numbertwohero | @microwaveable

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@microwaveable

His mother has good days and bad days.

On the good days, she's sweet and kind. She greets him with a hand on his cheek and a smile, she asks him how his classes are going, she remembers the friends he mentions and teases him about being popular with the girls. They go for long walks in the facility grounds and she tells him about the plants she's growing in the little space they've let her have, and he ends the visit with a hug, her thin, fragile form in his careful arms, and he wonders at how much smaller than him she is already. On the good days, he leaves with hope and renewed determination to become the best he can be, to show his father that number two isn't just second place and it's a place and a life to be proud of.

This was not a good day.

This was the kind of day where he opened her door and she looked at him for that first second with fear and hatred and sorrow, where her eyes lingered on his left side too long, no matter how much he tried to keep her on his right. This was the kind of day where every response was distracted and her voice too high-pitched and her laughter sharp and strained. This was the day that, when he reached out to stop her from walking in front of a speeding golf cart full of groundskeepers, she flinched from his touch and slapped him across the face.

She'd apologized, horror on her face and heartbreak in her voice, and he'd said it was fine, and he loved her, but he left soon after, hurrying back towards the school dorms where he could just...shut himself away. It was still early on Sunday. Everyone would still be out, or training, and he could have time to put himself back together. His right cheek is still burning from her slap, stinging and red and almost bruised, and it aches with a pain sharper and more real than the phantom ache of his scarred left side. It's a strange feeling. Normally that side doesn't feel hot. Everything is backwards. Everything is backwards, and his chest is tight, and he can feel the tears trying to burn at his eyes, but it's fine, he's almost there--

--and then he rounds the corner of the stairs heading up towards the fourth floor, and almost runs straight into Midoriya, coming down. Todoroki's eyes are wide, almost glassy, and his heart is racing, and it's only a second before he looks away, not quite flinching but all but vibrating with tension.

"...Sorry. I didn't see you there."

His voice is rough, strained, just as tight as his shoulders, and he waits for Midoriya to keep on going, to be tactful or distracted or whatever it is he needs to be, so he can finally make it up that last flight to his own floor and the safety of his room.

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He didn't really know Shouto very well. He read people well enough, with all the studying and muttering he'd done for years about heroes and villains, but his recommended classmate was something of an enigma. They were friends, he could say that with confidence, but he was still learning how to decipher his varying degrees of ill-mannered. One thing he could say, though, was he very rarely saw the other teen rattled. He was always stoic, always hiding behind a practiced neutral expression.

It drove Izuku nuts, if he were being honest.

Any reason as to why he was heading down to the common room was forgotten the moment he heard hurried shuffling in the next flight of stairs-- he noticed how people walked, too, the specific gait and footfalls of particular students, and it took him a moment to decipher the subtly mismatched sound of Shouto Todoroki, in part because he usually moved just quickly enough to not be slow but with no real haste to his pace. He was listening too hard to realize consciously when the sound had reached the landing as he did, but he sprang sideways without thinking to avoid colliding with him, his mind having registered who he was hearing approach just before he put eyes on the bi-colored prodigy.

He didn't really mean to gasp, but the stricken look on his friends face made his breath catch.

"No problem-- are you okay?" He was already reaching for him, but stopped short of actually coming into contact.

That gasp doesn't have to mean anything. Midoriya is high-strung, always has been, and Shouto recognizes a trained response when he sees it--after all, he has so many of those himself, so many layers upon layers of training built up like the layers of a pearl around a single grain of sand, one trauma at the heart of it--but it doesn't have to mean anything. It doesn't have to be a commentary on how he looks, and he can willingly misinterpret it as simply being due to the speed with which he's actually moving, the near miss.

But that question...that question is anything but vague. For a brief, wild moment, he feels like he might laugh. Is he okay? No, of course he's not, but what does that matter? He has to be fine, anyway.

Midoriya is his friend. Of course he is. Shouto is still figuring out what that means, but he knows that tearing into someone for asking if you're okay, making sure they never ask that question again--it's not something you do to friends. It's not Midoriya's fault. But he doesn't know how to admit the truth, either. He doesn't know how to ask for something he doesn't know he needs. And hasn't he put enough on Midoriya already?

