5+1 | s. todoroki
the five times he almost confessed (and the one time he did)
- when you were laughing so hard you couldn't breathe
the common room was loud in that cozy, familiar way—someone had turned on a movie, kaminari was yelling about the plot inconsistencies, and a half-empty popcorn bowl had already made two laps around the room. shoto wasn't really paying attention to the screen. he was sitting off to the side, legs folded neatly under him, arms resting on the back of the couch, his eyes on you.
not the polite kind you gave during class or the half-hearted chuckle that came after a bad pun—no, this was the full-body, head-thrown-back, tear-filled kind of laughter that made everyone around you start grinning too, even if they didn't know the joke.
and it was over something dumb. kaminari had tripped over mina's fuzzy slipper and face-planted into kirishima's protein shake. chaos followed. you were absolutely losing it.
shoto watched as you grabbed your stomach and gasped, "oh my god—that was the dumbest thing i've ever seen—" and wiped at your eyes like it hurt.
he felt something twist inside his chest. something warm and terrifying.
he should tell you. he should lean forward, tap your shoulder, and just say it—i like you. i think i like you more than i'm supposed to.
but then you turned to him, smile still wide, and said, "what? why are you looking at me like that?"
shoto shook his head, lips twitching just slightly. "nothing. you look... happy."
2. when you fell asleep on his shoulder
it was movie night again. the common room was quieter this time. only you, him, and iida, who had already fallen asleep thirty minutes in, glasses askew and arms crossed like a disappointed father.
you had slowly started leaning on him as the night wore on, drifting closer each time you yawned. he didn't move. not when your head tilted, not when your hair brushed his collarbone, not even when your hand settled lightly over his.
eventually, you dozed off completely. he could feel the rise and fall of your breathing, soft and steady, against his side.
shoto stared straight ahead at the flickering screen, but his heart was slamming against his ribs like it was trying to break out.
"i love you," he whispered, so quiet he wasn't sure if he actually said it or just imagined the shape of the words in his mouth.
you shifted slightly, brow furrowed, murmuring something incoherent.
he froze. held his breath.
so he stayed still. and didn't say it again.
3. when you got your heart broken
it was raining. of course it was raining.
you showed up at his door soaked and shaking with the kind of smile that didn't reach your eyes. he opened it without a word and stepped aside to let you in. you toed off your shoes, jacket dripping on the mat, and mumbled, "sorry. i didn't know where else to go."
he handed you a towel. "you always know where to go."
you sat down on his bed, towel wrapped tightly around your shoulders, hair clinging to your face. he made tea. it was silent, but not the uncomfortable kind. it was the kind that let you breathe.
"he broke up with me," you said, finally. "said i was... 'too much.' whatever that means."
shoto sat beside you, mug in hand. "it means they're an idiot."
you laughed, but it sounded hollow.
he wanted to say more. he wanted to tell you that you were exactly enough. that your laugh made the world quieter in his head. that your presence was the one thing that didn't overwhelm him.
but instead, he said, "you deserve someone better."
you leaned your head against his shoulder.
4. when he thought you might be slipping away
training had been brutal. everyone was sore, tired, and half-dead by the time aizawa dismissed them. but you looked worse than tired. you looked distant.
you hadn't texted him back in two days. you missed lunch. you didn't sit with him during the bus ride back. and he noticed—every bit of silence, every missed message, every glance that used to last longer.
so he waited outside the locker room, arms crossed, heart pacing faster than his footsteps ever could.
"hey," you said, blinking at him in surprise. you looked like you wanted to smile, but didn't quite manage it. "you okay?"
"i miss you," he said, too blunt, too honest.
your eyes widened a little. you laughed it off, but there was a crack in it. "i'm right here, shoto."
he looked at you. really looked. your hoodie sleeves pulled over your hands. your eyes tired. your mouth tugging into something that wasn't quite a smile.
"yeah," he said. "you are."
but he didn't believe it. you were standing in front of him, but you felt like you were disappearing by the second.
he thought about reaching for your hand. about saying the words out loud, finally. but instead, he shoved his hands into his pockets and watched you walk away.
and he didn't say what he meant.
the explosions echoed down the street like thunder.
shoto didn't wait. he was already moving, already tearing toward the smoke, already deaf to the ringing in his ears and the shouts behind him. his vision blurred. his heartbeat drowned everything else out.
they said you were last seen inside the collapsed building.
he didn't think. he didn't breathe. he just ran.
the debris was everywhere. the smell of ash, blood, and panic choked the air. he called your name once. twice. again.
and then he saw your hand.
half-buried. covered in dust and cuts. but moving.
he dropped to his knees and started digging, calling your name again, voice shaking. his fire flared too hot, too close, and he forced himself to calm it—you couldn't get burned. not by him.
when he finally got to you, you were barely conscious, lips split, blood trickling down your temple.
"stay with me," he said, voice low and sharp with panic. "hey. look at me. you're okay. i've got you."
you mumbled his name. tried to smile.
he gathered you into his arms and held you like something sacred. he didn't let go until the medics forced him to.
that night he sat beside your hospital bed, fingers wrapped around yours, head bowed.
"i have to tell you," he whispered. "i have to. i almost didn't get to."
but your monitor beeped steadily, your face was still pale, and he couldn't bring himself to add anything more.
+1. when you didn't let him walk away
the dorms were quiet, shadows stretching across the hallway as he leaned against the railing outside. cold wind brushed against his cheek, but he didn't mind. he stood there, staring at nothing, waiting for the weight in his chest to go away. it didn't.
you found him like that, barefoot in socks, hoodie too big, voice small as you whispered, "you okay?"
he turned to look at you.
the wind caught your hair. the moonlight made your eyes look softer than usual. you looked tired, but more than that, you looked worried. for him.
he looked at you like he always did—with something like awe, like fear, like you were the sun and he wasn't sure if he deserved the warmth.
"i keep trying to tell you something," he said.
you stepped closer. close enough that your shoulder brushed his.
"then just say it," you whispered.
he hesitated. how many times had he rehearsed it? how many times had the words caught in his throat, choked back by fear or timing or circumstance?
"shoto," you said softly, eyes never leaving his, "if you don't say it now, i think i might."
his breath hitched, and for the first time, he didn't flinch.
it came out quieter than he meant it to. barely a whisper. but it felt louder than any explosion.
then, you leaned in and kissed him, slow and sure, like you'd been waiting forever. and maybe you had.
he kissed you back like he was making up for all the times he didn't say it.
and finally, finally, he didn't have to wait anymore.
