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shouto todoroki is no stranger to praise. being the son of endeavor, having a quirk as powerful as his, getting into the most prestigious hero school in the world on recommendation alone… he’s heard it all his life. and thanks to his father and a train wreck of a childhood, the effect of receiving praise is kind of lost on him. it’s a side effect of being told too many times that you’re destined for greatness by someone who has a very skewed definition of greatness.
todoroki decided a long time ago he didn’t care about greatness, and that he did not want to be the best. he only wanted to be good, good enough. he did not want to reach the top by climbing over everyone else, and if that was the only way to reach the top, then he wasn’t going to bother with it. he’d made up his mind that being a comforting symbol, a reliable hero, is much greater than becoming a conquering one.
unfortunately, another side effect of being destined for greatness is the simple fact that todoroki is very much a stranger to closeness—both emotionally and physically—to vulnerability , because according to the same person with a funky view on greatness, when you’re a legend in the making, you cannot afford to hang around anyone who is, supposedly, less than you.
which, of course, meant that shouto todoroki was raised apart from his siblings, alienated from his mother, and homeschooled until high school.
and high school was where that same boy found home, where he decided he would be good enough, decided he would be his own person. high school was where he was introduced to people he’d know, trust, and love until his dying breath. high school was where todoroki learned closeness , learned empathy, learned affection.
learned love. for himself and the ones around him.
of course, it didn’t come easy. todoroki always had a hard time allowing himself to indulge in things he wanted, and had an even harder time asking for what he wanted.
and while these are all lovely, fanciful words that talk too much about the grand scheme of things, this story is about just one moment, one instance. a turning point and a groundbreaking discovery.
it’s about a hanta sero teaching shouto todoroki what it feels like to be held.
—
“dude, i know ! and that’s what i said! you know, and it just—“ hanta sero is telling a story. he keeps getting distracted by his own thought process but also by a few others asking questions, but it’s a wonderful story nonetheless.
shouto todoroki listens intently with his chin resting in his palm, elbow on the table. bakugo would skewer him for putting his elbows on the table, but bakugo already went up to his room, and todoroki could care less about what bakugo would say about his elbows on the table, because bakugo is a hag and todoroki only cares about whatever is coming out of sero’s mouth right now.
he’s learned, over the course of the past year and then some, that he values everything that comes out of sero’s mouth. he never wants to miss a single bit of it.
“a fuckin’ giant, kami, i’m telling you. gotta be at least eight feet tall—“
todoroki has, in fact, heard this story before, on his and sero’s shared balcony a few nights ago, when they both needed a breath of cold air. todoroki had had a nightmare, and he suspected sero was out there for a similar reason. that night, he’d been listening, paying attention. now, though...
“i don't believe you! there’s no way —“
“hey, don’t interrupt!”
his arms swing wide and his wrists twist in every direction and his fingers point and prod and poke at his palms. his brows rise and fall, his eyes staying comically wide for the added dramatic effect, lips twisting and pulling with his loosely strung together words. his voice was strong and ragged around the edges, catching in his throat and shifting over his tongue.
todoroki swears he heard every word of the story—for the second time—but prior to this moment, he’s always been too afraid to observe sero for longer than a instant, and, at this point, he’s starting to think that maybe he doesn’t need to be so secretive.
his eyes find a row of freckles on sero’s neck and sero’s voice just kinda turns to a distant hum. those freckles just below his jaw seem to resemble a constellation todoroki might’ve seen in one of his mother’s books before. he follows the stars up and up, eyes catching on a scar on sero’s jaw, blurry and faded. he goes right and sees a mole, goes further and sees unused ear piercings—two of them—and a strand of inky black hair slipping out from its tuck behind his ear.
todoroki’s eyes track back left to see the ridge of his cheekbone and keeps going to see the smudge of eyeliner under his lower lashes, the unfair but natural thickness of his lashes, the glitter in his inner corner.
todoroki is not listening anymore. he tracks the way sero’s hands move, animated and fluid. his hands are spindly, calloused, not as wide as todoroki’s, but more slim and narrow (but todoroki’s not thinking about that, of course he’s not thinking about that, are you kidding?). his fingers are long and pointy, pink at the knuckles and covered in small cuts, scars, more calluses. sero uses his hands for his quirk almost as much as he uses his elbows, and while he tries to take care of them, there is still some damage that simply cannot be avoided. todoroki thinks his hands are pretty anyway.
his wrists are lovely too, for reasons todoroki can’t explain. and his forearms, tan and freckled—his upper arms, muscular and—his shoulders —
“you’re so full of shit, bro,” kirishima accuses, though chuckling lightheartedly.