He doesn't want to look at his face. Instead he looks down, at the scars on his hands. Scars that are there because of Shouto himself. It firms his resolve.

"...I'm fine. Just tired."

It's his perpetual state of being. Maybe the excuse will be enough.

This sort of situation was delicate. He had been guilty of the conditioned 'I'm fine' response when he wasn't fine at all far too many times to be immediately hassling, to start, but it came down to the nature of the lie as well. He could tell pretty immediately that it was a lie, but knowing the conditioned response himself meant Izuku knew well that there were times he could handle the lie being challenged and times he couldn't. He imagined Shouto would be the same, so he had to figure out what he was dealing with before he pressed.

And tired was a valid response-- they worked very hard for teenagers. He twisted his fingers together when he brought his hand back to himself and away from Shouto, dragging his lower lip into his mouth and chewing on it for a moment. It was Sunday, and he knew most Sundays Shouto went to see his mother, and was typically gone into the late afternoon or evening. That he was back so early clearly meant something happened, which really only further complicated the situation. He had no idea what had happened, and there were plenty of terrible scenarios that could put his friend in a state to not want to be bothered. Really, he ought to just let him pass and go rest in his room, but Midoriya Izuku was nothing if not a meddling fool. He shifted his weight between his feet, offering an easy smile.

"Good thing it's Sunday then, yeah?" He reached out again, gently thwapping his hand against Shouto's upper arm. The contact was light, friendly, but lingered just enough that it was clear he was asking for more understanding. Should be back off here, or stick to him to make sure he was actually okay?

Delicate isn't the kind of word Todoroki would use on himself, or even on the situation. He'd use it on his mother, maybe; use it to describe the balancing act he plays with his father, especially during his internship hours. But he's not delicate. And the situation...well, it's fine, isn't it? Like he said.

Except that as Izuku gently Pat's his arm, there's no mistaking the tension vibrating through Shouto's entire body for anything close to fine. Fine isn't the way he tangibly stops himself from flinching, or the way those bicolored eyes shoot upwards to Izuku's face, revealing the bright red splotch of a recent blow across his right cheek.

Izuku isn't an idiot. He can connect the dots. And of all the people to connect them, he's the one who Shouto perhaps minds the least. But he's still terrible at opening up. He doesn't know how to say anything else.

"...Yeah. I just...I think I need--"

He doesn't know what he needs. A run, a distraction, a nap. Whatever it is, he needs it badly. And he shouldn't bother Izuku with it.

"Nevermind. It's fine. You were going somewhere." He shouldn't distract him. It'll be fine, eventually.

He couldn't quite articulate what it felt like to watch Shouto struggle to identify what he needed, but it felt a lot like someone whose arms had been bathed in ice water reaching inside his body and squeezing his insides just enough to be uncomfortable. Tension pulled his shoulders inward, and he kept his hand against the fledgling hero's arm, wrapping his fingers gently around it.

"Todoroki-kun," he started, his tone firmer than it had been with the easy friendliness of before. He took note of the ugly redness on the unscarred side of his face, and the slight edge to his expression fell away. He stepped closer, reaching up with his opposite hand toward the mark. "Did you get in a fight? I was literally only going downstairs for like, a pudding cup or something, it can wait."

Izuku might feel cold inside, but Todoroki isn't sure what he's feeling. He's never felt so much of the duality of his quirk, hot and cold by turns, a swirling hurricane of emotions and uncertainty, unable to decide just what he wants to feel. The sensation leaves him paralyzed, and he doesn't want to have this conversation in the stairwell--isn't sure he wants to have it at all--but he doesn't want to pull away.

He doesn't want to push Izuku away. He doesn't know what he does want, but that much is certain. So--he stands there, arms at his sides, as Izuku lifts a hand to his cheek that feels astonishingly cool against the stinging warmth of that mark. It's almost impossible to resist leaning into that touch, but he manages.

Izuku is his friend. He's just--confused, right now. That's all it is.

Taking a deep breath, he does his best to find some kind of calm. It's Sunday, no one is in the dorms, it's fine. It's just Izuku. He's always understood, better than Todoroki even. He'll understand this, too.

"No, it wasn't a fight. It just--wasn't a good day. For her."

The words are a little rough, a little brusque, but it's not because he's mad. He's just trying to keep it all together is all.

