Chapter 44

It's almost viciously anti-climactic, so much so that Shouto wonders if Midoriya didn't do it that way on purpose.

It's Friday night, and the first week of boot camp is done. Much to Shouto's surprise, they actually have the weekend off, which means he'll probably be getting permission to leave campus and visit his mother at some point. It also means that the half of the class that hasn't gone to bed yet is feeling rowdy, in spite of the fact that today was no less physically taxing than the previous days.

"Sleepover in the common room!" Ashido howls, launching a couch cushion at Sero's face. He ducks, and it skims off the top of his head. "Everybody grab blankets!"

"Now wait a moment!" Iida pitches his voice above the rest. "We mustn't be remiss in proper rest, especially given our vigorous training!"

"Loosen up, Iida!" Kaminari laughs. "Friday doesn't count as a school night—who cares how late we stay up, as long as we can sleep in as much as we want tomorrow?"

"That is not a healthy habit, Kaminari-kun!"

Eventually, some of the others—mainly Ashido—manage to wring a compromise out of Iida by promising to set themselves a special weekend curfew, and then proceed to haggle him up to midnight at the earliest. Shouto watches from the sidelines, amused and somewhat impressed. If the heroics thing doesn't pan out for Ashido, she could probably go into business negotiation for a living. That was pretty slick.

"Perhaps eleven-thirty?" Iida offers, as a last-ditch effort.

"Either midnight, or we're throwing an all-night party in Hagakure's room," Ashido retorts.

"Yeah, that'll happen," Midoriya says dryly.

Shouto actually jumps. The entire room falls silent. Midoriya doesn't look up, just continues watching a video of a baby goat on his phone.

"Sensors and cameras," he goes on. "They help enforce curfew and lights-out. Plus, after today, I give most of us 'til maybe a quarter to midnight before we crash anyway. So." His voice cracks as he speaks—it's rough from lack of use.

But he speaks.

Shouto feels sorry for Midoriya in the next moment, when the entire class seems to scream out as one. His friend cringes a little at the noise, but still manages a shaky smile as he looks up from his phone. Uraraka and Kirishima tackle him off the couch, hugging him between them. Shouto deftly swipes Midoriya's dropped phone before someone can accidentally sit on it in the commotion.

"Man, so he's finally talking again, after… this morning," he hears Kaminari say. "Who knew Todoroki was just that good with—" He doesn't get any further than that, because Asui promptly tries to smother him with a pillow.

Shouto blinks, vaguely confused. Does Kaminari or anyone else think that he's the one who made Midoriya start talking again? That's… flattering, certainly, but completely untrue. As far as he knows, Midoriya never made it a secret that his silence would eventually pass. Shouto considers bringing this up, but everyone's a bit too preoccupied to care, so he shrugs to himself and sits back.

"Okay okay okay, how about this?" Ashido says, loudly enough to be heard over the clamor. "A nice, quiet game… of Truth or Dare?"

Bakugou gets up and leaves. Kirishima protests, but it's no use because Bakugou's already gone. Shouto is tempted to follow his example, and just going by the look on Midoriya's face, he's also strongly considering it.

"Sounds like fun!" Uraraka pipes up. "Hey Deku, have you ever played before?"

Midoriya shakes his head vigorously.

"First timers have to play!" Hagakure calls out eagerly.

Iida gives up on trying to discourage them and resigns himself to going along with it—to supervise, presumably. With Bakugou gone, only Ashido, Sero, Kaminari, Iida, Kirishima, Midoriya, Hagakure, and Asui are still up and about. Mika's here as well, moving from lap to lap as if testing each one for comfort. Once they're all settled in a rough circle in the middle of the floor, Mika claims her usual spot on Shouto's left thigh, and purr-meows until he pets her. To his right, Midoriya sees this and snickers softly under his breath.

A round of "nose goes" chooses Hagakure to start the game, in spite of her protests. ("I totally had my finger on my nose, you guys just couldn't see it!")

"Okay… who else hasn't played besides Midoriya?" she asks. Shouto raises his hand, and isn't that surprised when no one else does. That's usually how it is. "Okay, Todoroki! Truth or dare?"

Caught of guard, it's all Shouto can do to keep from stammering. "Dare?"

"Hmm…" Judging by the direction of her sleeve, it looks like she's tapping her chin in thought. "Pick someone else in the game. Just point to them."

"Why?"

"You'll find out when you pick!"

"Oh." Shouto does a quick sweep of the circle. "Um… Iida." He's not sure what this is about, but Iida's usually a safe choice.

"Okay then." For a moment he could swear that Hagakure sounds slightly disappointed. "I dare you to tell Iida something you privately think about him, but have never said out loud."

"Uh…" A lot of the things he's privately thought about Iida tie back to what happened in Hosu, and legal gag orders trump sleepover games. For a few moments Shouto wracks his brain, until he finally settles upon one that seems fairly safe.

He turns to Iida, who looks faintly nervous.

"Your right hook is atrocious," he says. "You should probably work on that."

That gets a ripple of muffled laughter, and even Iida cracks a sheepish grin. If it happens to leave their classmates desperately wondering when and why Iida punched him at some point, well… answering that wasn't part of the dare.

The game continues from there. Iida picks truth, and Shouto asks him what happens if water gets into his engines, which prompts a long-winded explanation that teaches Shouto far more about metal oxidation than he ever knew before. He bears witness to Ashido getting tickled, learns that Asui has in fact tripped over her tongue before, and watches Kaminari inexpertly apply a coat of lipstick—on Sero.

It's all very silly, but Shouto can see why this kind of thing is so popular. It's… fun, in a weird way. Enough for him to forget that he's tired from a week of nonstop training. It's loose and carefree, and if there is some tension over dares and awkward questions, it's all very low-pressure.

"Midoriya-chan," Asui sing-songs, a few rounds in. She's sitting upside down on the couch, her long hair dangling toward the carpet, and she's not allowed to move from that position for the next five turns. "Truth or dare?"

"Da—no, truth," Midoriya answers, and seems to brace himself. "I pick truth."

Asui purses her lips. To Shouto's surprise, Iida and Uraraka lean forward as if they're interested in what she's about to say.

"How come you keep falling asleep on people?" she asks. "You always look really tired, and you always say you don't sleep very well, so how come you can sleep on other people instead?"

Midoriya relaxes. "Oh. That. It's safe."

Asui cocks her head, which looks strange when she's upside down. "It's safe?"

Shouto remembers having this conversation with him, way back at the start of the forest camp. It still seems strange, for him to say that when Shouto's pretty sure Midoriya falls asleep on him more than anyone else. There has to be more to it.

"Uh, yeah." Midoriya fidgets in his spot. "I can't sleep if I don't feel safe, and it… feels safer around some people than it does when I'm by myself, at night. In the dark. Having weird dreams."

"Aw, man, Midoriya…" Kirishima looks like he's about to cry. "Are you saying you feel safe with us?"

"I-I mean… yes?"

Uraraka's sitting on Midoriya's other side, and pulls him into a hug.

"You guys know what this means?" Hagakure says thoughtfully. "Midoriya must feel safest around Todoroki, then." Shouto turns to stare at her.

