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The tradition had been unofficially dubbed "Legacy Training" by Principal Nezu, a part of the third-year curriculum at UA. The logic was simple: to truly master a skill, one must be able to teach it. To lead, one must understand how to lift others up. It was a direct echo of the "Big Three" system from Shoto's own first year, where Mirio, Tamaki, and Nejire had served as almost mythical figures guiding their juniors.
Now, it was his turn. It was also Katsuki's and Midoriya's. They were the veterans, the ones who had survived wars, sports festivals, villain attacks, and the relentless torture of Aizawa's homeroom. Their experience was a unique resource, and UA was big about leveraging it. For a few hours each week, the third-years were rotated into teaching assistant roles, running drills, offering critiques, and demonstrating techniques for the wide eyed first-years.
Aizawa had brought it to them with his typical bluntness. "You've learned things in the field that can't be found in a textbook. Pass them on. Don't screw it up."
Today, Shoto stands in the center of a group of first-years, posture perfect, voice calm as he demonstrates the proper defensive stance they've been struggling with all session. His right side faces them, ice crystallizing along his fingertips in a display meant to teach the principles of quirk management under pressure.
He's good at this, teaching. It surprises him sometimes, how patient he can be with students who remind him of everything he used to get wrong. The first-years watch him with wide, nervous eyes, the kind of wonder that makes his chest tight with something he doesn't quite know how to name. Responsibility, maybe. Or the weight of being someone's example when he's still figuring out how to be himself.
He is the legacy of the Big Three now, part of the Golden Trio. And as he meets the awestruck eyes of a small girl with water-manipulation quirk, her hands clenched in determined fists, he feels the full, humbling weight of that legacy settle on his shoulders. He wouldn't fail them.
"The key is anticipation," he's saying, voice carrying across the field in that way he's learned from watching Aizawa-sensei work. "Don't wait for the attack to reach you. Read your opponent's body language, their weight distribution, the—"
That's when everything goes sideways.
The girl is new— Haruka Emiko, he remembers from the roster— and her hands have been trembling since the exercise started. He's noticed, filed it away as something to address gently later, but there's no later because her quirk activates in a burst of panicked instinct. Pink gas streams from her pores in a cloud that expands faster than anyone can react, and Shoto is standing close enough that it hits him directly in the face.
He inhales on reflex. His body doesn't understand the difference between regular air and whatever this is until it's already in his lungs, spreading through his bloodstream.
The change comes instantly.
It feels like someone has reached into his chest and removed a piece, something heavy that's been there his entire life, keeping everything locked down and protected and safe. The absence of it is a little surprising. The world doesn't look different exactly, but it feels different. Warmer. Softer. Like someone has removed a piece of glass between him and everything else, and suddenly he can reach out and touch it all without the barrier of his careful put together control.
Everyone around him seems so…. good. So safe. So worthy of trust and affection and honesty. The first-year who's now sobbing in panic, the other students backing away uncertainly, even the grass under his feet, all of it feels to him as just wonderful in a way that makes his heart swell in his chest.
"Oh," he says, and his own voice sounds different to his ears. Lighter. "That's interesting."
The feeling is pleasant, he notes. Like being wrapped in warm water. Like the moment right before sleep. He should probably be concerned about that, the loss of control is dangerous, but the concern itself feels far away and unimportant compared to the overwhelming sense that everything is fine.
Emiko is still crying, her hands pressed to her mouth in horror, and Shoto's first instinct is to comfort her. He crosses the distance between them without thinking, and places a gentle hand on her head. Her hair is soft under his palm, dark and slightly damp with sweat from the training.
"It's okay," he tells her, and means it with every fiber of his being. "Mistakes are how we learn. You have very nice hair. It's like— hm.. fluffy clouds."
Her hair does look cloud-like, all those dark curls bouncing as she hiccups through her tears. He's pleased with the observation, pleased with his ability to articulate something kind. Usually, kindness gets stuck somewhere between his brain and his mouth in fear of saying the wrong thing or revealing too much. But right now, the words flow easily.
Aizawa appears in his peripheral, and his eyes flash red as his quirk activates. Shoto watches with interest, noting the way Sensei’s jaw tightens, the small frown that appears between his eyebrows when something isn't working the way it should.
Nothing changes. The warm, floating feeling stays. If anything, it intensifies slightly, like a feedback loop of contentment that makes Shoto smile without meaning to.
"Todoroki." Aizawa's voice has that particular tone that usually makes students straighten their spines. Right now, it just makes Shoto feel safe. "How do you feel?"
The question seems important, though Shoto isn't entirely sure why. He considers it carefully, taking stock of his body and mind the way he's been trained. No pain. No discomfort. Just this sense of warmth and openness, like his ribs have expanded to make room for more air, more light, more of whatever this feeling is.
"Safe," he answers, because it's the truth and lying seems impossible right now. Unnecessary. Why would anyone lie when honesty is so much simpler? "Everything feels very clear. Did you know your clothes smell like coffee? It's comforting."
He leans slightly into the man’s space as he says it. Aizawa has always felt steady to him, unmovable in a way that has nothing to do with physical strength and everything to do with who he is. Right now, that steadiness is almost magnetic. Shoto wants to be near it, to bask in it like a cat in a sunbeam.
Aizawa's eyes scan Shoto's face, cataloging symptoms, assessing threat levels. When he speaks, his voice is softer in a way that makes Shoto think of adults trying not to scare children.
"Fuck," he mutters, which is unusual enough that it catches Shoto's attention. His teacher pulls out his phone with one hand while his other guides Emiko closer, gentle despite the urgency in his movements. "Haruka. Quirk designation?"
The girl is still crying, her breath coming in hitches that make her whole body shake. Shoto has the thought that someone should give her water, crying is dehydrating, he's read that somewhere, but before he can voice the suggestion, she's talking.
"S-Social Glide, sensei. It's a chemical inhibition suppressant. It makes people lose their social filters and become really agreeable and trusting and open. They say whatever they think and they'll do basically anything if you ask nicely enough. It usually wears off in six to eight hours—"
"Six to eight—" Aizawa's hand tightens on his phone, knuckles going white for just a moment before he forces himself to relax. Shoto watches with fascination, noting how his teacher's control extends even to involuntary stress responses. It's impressive. He should tell him that.
But Aizawa is already moving, mind clearly several steps ahead. He looks at Shoto again, and this time there's something heavy. Something that looks almost like fear, though Shoto can't imagine what Aizawa has to be afraid of. They're safe here. Everyone is safe.
Except they're not, are they? Some distant part of Shoto's brain, the part that's still functioning analytically beneath the warm haze, understands what this means. No social filters. Complete agreeability. Absolute trust. He would follow anyone who smiled at him right now. Would answer any question. Would do any task. The implications spiral in his mind. State secrets, security protocols, his father's schedule, UA's defenses, the location of his mother's hospital, his friends' weaknesses, his own.
