• Shoto is the type to fall inlove with you and not even realize it.
The training grounds of U.A. High were unusually quiet, the only sound being the rhythmic *thwack* of ice crystals meeting the concrete. Shoto Todoroki stood at the center of the fray, his breathing steady, though a slight furrow remained between his brows.
Lately, his focus had been… fractured.
Ever since you started joining their study sessions and hanging around the common rooms, Shoto found his internal temperature fluctuating in ways that had nothing to do with his Quirk. You were currently sitting on the sidelines, nose buried in a notebook, occasionally looking up to offer a small, encouraging wave whenever he glanced your way.
"You're doing it again," a voice chirped from his left.
Shoto blinked, the ice wall he was manifesting crumbling into slush. Izuku Midoriya stood there, wiping sweat from his forehead with a knowing, slightly mischievous grin.
"Doing what?" Shoto asked, his voice characteristically flat.
"Staring," Izuku said, nodding toward where you were sitting. "You’ve looked over there fourteen times in the last twenty minutes, Shoto. And your left side is smoking. You aren't even using your fire right now."
Shoto looked down. A thin wisp of steam was indeed rising from his left shoulder. He quickly willed his temperature back to equilibrium. "I was just… checking to see if they were bored. It’s polite."
"Polite?" Izuku laughed, stepping closer and lowering his voice. "Shoto, yesterday you spent thirty minutes researching which brand of tea was the least acidic because they mentioned having a sensitive stomach. And today, you’ve been subconsciously making ice sculptures of their favorite flowers during target practice."
Shoto looked back at the targets. Instead of jagged shards, several delicate, frozen lilies were pinned to the center of the bullseyes. He felt a strange, prickly heat crawl up the back of his neck.
"I am simply observant of my friends' needs," Shoto countered, though even to his own ears, it sounded weak.
"There’s observant, and then there’s *in love*," Izuku said softly.
The word hit Shoto like a physical blow. *In love.* He processed the phrase the way he processed a new combat strategy—methodically, looking for flaws. He thought about the way his chest tightened when you laughed, the way he memorized the exact rhythm of your footsteps in the hallway, and the inexplicable urge he felt to shield you from even the slightest breeze.
He looked back at you. You had fallen asleep against the cool brick wall, your head lolling to the side. Without thinking, Shoto began walking toward you, his hand already reaching for his jacket to use as a pillow.
He stopped mid-step, his eyes widening as the realization finally clicked into place. The logic was undeniable. The evidence was overwhelming.
"Oh," Shoto breathed, the steam from his left side returning with a vengeance.
"Yeah," Izuku whispered, giving him a supportive thumbs-up. "Definitely 'oh'."
Shoto didn't turn back. He continued toward you, moving slower now, as if the very air had become dense. He carefully draped his jacket over your shoulders, his fingers lingering for just a second near your collar. For the first time in his life, the fire on his left side didn't feel like a burden or a weapon; it just felt like the warmth he wanted to keep you surrounded by forever.
