Chapter Text
“Funny; I never thought that this photographer of yours would be just a college student,” Momo says while flipping through the pages on her clipboard. It’s got file after file of dirt, information uncovered about a young prospect Shouto picked solely to piss his father off. She always has that thing with her, micro-managing every second of Shouto’s life at the request of Enji. (“I’m not doing this because he asked me to, you know I enjoy adhering to his requests as much as you do, but I am doing this so that you don’t end up with a manager who will report every move you make to him. At least be a little grateful.”)
“You’re forgetting we’re the same age. So I’d be a college student around this time, too.” Shouto sighs into the crook of his elbow, bringing with it the puff of his cigarette smoke.
Momo chuckles to herself from the table, and Shouto doesn’t bother looking back at her. “Yes, I suppose that’s true. I always think you’re older than you are, for some reason.”
She’s quiet for a minute. They’re not usually awkward like this, but she’d made him angry earlier at the thought of his father selecting for him a new permanent photographer. So, he proposed, rather defensively, that he was capable of conducting the search without his overbearing help. And now here they are. All Shouto can hear is the rustling of papers, the gathering of her information under a silent-but-humming desk lamp. That, and the infinite sound of the city below his apartment (not the proper dwelling for a rich boy, but private enough that people don’t suspect him to be living here): the cars driving themselves into silence and the people always chattering about like wind-up toys with broken turn-keys.
“You know, I don’t think anyone online knows what they look like.”
Shouto quirks an eyebrow. How interesting. He’d found them on a whim, and didn’t have to look at their profile long to decide that he wanted them to be his photographer, so there wasn’t a lot of serious analyzing going on. “Huh?”
And Momo stands, brings her stupid clipboard to shove in his face by the open window as his smoke funnels out into the city. “See? The profile is full of their models, but never pictures of themselves.” She’d explained earlier that this guy’s physical presence on the internet was so scarce that she couldn’t find a picture of him besides his I.D. The logistics of it didn’t really make sense until now.
She moves the photos into his vision. Shouto is tempted to use them as an ashtray. There’s a blown up screenshot of the photographer’s Instagram profile, whose professionally captured photos are only of a variety of models and actors, some of which Shouto knows well, like Katsuki Bakugou. There are no allusions as to who runs the account, who takes the pictures, and who edits them to look so stylish.
The pictures of Katsuki look like he’s jumped right out of a comic book, as per all the promotional material for his newest role as a certain web-slinger superhero in an action movie under production. Though the specific details of the production are under tight wraps, Shouto knows that the director is rather young, too young to have the experience he seems to possess. The news of this project has stirred up the general public for what’s felt like months, and the publicity is something Shouto considered cashing in on, because that’s what he does. Ultimately, he ruled it out. Staying as far away from the movie industry as possible has always been his goal, so there would be no point in involving himself in it now, lest he break his creed.
The most simple synopsis he can give for the photos is that they look great. The costume, makeup, and set are all top notch. And the pose he’s in—standing at the ledge of a roof, half of one foot dangling over the city below (because the shot is somehow from above, and Shouto is wracking his brain as to how the photographer pulled that off without puking) with the underside of his arm facing toward the sky and the device used to shoot his ‘webs’ seated firmly in his palm. His two middle fingers are pressed into his palm just the same, launching a web out of the shot. And it’s excellence in motion. Or, rather, in stasis. Because it’s a picture—
Shouto unintentionally finds himself marveling at the tiniest details in the editing, what immeasurable amount of personality and style remains hidden in the most mundane of details. There are expertly placed panels and speech bubbles revealing small details about the upcoming movie, like other members, all in ecstatic and even eccentric colors bordering on a nauseating neon scheme. (Shouto is kind of upset that these were printed in color, because a lot of ink had to be wasted on these papers he was just going to throw away after seeing.)
And, of course, there are plenty of models who Shouto doesn’t recognize, like a particular young lady with pink cheeks and brown hair dressed to look like some sort of forest nymph. There are at least five pictures in that post of her, and plenty more posts with her in them as Shouto peruses the timeline further in the recorded evidence.
The caption on that last set of photos reads: “hhh maybe i went a bit overboard on these,,,, uraraka was just so cute in her costume!! in my defense! her makeup crew spent such a long time getting her ready, so i should definitely be able to share a few more pictures than normal, just because they need to be appreciated!!” Following that, there are a plethora of unnecessary hashtags, and a link to the girl’s profile.
Shouto rolls his eyes. They sure are annoying, and definitely lame.