“it’s true!” sero argues, and todoroki’s eyes follow the column of his throat. “whaddya say, todoroki?”
eh?
sero is looking at him now, the full force of his magnetism aimed directly at todoroki, who is distracted and fuzzy and—and turning very red, very quickly. sero’s smirk is a sight to behold, and god—all this attention focused right on todoroki, no one else—he’s—
“oh, yeah. i believe you,” todoroki says, chasing away his blush. he does an excellent job keeping his voice cool, passive, but sero’s smirk doesn’t go anywhere.
he keeps wearing it, as kirishima guffaws in disbelief and as kaminari rolls his eyes but continues to listen anyway. at the end of it all, that smirk is still there, and todoroki knows now that sero has a dimple in his right cheek when he smirks like that. he wants to poke it. he bets sero’s skin is smooth—smooth as a seventeen year old boy, hero in training’s skin could be—and warm to the touch. soft and alive.
sero steals another look at him and todoroki can feel his heart stop beating for an entire two beats. no one else is looking, just sero, only sero, and todoroki doesn’t look away, and sero doesn’t ask him to, and it’s—oh. oh. sero’s smirk has gone soft right before todoroki’s very eyes, and now he’s sporting a smile—a fond smile, a smile todoroki’s never really seen on him before.
then sero fucking winks and todoroki has to look away entirely before making a fool of himself at this table. red in the face, on the ears, back of his neck, todoroki can’t look sero in the eyes a moment longer. he wonders what that fluttery feeling in his rib cage is, wonders how that lovely, calloused hand of sero’s would feel while held in his own. wonders why he’s never thought that way of anyone else before.
down the table, sero is blessed for a singular moment the sight of todoroki’s eyes going wide just a fraction, his cheeks bleeding pink before he turns away. he uses his hair to hide his face, and it’s incredible, it’s wonderful, and it doesn’t matter. because sero saw that blush of his, and he will absolutely never forget it. he will absolutely do everything in his power to see it again.
—
if it isn’t obvious, sero occupies a lot of todoroki’s brain space, his thoughts. sometimes it’s his quirk, his quick thinking, his strategies. other times it’s the flex of his upper arms, the curl of his hair around his ear, the strength of his thighs. most of the time it’s his eyes, his laugh. that stupid smile he seems to save just for todoroki. a lot of the time it’s the way he offers him an orange after evening stretches, or the way he shares his manga with him over the weekend.
most of the time, it’s the way he exists, the way he moves, the way he breathes. hanta sero is a magnet, a mega star, a sun, a black hole, maybe. he is drawing and pulling and so, so lovely.
and he’s sitting in denki kaminari’s lap, telling another story, joking and teasing and flailing like he doesn’t have half a foot of height over kaminari, at this point.
for some reason, the sight of it makes todoroki’s fingers twitch. sero’s feet are tucked under kirishima’s legs, who’s sat next to kaminari, and mina leans against kaminari’s other shoulder, reaching her arms around sero to point at a cackling kirishima. jirou is behind the couch, leaning over the edge and into mina a bit, making fun of kaminari as usual. todoroki wonders where bakugo is, and why the hell he’s not participating in his group’s shenanigans, because they like bakugo, and bakugo should be grateful and—
“hey, todoroki! you coming?”
midoriya. todoroki stares half a breath longer.
kaminari squishes sero’s cheeks between his hands. his gut does a weird twist, his chest feeling… heavy, if that’s even the right description. he doesn't particularly have a very adequate emotions vocabulary. todoroki’s two toned brows furrow before he can school his face back to its usual passive neutrality, his lips turning down at the corners. he wishes it were him squishing sero’s cheeks instead.