He'd be so easy to exploit right now. So dangerously easy.
The realization hits his consciousness without sticking, acknowledged and then gone again. Yes, it's dangerous. But he's surrounded by his teacher and his classmates and people who care about him, so it's fine. Everything is fine.
"Everyone back to the dorms," Aizawa announces, his voice cutting through the murmur of concerned students. "Now. Class 3-A, you're on Todoroki duty. Do not let him out of your sight, do not let him talk to anyone outside the class, and for the love of—"
His eyes snap to Kaminari, who has his phone halfway out of his pocket, the screen already glowing with what is undoubtedly the camera app.
"No recording."
The capture scarf shoots out and wraps around Kaminari's phone, yanking it from his hands before he can protest. Kaminari makes a wounded noise but doesn't argue, possibly because Sensei's expression suggests that arguing would be a terrible idea.
The walk back to Heights Alliance feels both very long and very short. Time has a strange way under the quirk's influence. Shoto is acutely aware of everything, the warmth of the afternoon sun on his shoulders, the sound of footsteps on pavement, the worried whispers of his classmates creating a gentle white noise around him.
Midoriya appears at his side without Shoto consciously registering it, just suddenly there, comforting in the way of old habits and their trust in each other. When the boy’s hand brushes his on accident, Shoto takes it without thinking, lacing their fingers together with the easy affection of childhood friends, even though they're not children and their friendship is still relatively new in the grand scheme of things. But still. He likes this.
The hand is warm and slightly sweaty, Midoriya runs hot when he's anxious, Shoto has noticed, and his grip is gentle and firm. Supportive. They walk like that for several steps before Shoto realizes he's swinging their joined hands between them like they're elementary schoolers on a field trip. It’s soothing. He continues doing it, unconcerned with what it might look like.
"Midoriya," he says, because thoughts are becoming words with no filter in between, "your hand is a little sweaty. You should hydrate more. But I don't mind. I like holding your hand."
He can feel Midoriya's grip tighten slightly, sees the flush crawl up his neck in the peripheral vision. But he continues, because the thought chain has started and stopping it feels impossible.
"You're my best friend and I care about you very much. You gave me the courage to reclaim my power during the Sports Festival in first year. That's very important to me. You're very important to me."
Midoriya makes a choked sound beside him. When Shoto glances over, his friend's face has gone crimson, his eyes bright and wet. Tears spill over, tracking down his cheeks in lines, and he's smiling even as he cries.
"Todoroki-kun," Midoriya manages, his voice cracking around the word.
Shoto squeezes his hand, concerned. "Are you okay? Should I get you water? You're crying. Is it because I mentioned your slightly sweaty hands? I didn't mean to offend you. I really don't care, see? I’m cooling it a little. Your hands are nice and strong. Very heroic hands. They've saved a lot of people."
"I'm fine," Midoriya says, wiping at his eyes with his free hand, still smiling that trembling smile. "I'm really, really fine. Thank you, Todoroki-kun."
Behind them, someone, Kirishima probably, based on the pitch, whispers loudly, "Dude, you broke Midoriya."
Shoto considers this. He doesn't feel like he's broken anything. Midoriya seems more intact than ever actually, all his emotions right there where they're easy to read. But he supposes crying could be interpreted as breaking, in a certain way.
Further back in the group, Aizawa is on the phone. Shoto can only catch fragments over the noise, but the words he does catch— "compromised," "vulnerable," "potential security nightmare"— seem important. They should probably worry him. In his normal state, they would trigger an immediate threat assessment, strategic planning, damage control.
Right now, they just seem like words. Concerns that belong to a different version of himself.
The common room is exactly as they left it this morning. Remnants of breakfast still on the counter, someone's textbook abandoned on the couch, the smell of coffee and the warmth that comes from a space inhabited by twenty teenagers with different schedules and habits.
Aizawa moves directly to the entrance and plants himself there, arms crossed over his chest, expression set in what Shoto has come to recognize as his "I'm not angry, just deeply disappointed in the universe" face.
"Common room. Everyone. Now." He instructs. "This room is now under quarantine. No one enters or leaves without my direct permission. All phones on the table. I see anyone try to post about this and you'll be filing paperwork until graduation."
There's a moment of hesitation, then the sounds of phones being placed on the coffee table. Some students surrender them readily, others put them down with obvious reluctance.
Shoto watches the pile of phones grow with interest. He wonders if anyone has noticed that four of them have the same lock screen wallpaper, that photo from the I-Island trip where they're all crowded together and smiling. It's a nice photo. He's smiling in it, a small one but genuine. Ochako had been pleased when she managed to capture it.
"Aizawa-sensei," he says, drawn to his teacher's presence by the same magnetic pull from earlier. He crosses the room and tugs gently on the man’s sleeve, feeling the rough material of his hero costume under his fingers. The texture is interesting. Well-worn but well-maintained, practical rather than flashy. Very Aizawa.
His teacher looks down at him, one eyebrow raised in question.
"You look very tired," Shoto observes, studying the shadows under his eyes. They're darker than usual, a deep purple that shows missed sleep and excessive quirk use. "Your eyebags are truly impressive. They show your dedication. You should be proud of them. They make you look like a very exhausted, very committed panda."
Aizawa's face does something funny. It's not quite an expression, more like several micro-expressions happening at once and canceling each other out. His eye twitches. Just once. A tiny twitxh that most people would miss, but Shoto is very good at reading faces, at cataloging the changes that reveal what people are actually thinking beneath what they're saying.
"I need more coffee," Sensei mutters, apparently addressing the ceiling. "So much more coffee."
But— and this is important— he doesn't pull away when Shoto leans his head against his arm. Doesn't shake him off or step aside or even look particularly annoyed. Just accepts his fate. Shoto has always known that the man cares about his students. But right now, he can feel it.
"I feel very safe with you," Shoto continues, because the thought demands to be voiced. "You're like a grumpy, stationary black cat who secretly cares very much. Your presence is soothing."
Aizawa makes a sound that might be a sigh or might be the verbal equivalent of resignation. His hand comes up to rest on top of Shoto's head, just for a moment, just ruffling through his hair once, before he clears his throat and addresses the class.
"Everyone sit." He instructs. "Ignore everything Todoroki says for the next several hours. He is medically compromised and not in control of his social inhibitions. This is not entertainment. This is a serious situation that could have had catastrophic consequences in different circumstances."
His eyes sweep the room, making sure each student understands the gravity of what he's saying. Shoto can see them processing it, the way their expressions shift from curiosity to concern.
"Todoroki is the son of the Number One Hero. He has access to information about security protocols, confidential investigations, private family matters that could be weaponized. He's one of the most known students in this school, and right now, he would follow a stranger offering him a compliment. He'd reveal UA's defensive systems for a smile. Hell, he'd walk into a trafficking ring if they asked nicely enough."
The room goes very quiet. Even Kaminari stops fidgeting.