“Maybe they committed a really bad crime,” Shouto muses. It’s a serious accusation; the thought of aggravating Enji that way is nothing short of brilliant. The appointing of new people into the agency isn’t usually nice, and his old man doesn’t seem very eager to work with them either—so Shouto might enjoy it, after all, despite not really wanting to put himself out there in this exact way.
Momo laughs. “Don’t be ridiculous! I’m sure they’re just insecure, or something like that. Probably cautious about identity theft: it’s a reasonable fear these days.”
And yeah, she’s usually right about this kind of thing, but Shouto thinks assuming the photographer is insecure about their appearance is way less fun than insinuating that they’ve killed someone. Because how fun would that be? And how interesting would it be to figure out the exact amount of ways to kill someone with a camera?
“Well, you don’t know that,” Shouto says to himself, mumbling into the butt of his cigarette. “They could be a total weirdo.”
“We’re all hoping that’s not the case, Shouto. That’s why your father's security is accompanying you. As you may know—”
“Um, no they are not.” Shouto says.
Momo freezes.
“You know damn well that I can hold my own against creeps like that.” An altercation at a bar turned violent once, and Shouto defended Momo’s honor by knocking the guy out with a single punch to the side of his head (the offender was not very strong, but Shouto refuses to admit that to anyone).
“Punching a guy one time doesn’t constitute as—”
“I can handle myself! Either I go alone, or I don’t go.”
“Shouto, you can’t be serious.”
“I’ve made my terms clear.”
Momo doesn’t try to protest any further, tapping her finger on the back of her phone through her pocket. She’s practicing her patience for when she calls Enji later, he thinks, learning and relearning to keep her opinions to herself in the face of her boss. “I’ll have to convince him that this is a good idea… So, best behavior, okay?”
Shouto may or may not feel the need to growl at her. He does.
Picking up his phone off the railing, Shouto loads up Instagram and types in the user of that photographer to look at the posts for himself. Izuku Midoriya doesn’t have very many followers, maybe 1000, and his posts reflect that low number with their lack of likes and shares and comments.
They’re all quite plain, to be honest. But there’s one recent post that Momo didn’t capture that betrays this sense of quaintness in Midoriya’s usual escapades with his camera.
There are a few pictures of just a body clothed in a white, drapey type of cloth, like a sort of toga (that’s what Shouto thinks they’re called, but he can’t remember). The person has dark skin, but it’s hardly sunkissed, infested with freckles. Shouto finds that he’s tracing every line of flesh, that he isn’t exactly annoyed at the composition, that the body is quite out of focus (not that he holds himself to the standard of a professional, but he knows his past photographers would scoff at this amateur). They’re in a number of positions, bathed in light from the sunset in the backdrop behind them.
‘i lost a bet with a friend,,, so here are some pictures of me!! i hope none of your eyes bleed after seeing them,, anyways we’ll be back to our scheduled programming next time, so don’t be too disappointed with these,,,,’
All of the comments are some variant of the following:
- affectionate emojis
- inappropriate comments (in mostly joking tones)
- and requests to see their face
And to be honest, Shouto is surprised at the turnout. Because there’s a lot of hate on their posts all the time. But that makes sense, seeing as how this photographer is still relatively small, but a photoshoot with a model as renowned as Shouto should boost their popularity quite a bit (not that he really cares about that—it’s less about PR and more about finding a new permanent photographer after the last one decided he was too good to be ‘wasting his talent on a bratty model’).
Shouto decides that he’s going to take this matter into his own hands before his father’s goons can leave their grubby fingerprints all over it.
He sends the photographer a DM saying, ‘i know this is pretty sudden, but would you be interested in doing a shoot with me? i’ve seen a bit of your work and it’s quite impressive. i’d be humbled to be in front of your camera… just let me know if you don’t want to for any reason. and for the record, i’m looking for a permanent position, if you’re interested. we’ll discuss possible details and rates whenever it’s good for you.’
It feels shameful, almost soul-bearing to be the first one to ask, but hey, at least he did it himself.
Izuku knows that he’s not the best, but that has never stopped him from doing his best with everything he does. And while he may not be the best or most renowned or most talented photographer, and he knows these things better than anything else, but he knows that he takes pride in his craft and handles each picture with a great helping of care.
And to him it isn’t about the money. Of course, there are always bills to pay and expenses for food and new equipment, but he doesn’t do what he does to be paid (for the most part). But yes, sometimes he’ll accept jobs because the rate is high, but desperate times do indeed call for desperate measures, after all.
But when he gets an offer from a Todoroki Shouto, with over 5 million followers on Instagram and a lifetime career in modeling after a quick session of searching his name (not to mention from him himself rather than some detached resident of his PR team), it becomes apparent that money is something that he could stand to be making here.