“todoroki?”
sero is laughing, laughing so hard he nearly falls out of kaminari’s lap, but kirishima vaults up to catch him before he can. even then, he’s still laughing. todoroki sees kirishima’s hand on sero’s forearm, the flush on his face from laughing too hard, and—
and it dawns on him all at once that he wants to be apart of it. todoroki wants in on the sero affection bubble. it’s no secret that sero loves with the full strength and weight of his entire heart, body, and soul, and goddammit if todoroki doesn’t want to be a part of that.
but todoroki never really learned how to ask for what he wants, so he tears his eyes away and lets a little chill roll over his skin. “coming, midoriya.”
ready to trudge on and bury whatever this feeling is under six feet of denial, sero catches his eye right on time, right before todoroki can fully pull away from sero’s orbit. he’s impossible to ignore, to deny, especially when he smiles like that. like—oh, god. like—like todoroki’s the only one in the room. that smile—the same one as before, the one that feels like it was specially designed for todoroki’s eyes only—erupts over sero’s features. the boy is scrambling, jumping out of kaminari’s lap to lean over the blonde as well as the back of the couch, past jirou, to wave wildly at todoroki, as if todoroki wasn’t already looking.
he calls, “roki! let’s read that new volume of chainsaw man after dinner, yeah? i asked to borrow it from shouji!”
todoroki blinks. blinks again. “yeah, sure.”
“cool.” sero smiles impossibly wider, but the effect is destroyed when kaminari whines about sero accidentally elbowing him right in the chest in his hurry to get up. todoroki uses the distraction as a chance to slip away before sero catches him blushing. again.
midoriya waits for him with a curious gleam in those wide, green eyes of his.
they read chainsaw man on sero’s floor later that evening, stretched on their stomachs over his fluffy carpet. sero’s legs lift behind him, wave and tilt and lean. his ankle drops a time or two and nudges todoroki’s calf. each time, he inches a little bit closer, until he can hear sero reading the dialogue under his breath, can see the jump of the cords in his arm when he goes to turn the page.
todoroki gets closer but never fully crosses that threshold, and the volume is finished and put to the side before he can do much else about it. he doesn’t remember anything from what they read.
—
“midoriya,” todoroki asks one day in between class periods. “i need your help.”
midoriya, bless him, lifts his head but doesn’t quite tear his eyes away from his strange notebook, still muttering. he’s tapping his forehead with a pencil, and todoroki knows he’s at least half way listening. “yeah, what’s up?”
todoroki watches the boy’s green eyes flick to him then fall back to his notebook, watches his hand drop to scribble something in the margins. good. maybe it’ll be easier to say when he’s not looking. “what does it mean that i want to be closer to someone?”
the scribbling stops. todoroki isn’t sure that what came out of his mouth is even japanese, or any other comprehensible language, but he says nothing else.
midoriya, bless him, squints. closes his notebook. looks up at todoroki. “huh?”
using his quirk, todoroki cools his neck down before he can blush and embarrass himself further. “there is someone i’d like to be closer to. physically—but also… friendship-ly…?”
well, no. probably not friendship-ly. todoroki doesn’t think you’re supposed to kiss your friends, and he thinks about kissing sero a lot.
he tilts his head, scanning midoriya’s face for some sign that he understands the gibberish coming out of his mouth. todoroki tries again. “not friendship-ly. more—more than that. they make me feel all…” he raises his hands, presses them to his chest. “warm? dizzy?”
warm in that, whenever he’s close to sero, he feels like he can breath easy. warm in that, whenever sero looks at him, smiles that smile of his, it makes all the blood rush to todoroki’s face and ears. dizzy in that, whenever sero kisses the top of mina’s head or sato gets an extra big hug whenever he makes those cookies sero likes so much, todoroki wishes it were him on the receiving end. dizzy in that, whenever sero touches him, even for a brief, accidental moment, it makes him feel like he could drop and melt right into the floor.
warm and dizzy both in that, whenever he learns something new about sero, he wants to keep digging. he wants to know more.
why sero? why not midoriya? ochaco? iida?
todoroki doesn’t mind when his friends hug him, or when ochaco claps his shoulders, or when kirishima rests his chin on todoroki’s head. in fact, he loves it. he drowns in it. he can’t get enough of it, but— but. sero has a special kind of loving, a special kind of affection. todoroki wants to be apart of it so badly he could scream. he doesn’t understand why.
warm and dizzy…
“do you think i might be getting sick?” todoroki asks now, a little alarmed at the sudden thought. “can a person make you feel so strongly that you get physically ill?”