"Yeah, I bet," Kaminari says, straight-faced. Ashido giggles.

Midoriya's face is red with embarrassment. "There's nothing wrong with that," he says quietly. "So what if I do?"

Shouto turns to stare at him, shocked. "Wait what? Why?" He had assumed he was an exception, or maybe an oversight, but that wouldn't explain why Midoriya's looking at him like that's the dumbest question he could have asked.

"Oh for the love of—" Ashido snorts. "Midoriya, can I go next?"

"U-um, sure." Midoriya leaves off staring at Shouto, looking a bit rattled. "Truth or dare?"

Ashido speeds through her turn with the revelation that for her entire middle school growth spurt her horns were too big for her to wear pullover tops, and then turns to Shouto with a look of determination. "Todoroki! Truth or dare?"

He doesn't like that look. That's the kind of look that promises an awkward question that he'll answer and reveal far more information than he would like. Better to play it safe. "Dare," he says, and realizes he's misjudged it when Ashido's dark eyes light up with triumph.

"I dare you to kiss Midoriya!" she bursts out. "And no pecking him on the cheek like he's your grandmother, it's gotta be a liplock."

"What?" Midoriya's voice cracks. Shouto's too busy gaping at her to form a response.

Izuku is very, very glad that Hino cleared off as soon as the game started, and dragged Tensei out with him. He's gaping at Todoroki, and then at Ashido, hoping his panic doesn't show on his face. He doesn't have much to hope for, if Uraraka's muffled giggle is any indication. Rei's no help, she's too busy laughing too.

"Don't be shy, guys!" Kaminari calls out encouragingly. "I mean, it's nothing we haven't figured out already, Aoyama even saw you guys come out of the same bedroom this morning, so it's no big deal—"

"It's—it's not like that," Izuku says weakly. He can't help feeling a little trapped. If he explains, then he'll inevitably have to say he and Todoroki were sleeping together, and he has a feeling that would only dig them deeper. Flustered, he looks to Todoroki for help, but his friend is every bit as helpless-looking as he is.

"We shouldn't make our classmates do things they don't want to!" Iida interjects.

"Uh, dude, that's kind of the whole point of Truth or Dare," Sero points out. "You do know that, right?"

"Look, I know what it looks like," Izuku says. "But you've got it wrong. I-I mean, remember the question I just answered? About sleeping? It was just that. We were just—sharing a room." That's a much safer way to put it. Not as many incriminating connotations.

"Wait," Todoroki speaks up for the first time. "What did you think we were doing?"

A hush falls over the rest of his classmates. A few meaningful glances are exchanged.

"Oh you sweet summer child," Kaminari whispers.

Ashido sighs heavily, and Izuku strongly suspects that she doesn't completely believe them. "Well, what's a kiss on the lips between friends?" she asks. "I've done it before, loads of times!"

"But…" But it's not like that, Izuku wants to repeat, except… is it?

His intentions were innocent, and he knows that Todoroki's were too, but… but they have been sharing a bed lately. Izuku can't imagine himself doing that with anyone who isn't Todoroki. Not even with Uraraka or Iida. He's not sure why, it'd just be… weird, somehow. Falling asleep on people's shoulders is one thing, but he and Todoroki moved past that point a while ago.

Does that make the others right? Has he had feelings for Todoroki this whole time that were so secret that even he didn't know they were there? How did he just not notice that? How—?

Todoroki nudges him, and Izuku jumps.

"You're muttering again," he says.

"Sorry," Izuku says automatically.

"It's not a bad thing," Todoroki assures him. "You just haven't done it out loud in a while."

They're sitting right up against each other, and Izuku's never had a problem being this close, but now he feels hyper-aware of every spot where they're touching. His face feels hot. Is this what a crush is supposed to feel like? Is he reading too much into it?

…He's taking too long.

"Listen, it's my dare, not yours," Todoroki tells him. "There's probably some rule about not dragging other people into it if it's not their turn, right?"

"Laaaaame!" Kaminari calls out, only to falter when Asui turns to look him dead in the eye.

"You're kind of being a Mineta right now," she says. There's a chorus of groans and uncomfortable laughter.

"Asui… too soon…" Kaminari says weakly.

That defuses the tension just a bit, enough that Izuku can shrug the rest off. "It's fine," he says, sounding just a bit more confident than he feels. He shifts so that it's easier to turn and face Todoroki. "On the count of three?"

Sure," Todoroki says. "One, two—"

He moves in, but Izuku also moves in at the same time, and they crash clumsily in the middle. Izuku's aim is off, and he ends up smashing his lower lip between his teeth and Todoroki's chin. "Ow!"

"Sorry, hold on." Todoroki reaches up to hold Izuku's jaw steady, and the second attempt is slightly more successful, in that their lips are now connected with a low chance of drawing blood by accident.

It's… colder than expected. Partly because of Todoroki's quirk, and partly because someone has spit on their lips and Izuku can't tell which. So it's a little wetter than he would have liked, but it's—they're here. This is a kiss, probably.

…Now what.

Logically Izuku knows it's only been a second or so, but… is something else supposed to happen? Should there be movement? What comes next? Or is a kiss just supposed to be two people connected at the mouth, trying not to breathe too hard on each other?

He starts to ask, panics, and starts opening his mouth without pulling back first. To make matters worse, Todoroki starts to shift his position, and Izuku ends up lipping him by accident. Which just adds even more moisture to the whole mess, and yeah, this dare is over.

Izuku jerks back, spitting out Todoroki's lower lip in the process. He wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, scooting back to his original position so quickly he almost crashes into Uraraka.

Rei is gone, but Izuku can hear her howling with merriment in the next room.

"Was that good enough?" Todoroki asks.

For a moment, Ashido doesn't answer. She's too busy staring at the two of them as if her entire worldview has been thrown into question.

"That was literally the worst kiss I've ever seen," Sero remarks.

"But it was a kiss, right?" Todoroki asks. "Can I—is it my turn now?"

"You okay, Midoriya-chan?" Asui asks. "How was it?"

Izuku blinks. Logically he knows he doesn't have to answer; it's not like he's taking a Truth turn. But still… this is the kind of thing people are supposed to be able to describe, right? Their—holy shit, that was his first kiss.

"It tasted like mouth," he says.

The game has to pause a moment so that Sero, Kaminari, and Hagakure can stop laughing.

Midoriya proves correct; by a quarter to twelve, Sero has fallen asleep on one of the couches and most of the rest are nodding off. It's easier now for Iida to gently herd everyone upstairs, in spite of Ashido's sleepy protests. Midoriya takes the stairs, as always; he's the first one out of the room, and for a moment Shouto considers following him.

He's… not entirely sure what just happened. He's pretty sure it wasn't a bad thing, though he's been wrong before. Midoriya didn't seem angry or even all that upset, just thoroughly embarrassed. Still, it feels like something he ought to follow up on, without the others watching and listening. For his part, Shouto knows he feels something about it. The problem is that he's pretty sure he's feeling several things, all tangled up within him and so hopelessly snarled that he's at a loss to name any one of them.