However, such an open-ended message only stands to confuse and intimidate him rather than exciting him for the opportunities to come.
For what feels like years, Izuku drills over what his response could be.
He’ll start typing and then ultimately reject the idea and start over. If Todoroki is paying attention to this, he’s probably already weirded out (surprisingly, Izuku’s track record for communication with clients has never been wholly spotless—being clumsy and nervous never serve him well, do they?), but Izuku likes to believe that he hasn’t seen anything, that he’s doing something more important than waiting for a small-time photographer to eagerly approve his request.
Then again, would he really care about it that much in the first place? The guy’s probably got at least a million other photographers begging to do shoots with him. Izuku is most definitely just another blank-faced camera nerd ticked off the list.
Finally, after thinking it over for at least an hour, Izuku has his response all planned out.
‘it’s very nice to hear from you, todoroki! i’d love to try setting up something soon!’
Fairly basic and unsurprising. The perfect message. Immediately, like just as Izuku is setting his phone down to go back to Editing Hell™, there is a message waiting for him.
‘let’s meet for coffee or something so we can talk about it in person. i hate texting like this.’
Okay, so maybe he was a bit more invested in this than Izuku thought he was.
‘that’d be wonderful! i’ll check my schedule and get back to you soon,, it’s kinda late and i have an 8AM class tomorrow, so goodnight!’
‘goodnight, izuku.’
Izuku is surprised about Todoroki knowing his name for about a half a second. Though, that’s because he’s never quite aware that his first name is attached to his profile, and everyone can see it. He tries not to be freaked out about it every single time a new person DMs him, but it’s so hard, seeing as how he’s so forgetful about his own details.
He doesn’t turn off his phone like he would usually do around this time, instead he reads and rereads the messages, making sure to screenshot them so that he doesn’t forget to tell his friends about it. The work he’s doing on his newest collection with Kirishima goes untouched, but he doesn’t post them until he’s ready. This time, they’d gotten a little more comfortable with each other (this was only their second time together, after all), and Izuku had actually gotten to interview him about his directing career, being the person directing the movie Katsuki was set to appear in next spring. Learning that much about the technical and creative aspects of film was like really seeing something for the first time, the inner workings of something he already enjoyed picking apart.
The conversation had been very entertaining, as if they were recording it instead of just talking. Somehow they’d gotten to the topic of their own favorite movies, and Izuku reluctantly admitted that his was an ancient animated children’s film of which Kirishima responded his praise for emphatically, though Izuku was certain he would have done that no matter what movie he’d mentioned.
They were there for hours: Izuku snapping picture after picture and Kirishima talking about anything and everything. Izuku didn’t say much, but not because he’s shy (because he isn’t), but because being in Kirishima’s presence felt like that of royalty—or at least a very famous person. Because he is very, very well-known for being one of the youngest people to direct a movie making it to the top of the charts around the world. Kirishima was 18 when production began, and 19 when the movie was released. Izuku himself was 16 when it was released, and he saw it in theaters at least twice as many years as he’d lived for up until that point. (Obviously an exaggeration, but he did see it a good number of times—enough to annoy his mother when he would quote pages from the script from memory.)
Kirishima was flattered to hear this, of course, and had commended Izuku for his dedication to superhero movies, specifically his first and ‘worst’ of the bunch that he had directed.
“It’s nothing to compliment me for!” Izuku had said. He was sure that in that moment his face was as red as a cherry. “I just—I really enjoy your work. Your vision for each shot is clear and you and your crew really love what they’re doing, so it’s only natural that your work would be so polished and heartfelt!”
And Kirishima had turned to face him, being in place for a profile shot just before, and he was grinning like a madman. “Wanna hear about the new movie?”
He launched into a tirade about the sets, about the script and storyboards and the music and everything that went into making this clear passion project. He talked about how far he’d come to get to this point, and how far he’d have to keep going to convince Katsuki that he was worthy of being his director.
“Katsuki... He likes you, right?”
Izuku went stiff, tapping the buttonless spaces on his camera. There are four on top, and infinitely many on the sides. “I wouldn’t say that. We don’t exactly get along, but I think he tolerates me.”
Kirishima had brought his half-fisted hand to his face, pressing his knuckles into his chin. “He’s one tough nut to crack, but damn if he isn’t the best actor I’ve ever seen.”
And without even thinking about it, they fall into the topic of Katsuki’s many, many talents.
“He’s always insisting to do his makeup himself.”
“Is it true that he harasses your camerawoman?”