midoriya’s eyes widen. at least he doesn’t laugh. “i don’t think it’s sickness, todoroki.” he’s chewing the inside of his bottom lip. “i think what you mean is that you… you must like whoever it is.”
todoroki’s brows pinch. “well, of course i like him. we are friends—“
“no! i mean, like him, like him. a special kind of liking.” midoriya insists, looking a little sheepish. “a kind of liking that only applies to one person.”
todoroki blinks. like him , like him? eloquently, he replies, “oh.”
then midoriya really does laugh, and todoroki knows he’s not laughing at him, but at his bafflement. he goes on to tell todoroki all the things he could do to let this person know how he feels, though todoroki is sure midoriya has never actually followed his own advice when it comes to uraraka, but whatever.
todoroki is too busy thinking about the sheer oh -ness of a discovery like this. that, too, makes him feel warm.
yeah, oh.
—
another, more groundbreaking discovery is made late at night after a particularly awful movie, in the lulling comfort of hanta sero’s dorm room. it starts with a saved seat, and an invitation.
it happens because—well, todoroki still isn’t sure how. all he knows is that he’s sat on the floor between hanta sero’s stupidly long legs after the boy insisted he sit by him, watching the most atrocious survival movie of all time that’s probably as old as todoroki’s grandmother.
it happens because the universe is out to get shouto todoroki. it happens because the universe knows todoroki cannot do what he wants, and thus wants him to suffer.
wants him to suffer between hanta sero’s goddamn legs.
it happens because this movie is absolutely trash, chasing off half the class and putting the rest nearly to sleep. uraraka, to todoroki’s left, is snoring.
and to todoroki’s credit, he does try very hard to stay awake. he tries and endures until sleep bleeds into his head, making his eyesight and his thoughts blurry. he endures it until his sleepy brain promises him sero won’t be mad if he leans against him, just a little.
he endures until he cannot stay awake a moment longer (later, he’ll tell himself it’s because kaminari has such shit taste in movies that it nearly bored him to death). he sleeps leaning straight up for a long while, long enough sero isn’t even aware he’s asleep until nearly thirty whole minutes later.
but soon todoroki’s head lolls to the side, and his temple meets sero’s knee. this startles sero more than anything from the movie, and when he looks down to see what happened, his heart tries to crawl right out of his throat.
todoroki’s asleep. like, knocked out cold. sero finds himself smiling, something stuck between confliction and sickening fondness on his face, even if todoroki’s temple is a little cold on his bare knee.
he scans the room and finds he’s the last one awake. well, shit. the movie’s practically over; he supposes he could try to wake todoroki up.
refocusing, sero leans forward a little, his hand going to cup todoroki’s head a little; a completely unnecessary movement, but sero does it all the same. todoroki doesn’t stir.
“roki, hey,” he whispers. todoroki’s brows pinch, sero can see it as he leans over his shoulder a bit. “wake up.”
and then— and then —sero’s brain goes offline for an entire two seconds, because todoroki leans back into sero’s cupped hand. not only does he lean back, but his hair falls back a little, leaving his forehead exposed, his brows still pinched, and he whines , a half assed, sleepy complaint.
shit. sero stares, and stares some more, because shit, man.
sero could get up and leave. sero could force todoroki awake. sero could… carry him. he could.
instead, thoughtlessly, his fingers dip into todoroki’s hair a bit. jesus, why is it so soft? what kind of conditioner does this bastard use? the credits on the movie begin to roll. he sighs, nothing more than a huff of air. now he’s just wasting time.
“roki,” sero tries again. todoroki turns his head further into sero’s hand and it’s the most disgustingly sweet, gut wrenching thing sero has ever seen in his goddamn life. his heart is leaping, doing jumping jacks, fucking somersaults, inside his ribcage. come on, you yearning bastard. just wake him up. “you need to get up, man.”