"The only— and I mean the only— reason this is manageable is because he's surrounded by people who care about his wellbeing. You guys will stay with him. Don't make me regret trusting you with this responsibility."
"We've got him, sensei," Midoriya says quietly. Around the room, heads nod in agreement. Yaoyorozu straightens in her seat, already sliding into leadership mode. Iida follows easily.
Shoto absorbs all of this with pleased detachment. They're talking about him, about protecting him, and the warmth in his chest expands to fill spaces he didn't know were empty. These are his people. His classmates. His friends. They care about him enough to take this seriously, to set aside their phones and their curiosity and their natural teenage impulse toward entertainment.
The thought is almost overwhelming in its sweetness.
Aizawa pulls out a sleeping bag from somewhere— possibly just from thin air because the man has long since stopped obeying normal rules of reality— and gets into position by the door. He looks like a particularly disgruntled guard dog, if guard dogs drank excessive amounts of coffee and looked perpetually disappointed in humanity.
"Now everyone just keep him calm and safe until this wears off," he says, voice losing some of its sharpness now that crisis protocols have been established. He trusts them. "I'll be here."
For a moment, there's awkward silence. Eighteen teenagers staring at their unfiltered classmate, unsure how to go anout this. Shoto looks back at them, seeing each face clearly. Ochako's concerned scrunch of her eyebrows, Tsuyu's characteristic calm assessment, Tokoyami's worry, Ashido's barely suppressed excitement tempered with genuine care.
They're all so good, he thinks. Every single one of them. How did he get so lucky?
The thought must show on his face because Ashido makes a soft sound, her hands coming up to clutch at her chest.
"You're all so good," Shoto says aloud, because thinking it and saying it have become the same action. "I don't say it enough, but I'm grateful for all of you. This class is the first place I've ever felt like I belonged."
With those words, Ashido's eyes go shiny with tears. Ochako presses her knuckles to her mouth. Kirishima's jaw trembles, manly, of course. Even Katsuki—
Wait. Katsuki.
Where is Katsuki?
The thought barely has time to form before the answer arrives in the form of the common room door opening. His boyfriend walks in with his usual aggressive confidence and is clearly annoyed he's missed whatever drama went down.
Everyone in Class 3-A knows they're together. It's just a fact of life, like Midoriya's muttering or Aoyama's sparkles. But they don't make a big deal out of it. No grand gestures. Their relationship shows in the smaller things. Katsuki saving the seat beside him without a word, Shoto sliding his leftovers onto Katsuki's plate, the way their bickering lacks any real heat. Public kissing or hand-holding is off the table. (Though, if the walls in the dorms are a little thin sometimes, and certain.. enthusiastic... noises have been heard late at night from one of their rooms, well, the class has a silent agreement to never, ever mention it. Ever.)
Katsuki takes in the scene with a quick, assessing look. The class arranged in a semicircle, phones piled on the table, Aizawa in full guard-dog mode by the door, and—
And Shoto, who is smiling at him. Actually, genuinely smiling, with no attempt to control or minimize the expression. It's the kind of smile that takes over his whole face, crinkling the corners of his eyes, revealing the slightly crooked incisor he's self-conscious about. (The one Katsuki thinks is cute as hell). The same smile he only ever shares in their private moments.
"Katsuki," Shoto breathes, and the single word holds more emotion than entire conversations usually do.
Katsuki freezes mid-step. His eyes go wide, actually wide, not the narrow-eyed glare he defaults to. He turns away, trying to get an answer from their teacher.
"What the hell—"
But Shoto is already moving. The quirk has removed not just his social filters but also his usual careful spatial awareness, the distance he keeps from others. He crosses the room fast and wraps his arms around Katsuki from behind before anyone can intervene. His arms circle his boyfriend's waist and he tucks his chin over Katsuki's shoulder like it's the most natural thing in the world. Like they do this all the time in public, rather than staying quiet about the exact nature of their relationship.
Katsuki goes rigid. Every muscle in his body locks up, his spine goes straight, his shoulders hiking up toward his ears. His face turns several shades of red that don't typically seem natural under normal circumstances.
"Your heartbeat is my favorite sound," Shoto murmurs, and the common room might as well be a void for how silent it becomes. Every eye is fixed on them. "It's so loud and strong. Like you. I can feel it against my chest. It makes me feel safe."
The confession is intimate in a way that makes several classmates look away reflexively. But most can't, caught between respect for their privacy and the magnetic pull of seeing Todoroki Shoto— famously reserved, carefully controlled Todoroki Shoto— lay his heart bare in front of everyone.
Katsuki's mouth opens. Closes. Opens again. No sound comes out. His hands hover at his sides like he's forgotten what hands are for, what he's supposed to do with them, how human bodies typically function.
"H-Halfie! What the fuck?! Get off—"
"No." The sky is blue. Water is wet. He will not let go of Katsuki. "I love you."
Someone gasps. It might be multiple someones.
"Your explosions are pretty and you're secretly very soft. Like a....prickly peach. Or maybe a pomegranate. Sweet inside." Shoto pauses, considering. His breath is warm against Katsuki's neck, and he doesn't seem to notice or care that his boyfriend has stopped breathing entirely. "I should tell you I love you more often. I think about it constantly but I don't say it enough. You make me feel like I can be warm without burning."
The metaphor lands in the quiet room in a way that has several people make choked sounds. Kirishima has his hands clasped to his chest like he's trying to keep his heart from jumping out. Kaminari has slid halfway off the couch, mouth open in a perfect O of shock. Even Tokoyami looks affected, Dark Shadow emerging slightly from his shoulders with what might be tears in its eyes.
"Shut up!" Katsuki roars, but his voice cracks in the middle, undermining the aggression. His face has reached beyond red into territories that might require new color code. "What's wrong with him?!"
"Quirk accident," Aizawa supplies helpfully. "Social inhibition removal. He's going to say whatever comes into his head and agree to basically anything for the next six to eight hours. His brain is medically compromised."
"Six to eight—" Katsuki looks genuinely panicked now, which is perhaps more alarming than Shoto's condition. Katsuki doesn't do panic. Anger, yes. Determination, absolutely. But wide-eyed, breathing-too-fast panic? That's new. It means he understands the implications.
"Katsuki, you're very warm," Shoto observes, tightening his hold slightly. The move brings them even closer together, throwing away the last few millimeters of space between them. "I'm keeping you. Like a grumpy heating pad. You're my grumpy heating pad. Mine."
Katsuki makes a sound that might be a whimper if he were anyone else, but since he's Katsuki, it comes out as more of a strangled growl. His hands finally remember how to function and come up to grip Shoto's forearms, but he doesn't pull them away. Doesn't actually try to break the hold. Just…. holds on, his grip tight enough to feel but not tight enough to hurt.
"I hate this," he announces to the room, voice strangled. "I hate all of you. This is the worst day of my life."