“Every shot, he thinks he can do better.”
“He’s always been so eager...”
They eventually ran out of things to talk about, and parted ways. Izuku still thinks about him, but it isn’t like they don’t keep in contact. They both still need someone to geek out over everything with. And Kirishima said he wanted to learn how to take pictures like how Izuku does, so there’s that.
Izuku wonders, with the brevity of his breath, if he and Todoroki could have the opportunity to talk that way, about things that don’t solely revolve around business and things relating to it. About hobbies, things they like, and other stuff. The thought is nice, but he doubts they could really have anything to talk about.
Looking at his picture now is kind of giving Izuku whiplash. Because he’s very handsome, and Izuku is also supposed to believe he’s genuine enough to contact him directly to compliment his work and arrange something with him? Usually, people only get one ‘good’ trait... But apparently Todoroki gets to have two. At least. Kind of a dick move, on his part.
Eventually, they both settle on next Friday. Izuku doesn’t have classes then and Todoroki doesn’t have anything to do that day involving work, so the day rounds out perfectly.
‘i do have a scheduled brunch with my old man, but i can afford to skip it.’
‘???? you should respect your elders, todoroki,,, they can and will openly insult you in public,,’
‘he’s the only exception. if you knew him, you’d feel the same way’
Izuku decides not to touch that one with a ten foot pole. Though, he will admit that he’s quite curious about what could make Todoroki want to disrespect his dad like that.
The less-than-local coffee shop is cramped and uncomfortable, but it’s one of the only places where people won’t harass Shouto (the owner hates having a ruckus in her store and Shouto hates being talked to, so they’ve struck up an unspoken deal).
Izuku seems to find it cozy, seeing as how he’s here early, curled up in a corner booth with his knees pulled up to his chest and his little laptop sitting on the table. (At least, Shouto thinks that’s him, judging by his dark-toned skin and freckles that he’d seen on that now-deleted post on his Instagram.) He’s click-clacking away on the keyboard with a tiny smile twitching at his lips like he’s doing something sneaky.
And he’s not the stereotypical boring camera-snob that Shouto pegged him to be. Truly, his brand would thrive if he could stand to associate his appearance with his work. Izuku has this dark, curly hair: the kind that you read about that takes all the light of the moon and gives none of it back; the downy and shiny type. And his eyes are what Shouto immediately finds himself enamored with. They’re big, violently green, and full of youth and starlight.
“I see you’re thoroughly enjoying yourself.” Shouto says as he sets his bag down and slides into his seat directly in front of the now-spooked photographer. Izuku looks up at him hurriedly, and Shouto knows he’s startled him because of the surprise in his eyes (what a lovely set of eyes they are: so expressive and wide). He snaps his laptop shut and trips over all of his words like they’re an invisible set of stairs and he’s the clumsiest man alive.
“Oh my gosh, Todoroki! I had no idea you were here! It’s so nice to finally–” Izuku is kind of yelling—bowing in his seat like an absolute dork—and stops mid-sentence when a curt growl comes from behind the counter. It’s as though he’s already familiar with the goings-on here. “To finally meet you.” He now says, in a near whisper.
Shouto tries to suppress his grin. The smile on his face feels cynical and sarcastic, but he knows there’s much more to it than that. “Yes, it’s a pleasure.”
It’s important to remain calm, impartial and almost cold when conducting a business deal such as this. Feigning interest is something that also must be done until the correct statistics and criteria are met for a successful coalescence, but Shouto finds that his attempts to pretend to be unexcited about meeting Izuku are only met with pure, unbridled excitement.
Because Izuku, despite being wildly unprofessional (in an increasingly endearing way), seems very approachable and kind. “Oh, I forgot to introduce myself—I’m Izuku Midoriya.”
“Photographer extraordinaire.” Shouto holds out his hand with that same grin on his face; he hasn’t smiled this much in a long time, not even forcibly.
Izuku snorts into his considerably small palm (the one that isn’t held in Shouto’s grip), “Far from it, actually. But thank you.” His handshake is not very good, but his kind eyes say all that Shouto needs to know about him. “And I think that’s the end of that, because we all know who you are.” Izuku might be trying to make a joke and Shouto doesn’t think he understands it all too well. But the failed attempt doesn’t resign him to incompetence—saying that for him rather than his words is his choice of clothing.
He’s wearing a somehow crisp-looking dark hoodie; its strings are tangled into short, thickly braided ropes. And his jeans look almost like they were thrown in the dryer right before his departure. Despite the obviously inappropriate attire Izuku has ceded himself to, Shouto now feels dressy in his turtleneck and blazer. Maybe casual was the way to go. But the thought is idiotic: this is a business meeting, therefore business casual is in order. Izuku works the half of his outfit that isn’t sweats, though. He’s slim and attractive in his cheap jeans and sneakers, and Shouto begrudgingly appreciates that little of an effort.
