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For a long time, Shouto didn’t actually know if he liked volleyball.
See, volleyball… just was . Shouto is fully aware he was born for the sole purpose of continuing the Todoroki family legacy of pro volleyball players, and that was all he was meant for - all he would ever be. From the moment he could walk he learned to play, and through grueling hours of training until he wanted to puke, volleyball settled into his very bones. He woke to volleyball. He slept to volleyball. He dreamed of volleyball. Everything in his life was volleyball, so much so that at times he would wonder if all he was was volleyball.
But did he like volleyball?
Maybe at first. Maybe when it was exciting and new - something that could make his father proud, even if just for a second. Maybe before training became something painful and dreaded, dragging on through the night on shaky legs and aching bones. Maybe when it was just him and Touya, tossing the ball between them, Touya’s grins glowing in the dark.
“You’re the best of us, little brother. I’m so proud of you.” He’d smiled when he said that, the night before he disappeared. Shouto had loved volleyball, then.
But now? Shouto stares at the walls of his room. They are plastered in ribbons, awards and medals that scale to the ceiling like the bars of a cage. Shining metal discs sway in taunts, and his father’s words echo in his mind: You will be the ace, Shouto. You will be the King.
Shouto closes his eyes to block out the blinding glare of gold.
Volleyball in middle school was… not good.
Everything starts alright. He may not have friends, but he has teammates - aren’t they the same thing? He may not be liked, but his father always says you don’t have to be liked, you just have to be better. He may always be by himself, but he’s never really alone - there’s always volleyball. Volleyball is everywhere, volleyball is everything, so when his team turns on him, the world fractures to pieces.
Todoroki is the King. He thinks he’s so much better than us just because his father’s a pro.
Don’t walk too close - he looks at you like you’re scum. He thinks he’s so great just because he can play one stupid sport.
How can you talk to someone that emotionless? He looks half-dead. I guess they don’t teach royalty how to talk to peasants.
There’s no point in playing this game - Todoroki’s the only one who wins. I bet his famous daddy pulls all the strings so he’s the only star.
One by one, his teammates disappear. One by one they fade away, until it’s just Shouto and an empty gym, spiking balls in the dark.
His father is furious, but he’s always furious. He demands Shouto transfer schools to one with a functional volleyball team, but it’s too late in the year to change.
This is a minor setback, Shouto. His father says. In high school, you will be the ace of your team. In high school, you’ll show them all.
Shouto spends the rest of the term dreading its approach.
High school comes, and it’s not what Shouto expected.
The volleyball team in Yuuei is … lively. Their captain, Mirio-senpai, is alarmingly positive, and takes strange pleasure in watching first years suffer. Compared to his father’s training, Mirio’s drills are nothing, but Shouto makes sure to act as if he’s tired to avoid his cheerful wrath. Nejire, their manager, is the most intimidatingly friendly woman he’s ever seen., and her assistants, Uraraka and Yaoyorozu, are terrifying on several levels.
His other teammates are equally baffling. Tamaki-senpai is an absolute beast on the court, but in person he’s so shy he puts even Shouto’s social ineptitude to shame. Iida is diligent and resolute, but strangely intense, Kirishima is middle-blocker bundle of energy and excitement, Shinsou is laid-back, yet somehow the most determined of them all, and Monoma … Shouto doesn’t have words to describe Monoma. Shouto would really rather not even think of Monoma.
Then there’s Midoriya Izuku, who’s in a whole other class of his own.
See, Midoriya sucks at volleyball. This isn’t rudeness - it’s just objective truth. He moves like he’s never even been on a court, always three steps behind or two miles ahead. He’s amassed an encyclopedic array of facts on volleyball positions, yet fails to execute every single one, and Shouto can’t count the number of times Midoriya’s received a ball with his face. It is both unbelievable and incredibly sad.
Yet every time he’s knocked down, Midoriya bounces back up. Every time he misses a pass, he apologizes, then does it better, and when he spikes - Shouto’s never seen someone spike the way Midoriya does. He makes it a whole body motion, every muscle tensed and coiled, then snapped out in a concussive blow.