"Bakubro," Kirishima says, and his voice is shaking with suppressed emotion, laughter or tears or both, "you're smiling."
"I'LL KILL YOU, DUMBASS!"
But he is. It's tiny, barely a curve at the corner of his mouth, and he's clearly trying to suppress it. But it's there, unmistakable to anyone who knows how to read Katsuki. His eyes have gone soft, the furrow between his eyebrows smoothing out just slightly. His shoulders, have curved slightly inward, unconsciously protective of the person draped across his back.
He looks, they realize startlingly, absolutely smitten. Embarrassed and flustered and completely overwhelmed, yes, but underneath all of that, hopelessly, helplessly in love.
The realization seems to hit the entire class simultaneously.
This is what they look like when all the walls are down, what they look like in their most private moments. This is what they are to each other.
"Okay," Yaoyorozu says, attempting to take control of the situation, "new plan. We're making this a comfortable evening for Todoroki-san. Comfortable clothes, comfort food, calm activities. This is clearly a.... delicate situation."
Her voice catches slightly on "delicate," her cheeks pinking. Because it is delicate. Todoroki shouting his love in front of the entire class, Bakugou’s carefully constructed facade cracking to reveal the softness beneath, both of them so vulnerable it almost hurts to witness.
"Tooru, help me in the kitchen," Yaoyorozu continues, sliding seamlessly into organizational mode because that's what she does when situations become emotionally complicated. "Jirou, queue up something soothing on the sound system. Nothing too energetic."
"On it," Jirou says, already heading for the speaker system, her ear jacks twitching with what might be her own suppressed response.
"I can make tea!" Ochako volunteers, bouncing up and away to the kitchen. "The calming kind! With honey!"
"Shoto," Katsuki says, his voice dropping lower, just for him. He turns carefully in Shoto's embrace, not breaking it, just repositioning, until they're face to face. His hands come up to grip Shoto's shoulders. "You need to sit down before you trip over your own feet, you loopy bastard."
"You're worried about me," Shoto observes, bringing his hands up to cup Katsuki's face. His palms are cool on his overheated cheeks. "Your eyes get softer when you're worried. Did you know that? You have very expressive eyes. They're like a sunset. Orange and red and golden and fierce and beautiful."
Katsuki's brain visibly short-circuits. His mouth falls open and no words come out. His hands on Shoto's shoulders tighten, and for a moment he just... stares, caught between horror and something that looks dangerously close to tender.
"I— you— shut— up—"
"I don't want to shut up." Shoto's thumbs stroke gently across Katsuki's cheekbones, so affectionate. "I never tell you enough how beautiful you are. It seems wrong. You should know."
Katsuki looks like he's about to spontaneously combust from sheer emotional overload. "How is your mouth still working?! Should've fallen off by now with all that talking!"
"You're fascinating," Shoto continues, apparently unable to hear or simply not processing Katsuki's distress. "Your face is very symmetrical. And your hands are elegant even when they're exploding things. I like watching you cook. You're very competent. Competence is attractive. You're attractive. Have I mentioned that I love you?"
"Yes," Katsuki hisses, his face still approaching colors that probably shouldn't be biologically possible. "You mentioned. Everyone heard. The whole class knows. It's— we need to— fuck—"
He seems to reach some decision. His hands slide from Shoto's shoulders to grab one of his, and he starts pulling him toward the couch, dragging his affectionate natural disaster of a boyfriend.
"You're sitting down. Now. Before you say something else that makes me want to die."
"But I have so many things to say," Shoto protests, allowing himself to be pulled along with no resistance. "I usually keep them inside but that seems unnecessary right now. Did you know—"
"Nope. No more talking." Katsuki pushes him onto the couch cushions with more gentleness than his tone suggests. He’s careful, making sure Shoto doesn't hit the armrest or lose his balance. "Sit. Stay. Like a dog. Be a good boy and stay."
But the moment Katsuki tries to step back, Shoto's hand shoots out and wraps around his wrist. His grip is gentle, and the look in his eyes is so open, pleased and affectionate and just a little possessive.
"You're staying with me."
Katsuki stares at their joined hands, at the pale fingers wrapped around his wrist, at the way Shoto's thumb is unconsciously stroking across his pulse point. His throat works.
"I— fuck—" He looks up at the ceiling like it might provide answers. It doesn't. "Fine. Fine! But you're being quiet. No more talking. Not a single word."
He sits down heavily beside Shoto, stiff with embarrassment. But before he can even settle, Shoto is moving, tucking himself against Katsuki's side. He wraps an arm around his waist, rests his head on Katsuki's shoulder, and letsout a contented sigh that sounds like every tension he's ever held has finally just went out the window.
"I love you," he says again, because apparently it bears repeating. "You work so hard to be the best but you already are the best. To me. You're always the best to me."
Katsuki makes a strangled noise and covers his face with his free hand, but not before everyone sees the way his expression goes soft and helpless. His ears are bright red, visible even through his blond hair.
"Dude," Sero whispers, awed. "Katsuki is smiling. Behind his hand. He's actually smiling."
"TAPE FACE, I SWEAR TO GOD—"
Shoto, meanwhile, has apparently decided that simply leaning against Katsuki isn't enough contact. He shifts, pulling his legs up onto the couch and over Katsuki's lap. His head finds the space between Katsuki's shoulder and neck like it was made to fit there, and his hand comes to rest over Katsuki's heart, feeling the rapid beating beneath the fabric and muscle.
"This is the most beautiful thing I've ever witnessed," Kirishima manages between sobs. "This is peak romance. This is— this is—"
"This is a disaster," Katsuki corrects, but his other hand has come up to card through Shoto's hair. "The worst disaster. The worst day of my entire life."
"I like it when you touch my hair," Shoto observes, pressing into the touch like a cat. "You did it once when I was half-asleep during movie night. You thought I was fully asleep but I wasn't. I was just very comfortable. Your hands are nice. Careful, when you want them to be. You're always careful with me."
"Okay, I'm crying now too," Kaminari announces, not even trying to hide the tears on his face. "This is too much. My heart can't take it. Baku being soft? Todoroki being open? It's everything I never knew I needed."
Katsuki's hand tightens in Shoto's hair, not painfully, just firmly. "Shoto," he says, and using the given name in front of everyone is its own kind of vulnerability. "You need to stop talking now. Okay? Just... be quiet for a while."
"Okay, Katsuki." Shoto says it easily, because arguing seems impossible in his current state. But after approximately thirty seconds of silence, he lifts his head again. "Can I tell you one more thing?"
"No."
"I'm going to tell you anyway."
"Of course you are." Katsuki sighs deeply, not angry. Almost fond, in a long-suffering way.
"You smell really good," Shoto says seriously. "I like it. Sometimes I steal your hoodies just to smell them. I have three in my closet right now. The black one, the orange one with the skull, and the grey one you got from that hero merchandise store. I should probably give them back but I don't want to."