Shouto crosses his legs and takes a deep breath as Izuku shoves his laptop into his bag. Maybe a few more of those will keep these sudden jitters at bay.
“So, Izuku…”
He jumps in his seat. “Yes?”
“Relax. I’m not going to snap at you.”
Izuku casts his gaze downward. “Oh, of—of course. Sorry. I’m just a little nervous.”
“This isn’t your first contract, is it? My sources indicate that you’ve worked with a variety of models. Surely I am not the first. So then, why be nervous?” Shouto should be asking himself the same question. Either he came into this uneasy, or Izuku’s rampant nerves are contagious.
And Izuku doesn’t immediately respond. Shouto sees him swallow hard. “This is actually my first real deal with a client. All the rest of my models are my friends… Well, not quite Katsuki—Katsuki Bakugou, I mean—and that’s mostly because he doesn’t like me, but you know what I mean. It’s never been this. ” He gestures between them with one hand, the other occupied in his hair, tangling his thick curls around his fingers. Shouto blinks at him, kind of in a daze, but he thinks he understands Izuku’s slightly uncouth way of describing it.
Shouto nods and leans forward in his seat as Izuku keeps talking just to make it a point of his interest in the conversation. “I’ve only ever had to send them a text and then we’re all set. But now it’s like? I’m doing this as an actual job and it’s real and solid and I have some semblance of control over who I pick and choose as my clients. And, please don’t take that as me saying that this hasn’t been serious up until now, because that really isn’t the case! I’ve always treated my work very seriously.”
He waits for Izuku to finish his thought (a very long one, it seems), and then Shouto formulates his parry. “I don’t doubt your qualifications at all, Izuku. But your communication skills could use a bit of work.” Izuku gives him this mortified look, and it’s clear that Shouto’s cadence confused him. “I was joking. That was a joke.” The explanation makes it less funny, but okay.
He registers the comment and then gives a half-hearted laugh like he’s not quite sure of how to react. The sound is sweet and high in pitch, causing Shouto to sit up a little bit straighter in his seat even though he’s already at his best, interview-ready posture. He doesn’t like how off-guard he feels, the way Izuku is making him feel: all sweaty and unseasoned in this aspect of the line of work he’s pursued.
Izuku wouldn’t have so much trouble communicating with him if he wasn’t so damn hot. Could he tone it down for, like, ten minutes? And yes, he does usually have trouble talking to people, but the possibility of that happening skyrockets when the person he’s talking to could even be considered attractive.
“Ah, yes, of course.” The thought strikes him that Todoroki is a bit odd. Maybe that was what being famous at a young age did to you. From Izuku’s research, he gleaned that even Todoroki’s birth had been anticipated, put into the limelight as soon as he came into the world. Izuku wondered how he could continue living like that, as if the entire world is not watching his every move with bated breath.
“Anyway, let’s get right into it, shall we?.”
Oh, so this is happening now . Izuku nods without really thinking about it, more concerned with the fact that he doesn’t have anything to jot down the details. He could get his computer back out, but that’d be so unspeakably rude, so he opts for trying to memorize literally everything coming out of Todoroki’s mouth. And, somehow, he already knows that isn’t going to work.
“Like I said a little while ago, I am looking for a permanent position. You would be able to travel with me to other types of photoshoots as my personal photographer and give your two cents to others trying to capture me if the client insists another photographer do it. But ultimately it would be your job to know how to do it best. I’m thinking about a base salary of at least ten million yen per year, provided your service is around the clock. But, of course, you’d have holidays and things like that. I would just need to know about it in advance.”
That part about permanency is getting worse the more he hears it. And also, the entire section about him being the only photographer. Because that’s kind of unheard of? “But why would we need to be together all the time?”
“Because I was thinking about having you around for basic sort of photos, for social media and things like that.”
“With all due respect, that isn’t really what I do—”
“Yes, I know that. And that’s why my deal to you is that whenever we do a professional shoot of any kind, I will see to it that you are to be the creative director, even if you can’t be the sole photographer. Either that, or we walk.”
“And… What exactly does that mean?”
Todoroki folds his hands neatly on the table in front of him. They’re graceful and thin, the picture of perfection. His thumbs rub together as he ponders his words carefully, moving as one unit in a collective circle when he wants to encourage himself to keep talking. “Your vision is very important to you as an artist. And I won’t let anyone undermine your creativity. It might turn some companies off, but at the end of the day I know that I would rather hire you for your unfiltered talent than some marketing team’s uninspired direction.”