The statement was so simple, but it told him nearly everything he needed to know. His fingers curled and he gently pressed the backs of his knuckles against the heated mark on his friend's face. He wasn't always tactile, but he tended to forget this wasn't something people just did when it came to most of his classmates. Todoroki, in particular, along with Uraraka and Iida, were nearly impossible for him to not comfort in whatever form his mind supplied first, which in this case was keeping a feather-light touch on contact-heated skin.

"That's why you're back so early," he said, mostly to himself. "Here, come... hang out with me, we can watch a movie or something. If you can ignore how nerdy my room is you can absolutely take a nap there." He didn't like the idea of leaving his friend alone when he was so visibly shaken. He could practically feel the threadbare state his emotions were reduced to, and it made that squeezing sensation in his chest a little harsher. He took slightly shallower breaths to compensate for the ache.

It's that soft, gentle touch that almost does it. That's almost too much, and he's overwhelmed, doesn't know how to handle it. No one's touched him like that since the very woman who'd left that mark on his face--both of them, in fact.

He should go. He should decline and go sit in his own room and sleep or change to go train or something. He should be somewhere else. "That's..." That's okay, he wants to say. Another time, maybe.

Instead, what comes out is, "...If you're sure." He should be alone. He should handle this like he always has. But he doesn't want to be alone. Not this time.

He hadn't realized he was holding his breath while he waited for Shouto's answer, having just taken in air and stilled and not realized seconds had passed until he was exhaling and his lungs burned a little. His posture relaxed, and he grinned crookedly, scrunching his nose.

"You say that like you're bad company or something, jeez," he moved his hand away from Shouto's face, a little embarrassed by how long he'd left it there, but didn't release his opposite arm, instead using it to pull the frosty teenager toward him as he took a step backward to pivot to walk back upstairs.

Was he holding his breath? Maybe Shouto had been, too. After all, what other reason could there be for the way it felt like something in his chest relaxed just the smallest bit after Izuku grinned at him like that? Shouto watches him, watches him breathe, watches him smile, and it isn't until Izuku pulls his hand away that he realizes those fingers were still on his cheek. It's the absence he feels. Silly, maybe. He probably just needs an icepack--funny, he's funny today, he thinks, and again he bites back a laugh that wouldn't really be a laugh.

"I don't think anyone would call me great company," he answers honestly, as Midoriya tugs him forward with that grip on his arm. Not that he needs it; Shouto's agreed to follow him, and he's not going to just leave now that he's said as much. But still...he doesn't complain about the contact. In fact, he might lift his free arm to brush fingers over his cheek, as if he can still feel a phantom touch. "I mean--I don't really talk much." Which isn't a bad thing, but...it's not as though he's super in touch with most of the things his peers are into. Somehow, he doesn't think it'll bother Midoriya, though.

"Oh my God have you never heard of Silent Protagonists? You're awesome company."

He used his grip on Shouto's arm to pull him up the stairs with him, headed back for his room. He considered letting him go, at several points, but ultimately just kept his hand where it was for reasons he couldn't quite pinpoint but felt Correct all the same. He shrugs halfway up the last flight of stairs.

"Besides, I talk too much a lot of the time, so I guess we're even."

Walking sideways like some kind of weird crab thing, it's likely Izuku could spot the look of genuine surprise that finally breaks through the mask of tension and barely maintained composure on Shouto's face. A Silent Protagonist??? Really? He's hardly that interesting. "I'm more like an NPC, or a character you pick up for a quest," he answers, and he feels almost as uncomfortable as Izuku looks.

It'd be much easier if he just held my hand instead, he suddenly thinks, and then doesn't think at all before carefully pulling his arm out of Izuku's grip, instead sliding a hand into his and reaching up with his free hand to rub at the back of his head. There seems to be a little less tension in him, too--maybe it's all still there under the surface, but the distraction seems to be helping.

Strange that Izuku's hand feels so warm, now that he's holding it, when it had felt cool against his cheek just moments earlier.

"Anyway, you don't talk too much. I like listening to what you have to say."

Don't judge his crabwalking, Shouto. Let him live. Or, you know, startle him to death by holding his hand, that's fine too. He starts to laugh at the NPC comment, aiming to follow up with something about him being the best side quest ever, but the shift in contact makes him draw in a sharp breath that catches in his throat and he stills entirely.