The confession hangs in the room. Their friends are biting their knuckles to keep from laughing or crying or everything at once.
Katsuki stares at him. Just stares, mouth slightly open, eyes wide, expression cycling through disbelief, embarrassment, exasperation, and finally landing on something dangerously close to tender amusement.
"You— three of my hoodies— I thought I lost those, you klepto bastard—"
"I'm sorry," Shoto says, but he doesn't sound particularly sorry. "They're comfortable. And they smell like you. I like having something that smells like you when you're not there. It makes me feel less alone."
Katsuki looks like he's going to explode or cry or possibly both. But his arms, both arms now, have wrapped around Shoto, pulling him closer with pure care. "You're keeping them," he mutters into his boyfriend's hair. "The hoodies. You're keeping them. I'm not— I don't want them back. Just.... wear my hoodies, you sappy bastard. Jesus Christ."
"Really?" Shoto sounds delighted. "Can I have the green one too? The one with the—"
"Yes. You can have all of them. Take my whole damn wardrobe. I don't care anymore. You've broken me. This is what breaking looks like."
But he's smiling. Actually smiling, small and helpless and utterly genuine. The expression changes his usually aggressive features into something softer, younger, more open. This is what Katsuki looks like when he's happy, truly happy, and most of the class has never seen it before.
Yaoyorozu returns from the kitchen with Hagakure, both carrying trays of tea and light snacks. The spread is impressive considering the time. Delicate sandwiches, fruit cut into pieces, cookies that Sato must have made earlier in the week. Comfort food, lovingly arranged.
"We've prepared some refreshments," Yaoyorozu announces, setting the trays on the coffee table. "Nothing too heavy— we don't want to upset Todoroki-san's system while he's under the quirk's influence."
Shoto's attention shifts to her, and his face lights up with that same unguarded warmth. "Momo, you're so smart. The smartest person I know. Your quirk requires extensive knowledge and you have all of it organized so efficiently. That's incredible. Your mind is incredible."
Yaoyorozu flushes pink, pleased despite herself. "Thank you, Todoroki-san. That's very kind—"
"Could you make a blanket fort that's also stable?" Shoto continues, enthusiasm growing. "I think Katsuki would like it. He pretends he doesn't like soft, cozy things but he does. He sleeps with a soft pillow at night. It has little stars on it. The pillowcase is dark blue and the stars are yellow and he thinks I don't know about it, because he hides it under the blanket, but I do. I know lots of things about him. I pay attention."
Wheezing laughter fills the room.
Katsuki's face goes bright. "TODOROKI SHOTO—"
"It's a nice pillow," Shoto says earnestly, twisting in Katsuki's arms to look at him directly. A little comfused. "You shouldn't be embarrassed. Everyone deserves soft things. Comfort is important. You work so hard, you should have soft things to come home to. Like the pillow. And like me. I'm soft sometimes. For you."
Katsuki looks like he's having a stroke. His hands have come up to cover his face, and he's making muffled sounds that might be words or might just be inarticulate distress.
"I love that pillow," Shoto adds helpfully. "It's very soft against me when I stay over."
"I hate you," Katsuki mumbles through his hands. "I hate you so much right now."
"You don't hate me. You love me. You told me yesterday when we were having—"
Katsuki's hand shoots out and gently covers Shoto's mouth. Not harshly, not aggressively, just firmly enough to stop the words from coming. His eyes are wide and slightly panicked again.
"Nope. No. Uh-uh. We're not— that's not— no more talking about what I said yesterday or last week or any other week. No more talking, period. We're done. Conversation over."
Shoto blinks at him, then apparently decides this is fine. He relaxes against Katsuki's chest, mouth still covered, and just stays there. Content. Happy.
After a moment, Katsuki carefully removes his hand, watching Shoto warily like he might start talking again at any moment.
"A blanket fort is an excellent idea!" Yaoyorozu says brightly, possibly trying to save them all from dying of secondhand embarrassment. "Structurally sound, you say? I'll need support beams, perhaps some weighted corners for stability, proper ventilation— oh, this is fascinating from an engineering perspective!"
Her eyes light up with genuine excitement, and within seconds she's muttering about load-bearing structures and optimal fabric tension.
"You're actually doing this?" Katsuki asks, though he sounds more exhausted than angry now.
"Of course! It's a perfectly reasonable request and will provide a safe, comfortable space for Todoroki-san during this difficult time." Yaoyorozu looks up from her sketches with determined cheer. So very her. "Besides, the structural engineering involved is quite interesting. I've been wanting to test some theories about flexible architecture."
"Kero, I'll help," Tsuyu volunteers, coming over as well. "I'm good at finding cozy spaces. My hero work involves a lot of environmental adaptation."
"I can help with the heavy lifting!" Kirishima adds, practically bouncing with enthusiasm.
Within minutes, half the class is mobilized for Fort Construction. It becomes a class project, everyone contributing their unique skills.
Aizawa watches from his post by the door, sipping coffee from a thermos that seems to have an infinite supply. This is what hero work also looks like, he thinks. Not just the flashy battles or dramatic rescues, but this, taking care of each other, adapting to unexpected situations, protecting the vulnerable members of the team with compassion and creativity.
The fort takes shape quickly, becoming an impressive structure that spans a good portion of the common room. Fairy lights cast a soft, warm glow throughout the interior.
"The fort's done!" Yaoyorozu finally announces, stepping back to admire their work with justified pride. "It's structurally reinforced for safety, has ambient lighting for comfort, and multiple chambers for privacy while maintaining a cohesive space. I've also included emergency exits in case of quirk activation or other unforeseen circumstances."
"Because of course you planned for emergencies," Katsuki mutters, impressed despite himself.
She just nods proudly.
"Shoto," Katsuki says, standing and pulling his boyfriend up with him. "Come on. We're going in the fort." He starts tugging Shoto toward the blanket structure, but Shoto resists just enough to turn back to the class.
"Thank you," he says to all of them. "For building this. For being here. For caring about me even when I'm not good at showing that I care back. You're all— you're all very important to me. Each of you. Individually and as a whole. This class is my family. My first real family. Thank you for that."
The room goes silent except for the soft instrumental music and several people sniffling. Midoriya is crying again. Iida has to turn away to clean his glasses for the third time. Even Tokoyami looks moved, Dark Shadow withdrawing into his shoulders with what might be respect for the emotional moment.
"Everyone's gonna remember this," Kaminari says thickly. "Forever. The day Todoroki told us all he loves us."
"The day we learned Katsuki sleeps with a star pillow," Sero adds.
"I'LL KILL YOU LATER," Katsuki shouts, but he's already disappearing into the fort with Shoto, his hand firmly wrapped around his boyfriend's wrist.
The interior of the fort is exactly as comfortable as it looked from outside, maybe more so. Soft blankets layer the floor, pillows pile in corners, and the fairy lights cast everything in a warm, golden glow that feels safe and separate from the outside world. It's like being inside a cocoon, Shoto thinks. Protected and warm and good.