“mm?” todoroki mumbles like a cat disturbed during a nap. sero supposes that description isn’t far from the truth. “mhm.” his mhm sounds more disproving than a regular mhm would.
worst of all, he doesn’t actually wake up. sero curses himself, curses todoroki, curses the world. the universe is out to get him, he just knows it. he could leave him here. sero could leave it alone and never think twice about this night—
todoroki turns, probably trying to readjust and get comfortable, and his cheek presses into sero’s open palm. shit .
in a blink, sero is on his feet and he’s got todoroki, all limbs and solid muscle, scooped up in his arms. he takes the carrying him out of the common room option, and marches toward the elevators, to their dorms, desperately trying not to think about todoroki’s shoulder blades and thighs in his arms, trying not to think about how he just might have to drop todoroki into bed like a baby, trying really hard not to think about his own heart pounding in his chest and—and how he really doesn’t want to let todoroki go.
they’d gotten closer over the past several months. closer than ever, the space between them shrinking and shrinking some more, and dammit if sero doesn’t want to close the gap completely.
the spell is broken about half way there, when todoroki begins to stir. sero dares to glance down at him, and sees todoroki’s head is still lolled back, his bangs fallen to the side, his stupid pale forehead exposed again. sero wishes he could roll his eyes, be exasperated or even annoyed at how hard this bastard can sleep, but he can’t. he can’t.
he’s whipped. truly, absolutely, totally and completely whipped.
the elevator doors open when todoroki finally wakes. and when he does wake, he makes a noise, another disturbed cat noise. sero startles again.
todoroki cracks open an eye and—holy shit, sero is holding him. bridal style. he’s warm, and todoroki is not entirely convinced he’s not dreaming.
“sero?”
the elevator doors shut. “you’re awake. here.”
“fell asleep, i guess,” todoroki mutters, and sero is in a rush to put him down so as to not make this any more weird than it probably already is. he waits for todoroki to squint at him, to scowl, to scold him maybe.
“yeah,” sero huffs, chewing his cheek. “um, sorry, i didn't want to just—you know, leave you down there and you are... kind of a heavy sleeper.”
shit. shit. shit!
on his own two feet again, todoroki rubs the heels of his hands into his eyes. he blearily blinks up at sero, which in and of itself makes sero feel like he’s at a cliff's edge and is daring to peer over the side, the bottom nowhere in sight. the corner of todoroki’s mouth lifts. an almost smile. “no need to apologize. thank you, sero.”
sero ducks his head to smother a nervous grin.
then they’re walking to their neighboring dorms together, in surprisingly comfortable silence.
todoroki’s sleep muddied brain is spinning nearly a mile a minute. his chest is warm again, fuzzy. his arm brushes sero’s and he nearly jumps. the side pressed against sero when he had literally been carrying him was warm, too. warmer than usual, as it was his left side. he can’t make sense of anything around him, and before he knows it, they’ve made it to their rooms, and he doesn’t want sero to go.
he never really wants sero to go, but now they’ve crossed a line, and if he stepped back behind the line now, todoroki was sure it’d never be crossed again.
so, with a voice still laced with sleep, todoroki asks, “are you tired yet?”
only a few feet away, rubbing his neck again, sero stills. he lifts his head to look todoroki in the eye and his expression is completely unreadable. but while todoroki’s shoulders are slumped, he looks wide awake, his eyes glinting with something todoroki doesn’t have a name for.
ah. he’s really pretty.
“not really,” sero answers him, and his voice fills the otherwise silent hallway. “but you probably are, and i’d hate to keep you up, so…”
how did they get here? maybe it was fate, or sheer dumb luck—whatever it was, they’re here now, and todoroki’s skin tingles, sero’s face burns, the hall is empty, and there’s an unspoken invitation hanging in the air.
hanta sero’s orbit is oh so strong, and shouto todoroki is oh so very weak. he takes another step across that invisible line.
“you had your fingers in my hair,” todoroki says now, his own fingers ghosting over frosty white. he says it because he has no sense of social direction, no sense of direction at all when it comes to sero. no sense of sense when it comes to sero. he’s all encompassing. he makes todoroki want to sprint full speed, scream full volume, burn something to the ground.
sero makes todoroki feel—makes him feel .
he sees sero’s eyes widen, the tips of his ears turn pink, then blistering red. sero’s left hand goes to the back of his neck and squeezes (todoroki wishes it were his own hand instead), a nervous tic todoroki caught on to way back at their first year sports festival.
“i did,” sero mutters, and todoroki can hear the way his words waver. “um, about that, roki, i’m really sorry if—“
“no,” todoroki interrupts, and sero’s arm falls to his side, his mouth gaping open. “it was nice.”
and because he’s todoroki, that’s all he offers.