“Oh… I see…” And really, it seems like a no-brainer. That amount of money and he always gets his way? Who would refuse this deal? Apparently, Izuku would. “I actually want to try to get through school before agreeing to any full-time jobs. It’s nothing personal, though! I just want to put my education first.” This kind of offer would never come again, and he knows full well the consequences of turning it down. “But I would still love to do something with you—if you’re okay with that.”
Todoroki sours— immensely . It is very clear that Izuku has done the worst thing he could do in this situation, just short of slapping Todoroki in the face, it seems. “Is that so?”
“Um… Yes?”
“Sure,” He says, opening his bag and retrieving a small, leather-bound book and a pen. He presses the butt of the pen to his lips, thinking and using his eyes to scan the page he’s opened on. Izuku sees its dogeared corner and recognizes its purpose as a schedule, most likely. Or maybe a to-do list. “How about next week?”
“Well, uh, definitely! I’ll make some room on Tuesday—is that good for you? Sorry, I didn’t even think about asking; you’re probably busy–”
“Tuesday is fine.” Todoroki seems much colder all of a sudden. He’s either very angry or he’s plotting. Though, it’s near impossible to tell.
There was that one chance to get back at his father swiped right out from under his feet. It was the one thing Shouto couldn’t afford to mess up, and he did just that.
They part, exchanging phone numbers instead of usernames (though Shouto just gives him Momo’s number), and Shouto is worried he’s scared Izuku more than before. But that doesn’t really matter now, does it? He’s not going to see him again besides in their scheduled appointment. And after that it’ll be like they’d never met. And yes, the resentment he now feels toward Izuku is unjust, but Shouto is allowed his moments of childish behavior here and there.
The days pass quickly, much to Shouto’s detriment, but maybe there’s still a way to get Izuku back on his side.
Tuesday finally rolls around, and that morning Shouto finds himself in a small apartment, being handed a change of clothes. In the bundle is a plain white button-down and a pair of mangy jeans. Definitely a low-budget look, but he’ll dress it up the best he can according to Izuku’s instruction.
“I had to do a bit of digging to find your size—by that I mean I called your manager—I hope you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.”
He’s all changed and ready in a matter of minutes (Izuku can also double as a stylist in his own right, Shouto comes to learn as Izuku is toying and mussing with his clothes and his hair; that would only prove to make him more useful), about to take his place in front of the camera. Izuku, before stepping behind it, connects his laptop to a series of cords running underneath bright blue pieces of masking tape all stuck to the floor. He presses the space key on a black and green screen and sound filters through the air, gradually increasing in volume until they’re both comfortable with the level of the melody.
Shouto’s always been a fan of mood music. The sound and snaps of the camera have never ceased to pair well together. But still, the annoyance creeps in. This could be his photographer, but Izuku refuses to work with him.
There’s this sense that he’s forgetting something as he climbs onto the stool gracing the set.
“Ah,” Izuku says, like he’s just remembered the one thing Shouto’s forgotten. “No makeup, today. My artist is out sick and I’d rather not poke your eye out.” He’s smiling gently, and Shouto rolls his eyes out of habit, but not because he wants to.
Izuku likes to play all sorts of music while he shoots.
There’s nothing more immersive than a song that fits the mood of the models. Izuku has come to find this well, with his many different themes and models. Usually, they each have their own particular theme, actually: Kirishima’s is a gentle bedroom rock, Izuku’s preferences for Uraraka tend to be more on the pop side, and Katuski’s performances warrant a more intense sort of tune.
Izuku learns that the most fun part about shooting a new model is finding out what kind of music fits their personality. And, seeing as how he still doesn’t know too much about Todoroki, he finds that he has not a clue of what type of music to play for their time together.
Though just by looking at him, Izuku can see that he needs something with a heavy backbeat: something to accentuate his perfect cupid’s bow, his exaggerated cheekbones dusted with pink. Todoroki needs something slower, something to better vibe to. Yes, that’s how Izuku can properly capture him.
I wanna feel, I want to feel
Better than I do right now.
I wanna feel, so help me feel
Better than yesterday.
The music drifts from the speakers all thrown haphazardly around the room in an attempt to let it fall around Izuku’s setup: a white-lined window with artificially frosted glass and one equally white stool seated in front of it for Shouto to use as one of his props. Each beat effortlessly frames one of Izuku’s many pictures of a moody, almost sulking Todoroki staring off into the distance.