Katsuki sits down heavily, his back against a pile of pillows, and immediately Shoto is there, finding that perfect spot between shoulder and neck again.
He shifts slightly, getting more comfortable. "Your hair is very soft when you wash out the gel. Like duck fluff. Angry duck fluff. I like running my fingers through it but I don't do it often because you get embarrassed. But you shouldn't be embarrassed. You're very lovely. All of you. Even the parts you think are too rough or too mean. Especially those parts. They're protection—"
"Shoto—"
"—You protect yourself and you protect me and you protect our friends even when you pretend you don't care about them. You're so good at loving even though you pretend you're not. You're the best at loving. The best at everything."
Outside the fort, they can hear the muffled sounds of their classmates talking softly, giving them privacy while still being close enough to help if needed.
Katsuki is silent for a long moment. Then, so quietly Shoto almost misses it.
"...You're gonna strangle me when this wears off, aren't you? I saw too much."
Shoto considers this. Somewhere deep in his mind, beneath the warm haze of the quirk, he knows that yes, future Shoto is going to be absolutely mortified and doesn't want witnesses. But right now, that seems distant and unimportant.
"Probably," he admits honestly. "But right now I don't have the capacity to be embarrassed. Right now I just love you. So I'm going to enjoy it while it lasts."
Another pause. Katsuki's hand comes up to card through Shoto's hair again, gentle and soothing.
"...Fuck. Fine. Come here."
He shifts their positions slightly, maneuvering until Shoto is more fully in his lap, head tucked under his chin. Katsuki's arms wrap tightly around Shoto's body like he himself can shield him from embarrassment and vulnerability and the world.
"This is actually kind of nice," Katsuki mutters after a moment, so quietly it's almost to himself.
"See? You do like soft things," Shoto says, unable to resist. "Soft pillows, soft blankets, soft moments. You like them. You can admit it."
"Shut up and go to sleep or something."
"I'm not tired. I want to talk to you. I want to tell you about all the times I notice things. Like how you always make sure I eat breakfast. You don't ask if I've eaten, you just put food in front of me. That's caring. Or how you burn hotter when you're worried, your palms spark more and the air around you gets warmer. I noticed during the Mall Incident. When that villain got close to me, you burned so hot the air shimmered. Or how you—"
"You're still talking?! Don't your lips get sore or something?"
"I have a lot of observations. You're very interesting to observe. Did you know you have a tell when you're about to use your right hook? Your shoulder drops slightly, just a few millimeters, but it's consistent. I've been tracking it during our sparring sessions. And when you're thinking hard about something, you bite the inside of your cheek. And when you're happy but don't want anyone to know, you look down and to the left. And—"
"You're insane," Katsuki says, but his voice has gone soft with something that might be wonder. "You're actually insane. You've been watching me that closely?"
"I watch everyone closely," Shoto admits. "It's a survival habit. But with you it's different. With you I'm not watching for threats. I'm watching because I want to. Because you're fascinating and beautiful and I like seeing all the little pieces of you that you don't show anyone else. Like right now, your heartbeat is fast but steady. You're embarrassed but not actually upset. Your hands are gentle even though you're trying to seem annoyed. You care so much more than you let on. I see it. I see you."
Outside the fort, the voices have gone very quiet, and Shoto distantly realizes their classmates might be able to hear everything they're saying. But the thought can't gain traction, can't generate the anxiety it should, because the quirk has removed his ability to care about that kind of exposure.
Katsuki is silent for a long time. His hand has stilled in Shoto's hair, and when he finally speaks, his voice is a little rougher. Just a whisper into his ear.
"...I choose you too, you know. Every day. Forever, probably. You've ruined me for anyone else, you ridiculous half-and-half bastard."
"Good," Shoto says simply, pressing closer. "I don't want you to choose anyone else. Just me. Always me."
"Yeah. Always, it seems."
They stay like that, wrapped around each other in the soft glow of fairy lights, while outside the fort their classmates pretend not to dramatically fan their eyes at the tenderness of it all.
But apparently, Shoto isn't done talking.
"Katsuki?"
"What now?"
"I think about you when I touch myse—"
"NOPE—" Katsuki's hand clamps over Shoto's mouth again so fast it's almost a blur. "NO. We're not— that's not— absolutely fucking NOT in front of everyone—"
But Shoto's eyes are wide and confused, because he can't understand why this is different from everything else he's been saying. It's all true. It's all honest. Why is this particular truth unacceptable?
Deep down he knows. Of course.
Outside the fort, there's the sound of scrambling, multiple people moving at once, urgent voices.
"MUSIC LOUDER!" Jirou's voice commands. "EVERYONE START TALKING! LOUDLY!"
The instrumental music suddenly increases in volume. Several conversations start simultaneously, everyone deliberately making noise to drown out anything else that might be said inside the fort. Everything Katsuki might it be able to hold back.
Katsuki keeps his hand firmly over Shoto's mouth, his other arm wrapped tight around his waist to keep him from pulling away. His eyes are squeezed shut and he's breathing hard, like he's just run a marathon.
"Listen to me very carefully," he whispers, quiet enough that hopefully only Shoto can hear. "That's— that's private. Between us. Not for anyone else. Ever. You understand? I don't care that you can't help what you're saying right now— I'm helping. I'm stopping you. Because that's for us and nobody else gets to know that."
Shoto blinks at him, processing. Then slowly, understanding seems to dawn. He nods against Katsuki's palm.
"Okay?" Katsuki checks. "You're not gonna say anything else like that?"
Another nod.
Carefully, Katsuki removes his hand. He's still bright red, still breathing hard, but there's determination in his eyes now. Protective determination.
"Sorry," Shoto says softly. "Thank you for being my filter."
Katsuki's expression softens completely. He pulls Shoto closer, tucking him more tightly against his chest.
"Yeah, well. Somebody's gotta protect you from yourself right now. And it's gonna be me."
"I like that," Shoto murmurs, relaxing into the hold. "You protecting me. Even from myself. Especially from myself. You're good at knowing what I need. Better than me sometimes."
"That's because you're an oblivious disaster who doesn't take care of himself properly," Katsuki mutters, but his hand has resumed its gentle movement through Shoto's hair. "Good thing you've got me."
"Very good thing," Shoto agrees. Then, "Katsuki?"
"What?"
"Can I tell you something else? Something safe?"
"...Fine."
"When we graduate, I want to start an agency with you. I've been thinking about it a lot. The logistics, the structure, the type of work we'd take. I have notes. Two notebooks full of notes and plans and ideas. We'd be good together. We're already good together. But professionally too. Your offensive power and my versatility. Your strategic thinking and my analysis. We complement each other. We could save a lot of people."
Katsuki goes very still. When Shoto risks a glance up at his face, his face has gone soft.