He doesn't see Midoriya again before he gets to his room and gets ready for bed. He wonders if this will be another night spent sharing a room.

There's a knock at the door. Well, that answers that question.

Shouto answers it. It's not Midoriya; it's Iida, looking sheepish and apologetic.

"Oh! Er, hello, Todoroki." Iida shifts from foot to foot. "I, er—sorry to disturb you, just… I wanted to apologize, for earlier."

"Oh." Shouto blinks, thoroughly befuddled. "What for?"

"For not—" Iida's hands twists together. "You and Midoriya were forced into… an uncomfortable situation. Regardless of the game, it was thoroughly inappropriate for the others to pressure you two into doing something you weren't comfortable with. I should have spoken up and put a stop to it, but I was… remiss. I hope you can forgive me."

"It's fine," Shouto says. "It's not a big deal, really."

Iida gives him a pained smile. "Still, I ought to have asserted myself better, but the whole thing spiraled out of my control, somewhat."

"It's not always your responsibility," Shouto points out. "We're outside of school hours. You can't watch over us all the time."

His friend laughs softly. "Ha, well I can certainly try, now that on-campus housing is in effect."

Shouto shakes his head. "You'll only run yourself ragged—"

The door to the right opens, and Midoriya slips out with Mika at his feet. He closes his door and steps toward Shouto's, only to stop short at the sight of Iida. His eyes flicker to the sides, as if taking in more than Shouto can see.

Upon seeing him, Iida turns a bit pink at the ears and backs away. "Ah, Midoriya! I was just—I wanted to apologize, for not coming to your defense earlier when the others—"

"It's fine," Midoriya interrupts. "I mean, it wasn't bad, just awkward and kind of embarrassing. But we're good—well, I'm good."

"I'm good, too," Shouto adds.

"Everything's fine," Midoriya concludes, fidgeting a little. "If it's not fine, I'll let you know if you can help, I promise."

"Right. Good night, then. I'll leave you two to, ah…" He glances between them, and his ears go a bit pinker. Shouto heaves a sigh. He's starting to see where people's thoughts are taking them.

"Iida, no," Midoriya says, a bit desperately. "I swear it isn't like that, I just want to talk to him, that's all. We don't—we're not—"

"It's none of my business either way," Iida says. "It's something private, whatever it is, so I'll leave you to it. Just don't stay up too late; even if it is the weekend, there's no need to form bad habits, and you'll only regret it come Monday when it's harder to get up in the morning—"

"Yes, Mother," Midoriya says dryly, which startles a laugh out of their friend.

"It really is good to have you back, Midoriya," he says. "Goodnight, both of you." With that, he leaves them.

Mika is already sliding past Shouto's ankles as Midoriya approaches. "Can we talk?" he asks. Shouto nods and lets him in.

"Do we need to talk?" Shouto asks, after he's closed the door behind him. "If this is about earlier, I'm fine with pretending it didn't happen if you are." He hesitates, wondering if that was the wrong thing to say. What if Midoriya doesn't agree?

"No. I mean, yes we need to talk." Midoriya paces a little. "It's… sort of about that? But not completely. I've been wanting to talk to you for, kind of a while. It's about, um." He gestures vaguely between them, and the futon laid out on the floor. "This… whole thing."

Shouto feels his heart sink, heavy with dread. "…Oh."

"It's nothing bad!" Midoriya says quickly. "At least, I don't think so. I don't… I mean, it was sort of embarrassing, people jumping to conclusions like that, but I don't want to stop. Doing this, I mean." He stares at the floor and fidgets.

"They think we're together, don't they," Shouto says, and knows he's right when Midoriya cringes. "They think we're in a relationship."

Midoriya nods. "Pretty much. And Kaminari seems to—well, never mind Kaminari."

This is not a conversation to be had while standing. With another sigh, Shouto goes and sits on his futon, because that's the most comfortable place in his room at the moment. After a moment's hesitation, Midoriya joins him.

"Are we?" Shouto asks.

"Huh?"

"Are we in a relationship?" he finishes, and feels a very strange urge to chew on his own tongue as he says it out loud. "I mean… is that what this is?"

Midoriya's groan is muffled because he's hiding his face in his hands. "That's kind of what's been bugging me," he says, dragging his fingers down to his chin. "I mean, it's not, because neither of us ever said it and I'm pretty sure you're supposed to, to communicate that kind of thing, but… I don't know. Are we supposed to be?"

"What do you mean by 'supposed to be'?" It comes out harsher than he intends, and he shuts his mouth before he can snap again. Midoriya blinks at him, bewildered, and then his eyes widen.

"Oh—oh, nonono, I didn't mean it like that, I—I'm sorry. I forgot, about… um…" Your mother, he doesn't say. "I didn't mean 'supposed to' like we have to and don't have a choice, I just… we sleep in the same bed, and I… I've told you things I haven't really told other people, and I think you do the same? So I just, I wonder if… if this all adds up to what the others think. I just wonder if they're right, that's all."

"I don't really care about what the others think," Shouto points out. "Do you even want to?"

Midoriya doesn't answer right away, and that's a problem. Because Shouto realizes that Midoriya's answer, whatever it is, is really going to matter to him. It makes him dread hearing it at the same time as it makes him desperate to hear it.

"I…" Midoriya meets his eyes, and Shouto sees his own helpless confusion reflected in his friend's face. "I just… no. I don't think I do."

Shouto breathes out, and he only notices the knot in his chest when it loosens. He feels as if he could physically sag. It's not disappointment. It's relief.

Midoriya gives a rough, frustrated groan and flops backward onto the soft comforter. Mika makes herself comfortable on his stomach. "But it's just—that makes everything more confusing, because then I don't know what this is."

"Um." Shouto blinks at him. "Friendship?"

Midoriya barks out a humorless laugh. "I'm friends with Iida. I'm friends with Uraraka. And Kirishima. And Asui, sometimes. But I wouldn't crawl into bed with any of them. Would you?"

Shouto considers this. Iida is a great friend. He feels a little closer to Uraraka than he was before Kamino. Yaoyorozu's fantastic.

But he's closest to Midoriya. He always has been. It feels different—stronger, somehow.

"I wouldn't," he agrees. "But then… what does that make us?"

"I don't know," Midoriya sighs. "I like you. I really, really like you. Just not the way they think I do. Not—not the way people talk about."

Shouto lies back, his head hitting the pillow. Midoriya's head is about level with his elbow—he can feel his friend's hair tickling his arm. "What way's that?"

"Oh, you know," Midoriya says with a shrug. "Butterflies in your stomach. Sparks when you touch. Kissing. Stuff like that. People go crazy for that stuff, but I just don't. I never really have. And sometimes I'm not sure, sometimes it feels like I might be feeling like that, but it always goes away so fast and I realize it wasn't a crush, I was just embarrassed and awkward. A-and now with this, it's like I can't tell if it's supposed to be friendship or not because I didn't have any friends before I came here, so I'm always second-guessing myself and I'm just never sure about anything."

"Oh," Shouto says.

"Oh?" Midoriya's covering his face, his elbows bent upward. "Is that all you have to say?"