‘Cause I’ve been watching the planes roll in
And people embrace from time
That they’ve spent apart,
And I’ve been waiting for someone to come and save me
So won’t you save me?
The voice of the singer is like smooth electricity: lazily coursing through Izuku’s veins like the blood similar to that in his cheeks. Todoroki poses again, covering the bottom half of his face with one of his pale hands. The camera snaps again, livid and frantic to capture it. Todoorki’s eyes say so much with as little as a glance. He’s pretending to be uninterested.
Izuku tempts the shutter once more. The light flickers like it’s got something to prove. Todoroki winces from the set.
“Are we done yet?”
Izuku can’t feel his toes. It seems fitting that Todoroki would want to leave so soon, but that doesn’t make the notion hurt any less. “Mm, I can’t answer that question in the confidence that you won’t get upset,” he says, snapping a few shots of Todoorki’s angered reaction. Those might go into his personal collection.
He scoffs, and Izuku tries to take it in stride, but he still ends up feeling it. “Won’t be too long, now.”
He savors every reaction Todoroki gives him: tiny eye rolls, little nods, and things like that. They’re all equally beautiful, all perfect expressions of the mood Izuku is trying to create (though he can’t help but feel as though they’re not all for show). A slightly moody disco like the American music videos from the 90s. Izuku’s mother used to enjoy those. All the pretty sad boys who sang about the girls who left them. To be honest, Izuku always thought they were too whiny, but alas, the aesthetic still remains; Izuku greatly cherishes the use of the color white against dark hair, the way their shirts are inexplicably half open and the use of light makeup such as mascara and blush on a masculine face to define their features further. It’s all so nice, and Izuku is currently obsessed with it.
And Todoroki might just be the perfect model for this particular aesthetic. He’s pouty, brooding, and absolutely stunning. Izuku never quite felt that a model fit their theme so perfectly before Todoroki.
Because Todoroki is just so glaringly handsome! He attracts everyone’s attention in a room with just a simple glance. (Luckily Izuku does his shoots in private to avoid all sorts of distractions.) However, he never smiles, or at least Izuku knows this because of the time he’d spent with him today.
Izuku finds himself wondering what Todoroki’s smile might look like as they continue. Probably blinding, so beautiful that Izuku might die—no, he’d definitely die.
Shouto really does hate photoshoots.
That’s the nicest way he can put it. They’re so invasive and almost predatory (even though real threats of that nature subsided when he turned 18). And it only makes it worse knowing that this (this gentle, welcoming space Izuku has provided for him) isn’t going to be a regular thing, that he won’t have this protection from the photographers who subject him to the brunt of their work.
The cameras are horrendously close, and the photographers are always creepy in one way or another, and this Izuku is probably no exception. Though, Shouto has to admit… for a creep, he’s very cute.
Izuku is short and thin, teeny tiny next to the tripod set to take a few pictures from above. His hair is the fluffiest thing Shouto’s ever seen. It’s longer, and so curly that it stands off his head in shiny glowing ringlets. And yes, he may be cute, but Shouto knows who he is— what he is. He is someone who doesn’t care about art more than selling prints for a quick buck. Shouto knows that the business is cruel, is unfair, but it couldn’t be so cruel as to where an artist had to sell risqué photos of an obviously unwilling participant just to get by. Though, he can’t quite convince himself that Izuku’s actions teeter on that side of awful, not like his past photographers.
The vast majority of photographers chosen by his father seem to operate on the terms that their models are just toys to pose to their own will, but Izuku doesn’t seem to function that way. And speaking of his old man, Izuku doesn’t seem to know who he is at all.
“You both have the same family name. Is he perhaps your relative?” Izuku asks, mindlessly adjusting his camera to focus on his current muse.
All Shouto can do is gape. “You don’t—you don’t know him?”
Todoroki Enji, more commonly known as his stage name, Endeavor, is a revered actor with some of the best genetics out there, because all of his children have grown to be very attractive. Or, at least that’s what the fans say. To be honest, Shouto hates the thought of people having watched him grow up only to ogle him now. But Izuku didn’t even know who he was before this.
Izuku looks up at him curiously before a nervous smile breaks across his face. “Can’t say I do. Sorry, Todoroki.”
The thought of all of this is pleasant, almost. Shouto has something here that’s new—someone who wasn’t falling all over himself to apply for this position. Here’s an up-and-coming artist who doesn’t know the world of fame, eager to turn his livelihood into a career.
“Call me ‘Shouto.’”