The result is a spike that moves so fast it could actually kill. There may even be dents in the gym floor from where he’s slammed the ball into the ground. Midoriya spikes like every part of the motion brings him acute physical pain, and Shouto can’t help but wonder why he does it. Why does he try so hard, when there’s nothing to gain?
He asks him, once, when they’re assigned as a clean-up pair. He probably comes off a bit rude, but he’s burning to know. Why do you struggle? Why do you try? Midoriya looks surprised, then his expression opens into a smile that sweeps all the way to Shouto’s heart.
“I just love volleyball,” he says, gaze soft with something like wonder. “I can’t explain why - I just do. Volleyball, it’s…” His eyes drift closed, scattered freckles starlike on his cheeks. “...It’s just everything, you know?”
Shouto knows. Volleyball has always been everything.
But loving volleyball? He’s not so sure about that.
Shouto takes back everything he’s ever said about Midoriya being bad at volleyball.
Midoriya is insane . He learns unreasonably fast, jumps superhumanly high, and Shouto’s shocked to silence when Midoriya says he’s never even played the sport before high school.
“I was always really weak as a kid,” he explains, a little shy. “I never had a chance to play sports or anything until my sensei helped me build up my strength, so playing volleyball with all of you is really, really fun!” Shouto finds himself going a little blind from Midoriya’s smile, but he can’t make himself look away. It’s hard to ever look away from Midoriya - he shines so bright.
But back to important matters. Midoriya is such a shameless volleyball genius Shouto is almost annoyed, except for the fact that Midoriya works harder than anyone else on the team. He’s always pushing himself, staying long past practice is over to land just one more spike or set up just one more receive. The look in his eyes is always determined, ready to try just one more time. Ready to try as many times as it takes to get things right.
Shouto finds himself spending more time with Midoriya than he expected. They’re both the only ones that stay late - Midoriya to practice, Shouto to be away from home. He used to just go through the motions, but with Midoriya’s company, Shouto almost enjoys training. Midoriya just has this dazzling inner light that illuminates the world around him. Everything is a little bit brighter, a little bit more exciting when Midoriya brings it to life. Everyone on the team knows and loves him for it (barring Monoma, who loves nothing), and Shouto tries not to grow too attached to the world of colour Midoriya commands. After all, Midoriya isn’t his to keep.
And yet… Midoriya has a way of drawing Shouto out of his shell. For once, Shouto isn’t an outcast, and he finds himself starting to look forward to their club meetings, the same ones he’d always dreaded before. The senpai are kind, his teammates are friendly, and when he gets tongue-tied or nervous, Midoriya sweeps in with a radiant smile and otherworldly cheer. It’s… different. A good kind of change.
They end up talking a lot. Midoriya does most of the actual speaking, but Shouto doesn’t mind. He’s excited about everything, hands waving and his voice pitching from low mutters to high exclamations, and Shouto kind of likes it. There’s something soothing about Midoriya’s chatter, and he can’t help but feel something like special when Midoriya says he likes playing with Shouto most of all.
“You’re an amazing player,” Midoriya says, and he’s never been happy to hear that before. Not in the way Midoriya’s voice makes him feel, warm to the tips of his toes. “It would be great if you could be my setter. I mean, if you wanted to be - you should obviously do what you want! You’re just so good at it, and - and - I… Ireallylikespikingyourtosses!” Midoriya’s almost steaming red with a blush, and Shouto thinks he might be blushing too because Midoriya was so incredibly serious, and how does he even say things that honest? Shouto stammers out a reply and tries not to let his heart skip a beat when Midoriya pulls into a smile. They drop the subject and walk home, something warm and soft between them.
He can’t stop thinking about it though, days after the conversation has passed. Being a setter… That would be something. And playing on a team with Midoriya as his ace…
Shouto shouldn’t be thinking about this. If Midoriya wants to be the wing spiker and ace, then he’s the competition. Shouto’s supposed to become the ace of Yuuei - that’s what his father always wanted. That was his plan, his purpose . He should fulfill his destiny.