"You've been planning that?" Katsuki asks quietly. "An agency with me?"
"Of course. Why would I want to work with anyone else? You're the best. You're going to be number one and I'm going to be right there with you. Supporting you. Partnering with you. Choosing you every single day for the rest of our lives."
"Shoto—"
"I mean it. Every word. Even when the quirk wears off and I'm embarrassed about everything else I've said today, I'll still mean that. The agency. The partnership. Choosing you. That's real. That's not the quirk talking. I just have the courage right now."
"You and me, yeah?"
"Mhm. You and me," Shoto echoes, satisfied. He closes his eyes, finally content to just exist in this moment, safe and warm and held by someone who loves him enough to be his filter when his own is broken.
The hours pass. Shoto continues his stream of observations and affections, though Katsuki manages to redirect or stop the truly inappropriate ones before they can be voiced. The class gradually migrates closer to the fort again, not intruding but creating a protective presence.
Around hour five, Shoto's attention turns outward again. He emerges from the fort, Katsuki right behind him like a shadow, and surveys the room with that same open affection.
"I haven't told everyone enough," he announces. "There are more things to say."
"Oh no," Jirou mutters, but she's grinning.
"Denki," Shoto says, focusing on Kaminari with maybe too much intensity. "Your sense of humor brings light to difficult situations. Literal and metaphorical light. When you overuse your quirk and go into your 'whey' mode, it makes people laugh, but more than that, it breaks tension. You give people permission to not take everything so seriously. That's valuable. You're brighter than you give yourself credit for, in multiple senses of the word."
Kaminari's eyes go shiny. He clutches dramatically at his chest. "Roki, stop it, I'm gonna cry for real—"
"Hanta," Shoto continues, moving to Sero. "Your tape is one of the most versatile quirks in our class. You're very creative with it. I've learned a lot from watching your capture techniques. You think three dimensionally in a way most people don't. That's a rare skill."
Sero has to sit down, looking dazed and touched. "That's.... that's actually really nice to hear, man. Thanks."
"Fumikage," Shoto turns to Tokoyami. "Your poetry is really good. I've seen your notebook. The one with the raven on the cover. You left it on the common room table once and it was open to a page. I only read that one page, promise, but 'Darkness is not the absence of light but the presence of peace' was a particularly strong line. You have a gift for imagery and metaphor. You should share your work more."
Tokoyami's beak physically drops open. Dark Shadow emerges fully, eyes wide with shock.
"You.. you read my poetry?" Tokoyami manages.
"Just one page," Shoto promises again. "I would never read through someone's private notebooks without permission. But that one page was very evocative. You have real talent."
"I must retreat," Tokoyami announces suddenly, standing with dramatic flair. "My emotional fortitude has been breached. Dark Shadow, we require a moment—"
"He liked our poetry!" Dark Shadow crows, doing loops in the air despite Tokoyami's obvious embarrassment. "Shoto thinks we're TALENTED—"
"This is simultaneously the best and worst day," Tokoyami mutters, but he's clearly pleased as he retreats to a corner to compose himself.
Shoto continues his circuit, giving each classmate something specific and thoughtful. He tells Koda that his gentleness with animals is a strength, not a weakness, that the world needs more heroes who lead with compassion rather than force. Koda signs back his thanks with tears streaming down his face, his rabbit pressed against his chest.
He tells Shoji that his multiple arms are a perfect reflection of his gentle and wonderful character, always reaching out, always ready to support and protect his friends from every angle, and that his strength is the bedrock of their class. One of Shoji's dupli-arms forms a mouth that offers a rare, soft smile, while another gives Shoto's shoulder a gentle, appreciative squeeze.
He tells Ojiro that his martial arts discipline is impressive, that he works harder than anyone to master his skills without a super flashy quirk to rely on, that his determination inspires those who pay attention. Ojiro's tail curls with pleased embarrassment, but his eyes are bright with gratitude.
He tells Hagakure that her enthusiasm is infectious, that she makes people braver just by being excited about life, that being invisible doesn't mean being unseen, they all see her, always, in every gesture and word and action. Hagakure's floating clothes shake with sobs.
He tells Sato that his baking brings people together, that he's the heart of class gatherings, that his kindness is baked into every dessert he makes and people can taste the care in every bite. Sato wipes his eyes with his apron, overwhelmed.
"Your boyfriend is incredible," Kirishima whispers to Katsuki, who has stays close to Shoto throughout the entire circuit.
"Yeah," Katsuki mutters, watching Shoto with an expression that's gone soft and helpless. "He really fucking is."
By the time Shoto finishes his rounds, the entire class is an emotional wreck. Every single person has received something, a specific observation, a genuine compliment, a thoughtful acknowledgment of who they are and what they bring to the class.
And the thing is, they all realize, this is what Todoroki Shoto actually thinks. The quirk hasn't made him think these things, it's just removed his ability to keep them to himself. He's been noticing, appreciating, caring about all of them this whole time. He's just never been able to say it before.
Shoto comes to a stop in front of the TV, pointing at it, as if he didn't just make all his friends cry happy tears. "Can we watch a nature documentary? I like learning about animals. They're honest. They don't pretend to be anything they're not. They just exist as themselves without apology. That's admirable."
"Nature documentary it is!" Ashido announces wetly. "How about the one about arctic foxes?"
"Yes, please," Shoto nods excitedly.
They settle in, some back in the fort with Shoto and Katsuki, some around it, all close enough to form a group. Katsuki reclaims his position against the pillows with Shoto immediately gravitating back to him, tucking himself against Katsuki's warmth.
The documentary starts, and for a while there's peaceful quiet. Shoto provides soft commentary, pointing out interesting behaviors, asking questions with genuine curiosity. His observations are insightful, revealing just how carefully he processes information and makes connections.
Katsuki answers when Shoto directs questions at him, gruff but patient. It becomes clear that he pays attention to Shoto's interests, that he's absorbed information about Shoto's favorite subjects just by proximity and care.
The rest of the class drifts between watching the screen and watching them, unable to look away from this rare, precious glimpse of Shoto without his armor.
"The foxes mate for life," he observes softly during a segment about arctic fox behavior. "That's nice. Commitment like that. Finding someone and choosing them. Just choosing to stay."
Katsuki's arm tightens around him. "Yeah. It is."
Around hour six, the warm, hazy filter over Shoto’s mind begins to thin. The world, which had felt soft-edged and simple, sharpens. He blinks slowly, his head feeling strangely heavy.
"Katsuki?" he murmurs, his voice losing its earlier lightness. It's smaller now, full of confusion. "Why am I...? My head feels strange. Not bad strange. Just....different. Like something's changing."
"Quirk's wearing off," Katsuki says, a low rumble against Shoto's side. His hand never stops its slow, soothing circles on Shoto's back. "Just ride it out. You're safe. I've got you."
The fog continues to recede, and with its retreat comes a trickle of returning memory. Flashes of smiling faces, of his own voice saying.. things. A lot of things.