His cheeks darken, hair falling into his emerald eyes as he looks down at his feet. “N-no can do. That’s… a friend sort of thing, you know? And we—we’re just business partners.” A phrase they both silently acknowledge lingers in the air between them: ‘we’re not even that much.’
Shouto would usually agree with this sentiment (more like he’d be the one enforcing it), but this case seems different somehow. For some unintelligible reason, Shouto feels the strongest urge to utilize Izuku, to keep him close even after his unintentional betrayal.
“Izuku…” Shouto says: the lead into a question.
And Izuku jumps from behind the camera. “Yes, Todoroki?”
The need to correct him is strong, like a habit he can’t shake, but Shouto resists. “Why don’t you have any pictures of your face on your Instagram?” It’s a weird question, but since Momo mentioned it, Shouto just can’t seem to get it out of his mind.
Instantly there is a silence that lasts for about a good minute or so. Izuku isn’t looking at Shouto, and his cheeks are a noticeable red.
“I just… I don’t really like taking pictures of myself. Of course, that one time I did it was because one of my friends thought I should try something different, but… It never really felt right. For the longest time I—well, you don’t really want to know that. I just like people seeing the art I make more than knowing that they’re looking at me.”
“Is it too personal?”
“I wouldn’t say that! But it is too—invasive, maybe? I don’t know how to describe it.”
Shouto tangles his fingers in his hair as he tries to think this through. “Is it because you hate the way you look?” As clearly evident by his statements, thinking about what he is going to say only happens as it’s coming out of his mouth.
What an insensitive remark, coming from a model whose entire job is to look good. Shouto immediately wishes he could take it back.
Izuku smiles unintentionally, but the embarrassment and shame are all there, just beneath the surface. “No, that’s not true. My pictures are just more important to me than all of that stuff. Plastering my face onto my business just ruins the appeal.”
“Hm… Maybe I should start thinking the same way. My brand might suffer if I keep my face on it.”
And Izuku looks at him like he’s crazy. “Are you kidding? That’s your whole brand!” He suddenly starts laughing, a clear and lovely sound Shouto wishes he could hold and keep in his pocket for a rainy day. “How are you—how are you going to be a model without showing your face?”
“Maybe I’ll just only do clothes from now on.”
“Well, you do dress really nicely. Do you have a stylist?”
“It’s much more than that. She’s my manager, Momo, remember? Really, she controls every aspect of my life.”
“I’ve never had anyone like that. It’s just been me. Though I’m sure you can tell, with how crazy my appointments and outfits are.”
“You can take her.”
Izuku feels himself grinning, and wants to make himself stop, but he just can’t. “I don’t think she’d appreciate you talking about her like that.”
Todoroki sighs and the sound of it makes Izuku turn his attention back toward him. “You’re right.”
There’s a tiny smile pulling at his cherry lips like the wind at his hair, quiet and contemplative. It’s fond, definitely more so than Izuku’s usual sightings of him. Todoroki had never looked this fond in the pictures Izuku dug up on him. Maybe he and his manager have a good relationship. Izuku hopes so.
That’s it! Izuku feels frantic as he pushes the button into his camera, trying desperately to be quick before it all fades. The zoom is just right, the angle, the lighting. And judging by those photos he’s seen, no one has ever made Todoroki smile like that. Or, at all. Izuku feels like he’s just pulled a miracle out of a pile of shit. Though, still attractive and magnetic shit—oh, that’s the worst metaphor ever.
Three days later, Shouto discovers that Izuku Midoriya has garnered quite the cult following.
And even though he knows that it’s not likely that they’ll be seeing each other again, it’d be nice to at least see the shots he’d chosen for his promo.
There are four of them. The first three are typical photos, uninspired yet strangely unique in a way that Shouto can’t describe. The way the light bends around that boring set, and the way he frames Shouto’s face in each picture—as in the main suspect and yet not the main focus—is kind of brilliant?
But the fourth is where things get increasingly odd. He doesn’t know how it happened, but Izuku somehow captured him genuinely smiling. No wonder he’s gained so many followers in such a short amount of time. Almost 3000 in the past few hours.
Shouto wasn’t even aware he could smile. Of course, he’s tried (in the mirror and windows and things like that), but there hasn’t been a shareable result so far. It always looks wrong, never like his own face. It’s like someone has plastered a horrid grin there, fake and impure. He’s never been able to look at a picture of himself and really just be able to say that that’s him. Because they’re all edited to hell and they just look so staged.
But here, in Izuku’s version, he’s never looked more like himself. Every hair on his head, every shrunken pore and that far-off look in his eyes could belong to no one else. It’s him.
Something had to change about his proposal. There was no way he could lose Izuku now.