Why does it feel so empty?
Yuuei is very different from middle school. They have an extremely competitive sports program, but their teams are tight-knit units.
“Like family,” Mirio-senpai says, hugging the first-years with a grin, and Shouto’s not quite sure what that’s supposed to mean. In his memory, family was always a yoke of expectations. A legacy he was born to succeed. A fate he could never think to escape.
But Mirio-senpai’s family is warm and welcoming. It’s hugs and cheers and ruffled hair when he does something right. Mirio-senpai’s family is Iida yelling training routines, Tamaki stuttering through a serve, Shinsou lazily setting a pass, Monoma cackling under his breath, and Midoriya’s beaming grin as he smashes into a spike. It’s not perfect, it’s not even pretty, but it’s fun . Shouto can’t remember the last time he associated that word with volleyball, and he wonders how he ever played without it.
But Mirio-senpai’s family is also dangerous. Dangerous because for the first time, Shouto finds there are things he’s beginning to realize. Things he shouldn’t think. Things that don’t belong.
Like the fact he doesn’t actually care about winning. Winning obviously feels good, but it’s always been a little empty. Now, with his team at Yuuei, he finds he doesn’t care if he wins or loses - the joy is in playing the game. In facing strong opponents, fighting for a victory, and in the end, the victor doesn’t matter. (He’s playing a game he thinks he might love, with a team he calls his friends. Hasn’t he already won?)
Like the fact that he doesn’t actually want to be an ace. That was what his father always planned, but Shouto doesn’t like playing to be the star. He likes the feeling of being part of a team - being a piece of the puzzle that lines them up for victory. He likes being a setter. He wants to be a setter. (With a chill of shock, he realizes he’s never wanted anything for himself before.)
Like the fact that when he sets Midoriya up for a spike, the world narrows to the tip of a pin. It’s just wild green eyes, a glowing, heart-stopping smile, and the sound of everything falling into place. There’s a whole universe in the space between them, made to the beats of their breaths, and Shouto thinks he could be happy, feeling this forever. (He thinks he could be happy, just him and Midoriya.)
Like the fact that he’s always thinking about Midoriya. Midoriya’s laugh, Midoriya’s smile - Midoriya’s quiet mumblings, clumsy fumbles, the curve of his back, his breathtaking -
Shouto shouldn’t think of these things. He’s not supposed to have wants or desires or delusions about teamwork and friendship. He should know better. He should be better.
You will be the ace, Shouto. You will be the King.
The thought of it has never left him feeling more lonely.
Then training camp comes and it’s the start of something new.
Because there’s a miracle quick - a move Midoriya can only pull off with his eyes squeezed shut, Shouto setting the ball straight into his hands, and it feels a bit like destiny. It feels like salvation.
“You ever considered being a setter, Shouto?” Mirio-senpai’s eyes are bright, just on the edge of calculating. “You have amazing control. With that crazy quick you and Midoriya pulled off, our team could do incredible things.”
“I…” He starts. Yes. Absolutely. There’s nothing else I’ve ever wanted . “My father…” He tries.
Mirio sighs. His gaze is soft and kind as he bends so they’re eye to eye. “You don’t have to answer me now, but think about it, okay? This is your life, and you should live the way you want.” Shouto’s heart ties itself into a knot.
How? He wants to scream. How do I even start? He doesn’t say it out loud. He’s never been able to say what he really wants.
“I’ll think about it, senpai.” He offers. He shouldn’t have said that - he already knows what he has to choose. Still, a stubborn piece of his heart brims with something like hope.
Mirio claps his shoulder and smiles. “Great! Now back to training drills, my cute kouhai! Run! Run until you cry! ”
Shouto stifles a groan and obeys.
The new quick has him thinking. About himself, his wants, and freedom. The idea alone is terrifying. He turns it over in his mind, again and again, until he can’t hold it in and he finds himself walking home with Midoriya, willingly speaking of his father.
“I’m sure you’ve heard my father was a pro player,” he starts. “You might know him as Endeavour.” Midoriya’s eyes widen.