"Sorry," Shouto says. "I'm just. Relieved, I guess."

"Why are you relieved?"

"Because you're just as confused about this as I am, and for pretty much the same reasons."

Midoriya snorts with laughter.

"You were my first friend," Shouto says, and Midoriya goes quiet. "So, even though I don't feel like this about any of the others, I've always figured that was the reason."

"Well, if it helps, I don't feel like this for my first friend," Midoriya says wryly.

Shouto's first thought is Uraraka, but then he remembers. "You and Bakugou were friends when you were younger, weren't you?"

"Guess so." Midoriya runs his fingers through his cat's fur. "Anyway… it's just weird. I've been sort of wondering this already, and then tonight happened and I'm even more confused because it feels like everyone else knows more about this than I do, so I just wonder if they're right and we should be dating or whatever."

"You said you didn't want to," Shouto points out. "And neither do I, so let's not. What do you want to do? Because I'm fine with this. I don't need any more than this."

"Depends on what 'this' is." Midoriya slings his arm over his eyes with a sigh.

"Looking out for each other," Shouto says. "Sharing things. Sleeping like this, if we need to. We should spar again, too, I've missed that." He turns his head, angling it downward so he can see Midoriya. "What about you? What do you want?"

"The same, I guess," Midoriya says. "Hope you're okay with me falling asleep on you, because that's probably gonna keep happening."

"And that's another thing," Shouto says in a slightly strangled voice. "Why the hell do you feel safe with me?"

Midoriya's elbow jabs him in the side. "Hey, it's your own fault. You're the one who keeps showing up whenever I'm in mortal danger."

"My mistake," Shouto says dryly, and gets jabbed again.

"Besides," Midoriya says after a moment. "It's not just… physical safety. It—it's more like… well. How'd you feel when I started talking again? Be honest."

Shouto blinks, surprised by the question. "I was… glad. It means you're feeling better. Healing. Not much besides that. I'm not that good at sign, but you're good at making yourself understood."

"See? It's stuff like that."

He says it as if that clears it right up, but it doesn't. "I don't follow," Shouto admits.

"Everyone's so relieved, and it's such a big deal, and—" Midoriya's voice catches. "Even just now. 'Good to have you back, Midoriya,' as if I've been gone this entire time just because I wasn't talking. And I know he didn't mean it like that, it's just—they get worried, all the time, when I do stuff like that." His frustration is nearly palpable. "I do things that aren't pretty, they don't look nice or sound nice, because they help me deal with things and get through stuff like that, and everyone looks at me like they're scared for me and it just makes me want to hide that stuff so they'll stop looking at me like that."

Shouto finds, to his vague surprise, that his hand has found Midoriya's shoulder.

"But you… don't look at me like that," Midoriya says. "You started learning sign just to talk to me. Do you even know how much that meant to me?"

"I'm not that good."

Midoriya reaches up to pat his elbow. "That's okay, I'll help you. It's not like this is never going to happen again, anyway." He takes a deep breath, and lets it out again. "You always do stuff like this. I don't know if it's because you're the same way or you know what it's like, it just… makes me feel like I'm normal."

"You make perfect sense to me," Shouto answers, because he isn't sure what else to say to that.

"Thanks," Midoriya says softly.

He doesn't go back to his own room.

Izuku is out of excuses.

His voice is back, he's surrounded by friends, his secret is slightly less of one than it was before, and Iida lives just upstairs.

There's no reason not to talk to him, to tell him the truth—the full truth, the truth that Izuku knows but Mom doesn't and therefore Iida doesn't. But he keeps quiet, because he's a coward, and because Iida is too polite to ask.

Tensei pulls him aside on Saturday, because apparently it's gotten obvious or Rei told him or—doesn't matter. Maybe Tensei's noticed because Izuku has been avoiding him, too.

"You don't have to," Tensei tells him. "You know that, right? Because at the end of the day it's your quirk, and Tenya found out by accident anyway. You don't—you don't owe anyone anything."

Except Izuku can read between the lines. He can hear the hesitance and reluctance in Tensei's voice. He can read the way he says You don't have to instead of Don't do it. Because Tensei is selfless and kind, like any true hero should be, and he'd never try to force Izuku to do something he doesn't want to. But Tensei wants it.

He wants his brother to know.

And deep down, Izuku wants to tell him, if only to free himself from the prickling, choking guilt of his own silence. But every time he tries, every time he even thinks about trying, he might as well be mute again.

On Sunday, he sets up his game system in the common room. They have permission in that Aizawa didn't include video games in the comprehensive list of things they were not allowed to do in the dorms, and Izuku figures it's easier to ask forgiveness if it comes to that.

He has no other obligations. Most of his classmates are out or with family. Todoroki's gone most of the day to visit his mother. Even Iida himself goes home, so there's a bit less guilt about avoiding him.

He's played Journey more times than he can count, because it's easily the most low-stress, calming game he's ever played, and that's what he needs right now. Rei plays with Mika on the floor. All in all, it's a quiet afternoon.

Around half past one, he hears footsteps come in, and the cushions sag beside him.

"Heya, Deku," Uraraka says.

Izuku grins at her. "Hey. What's up?"

"Nothing much," she says. "Kind of bored. Almost everybody's gone, so…"

"Yeah." He pauses the game. "Wanna play?"

"Sure! This is Journey, right? Everybody says it's good."

Izuku hands her the controller and gives her a rundown of the premise and all the controls. Uraraka picks it up quickly, and spends the next ten minutes just exploring the landscape, sending her character leaping over sand and ruins.

"Hey Deku," she says after a while.

"Yeah?"

"Are there any ghosts in here right now?"

Izuku jumps. She knows, he knows that she knows, and technically they've sort of talked about it before, but this is the first time she's really asked. "Uh. Yeah. Just one. Her name's Rei."

"Cool. Hi, Rei." Uraraka can't see the way Rei beams. "What's she like?"

"She was… nine," he says. "It was a while ago. But she's, um… she's the girl you saw."

"Oh." Uraraka stops playing, and lowers the controller. "She was in a drawing you made when you were little, right?"

"I met her when I was five," Izuku says. "She's been with me ever since."

"Do they always do that?" Uraraka asks. "Stick around?"

"Sometimes. Not usually. Most ghosts have better things to do than hang around me."

"Like what?"

Izuku sits back on the couch, shifting over as Rei hops up to sit next to him. "Move on, most of the time. Or if they do stay, they follow people they actually knew, when they were alive."

"Oh," Ochako says. "Does, um… does anyone we know… have ghosts like that?"

Izuku feels his heartbeat in his throat. "Yeah."

"Do you ever feel like you want to tell them?"

His throat feels uncomfortably thick. "Sometimes it's all I can think about."

She isn't going to ask, he realizes. She's going to dance around it unless he says something first.

"Have you ever tried?" she asks. She isn't playing anymore; the robed figure stands motionless in the sand, and Uraraka's eyes are on Izuku.

"Yes," Izuku says. "It was a long time ago, and… and they didn't have a ghost. I told them because… well, at the time, it felt like I had to, and I might as well." He swallows, but the hard lump in his throat remains. "It didn't go well."

