in the night, and his heart stutters.
“Anyway,” Midoriya says, glancing away. “Maybe I could read something of yours sometime. If that’s a thing you do.”
It’s not. But it could be.
“Maybe it’s out of line for me to even ask,” Midoriya continues, face angling up towards the sky. “I don’t know the etiquette.”
“It’s not out of line,” Shouto says. (Coming from basically anyone else, it would have been, he doesn’t add.) “I’ll show you. Sometime.”
Professor Aizawa scrutinizes the latest of Izuku’s efforts, eyes narrowed.
“This is good work, Midoriya,” he says. “Some fresh concepts here.”
“Thank you.” Izuku sighs. “I’m still hoping for an epiphany for how to crack the whole thing, though.”
“Aren’t we all?” Aizawa rubs between his eyes. “I do need to schedule your defense soon, though. I’ll try to get you a slot a couple of months from now, but I have to get it down on the calendar within the next two weeks.”
“Couple of months?” Izuku repeats, faintly.
Aizawa frowns. “This isn’t the first time we’ve discussed the timeline.”
“I know.” Izuku tugs at his lower lip. “It just snuck up on me.”
“The passage of time does tend to have that effect.” Aizawa closes the notebook and pushes it back across the table. “Look, Midoriya — I know you want to have the big proof ready in time, but you need to have a version ready to defend under the assumption that you might not be able to include it.”
“Yeah,” Izuku says, quietly. “I understand.”
“You can still publish your proof if and when you do complete it, even if that’s years from now.”
Izuku just nods.
“See you next week.” Aizawa nods at the notebook. “No new content. Just get it all put together.”
“Okay.” Izuku sighs, resigned.
Professor Aizawa is right; of course he is. The priority now needs to be ensuring he has everything necessary to graduate on time. With luck, his post-doc applications will come through without a hitch, and whichever department head he ends up working under will be supportive of his continuing to work on this, even if he has to spend a few months on a higher priority project, first.
He doesn’t have to shake the foundations of the field in order to have an acceptable dissertation to defend. It’s something he’s always dreamt of doing, but it might be a dream he has to let go of for the sake of practicality.
But as he pushes out the doors of the math building, there’s a lump in his throat, and he has to work his jaw to stop from crying. There’s no use terrifying the poor first years just trying to scurry between classes in peace by subjecting them to a PhD student’s public breakdown.
It shouldn’t be this upsetting, but the exhaustion probably isn’t helping.
He pulls out his phone and scrolls through his contacts. Todoroki is probably still sleeping. Ochako is unavailable during her Friday morning back-to-back tutorial sessions. Asui is a friend insofar as hanging out with her is pleasant enough, but not really a confidant. Kacchan would just deliver a long-awaited I told you so over Izuku’s decision to continue in academia rather than let himself get scouted by a big tech company after completing their undergrad program. Tenya is overseas at a conference.
He could call his mom, but she won’t really understand what’s upsetting him and it would just worry her unnecessarily. He’s still on track to get his doctorate. His advisor is pleased with his progress. On paper, everything is fine. But it’s disappointing, being told to give up (even just for the time being) working on something that had felt so close to being within reach. And objectively, that’s understandable — but he’s just so tired. Four hours of sleep is definitely not enough to let him keep it all in perspective. Mild disappointment and crushing disappointment might as well be exactly the same for all the distinction he seems to be able to make between them at the moment. And it’s fucking stupid, because if he can think clearly enough to recognize that that’s the problem, why can’t he get the emotional part of his brain to recognize it too?
Izuku takes a shaky breath. He’d left Todoroki’s place at around four in the morning, and if Todoroki had gone to sleep immediately he’d have been asleep for around six hours by now. So it’s not impossible that he might be awake. And if he’s not, he’d probably have his phone on silent, wouldn’t he? So texting him won’t disturb him. It’s worth a try. Right?
Because having a friend’s support right now would be pretty damn nice.
MI: are you up?
MI: meeting was kinda awful
He pinches the bridge of his nose, willing away the dull throb of the headache developing behind his eyes. His phone buzzes.
TS: What happened?
TS: You want to come over?
Some of the tension drains out from between his shoulder blades.
MI: yeah…10mins okay?
TS: Of course, see you soon
“Midoriya?”
Shouto stands up as the elevator doors slide open, revealing a subdued-looking Midoriya.
“Hey, Todoroki,” Midoriya says, weakly. He steps forward, fingers rubbing at his temples. “Do you happen to have some painkillers?”
“Yeah, I’ll grab some — headache?”