“No way… “ He breathes. “Endeavour is incredible! He played for Japan for years!” His arms start waving, and Shouto can already see the rant coming. “He was the best in the league! I mean, after Yagi-san retired there was zero competition - he was absolutely unstoppable! His scoring was unreal, and -” Shouto doesn’t know what expression he’s making, but Midoriya’s excitement slowly dies to gentle concern. “... Is… Is there something wrong?”
Shouto bites back bile from the back of his tongue. “He’s always trained me to play volleyball. Ever since I was born, I was groomed to be his perfect successor.” His eyes drift closed, and there are monsters behind the lids of his eyes. Monsters with his father’s face, his father’s rage, his father’s demands. “My life has been nothing but chasing his dreams, and I think - I think I hate it,” he admits. “I think I hate volleyball.”
Midoriya’s gone still and silent. They stand there for a few moments, frozen in the middle of the street, before Midoriya’s expression clears and he starts to walk again. He’s biting his lip, and when he speaks, it’s hesitant and soft. As if he’s afraid of scaring Shouto away.
“... I don’t think I could possibly understand what your life was like,” he murmurs, voice low and determined. “But I think - I think you’re amazing at volleyball. And I don’t believe you hate it, because whenever you play your eyes light up, and you look -” He flushes, turning away. “You look incredible.”
The words have Shouto feeling warm all over, but still, still - “It’s my father’s sport. I don’t know how to see it any other way. Every time I touch the ball I see the smug satisfaction on his face, and -”
Midoriya stops him. His gaze is achingly kind, and when he finally speaks, his words are gentle.
“Forget that.” He orders. “Forget about him. The way you play volleyball, the way you’re a part of our team - that’s all coming from this.” His eyes are soft as he reaches out to press a hand over Shouto’s heart. It’s warm through Shouto’s shirt, and something in his chest draws tight. “When you play volleyball, it’s not your father out on the court. It’s you, Todoroki. It’s always been you. ”
“But my father -” Shouto says, and he hates that he always comes back to this, no matter how far he tries to run. Will he ever escape his shadow? “- he taught me everything about volleyball. Everything I have is from him, and it disgusts me -”
“- Todoroki…” Midoriya shushes him with a word. “It’s your power, isn’t it? Your training and hard work - that’s all from you. And even if you started because of your father, that doesn’t mean volleyball belongs to him. It’s a sport! It can’t be owned by anyone!” His words grow more convicted by the second, striking in their confidence. “All of this - all of your achievements… they aren’t your father’s, they’re yours. Maybe playing volleyball started as his dream, but I think you like it. I think somewhere along the line, it became a part of you. You , not your father. I think you want to play, and I think … I think volleyball is your dream too.” The words sink like a lead weight through his skin, shattering his brittle veins as it falls. He doesn’t know what expression he’s making, but he thinks he might be shaking. Everything is hazy and warped and was it really so simple? Was it really just that all along?
“You are your own person, Todoroki.” Midoriya says, and it beats in his chest like a heart. “You are your own self.”
Shouto comes back to himself in pieces. Midoriya’s there, soothing the tremble of his hands, and when Shouto can speak again, he squeezes Midoriya’s hands tight.
“... I don’t know how to not be my father,” Shouto finally says, hoarse from swallowed fears. “I don’t know any other way to live.”
Midoriya runs his thumb over Shouto’s knuckles. It’s strangely reassuring, almost grounding in its effect.
“Start with this,” he murmurs. “What do you feel, Todoroki? What do you want?” Shouto can’t recall ever being asked. What does he feel? What does he want? Why has he never wondered these things before?
“I feel ... " He tries to make out the words. They're straining, just on the tip of his tongue. "I want ..."
"Tell me," Midoriya says. "Tell the truth."
Shouto breathes. "...I feel like I don’t hate volleyball,” he confesses, slow and halting, “and I want… I want to play. For our team. For myself.”
Midoriya beams, golden in the dusk. “Then let’s do exactly that.”
Everything about volleyball is cast under a new light. Practice becomes exciting, the upcoming matches have his blood starting to pound, and Shouto can’t remember ever enjoying training drills, but with Midoriya cheering him on he feels like he could learn to love anything.