“it… it was?” sero asks tentatively. somersaults.
todoroki nods, because he’s todoroki, and because he’s frustrated and tired and aching.
and because he’s sero, he waits. he listens, searches todoroki’s face for answers. he doesn’t know todoroki hardly as much as he’d like to, but he knows when the boy wants something, knows when he isn’t sure how to seek it for himself. there are very few things todoroki can’t do or access on his own, and sero’s heart is thunderous. after a few moments of contemplative silence, sero sees it. he thinks he sees it.
in the way todoroki’s face is softened and pinkened with sleep. the way his shoulders slump, his fingers twist into the hem of his shirt (which is definitely a new thing—sero didn’t realize the boy had any nervous tics at all, he’s always so passive). in his pajamas, in this empty hallway, todoroki looks soft. softer than ever.
touchable. like he’s less a legend in the making and just—just a boy. he’s just a boy. a lovely boy that sero simply cannot stop thinking about.
verbally, surface level, he’s asking for sero to touch his hair again. nonverbally, underneath, todoroki itches, and sero already knows that maybe he’s asking for more than for sero to dip his fingers back into his hair.
he’s asking for something sero knows exactly how to give: closeness. sero’s heart does a sick twist when he realizes todoroki probably hasn’t been held or hugged or cherished the way he deserves for a very long time.
black meets blue and gray. todoroki doesn’t waver; he never does. carefully, sero asks, “do you want me to do it again?”
there’s a sharp inhale from todoroki, and then he nods. he nods, and he nods again, because he’s wanted it for so long, because he’s wanted sero for so long. he wanted in on that boy’s affection bubble, wanted to know what it felt like to be consumed, cherished—no, most of all, todoroki just wants to be held.
“i can do that, todoroki,” sero says, one syllable at a time. “i can—come on.”
his pretty, slender fingers take todoroki’s wrist and the contact is electrifying. he’s gentle and he doesn’t pull; he leads. sero leads todoroki through his dorm door and his purple string lights swallow up the fluorescence from the hallway. todoroki’s heart is in his throat and he blinks, once, not daring to blink twice so he doesn’t miss a single moment of what he’s sure is a dream.
they toe off their slippers and—ah. sero releases todoroki’s wrist for just a moment, just long enough to cross the room, flick on a lamp and grab his laptop. “would it be stupid to ask if you wanted to watch another…” he glances up from his laptop for a split second at todoroki. “movie… roki?”
todoroki, who is still standing by the door, looking lost and out of place as if he hasn't been in this room nearly a hundred times before. he hadn’t really heard what sero said; the contact was gone and todoroki was hit by a massive wave of… guilt, maybe?
“are you sure this is alright?” todoroki asks, eyes trained on the floor. “i don’t want to intrude.”
the taller boy puts the laptop down and speeds back across the room in an instant. “look.” fingertips find todoroki’s chin as sero tries to use his touch, which seems to be so grounding for todoroki, to bring the boy back to earth. he raises todoroki’s face to look him in the eye, his expression open and kind, up close and personal in a way todoroki’s never experienced before. “can’t be an intrusion if i’m the one who invited you in, right?”
todoroki head dips as he melts into the touch. “as—as long as it’s not a bother.”
“you’re never a bother.” with smoothness and confidence todoroki desperately wishes he had, sero slides his hand to the nape of todoroki’s neck— oh my god —and brings him forward. fully into his bubble. an invitation.
“i’ve got you,” sero assures him—he really and truly feels assured , which in itself is kind of mind blowing—and the sound shoots up todoroki’s spine from how close they are. he lets his chin slot over sero’s shoulder, easily, like a puzzle piece. “alright?”
the only thing todoroki can do is nod, all of him enveloped in sero.
he lets sero lead him to the bed. he lets sero pull him up. sero settles with his back to the headboard and he takes the liberty of pushing and pulling todoroki however he wants or needs, to get them both situated and comfortable. the longer sero has his hands on him, the more jello-like his limbs go. it’s so warm.
for the second time in one night, shouto todoroki ends up settled between hanta sero’s legs. sero’s chest rises and falls beneath todoroki’s back with every breath, his thighs encasing him completely into his pocket of warmth. there’s an arm thrown across his middle like it belongs there and it takes about two whole minutes before todoroki’s head is so muddy he can hardly keep his eyes open.