"Deku—"

"And ever since then," he says. "Ever since then, every time I think about telling, every time I find someone and think, maybe they'll understand, maybe it'll be okay this time, I… I think of what happened the first time. And I just… I just can't. It won't come out, no matter how much I want to, or how much they deserve to know." His eyes sting. "That's why you and Iida only found out on accident, and even though you know now and it's fine, even though I should know better, it's still hard just to think about. Like if I say too much or I push too hard, it'll go wrong again."

"Well… maybe it's because we found out on accident," Uraraka says.

"What?"

"You didn't get to face your fears," she says. "It just happened, while you weren't even there. Maybe you're still scared of what will happen if you tell, because you still don't know what will happen if you tell."

She's smart, Rei says. You should listen to her.

"I guess that makes sense." Izuku can't help smiling a little, though his mouth slips into a frown again shortly. "Doesn't tell me what I should do about it, though."

"Tell someone," Uraraka says, as if it's really that simple. She must see the look on his face, because she presses further. "I mean, not just anyone. Tell someone you know is going to accept it. Someone you trust. Someone you feel safest with, no matter what."

Izuku goes tense. "You're saying I should tell—?"

She raises both hands, one of them still holding the game controller. "I only said what I said. If someone popped into your head while I said it, then that's on you, not me."

Rei gestures vigorously at her. She's right. Listen to her. She's smarter than you, do it.

Izuku gives Uraraka his most wounded look. "You should know that Rei is siding with you, and that means you're both ganging up on me, and that's totally unfair."

Smiling primly, Uraraka goes back to playing. "Thank goodness you've had someone sensible with you all these years."

Izuku snorts, but doesn't argue with her.

Monday's training is every bit as vigorous as the week before, but by now they're used to it.

Izuku starts his own training off with Rei. He's getting better at this; when he first tried it, it felt vague and nebulous, something he could perform without completely comprehending what he was doing. But now, he's starting to internalize the feeling. It's something he can possibly quantify—which means it's something he can master and improve.

Of course, that means he has to stop eventually. He knows it's time to take a break when he sees Sero blink and do a double-take in his direction. His heart seizes, but then his classmate shakes his head as if to clear it, shrugs, and goes back to his own exercises.

"This is kind of counterproductive," he murmurs to Rei. "We're trying to work out special moves, but even if I figure this out, I'll still have nothing I can show for it." When she looks put-upon, he shoots her a glare. "Hey, besides, I can't just rely on you to help me all the time. I need to work things out just for myself, too."

She floats up and pinches his nose, then flounces off to bother Hino.

From there, Izuku trains with One For All alone. His best bet, as far as he knows, is to keep increasing his capacity to wield it. The fast he reaches higher percentages, the fast he can work out some proper moves with it. Maybe even ranged attacks with wind pressure, the way All-Might does.

Speaking of All-Might…

Izuku goes looking for him, and finds him apparently deep in conversation with Ojiro. They seem busy, and it doesn't look as if they'll finish up quickly, so he signals Nana instead. When she catches sight of him, she waves back and comes to join him at the foot of one of Cementoss's raised platforms. Most of his classmates are elsewhere; Tokoyami's wielding Dark Shadow on top of the platform with some of the overhead lights dimmed, and that's enough to make everyone keep their distance. Out of sight and earshot from most of the others, Izuku feels safer talking to her without raising any eyebrows.

She seems distracted as she joins him, glancing over her shoulder even as she pays attention to Izuku.

"Everything all right?" he asks.

"I'll… get back to you on that, beansprout," she says. "What's up?"

"Same as usual. Just—do you think there's anything I can do besides grinding in order to take on more of One For All at a time?" he asks.

"Depends," she says, with one last look over her shoulder. "Where are you at, at this point?"

"I started out at five percent, and I think by now I'm around six or seven," he says. "So. Steady progress, but slower than I'd like. If it takes me a full term to go up by two, then by the time I graduate, I'll be at—what, twenty-three percent? That's less than a quarter, that's nothing."

Nana puts her hand on his head before he can work up his frustration. "Hey, slow your roll, tater-tot, your growth isn't going to be a steady slope, okay? There'll be peaks and curves. This was your first term— and yeah, it was an intense term, but you've been finding your footing. You just need some clear goals in mind. So—what, exactly, do you want out of One For All in your immediate future? And don't say 'increased power output,' because that's obvious. What's something specific that you want to be able to do with it?"

He thinks for a moment. "Ranged attacks," he says. "I'm good in close quarters, but I can't attack from a distance unless I send a ghost or injure myself."

"Great!" Nana claps her hands. "Now, in my day I needed a bare minimum of thirty-two percent for a half-decent wind-pressure shot. Toshi needs—er, Tosh needed around twenty-five-ish. You? I'd say your magic number's twenty."

Izuku suppresses a sigh. "That's still more than ten percent to go—"

"Fucking move, dumbass!"

A hand closes on his upper arm, so tight it's painful, and drags. Izuku's first instinct is to fight, before Nana looks up, flickers, and starts shoving him back as well. He follows her gaze just in time to see Dark Shadow finish slicing off a corner of the platform. The rubble crashes to the ground where he'd been standing just moments before.

Izuku can't move. It's not that he's that shocked that Tokoyami nearly sent him to Recovery Girl, but more the fact that Bakugou still hasn't let go of his arm, and it's starting to hurt.

"Are you fucking braindead, Deku?" Bakugou snarls. "What the fuck were you just standing there for?"

"Let go," Izuku murmurs. It's hard to shout when he has to consciously think about breathing.

"Then fucking pay attention next time! Shitty Hair was yelling his ass off at you and you stood there like a fucking moron! What's the matter, are you deaf on top of—?"

"Bakugou," Izuku says. "Let go of me."

"Are you even listening to—"

Izuku clacks his teeth together, hard enough to feel the click in his whole jaw. It's not meant to be a threat, just a sound and sensation to drive back the growing static in his head, but Bakugou releases him roughly anyway.

"Thanks," he says tightly, and steps out of reach before Bakugou can grab him again. The static recedes. "Thanks for the warning."

He hurries away with Nana hovering over him, dimly aware of Rei rushing back to his side.

"Sorry," Nana murmurs to him. "I'm sorry, I didn't—I should've been paying attention, so I could warn you, but I was distracted and—"

"It's fine," he says.

He feels Bakugou's eyes on him as he hurries away.

"Does All-Might seem off to you?" Todoroki asks.

"Yes," Izuku says bluntly. "Why wouldn't he?"

"You wanted to talk to him earlier, right?" Todoroki says. "I saw you looking at him a few times, but you never went up to him."

"Yeah, what are you getting at?"

"It feels like it's harder to talk to him now," Todoroki admits. "He just… he seems more fragile now than he used to."

"He's not," Izuku says. Todoroki's sitting at the foot of the futon, and he's too limp and comfortable to get up and reach him, but Izuku can still jab him in the side with his foot. "This form of his isn't new—you know that, right? He's been that way for years, it's just that now he can't hide it anymore."

Todoroki swats his foot away. "It's not so much how he looks," he says. "That's part of it, but it feels like something's wrong past just surface level. He just seems unhappy."