He’s spraying himself off at the fountain after a particularly tough drill when there’s a quiet cough behind him. Shouto shuts off the tap, turns, and it’s Midoriya, looking nervous enough to flee.
“T-Todoroki,” he stutters, and Shouto is used to Midoriya being fidgety, but right now he almost looks terrified. He’s about to ask if something’s wrong when Midoriya launches into a speech.
“I just - I heard from senpai - I heard from senpai you were going to be the wing spiker and ace and I’m so sorry oh my God I’ve been trying to take your place when you’re already so amazing and I definitely won’t be in your way you’rethebestIcan’teven -” Midoriya stops with a gasp for breath, rounding for another stream of words.
Before he can run out of air, Shouto interrupts. “Midoriya! Midoriya, it’s fine.” He struggles to hold back a helpless smile as Midoriya yelps protests. “Really, it’s fine,” he insists. “I don’t … I don’t actually want to be the team’s ace. Not really.”
Midoriya blinks, confused. “But… Mirio-senpai said that was what you put as your position?”
Shouto sighs. “Well… yes, but that was before.” How does he explain this? “Remember what I told you about my father?” Midoriya nods, expression growing grim, and Shouto struggles to muster the words.
“All of my family… All of them have gone pro as the wing spiker ace of their teams. My father wants me to be the same, but I… I don’t want to. Ever since I decided to play for myself, I changed my mind. I want to play setter. I want to make you the best ace in Japan. I want -” He stops. What does he want? Why does it feel like there’s something else stuck on the tip of his tongue? It bothers him, but he brushes the thought aside. “I didn’t even like volleyball until I started setting for you.”
Midoriya’s mouth opens. He stands there gaping for a few moments, before he shakes his head furiously and smacks himself on the cheeks. He’s blushing to the nape of his neck, and when he speaks his voice is a low, gentle mumble. “Y - You shouldn’t say things like that, Todoroki.” He stammers. “I… I’ll get the wrong idea.”
Shouto frowns. He thought he was perfectly clear. “It’s just the truth. The only reason I didn’t quit is because you were here.”
Apparently that doesn’t help, because Midoriya blushes even harder. “Todoroki,” he stutters, “You can’t just say things like that -” and Shouto -
He presses up into Midoriya’s space, taking hold of his hands. They’re warm, calloused and worn from how hard Midoriya fights, how hard he tries , and Shouto can’t help but admire that about him. He admires everything about Midoriya.
“You give me hope.” Shouto says, and he’s starting to regret moving into this position because now he’s blushing too, and what was he even trying to do? Is this a drama? He’s seen these moments in his sister’s shoujo manga, and he’s beginning to feel like a fluttering maiden himself.
“You - you make everything amazing.” Shouto continues. “You make things right. You- I-” I like you. I want you. Just you. You’re everything.
Oh.
Oh.
That was what he wanted.
The realization strikes like a crack of thunder. Shouto finds himself unable to speak, mind racing to understand what this means. He likes Midoriya. He wants Midoriya. More than just his friend, more than just his setter, more than anything -
But - Shouto’s barely just learned how to want for himself. Is he allowed to crave so many things? He already has Midoriya’s friendship and volleyball - isn’t it greedy to hope for more? What if he tries and he loses what he has along the way? That would be unimaginable. Shouto tries to force out words, something, anything - then Midoriya looks up and his throat runs dry.
His gaze is soft and open, luminous in the dim light. When he blinks, his lashes kiss his freckled cheeks, and Shouto wants to reach out and touch them - to trace their curves and the planes of Midoriya’s expression, all the way down to his parted pink lips. Midoriya’s stare runs straight through Shouto’s chest, and Shouto - Shouto wants. A longing he has never felt so powerfully before. He wants and he wants and he wants so many things he could choke under their weight.
“Todoroki?” Midoriya whispers.
Shouto drops his hands and flees.