“is this alright?” sero asks again, because he feels better asking even when he knows he probably doesn’t need to.
todoroki wants to scoff at a question like that. sero has him right where he wants to be, completely melting. is this alright? of course it’s alright. it’s more than alright. “ yeah .”
he doesn’t have the brainpower to wonder what’s going on in sero’s head, doesn’t have the strength to ask himself what it means that sero was more than willing to do this for him— with him. sure, sero’s lovey-dovey with his friends, but does that mean he’d do this for anyone else? has kaminari been in a similar position to this one? does mina, kirishima maybe, get to share sero’s personal space like todoroki is right now? it was one thing for them to be all over one another in the common room, or even as a group in bakugo’s room, but this—this is different, right?
sero thinks it’s different, anyway. sure, his door is always open for anyone at any time of the day to waltz right in and make themselves at home, but… he’s never had this kind of intimacy with any of his friends. this was—well, less than friendly. or more? more than friendly. sero could let jirou bury herself under his arms, or sato throw himself over sero’s shoulders all day long, but at the end of it all, he wouldn’t want anyone this close to him, on this level. todoroki was literally in his lap, closer than kaminari had ever been, and—god.
sero likes todoroki so much . he wants it to be different.
surely, surely, todoroki feels a similar way. sero doesn’t make a point to watch the boy like a hawk, but he knows todoroki doesn’t let just anyone get close to him, let alone this close. he’s torn apart, completely vulnerable and raw in a way sero’s absolutely never seen before. shouto todoroki had always been so stoic, so strong and untouchable. he’s a priceless museum painting, a perfect marble statue.
but here he is, in sero’s arms, absolutely melting into the contact. he let down so many walls for this, and sero can’t control the way his heart soars at the thought of todoroki trusting him , hanta sero, enough to do this with him. enough to be held, be seen at his most vulnerable.
back on earth, sero dares to dip his hand back into todoroki’s hair. he sees todoroki’s chest rise with a wavering inhale, and pulls red strands all the way through his fingers. he does it again, and todoroki’s hair so stupidly and unfairly soft he very nearly asks what conditioner he uses.
instead, he tries to fill the silence with something else before todoroki can pinpoint his heartbeat. “something good came out of that shitty movie after all, huh?”
it’s incredible how sero can still tease and laugh in a place like this. todoroki tries to huff out a breath of laughter, say something witty right back, but those fingers pull through his hair again and his response dies right in his throat. he barely has time to choke down a sigh that would surely make this whole ordeal much more embarrassing.
instead, todoroki snaps his mouth shut. he lets himself tilt more into sero’s touch, until he’s resting on the boy's shoulder with his chin jutted upward and is surely making it harder for sero to do what he came here to do. todoroki doesn’t care, too weightless to hold his head up if sero is going to be pulling through his hair anyway. it’s stupid how wonderful it feels, even more stupid how intimate it feels. sero’s so close, surrounding all his surroundings, flooding every single one of his senses.
sero, on his part and in this newfound closeness, has one delirious second to realize that todoroki smells like strawberries. that, and he’s having hell regulating his temperature. that’s fine , sero thinks to himself. i’ve got him.
todoroki tries using his speech to remind himself that he’s still a living, breathing human on this planet. it doesn’t really work. “‘m not gonna thank kaminari for, ah—“ sero, smirking, pulls through his hair again. “for picking that movie, if that’s what you’re implying.”
he shouldn’t have tried talking. todoroki flushes red again, a flash of heat bubbling around them both before cooling down again. now he just sounds like an idiot.
“i’d never imply such a thing,” sero says, his voice full of mock hurt. he’s never seen todoroki so— this way before. he has to say thank you to someone , because shit , man.
so while making a mental note to thank kaminari first thing tomorrow morning, he draws a line down the center of todoroki’s stomach and back up again, his palm running over the short hair of todoroki’s undercut.
sero dares to let himself tilt impossibly closer, lets himself nose todoroki’s temple and his cheekbone. he lets himself say something he probably shouldn’t be saying out loud. “you’ve never had this before, have you?” the smaller boy tilts his head to the side, exposing his face, his jaw, his neck. he goes where he’s pushed. “this still okay?”