Izuku purses his lips, worried. Todoroki's… not wrong, of course. All-Might has been making him feel cautious lately. He just figured that it was taking All-Might some time to get used to being quirkless again, but there could be more to it.

"That villain, All-For-One," Todoroki says, and there's a hint of caution to it. "You were there, for a little while, with him and All-Might. Did they… say anything?"

"Plenty," Izuku says. "That's why I don't blame All-Might for acting off. But…" He runs his hand through his hair. "I did run before they finished. He might've said something between that point and when All-Might took him down."

He hasn't spent a lot of time thinking about All-Might, that's the problem. He's used to Nana letting him know if All-Might's in trouble, but… well, she's seemed off, too. Besides asking Izuku to humor him when All-Might first showed up for training, she hasn't said much to him.

All For One was the one that killed her, he reminds himself. Who even knows how it felt to her, seeing him in the flesh again?

His tongue itches to mention that, but of course he can't, not to Todoroki.

Except… he could, couldn't he?

Someone you trust, Uraraka had said. Someone you feel safest with, no matter what.

He'll sleep on it.

As it happens, he does sleep—right in that spot, lying on Todoroki's futon. He didn't go in meaning to sleep there, but he's tired from training, tired from worrying about All-Might and Nana and Bakugou and who knows what else. It's criminally easy to fall asleep around Todoroki. He'll have to be more careful in the future.

It's not enough to keep the nightmares back, but at least they go easy on him tonight. He doesn't dream of All-For-One or Toga or Dabi. He doesn't dream of Compress's marble prisons. He dreams of the closet, of hands holding him in a tight grip, only releasing him as the door shuts and cuts off his escape, of whispers and cold fingers touching him, even when he struggles. He dreams of the crawling horror in the darkness, one that he can hear and fee but never quite see..

He's had this dream more times than he can count. It's his oldest nightmare by far. It may very well follow him to the grave.

When he wakes up there are hands gripping him again, and he struggles on instinct before he registers that one is hot and the other is cold. Mika noses at his face, and Todoroki releases him before he can work himself up into a proper panic.

"You all right?" There's a hand in his hair. "Midoriya?"

Izuku sits up. The light flickers on—Rei's standing by the switch. Todoroki jerks his head up, frowning in confusion.

"That's odd," he says. "Must be something wrong with the wiring." The hand that was in Izuku's hair now rests firmly on his shoulder. "Not that I'm complaining. You all right?"

Izuku nods wordlessly, but doesn't lie back down. He curls into a tight ball, knees pressed firmly to his chest, and tucks his head in as he waits for the fear to pass. It's not immediate.

"Might help to talk, if you're up for it," Todoroki says softly, but when Izuku doesn't answer, he doesn't press.

Eventually, Izuku takes a deep breath, heaves himself to his feet, and goes to switch the lights back off. At the very least, he tries. Rei stands in his way and scowls at him. Izuku glares back, then steps around her and hits the switch.

He realizes, then, that he can't blame it on faulty wiring.

Too late, he thinks as he returns to the futon. Maybe he won't ask.

He isn't wrong. That's not what Todoroki asks at all.

"So…" Todoroki begins hesitantly as Izuku sits back down. "Is 'Kacchan' a person, or…?"

Izuku freezes.

"It's just," Todoroki continues, when Izuku doesn't reply. "This isn't the first time I've heard you say it. It's not that you say it a lot—it's been maybe three times. I was just wondering if it meant something to you. Whenever you do, you sort of… lash out when I try to touch you."

Someone you trust. Someone you feel safest with.

He opens his mouth, and shuts it again. The closet and the crawling and the hands and the whispers are still fresh in his mind, brought back to the front of it by fear and nightmares.

What if, he thinks. What if it goes wrong again? What if he doesn't believe me?

He blinks, and is surprised when tears fall. A shiver runs through him as he tries to wipe them away.

"You don't have to answer that," Todoroki tells him.

What if he does?

Izuku blinks the wet blur from his eyes, and sees Rei standing in the dark just a few feet away. Waiting.

He opens his mouth.

"It's a long story." His voice cracks. "And I—there are things that…"

The closet is there, in the forefront of his mind, tattooed into the backs of his eyelids.

He wouldn't. Todoroki wouldn't. No one could, even if they wanted to. There's no closet here.

The entire room is a wet, dark blur now.

"What would you say," Izuku begins, "if I told you that—that I've been lying about some things? That—" His voice catches, his throat closes as if it would rather strangle him than let him speak. "That my quirk isn't what you think it is?"

The silence that passes is almost enough to kill his courage.

"What do you mean?" Todoroki asks warily.

"What if I told you that I see things?" Izuku goes on, before he can lose heart completely. "People, that no one else can see, or hear, or touch?" He doesn't—can't—look at Todoroki, so he looks at Rei instead. "A-and they—they talk to me. Sometimes they tell me things. Sometimes they ask for help. And—" He has to choke out the rest. "And sometimes, they tell me how they died."

Silence.

Izuku waits.

He can't be sure how long he waits, because he can't be sure of the passage of time at all. His mind slows things down, and every heartbeat feels like hours passing.

"It's bullshit, right?" he says, before Todoroki can say it first. "It's stupid bullshit and impossible and I'm a liar." The sad thing is that he is a liar—just not right now.

He waits, swallowing as his heartbeat pulses in his throat, waits and waits and waits until finally—

"…You know, that's what I thought you were going to say."

he jumps at the sound of Todoroki's voice, and forces himself to look. "W-what?"

Todoroki's eyes don't flash in the dark like his, but Izuku can still see his friend watching him. "When I told you about my father, and what kind of person he is behind closed doors. That was mostly for me, not you. Because I didn't think you'd believe me."

"What?" Izuku's voice cracks. He's still sort of crying; he isn't sobbing and breathless, but his throat aches and the tears haven't stopped yet. "I don't—why wouldn't I—?"

"You like heroes," Todoroki says. "Even before I knew you, I knew that. And Endeavor is the second strongest. I didn't think you'd believe what I said about him." He glances down at his hands, twisted together in his lap. "And then you did. You didn't even question it."

Izuku blinks and wipes his eyes again. It hadn't occurred to him at the time, that Todoroki might be lying. He met Endeavor shortly afterward, but he hadn't needed to.

"So I guess if you could take my side when we weren't even friends, when I challenging you in front of everyone, then it'd be hypocritical of me to call you a liar now." He pauses. "It's… it's kind of a lot, what you're implying. But I think that just makes me believe you more."

The leaden weight is fading, losing density until Izuku can almost start to breathe again. "What do you mean?"

"I've seen you lie before, I think," Todoroki continues. "When you say you're fine even when you're not. Or you brush off someone questioning something. All the times I've seen you do it, it's to make people stop asking questions, and stop paying attention to you. This is only making me pay more attention."

Izuku's crying again. He's not sure if he'll ever stop.

"So I guess, to answer your question," Todoroki says. "I'd say that we have a classmate with a shadow demon living inside him, and we just watched our teacher fight a centuries-old supervillain who could steal quirks. So… we can't really define what's impossible, can we?"