"Did I..." Shoto's breath hitches. It's suddenly all coming bsck to him. "What did I say?" His normal filter, that lifelong guardian of his private thoughts, slams back into place, and it brings full clarity. "I can remember saying things, but it's hazy. Like watching myself from far away. Did I—"
He sees a flash of Kirishima's tear-streaked, joyful face. He hears his own voice telling Momo she was brilliant. He feels the phantom sensation of hugging Aizawa's arm.
His entire body goes tight with absolute horror. He pulls his hands from Katsuki's hold to cover his own face, as if he could physically push the memories back in.
"I said— I told everyone—" he whispers, voice cracking with mortification. "Oh no."
He tries to sit up, to pull away and hide from the twenty pairs of eyes that have witnessed his emotional honesty, but Katsuki's arms lock around him firmly.
"Too late," he says, leaving no room for argument. "No take-backs. Everyone already knows you're a sappy bastard now."
"Katsuki, I can remember—" Shoto's voice is muffled and desperate behind his hands. "I told you about the hoodies. And the pillow. And I said— in front of everyone—I said —"
"Shoto," Katsuki interrupts, voice dropping to a whisper meant only for him. "I stopped you before it got worse. Remember? I've got you. I'm your filter when yours is broken. Now stop trying to run. You're stuck with me."
Shoto makes a sound like a dying animal and tries to burrow into Katsuki's chest, possibly attempting to fuse with him and disappear from reality entirely. His shoulders are shaking, whether from embarrassment or residual quirk effects or both, it's hard to tell.
"Hey." Katsuki's voice goes softer, gentler in that way he only ever uses with Shoto. "You didn't say anything wrong. You hear me? Just honest stuff. Good stuff. Nothing to be ashamed of."
"I told you— in front of everyone—"
"Yeah. You did. And?"
"And I— I'm on your lap like a—"
"Like a boyfriend who trusts me. Like someone who's safe enough to let their guard down. That's not bad, Shoto. That's good."
The gentle words make Shoto go still. He lifts his head slightly, peeking out from behind his hands.
"You're not angry?" His voice is small, uncertain in a way that makes Katsuki's chest ache.
"Why the hell would I be angry?"
"Because I... I exposed you. Your feelings. Our relationship. The— the soft pillow—"
"Oh, that I'm gonna make you pay for," Katsuki says, but there's warmth in it, no real threat. "But no. I'm not angry. Weirded out? Yeah. Embarrassed as fuck? Absolutely. But not angry. You didn't do anything wrong. Got it?"
A long pause. Then, "...Okay."
"Now stop hiding and face the music."
"I don't want to."
"Tough. Do it anyway. You're brave enough to fight villains, you're brave enough to face your friends after telling them you love them."
Slowly, like a creature emerging from a shell, Shoto lowers his hands. His face is spectacularly red, both sides glowing with embarrassment. His eyes, no longer soft and dreamy and spaced out, are filled with mortification and desperately searching for an escape route that doesn't exist.
The entire class is watching with identical expressions of fond affection.
"Hi," Midoriya says gently, his own face still blotchy from earlier crying. "Welcome back, Todoroki-kun."
"I want to die," Shoto just says flatly.
"No dying," Yaoyorozu says firmly. "You said lovely things and we're all very grateful and we're never going to let you forget this."
"Especially the part where you called Aizawa-sensei a grumpy stationary cat," Kaminari adds gleefully, then immediately shuts up when Katsuki glares at him.
From his post by the door, Aizawa raises his coffee thermos in acknowledgment. "I've been called worse."
Shoto looks around at all of them, his classmates, his friends, his family, and something in his face changes slightly. The mortification is still there, still uncomfortable, but underneath it is something else. Something warmer. Relief. Because they're all still here. Still looking at him with love. Still treating him like he matters. Nothing has changed except now they know— explicitly— that he cares about them too.
"I meant it," he says quietly, clear despite the color in his cheeks. "Everything I said. I meant it. All of it."
"We know," Tsuyu says simply, her calm like a balm against his embarrassment. "That's why it was so nice to hear."
"You should tell us nice things more often," Ashido suggests gently. "You know, when you're in control of your brain. We like hearing that you care."
"Even if you don't wanna say it again," Kirishima adds, "we know now. That you notice things. That you pay attention. That you think about us even when your face doesn't show it. That's enough, man. That's more than enough."
Shoto's throat works. He nods, not trusting his voice yet.
"Alright, you extras," Katsuki announces. "Show's over. Halfie needs actual rest and food that isn't snacks. Everyone out. Give us space."
"But—" Kaminari starts.
"Out."
They file out slowly, each person pausing to offer Shoto some kind of affection and support. Ochako squeezes his hand. Iida places a firm, reassuring grip on his shoulder. Momo gives him a small, understanding smile. Kirishima pulls him into a brief, tight hug that Shoto melts into despite his embarrassment.
When it's finally just Katsuki and Shoto left in the fort, the space feels both more intimate and more comfortable again. Katsuki pulls Shoto, positioning them so they're facing each other.
"You good?" Katsuki asks seriously, his hands coming up to cup Shoto's face.
"No. But I will be."
"Yeah. You will." He presses a kiss to his boyfriend's forehead, gentle and lingering and full of the kind of tenderness he usually hides. "Come on. I'm making you real food and then you're sleeping for twelve hours. Recovery Girl's orders, probably."
"Katsuki?"
"What?"
"The prickly peach thing—"
"Don't. Never speak of it again."
"—was actually very accurate—"
"I will end you."
"I love you."
These words are quieter now, weighted differently without the quirk's influence. More careful. More vulnerable. And also more real.
Katsuki sighs, long and suffering and so fond it hurts. His thumbs stroke across Shoto's cheekbones, and his expression has gone soft in a way that still makes Shoto's breath catch.
"Yeah. I know. Love you too, you absolute disaster."
He pulls Shoto into a proper kiss, getting a pleased hum in return despite his boyfriend's embarrassment.
When they finally emerge from the fort, Aizawa is still at his post. Oh. Right…. They forgot about that.
He observes them with that particular mix of concern and exasperation that he reserves for his most troublesome students.
"Recovery Girl wants to see you tomorrow," he tells Shoto. "Just a check-up. And probably some counseling about processing the experience."
"Yes, sensei."
"And Todoroki?" The man's eyes softens just a little. "You did well. Could've been much worse. And your classmates did just as good. Tell them that."
He doesn't mention the part where his own chest feels suspiciously warm, watching these kids, his kids, take care of each other with such fierce, genuine love.
He doesn't have to.
Some things are better left unspoken.
(Though he does make a mental note to schedule an appointment with Hound Dog for Todoroki, just to process the experience properly. And maybe to ask if there's any paperwork he needs to file about quirk accidents that accidentally function as highly effective therapy sessions. Even if mortifying.
Probably not.
But with this class, you never know.)