“yeah, yes ,” todoroki squeaks. sero laughs at that, his breath sending goosebumps scattering down todoroki’s spine. “i mean, no. no and… yes. sorry.”
“don’t apologize.” sero ghosts his lips over todoroki’s cheek, over the bone of his jaw. he shouldn’t, but he does anyway. he shouldn’t because he’s only supposed to be running his fingers through todoroki’s hair, but— but. sero halts for a moment. “you'll tell me to stop if you want me to, right?”
todoroki makes another sound, a hardly smothered sound in the back of his throat that sero hears, cherishes . he can’t do much but ball his hands into the fabric of sero’s shorts. “i will, but—don’t, please. um, don't stop.”
sero barely swallows another goofy smile, another loose-lipped response sounding a little like wouldn’t dream of it, because todoroki’s right here, and todoroki wants this , so why would he even considering stopping? when there’s still so much more of him left to explore?
there’s the chill of this side of his face, the brush of pure white hair as sero tucks it behind his ear. there’s the warmth of his other side, his scar crawling up his hairline and down his cheekbone, the way the skin turns to scar, the marbled texture and the way todoroki’s breath catches when sero traces the edge of it.
there’s the dip of his jaw and the rise of his adam’s apple, the way it disappears when todoroki swallows. sero drags his forefinger down the column of his throat and relishes in the way todoroki merely leans further back, exposing more of his neck and more of himself for sero to access. there’s the tattered collar of his night shirt, the fabric soft and well worn. it’s stretched and it’s pulled and sero takes that as an invitation to slide his hand just under the hem, just to graze over todoroki’s collarbones and outline the v shape at the base of his throat.
there’s so much more of him. sero is a little dizzy, a little blurry eyed and a little more than whipped. there’s no hope for him now; todoroki’s skin and his tiny sighs will invade sero’s dreams for the rest of his natural born life.
todoroki outright gasps when sero gently takes his chin and angles his face toward him. sero looks at him straight in the face, all the high planes and even the unfathomable depths of his eyes tinted a dark shade of purple. todoroki couldn’t look away even if he wanted to.
sero’s thumb smooths the crease between todoroki’s eyebrows. “it might not be my place to say this,” he whispers. “but you’re really pretty.”
and the way he says pretty is enough to shatter todoroki’s weakened heart into a hundred pieces. the syllables trip over his tongue and give way to the nerves jumping beneath his skin, deep in his bones. it’s cracked at the edges, fearful and hesitant. but he’s brave enough to say it anyway. todoroki wants to be that brave, wants to scream, wants to lean up and—
“here,” sero continues, his pointer finger trailing down the line of todoroki’s nose. “here too.” outlines the edge of his scar. pokes the dip beneath his cheekbone. “you have… a freckle here. a really big one,” he laughs airily at that and todoroki thinks to himself now that this close is not close enough.
“and—here too. you’re really pretty here.” his pointer finger rests on the bow of todoroki’s lips.
todoroki is up before he can think twice. he moves quickly, without hesitation or wariness, because if sero can be brave, so can he. he moves and in a breathtaking instant, he’s straddling sero’s thighs. he’s really and truly in the boy’s lap now. it’s unreal.
sero is staring, awe in his eyes. “hi,” he breathes.
todoroki blows a few strands of hair out of his face, offering him the ghost of a grin. “hi, sero.” the boy’s hands lay on his waist, unsure if they belong there. todoroki, albeit hesitantly, sets his hands over sero’s. “are you okay with this?”
those hands squeeze his waist. his lips curl into a smile. todoroki watches the apprehension die in those enthralling eyes of his, and suddenly sero is leaned up and their chests are nearly pressed together. the air is warm and todoroki can hardly see straight. he’s so close. closer than ever. he has a freckle below his right eye.
todoroki tells him, “you… you’re really pretty like this, too.”
sero’s smile is sharp. he spends the night unraveling the boy in his arms.
sero learns todoroki has ticklish ribs, that he has a mole on the nape of his neck, and another on the spot where his neck meets his collar. he learns he has a smattering of freckles across his shoulders from past sunburns, that he flushes red all the way down his chest when he’s flustered.
sero also learns that todoroki is not immune to praise, not when he’s being told just how lovely he is beneath gentle, exploring hands.