Izuku grabs a handful of Todoroki's shirt and drags him into a hug. He can apologize for smearing snot and tears on his chest later.

"Er," Todoroki says, when Izuku's last crying fit starts to subside and he's lost track of how long they've been sitting here on Todoroki's futon. "So… you see ghosts."

Izuku nods into his chest.

"Actual dead ghosts."

"There isn't really another kind," Izuku croaks.

"Does anyone else know?"

"Iida, and Uraraka," he answers. "I didn't tell them, they found out when they visited my mom while I was gone. But you're the first—" He stops. "You're the second person I've ever told, outside of my family."

The question is inevitable, of course. "Who was the first?"

Reluctantly, Izuku lets go of him and leans back, wiping the dampness from his face. He's tired and a little thirsty from crying, and part of him wants to burrow under blankets and never wake up again. But he can answer this last question. After all, he still hasn't answered the first.

"I had this friend."

The closet is back, but it's not in his face anymore. It's not blinding him. The fear can't touch him anymore, because he's past what would have frightened him, and it never came to pass.

"Maybe we weren't really friends. I don't think he really liked me that much, looking back. But we went to the same elementary school. He had so many friends, and I didn't, except for him."

"I didn't tell people about what I could do. My mom tried to hint at it to doctors when I was little, but they were never very, um, open to the idea. There wasn't any way for us to prove that what I saw was real. So… nobody knew about it."

He takes a deep breath. "I-in elementary school, down the hall from homeroom, there was this—this closet. I don't remember what it was for. I just remember that I hated that closet. I hated it more than anything, and believe me, I hated a lot of stuff about school back then. But that closet was the worst, because—I could hear things in it. And nobody else could, so I knew it had to be ghosts, but I—I never saw them. I don't know if they ever came out. All I know is that they were dead, and they were angry. They were already there when I first got there, and they were there when I left, and they never stopped screaming, not once." He feels like he should cry here, but he doesn't. He's already out of tears. "They're probably still there, even now."

Todoroki doesn't interrupt, not even to ask questions. Izuku is grateful for that.

"The shortest way to the cafeteria was by walking past that closet," Izuku says. "I took the long way around, all the time, so I wouldn't have to go near it. I tried to be sneaky about it, but people noticed. K-Kacchan noticed. And he asked me why I went the stupid way around."

He pauses, but Todoroki still says nothing.

"So I told him." Izuku's voice cracks. "Not right away. I thought about it a lot. And I thought we were friends, we'd known each other since we were tiny, so I thought it'd be okay." Izuku swallows, but his throat and mouth are dry. "He didn't believe me."

He hears Todoroki exhale, but his friend still waits for him to finish.

"He thought I was lying. Pretending I had a quirk so they'd stop teasing me about it. So he—he thought it'd be funny to—" Again, he has to stop. He's dimly aware of Rei sitting beside him, hugging his arm, and Mika climbing into his lap and kneading at his thigh until the words come out in a rush. "He got his friends. And he—they—I was yelling the whole time, and they wouldn't let go. He wouldn't let go, I even kicked him and he still wouldn't let go. They just shoved me in the closet and shut the door."

This time, he's pretty sure Todoroki stops breathing for a moment.

"I don't remember what happened, most of the time," Izuku says. "Sometimes I do, a little, when I'm—when I wake up from a nightmare, or if I'm seconds away from a panic attack. But eventually it goes away again." He pauses to take a deep breath. "The weird thing is, the door wasn't blocked. It locked from the inside. I should've been able to get out, I think they thought I would. But I just… didn't. I didn't get out until the janitor found me at the end of the day, and by then I'd been in there for three hours. There were welts and scratches on my face, and everyone said I must've made them myself. My mom says I didn't let her hug me until a couple weeks later, and it took me eight months to start talking again." He falls silent. It feels as if he's been talking for hours.

The first thing Todoroki says in response is this:

"So is Kacchan short for Katsuki?"

Izuku's heart sinks. "I was hoping you wouldn't ask me that."

"It makes sense," Todoroki says. His voice is calm, but there's a tension buried deep within it that makes Izuku uneasy. "He's your childhood friend. And he's the only person I've ever seen you act afraid of. You—" He pauses, breathing in like he's realized something. "You freeze up whenever he grabs you."

"Can you blame me?" Izuku says bitterly, and sighs. "Look, just… don't say anything to him, okay? This is all between me and him, and he was seven years old and selfish and stupid and he didn't know what he was doing. Hell, if you take out the ghosts, that wasn't even the worst thing anyone did to me back then. It was just an unlocked closet, as far as any of them knew it'd be two minutes out of my day—"

"It was eight months," Todoroki says coldly. "And you still have nightmares about it. You're still afraid of him."

"I'm afraid of everything," Izuku hisses. "I'm always afraid, all the time. Bakugou's not special, and I'm not gonna feed his ego by acting like he is." He sighs harshly. "He's beginning, very very slowly, to act like less of an asshole than he used to be. If he gets to a point where I think he won't just shrug it off, then yeah, maybe I'll bring it up. But until then, he can do whatever he wants on his own time, as long as he keeps leaving me the hell alone." Gradually, Izuku forces the tension out of his shoulders and lets them slump down. "I told you because you asked, and because I trust you. I don't need or want you starting anything over this."

"But still—"

Exasperated, Izuku flops back down and nearly brains himself on the floor when he misses the pillow. "Todoroki, would you like me to pull a Kouta and punch your dad in the scrotum? Is that what you want?"

Todoroki snorts, and kicks his foot lightly. "Of course not, don't be stupid."

"Then just… drop it, okay? Let me deal with my own fraught, tragic childhood, and if I need to punch out my feelings, I'll come to you."

"Fine," Todoroki fumes, and lies down next to him. "…Did you seriously just use the word 'fraught'?"

Izuku yanks the comforter back up, and halfheartedly tries to smother him with it. "See if I ever open my heart to you again."

But eventually, when it's silent again but for breathing and Mika's purring, Izuku presses the side of his head to Todoroki's shoulder.

"Thanks," he murmurs. "Really. This means—this kind of means everything to me."

Todoroki finds his hand and squeezes it lightly. Izuku falls asleep before he lets go.

Shouto wakes up to Midoriya slipping out from under the comforter. He's on his belly, face mashed into the pillow, as Mika walks along his spine and settles between his shoulder blades.

"Don't get up, it's five," his friend says quietly.

Shouto makes a noise that is, he assumes, appropriately questioning.

"There's something I have to do," Midoriya says. "Well, a couple things. But this one comes first. Don't worry about Mika, I'll be back in time to feed her."

Midoriya ruffles his hair lightly. Shouto barely stays awake long enough to hear the door close behind him.

Summer's heat still lingers, clinging to the air as the season finally runs its course, but it's early enough to be cool.

Tenya made sure to clear things with Aizawa-sensei when he first arrived in the dorms; curfew restrictions last from ten p.m. to five a.m., which leaves him with plenty of time for a morning jog before training. Without his quirk, of course. He stands at the edge of the wooded area surrounding the campus and stretches, breathing in deeply. He's glad the school has areas like this; not only are there plenty of slopes for light endurance training, but the scenery is pleasant. Running on a track or a treadmill simply can't compare.