His ears and most of his face turn a shade of pink that borders on highlighter, and it's possible that his ears steam from the sudden rise in warmth to his face. He has to consciously not recoil his hand in favor of wrapping his arms around his head, the mess of curls on his head seeming to stand on end in his abrupt fluster. Still, as he turns to face forward to get them up the stairs the rest of the way, his fingers curl loosely around Shouto's.

"Y-yeah? Mmm, thanks, that...," He loses the battle of not putting at least his free arm over his head, splaying his hand against the side of his face. The gesture looks completely ridiculous. "I'm glad somebody does."

The second Izuku freezes, all that tension is right back in Shouto's shoulders, his stomach plummeting like the ground has dropped away beneath him. He'd just thought it would be easier, Izuku could trip the way he'd been walking before, and he doesn't need to be responsible for any more injuries the other boy sustains. Or, maybe that's not entirely right--he hadn't really thought all that hard about it, period, or he'd have realized just how strange it might seem, holding another boy's hand like that. Except--it didn't feel strange. It was kind of nice, or it would be if he didn't suddenly feel sick and anxious all over again.

He starts to open his mouth to apologize as Izuku turns bright pink, starts to let go and pull his hand away, starts to think of an excuse to part ways again, but he doesn't get further than a slight loosening of his fingers before Izuku is turning to face forward, and his fingers curl around Shouto's in response.

It's definitely better that he's facing forward now. It means he doesn't see the faint flush that creeps over Shouto's cheeks, almost hiding that mark. But despite that flush, he doesn't pull away after all.

I'm glad somebody does, Izuku says, and Shouto immediately thinks of Bakugou, of the way Iida called him out during their orientation, of the other classmates poking at Izuku for mumbling to himself.

"If they mind, they aren't listening. You connect things really quickly. It's really educational to hear how you manage to put together profiles and strategies based on what you see," he says, and the words are entirely honest and also complimentary. He means educational in a good way!! Promise.

Was he red before? Because he sure is now, his ears lighting up like a Christmas tree even facing forward. He gets to the hallway and is still silent to his door, turning to Todoroki and giving him a stubborn sort of scrutinizing look for a moment. His face is still red and his eyes are absolutely glassy, but he always has taken things to extremes.

A moment later he deflates from his frown and smiles instead, looking down at their hands and then their feet. It's a bit much, he thinks, but he squeezes Shouto's fingers.

"That means a lot from a prodigy classmate with amazing technical prowess and skill, Todoroki-kun." And he meant it. Endeavor be damned, Shouto was impressive in his own right, and becoming moreso with each day he made his strength his own.

Again, Izuku is silent, and again Shouto wonders if he's said something wrong. Is it his tone? He knows he's pretty deadpan. Does Izuku think he's screwing with him, that he doesn't really mean it? Because he does. Genuinely.

His face isn't often very expressive, either, but there's definitely a visible trace of uncertainty as Izuku turns and gives him a look, bright red and frowning slightly. He's just about to ask what he's done wrong when that frown clears, and Izuku smiles instead, squeezing his fingers, and whatever he was about to ask is gone entirely as he hesitantly squeezes back, shaking his head at the other boy's comment.

"I work hard to be good at it. So do you," he says, and if there's still a tiny lingering flush, he can blame it on the strange situation. Lifting his hand to clasp the back of his neck, he shrugs in the direction of the door.

"Do you want to..."

Not keep standing in the hall, holding hands and looking into each other's eyes, maybe. Not that he's finding he minds, particularly.

Izuku craved validation, but praise set his nerves on fire. He would never go as far as to blame Bakugou for it, only in part because he wasn't even wholly responsible, but he struggled to take compliments without doubt and confusion in himself and the words being given. Todoroki had always been so candid it was almost brusque, so he settled his anxious heartbeat as best he could and slowly released the tension from his shoulders.

And then immediately he jolts, springing for the door and releasing Shouto's hand simultaneously, shoving the door inward.

"Yeah!" He chirped, gesturing for Todoroki to go ahead. "Sorry, I'm a space cadet. Come on in, get comfy. You want anything to drink?"

