Chapter Text
The news called them "Fire and Ice."
Social media called them "The Hothead and the Snowflake."
The hero rankings called them #1 and #2. Alternating. Constantly.
No one called them what they really were.
Not even them.
Bakugou Katsuki slammed his door shut so hard the frame rattled. Todoroki didn’t flinch.
“You’re bleeding,” Todoroki said from the kitchen, unbothered, as he set two bowls on the counter. His voice was even. Too even.
“I noticed,” Bakugou muttered, shrugging off his hero jacket, the right sleeve torn nearly off. Blood soaked through the shoulder. “Stitches?”
“On the table,” Todoroki said, already grabbing the medkit. “Sit down before you ruin my couch again.”
Bakugou grumbled something unintelligible but obeyed. He dropped onto the stool with a hiss and peeled his shirt off, wincing. Todoroki didn’t comment on the bruises, the gash down his side, or the faint tremble in his fingers. Just opened the antiseptic like this was routine. Because it was.
“Media’s still obsessed with us,” Todoroki said after a beat, swabbing the wound. “They titled today’s fight ‘The Explosive Avalanche.’”
Bakugou scoffed. “Idiots.”
“They also voted you ‘Most Likely to Get Arrested for Property Damage.’”
“Should’ve won that years ago.”
That pulled a soft sound from Todoroki—maybe a chuckle, maybe a breath—but Bakugou heard it anyway.
The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was filled with clicks of bandages, the sting of disinfectant, and the warm presence of something they never named.
“I brought soba,” Bakugou mumbled after a long moment, like it was some kind of truce offering. “Cold.”
Todoroki looked at him. Really looked at him.
“You always do.”
Bakugou glanced away. “Shut up.”
By the time the food was steaming between them—Todoroki’s cold, Bakugou’s spicy hot ramen—their injuries were wrapped, the blood cleaned, and the weight of the city outside had dulled to something tolerable.
“You ever think this is stupid?” Bakugou asked suddenly. “The interviews. The cameras. Pretending we’re still pissed at each other.”
Todoroki took a slow bite. “You are still pissed at me.”
“I’m not pissed at you, I’m pissed at everyone else being so fucking nosy.”
Todoroki tilted his head, studying him. “Then maybe stop staring at me during press conferences like you're going to set me on fire.”
“I do want to set you on fire.”
“You just did. Four hours ago.”
Bakugou huffed, shoving a mouthful of noodles in to hide the heat rising to his cheeks.
The quiet held for a while, only the clink of chopsticks and city noise through half-open windows.
Then Todoroki asked, “Why do you keep coming here?”
Bakugou didn’t look up. “Because you’re the only one who knows how to shut up and patch me up without making it weird.”
“That’s not true. You could go to a hospital.”
Bakugou glared at him. “And have the nurses fangirl all over me while I’m missing half a kidney? Hell no.”
Todoroki said nothing. But something softened in his expression. He reached for Bakugou’s bowl and swapped it with his half-eaten soba without asking.
“Hey—”
“You’re overheating. You need something cold.”
Bakugou blinked. “You’re so—annoying.”
“Sure.”
Later, when Bakugou stood at the door, jacket slung over one shoulder and scowl back in place, Todoroki asked, “Will I see you tomorrow?”
Bakugou didn’t turn around. “We’ve got that panel at J-Agency, remember? 'Hero Rivalries and Professional Conflict Management.' Sounds like bullshit.”
“I meant after that.”
A pause. Then Bakugou glanced over his shoulder, lip twitching. “Yeah. I’ll bring soba.”
Todoroki nodded once. “I’ll bring stitches.”
Meanwhile...
On the other side of the city, news anchors were still replaying the post-battle press conference.
“...and Pro Hero Shouto handled the collapsing building with incredible grace,” the woman said. “He and Dynamight continue to top charts, though many speculate the rivalry may be turning more personal.”
The screen cut to a replay of the moment: Todoroki, still bloodied, standing stiff beside Bakugou. A reporter asked something about “team coordination.”
Todoroki, clearly exhausted, replied:
“Well, that’s just how Katsuki works.”
There was a pause. Barely half a second.
But Bakugou’s eyes had flicked sideways, and the tips of his ears had turned red.
The internet was going to notice.
And everything was about to change.