He finishes his stretches.

"Morning, Iida. Mind if I join you?"

Tenya jumps at the sound of Midoriya's voice. Heavens, he doesn't even have his earbuds in yet, and Midoriya still managed to sneak up on him. He has to wonder if that's something he's practiced, or it's a natural talent.

Or if it's merely an aspect of his ability.

And that leads to other questions, like—did Midoriya already know that Iida runs in the morning, or did he… ask?

And if he did ask, then who did he—?

"Good morning, Midoriya!" Tenya puts on his brightest smile. "I don't mind at all. I'd enjoy the company, actually. Only—" He frowns. "It's awfully early. Have you gotten enough sleep?"

"I've had worse," Midoriya says with a grin, and doesn't seem to realize how worrying that answer is. "I jogged in the morning before moving to the dorms, so it's probably good to stay in the habit. I'll follow your lead?"

Tenya leaves his earbuds in his pockets. "Just a quick run through the woods. I hope you don't mind slopes."

The two of them set off, falling in step with each other easily. "I took Bell along on my runs, before," Tenya says, because talking and jogging at the same time has never been an issue for him. "I wish I could've brought her with me, like you and Kouda did with your animals, but—dogs have more direct emotional needs than cats and rabbits, I believe. I wouldn't want to leave her on her own during training or classes. And my mother loves having her around…"

He carries on, and Midoriya listens attentively and nods along, and even nearly matches his conversation with his own contributions, which bespeaks excellent cardio.

And—Tenya has missed this. Having company when he jogs. He's found that most people can't carry on a conversation while running, at least not quite as easily and himself and… and other people with the right training or the right quirk. It's something he's missed, desperately, while simultaneously having no idea who to ask for it, much less how. Talking to Bell is almost as good, but of course, a dog can't answer back.

And without her… well, without her, all he can do most days is plug his ears with music and run fast enough for the burn in his muscles to take up all of his attention.

But Midoriya's company is fantastic! Almost nothing beats the company of a good friend on a morning run. And Midoriya has some excellent thoughts on quirk theory to share, which certainly doesn't hurt in the least.

They stop at the halfway point, for water and to watch the sun finish rising between the trees. Midoriya leans against a length of fencing along the trail, a barrier against a short drop in ground level, and breathes deeply.

It's not the first time Tenya has looked at his friend and been tempted to ask—on account of the fact that it's not the first time Tenya has looked at Midoriya. But he holds it in, as always. Midoriya only just started talking again Friday night, and part of Tenya is afraid that one wrong move, one step too far, will send Midoriya back into his shell, back into silence.

It's such a stupid thing to be afraid of. He knows Midoriya is strong. He admires Midoriya's strength, even more now than he did before he knew the truth. Midoriya saved him, from Stain and from himself. Midoriya was caught in the thick of a nighttime battle that Tenya barely even saw. Midoriya fell into the hands of the darkest villains any of them have ever seen, and came out swinging.

So really, it's not Midoriya he's worried about.

It's mostly just himself.

"Well, we should probably head back," Tenya says.

"Not yet." Midoriya is still leaning against the fence, staring down at his water bottle as if he expects it to offer engaging conversation. "Look, Iida—" He raises his head, and his eyes flicker to the side and back again.

It's not the first time he's seen Midoriya do that. He's seen that since before Kamino. Since before Hosu.

Since—

"There's something you've been wanting to ask me," Midoriya says. "Something I've been putting off answering. I'm not sure why—the hard part was already done when I got back, and you already know the part of it that has to do with me, so it's not like there's any turning back." He hops up and sits on the fence post, feet dangling off the ground, and after a moment Tenya goes to sit on the horizontal beam next to him. Midoriya gives him a sad little grin, mouth trembling slightly. "I guess I just never felt ready to have this conversation, you know? But… sometimes people deserve to know things, whether you're ready to tell them or not." He knocks his heel against the post. "But I'm ready now, and the answer's yes."

Tenya stops breathing for a moment.

Midoriya waits for him to answer, and when he doesn't, he knocks his heels against the post again and continues. "Remember when you were worried about—about him dying? Not just your brother, but the hero Ingenium? And I told you—"

"To take his name," Tenya whispers. "So he could live on through me."

"Yeah," Midoriya says. "Well. I didn't come up with that myself. I was just passing along the message. I was scared you'd take it badly, but you didn't."

Tenya's chest hitches again, and his eyes burn. "Y-you know," he says, voice rough—from running, of course. "I always wondered. That day, when—after the Sports Festival. When I came in, and you were already there, and—and I was so ready, to put on a brave face, and keep everyone from worrying. I practiced in the mirror before I left for school. And you—you took one look at me…"

"No," Midoriya says quietly. "It wasn't you I was looking at."

"I—" Tenya's hand goes to his mouth, as if that can keep back the inevitable. "Midoriya—" He stops, takes a deep breath, and then another and another until he's reasonably sure his voice won't shake out of control. "Is—is he… here? Right now?" Tenya's heart clenches with dread, and he almost doesn't want to hear the answer, because what if he's too late—

But Midoriya gives him another sad little smile. "He never left."

The tears come rushing out before Tenya has the chance to breathe.

No wonder Midoriya joined him now, on a jog through the empty woods long before anyone else has woken up. He would have thought it was to preserve the secret, but maybe it was also to give Tenya some solitude.

Midoriya's hand rests on his shoulder, steadying him. "Well, that's not quite true," he continues. "He left you once, very briefly, in Hosu. And that was just to come find me. I'd like to think I would've gotten to you without him leading the way, but I guess we'll never know."

Tenya reaches up and grasps at the hand on his shoulder like a lifeline.

"He also wants you to know that he leaves often enough to give you an appropriate amount of privacy. He learned his lesson that time you threw a bar of soap at him when you were six."

Tenya laughs in the midst of his tears. "Does he—" He stops. "N-Nii-san, did you know I was trying to miss on purpose?"

"Well, you could've fooled him."

For a while Tenya simply sits there, perched on a fence in the woods with his glasses in hand, laughing and crying for the exact same reason while his close friend keeps him from toppling off. It's easily the most ridiculous thing he's done, and it loosens so many of the knots inside of him that he loses count of how many he had to start.

When the hysterics start to subside, Tenya wipes his eyes and steadies himself with a few calming breaths. Midoriya's hand doesn't move from its spot.

"He's proud of you," Midoriya says. "You know that, right? You scared him for a little while, and he wishes you hadn't done that, but he also understands, and it didn't make him any less proud. And he wants you to know—he's not staying because he's unhappy. He's staying because he doesn't want to miss out on what you're going to become."

"Midoriya," Tenya rasps. "A-and Tensei. We just stopped for water. If you two don't stop soon, I'm going to end up dehydrated anyway."

"Sorry—"

Tenya tugs him into a hug, so suddenly that he almost pulls his friend off the post entirely.

He imagines, just for a moment, feeling a different but nonetheless familiar hand on his shoulder, and it's not so very difficult at all.