Shouto feels surprisingly off-balance when Izuku drops his hand, his fingers curling around nothing as his arm falls to his side. It's a strange feeling, but what isn't strange and unsettling about this day? Everything feels almost like a dream, or a nightmare, some weird thing that isn't quite happening.

That's probably not a good feeling. He knows that. But right now, it's helping, and he moves past Izuku into the room, his eyes adjusting to the almost overwhelming amount of primary colors. All Might everywhere. But honestly? It's soothing, in a strange way. Not a single thing that might remind him of his father. There's no room for anything else, in here.

He isn't sure where to go, exactly, so he moves to stand by the desk, eyes falling on yet another All Might figure. He's holding one hand in the other, rubbing absently at his palm when he finally answers.

"Whatever you have is fine." He doesn't want to be more of a bother, really. "Where should I...?"

Sit. Where should he sit. Because there's only one deal chair, and just making himself comfortable on Izuku's bed feels strangely...personal.

Izuku stutters his way into his room and nudges the door shut, leaning there a moment. He doesn't look immediately at Shouto, preferring to stare at his feet to avoid being embarrassed by the overview of his room. Bright and primary was certainly correct... There was almost nothing in the room that wasn't All Might merchandise. Even the curtain over his balcony was patterned in stars and branded to the former Number One.

He looks up finally when he's had the chance to collect himself, and blinks owlishly at Shouto's uncertainty. He laughs a little, a quiet, gentle sound, and steps out of his sneakers on his way across the room, leaving them where they fall. Shouto had taken his hand so easily before, he felt silly now for being shy about it-- it was just a gesture. So he reaches out as he approaches him, holding his hands up for Shouto to take again.

"Come sit on the bed with me, it's the best place to see the TV. I've got some Pocari, and I think I have a bottle of oolong. You like tea, yeah?"

He shouldn't be embarrassed. It's not like All Might is anything to be ashamed of. As a child, he's also the hero that Shouto idolized, the one he'd seen on TV in that one clip and immediately told his mother, I'm going to be a hero like him. Izuku's room might take a second to get used to, but it's not embarrassing. He's passionate. That's all.

The sound of Izuku's laughter is a comfort, not malicious at all, and it makes Shouto look up at him again instead just in time to see the other boy approaching him, a smile on his face and his hands outstretched. The sight is...there's something warm in his chest, something that helps relax the tension in his shoulders that eases by the second.

There's no question about what comes next. Of course he takes Izuku's hands in his own, fingertips briefly brushing his palm, and he'll follow wherever Izuku leads. "Tea's fine, if you have it. Thanks." It's a little strange, settling onto the Western-style bed, but if Izuku says it's the best place, then that's where he'll be.

He didn't have a great amount of exposure to having hangouts with friends he was comfortable with, anymore. He followed Katsuki blindly as a child, but looking back it didn't feel entirely like friendship. They never held hands for no reason or sat on his bed to watch TV, anyway. He also didn't have a TV in his childhood bedroom, and hadn't gotten his laptop until junior high. Still, something felt strangely right climbing onto his bed and standing on it a moment, encouraging Shouto to do the same before dropping into a cross-legged sit, keeping his hands grasped loosely in his own.

"Help me pick what to watch and then I'll get the tea. Movie? TV? I can play some kind of video game, I don't have much that's multi-player though and I wouldn't wanna bore you."

That makes both of them, honestly. Between the homeschooling and the constant training, Shouto didn't ever really have a chance to meet other kids his own age. Sure, he'd had his siblings, and it wasn't like his father had forbidden him from spending time with them, exactly, but they were both older, and there had always been that guilt within him--both for being the cause of their mother being hospitalized (it wasn't his fault, it was Endeavor's, but he was still the cause) and for being the one to get their father's full attention. As a result, it had taken until his admission to UA for him to really get a chance to be around other kids--and he'd almost ruined that for good, too.

Until Izuku.

Shouto follows him as he steps onto the bed, still a little uncharacteristically uncertain, and then sinks into an easy seat with him. Izuku doesn't show any signs of wanting to let go of his hands, and so he doesn't let go, either--although he does shrug a single shoulder at the question. "I don't really watch much TV, or a lot of movies, so I'm not really sure what to watch...really, whatever you want to do is fine. I can always watch you play a game or something. It wouldn't be boring." Nothing with Izuku is ever boring. He's learned that much, at least.

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