Midoriya nods, eyes closed.
By the time Shouto returns with two pills and a cup of water, Midoriya has curled up on his side on the couch.
“Did you eat breakfast?” Shouto holds out the medicine and water.
Midoriya sits up and takes the items. “Mm-mm.”
“You should eat if you’re going to—” Shouto retrieves a granola bar from a box on the counter and offers that as well.
He sits on the couch next to Midoriya, fingertips brushing the base of Midoriya’s neck. “This okay?”
Shouto’s had his share of headaches, of course, mostly due to eye strain, but sometimes as a result of muscle tension. This is the spot he usually finds himself reaching back to, but pressure from his own hands never seems as effective as it would be from another person’s hands.
Midoriya exhales, slowly. “Your hands are cold.”
Shouto pulls back, and Midoriya makes a noise of protest.
“No—” A line appears between his brows. “Cold was nice.”
Hand back in place, Shouto presses small circles into Midoriya’s neck muscles with his thumb, pausing only for Midoriya to tip his head back in order to swallow the medicine with a mouthful of water.
“How much sleep did you get?” Shouto nudges Midoriya to turn, allowing his other hand to help work out the tension.
“Four hours, I think? Maybe less— ahh— ”
Shouto repeats the motion that had resulted in that relieved vocalization; Midoriya hums in response, a low rumble.
“You should try to get some more rest.”
Midoriya goes down without resistance against his gentle pull and curls up into the fetal position on the couch. He must have been exhausted.
It would defeat the whole purpose if Midoriya wakes up with neck pain from sleeping in a messed up position, so Shouto tucks a pillow under his head. He leaves his fingers threaded through Midoriya’s dark curls, gently scratching at his scalp.
He’ll have to ask him what happened at the meeting later. But judging by how quickly Midoriya’s face goes slack in his sleep, a nap seems like a good first step to dealing with whatever the issue is.
Shouto yawns. Another hour or two of sleep for him, too, is an appealing option. Moving might disturb Midoriya, though, so sleeping upright on the couch will have to do.
He slumps against the back cushion and lets his eyes fall closed.
“Todoroki?” Midoriya’s voice, sleep-roughened.
“Mm?” Shouto blinks blearily. “Midoriya? Wh’time is it?”
“Umm—” Rustling. Shouto lets his eyes slide back closed. “Just after two.”
“Mmkay.”
“I’m sorry for imposing like this,” Midoriya says, as if he could possibly be an imposition. “You didn’t have to stay with me on the couch.”
“Wanted to.” Shouto rubs his cheek against the cushion and shifts to get more comfortable.
Fingertips brush hair back at his temple, gentle and soothing. Midoriya murmurs something indistinct before the touch is withdrawn.
Shouto frowns.
“Sorry.” The word is whispered, and Shouto opens his eyes to find Midoriya backing away towards the elevator, a different sort of pain written all over his face. “I should go.”
“Wait— Go?” Shouto sits up properly, fully awake now. “Why?”
“Because—” Midoriya cringes. “I made things…weird?”
“What? I don’t think you did.” Shouto tilts his head.
Midoriya bites his lip and glances away. Are those tears, glistening in his eyes? Shouto’s chest aches. This doesn’t seem like it’s about what happened at the meeting. Not entirely, anyway.
“Midoriya…” Shouto trails off. Is he causing this?
“I’m just— I’m going to just—” Midoriya cuts off, shoulders rising and falling with a ragged breath.
“Do you want to sit back down?” Shouto gestures beside himself on the couch.
Midoriya nods, crosses back to the couch, and sits, eyes slowly traveling up from the floor to meet Shouto’s.
“I’m just going to say it,” Midoriya says, tucking his arms around his middle. “I have feelings for you.”
Shouto’s heart jumps and warmth floods his veins, spreading outward from his chest. This— This— This isn’t just a reaction resulting from too much time spent dreaming up romantic confessions, given and received. This is genuine. Midoriya has feelings for him, and it’s thrilling.
But Midoriya looks miserable.
“I wanted to tell you,” he’s saying, “but I thought— I was worried about the timing, like you’d think— I was afraid you’d think it was because—”
“Because of money?” Shouto finishes, quietly.
“Yeah.” Midoriya hunches in on himself. “It’s not! Not at all— I just— I really like b-being with you, and I keep w-wishing…” He trails off, before picking up again. “But you’ve been so — I don’t know — straightforward? About everything else? So I figured if you felt anything too, you’d have said something, but you haven’t, so— I get that you p-probably don’t, and that’s fine, I mean, I’d still like to be friends as long as I haven’t made you too uncomfortable—”
Midoriya’s hands are shaking. Shouto reaches out and takes them in his own. Midoriya’s mouth clicks shut.
“Midoriya.” Shouto swallows. He’s written a thousand responses to declarations like this (well, not quite like this), but language has chosen this moment to fail him utterly.
“T-Todoroki?” Midoriya’s eyes, wide and uncertain, stare into his.
“Shouto. Please.” He squeezes Midoriya’s hands.
“Shouto.” A whispered echo, syllables formed with care.
“You keep wishing what?” Shouto shifts closer, just slightly.
Midoriya shifts too, breaths coming shallow. One of his hands releases Shouto’s, coming up to Shouto’s jaw — lightly, at first, and then more solidly as Shouto does not pull away.
“Can I kiss you?”
The words send a thrill down Shouto’s spine, and he parts his lips. “Please.”
Midoriya’s fingers curl at the side of his neck, his thumb stroking Shouto’s cheek as he leans in and touches his lips to Shouto’s. His movements are halting, as if he’s still afraid Shouto might jump away at any moment, but Shouto slides his hand up to the nape of Midoriya’s neck and all hesitation vanishes.
Shouto’s heart thuds against the inside of his ribs as Midoriya presses close, lips meeting Shouto’s again and again, parted just slightly, finding a better angle each time. His soft hums echo Shouto’s own noises of encouragement and transform into breathy gasps when Shouto lightly trails his fingernails up the back of his neck.
“Am I dreaming?” Midoriya murmurs, forehead resting against Shouto’s.
“Not unless figments of your imagination can be self-aware,” Shouto breathes.
Midoriya snorts. “You sound like Tokoyami.”
“The veracity of other minds,” Shouto intones, earning a genuine laugh.
It’s a beautiful sound.
Midoriya kisses him again, just briefly, and sighs. “So, you…?”
“Feel the same way?” Shouto shifts back to look into Midoriya’s eyes, wide and hopeful. “Yeah.”
“Not going to deliver a deadpan line about how you just spent the past five minutes making out with me because you’re not interested?” Midoriya lifts an eyebrow, lips curving into a slight smile.
Shouto smiles back and shakes his head. “Not when it’s something that really matters.”
“Oh.”
“You matter to me, Midoriya.” He interlaces their fingers.
“Izuku.”
That smile is far too capable of sending his heart into arrhythmia.
“Izuku,” Shouto repeats. And blinks. “You never told me what happened at your meeting.”
“Oh.” Midoriya — Izuku — laughs. “I mean, it hardly seems so devastating now.”
Shouto frowns, tilts his head.
“My advisor wants me to focus on compiling what I have already, and stop trying to prove the whole Conjecture.” Izuku’s brows pull together, and it’s evident that it does still bother him, even if he’s feeling better about his overall life situation.
“But you were so close.” Shouto squeezes his hand.
“I know.” Izuku sighs. “I can come back to it, one day.”
Shouto presses his lips together. He could offer— But would Izuku even want—? “What if I help? And we tackle it together?”
Izuku’s eyes go wide. “But my dissertation—”
Shouto shakes his head. “We can pick a cutoff date if we still haven’t solved it, so that there’s still time. We’ll figure something out — you shouldn’t give up.”
Izuku frowns, gazing into the middle distance. “I mean, that sounds— It would be amazing to prove it together. You’d deserve an acknowledgement in my thesis, and probably co-author credit when we publish the proof itself, if we really do manage to solve it. But I thought you didn’t want anything to do with academia.”
“I didn’t,” Shouto says. “But you’ve reminded me that I really did love math before my dad got started trying to groom me into the perfect academic.”
He smiles, sadly. “My mom— I haven’t even told you what happened with her, but I haven’t seen her in a long, long time. Anyway, we used to do these ‘puzzles’ together — just for fun, you know? I didn’t even realize she was teaching me formal logic until years later.”
Izuku’s thumb strokes across his skin, and Shouto exhales, tucking his head onto Izuku’s shoulder and closing his eyes.
“I’m really glad I met you, Izuku.”
The solid weight of Izuku’s head settles atop Shouto’s. “I’m glad I met you, too.”
“Do you want to go out for coffee sometime?” Shouto suppresses a grin. “My treat.”
Izuku huffs a laugh. “You’re a little bit strange, you know.”
Shouto turns his face to nuzzle against Izuku’s neck. “I know. But I think you kind of like it.”