He tries to make practice not awkward. This is an exercise in futility - Shouto is always awkward. He doesn’t look at or speak to Midoriya, all the screaming thoughts in his head too loud to drown out. If he talks to Midoriya, he’s going to say something incredibly embarrassing, and will then immediately proceed to die. Ignoring and repressing his feelings has worked up until now, so he’s determined to continue the trend.
Unfortunately, ignoring Midoriya has the opposite effect. Midoriya starts looking at him with confused, sad eyes, and after they each take a dozen serves to the face Mirio-senpai pulls them off the court.
“Sort this out, you two,” He orders. “I don’t want team members fighting.” Shouto wants to explain they’re not fighting, it’s just that looking at Midoriya makes it difficult for him to breathe, think, and function , but he’ll get over this. He has to, for his own sanity. Whatever he feels for Midoriya has to go. He’s about to try and articulate all of that into comprehensible Japanese when Midoriya cuts in.
“Okay, senpai.” Midoriya’s voice is soft as he scuffs his shoe on the floor, wobbling into a faint smile. “We’ll fix this.” Before Shouto can protest, Midoriya’s leading him out of the gym, past the field and into a quiet corner.
Then it’s just the two of them, standing on the grass. For a long moment, they don’t speak. Then Midoriya sighs, settles onto the ground, and Shouto follows suit, shuffling to sit beside him.
“... I’m sorry, Todoroki-kun.” Midoriya starts, his voice stiff and strangely formal. “I didn’t mean to ruin your practice.”
“It’s not - You didn’t -” The words tangle in Shouto’s mouth, twisted up into knots. I can’t stop thinking about your eyes. I can’t stop thinking about your lips. I can’t stop wanting to touch you. “-It’s not your fault,” he finishes. And it’s not: Shouto’s the one who can’t get his emotions under control.
Midoriya bites his lip. It flushes to red, and Shouto can’t look away from the swell beneath his teeth. “... Are you mad at me about something I said? I know I talk too much sometimes and get kind of annoying. Or… did I do something wrong?” Shouto shakes his head furiously on both counts. Midoriya sighs in response, then stretches out his legs, clad in black tights that do absolutely nothing to hide his amazing muscle definition. Also damn it, Shouto, stop staring at his legs. “... Is this about our talk last week?”
Slowly, Shouto shakes his head again. It wasn’t just that. It wasn’t just last week. It was so many things in so many places, and how did it take him this long to figure everything out? And now that he knows, what is he going to do?
Midoriya sighs again, “... can you tell me why you’re ignoring me?” His voice drops to pleading, and Shouto’s heart clenches. “It’s really obvious you’ve been avoiding me since the last time we talked.”
“I -” Would it be pathetic to say: I’m having a gay crisis, and surprise! As my only friend you are the object of my infatuation? “I’m just - thinking about… things.” Shouto tries, lamely. “A lot of things.”
“What kind of things?” The space where their legs meet burns, and Shouto struggles to resist the urge to pull away. Sensing his discomfort, Midoriya pulls back with a forced smile.
“I -” He really needs to start thinking in coherent sentences. “I was thinking about what you said. When you told me I wasn’t my father.” Midoriya looks confused, so Shouto rushes to explain. “Y-You said I should start being myself by thinking about the things I felt. About the things I wanted.” Midoriya nods, slow, and Shouto continues.
“There’s… There’s someon-” He stumbles, “- something I want. I can’t stop thinking about it, and I - can I -” Frustrated, he tears at a patch of grass. “- Is that allowed? Is there a limit to how much you can want? I don’t - I don’t really get how it works. I already want so many things, from volleyball, to being a setter, to the team, to y-” He catches himself before it slips out. Midoriya doesn’t seem to notice, eyes growing wide. Then he curls up and laughs, and Shouto’s never been more confused.
“Of course you’re allowed,” Midoriya’s voice is gentle and sweet, mirth on the edge of every word. “You’re allowed to want as many things as you can imagine. I mean.” He stutters another laugh. “As long as it’s legal and doesn’t hurt anyone. Whether or not you get them…” Midoriya shrugs, “Sometimes you do, sometimes you don’t. But you’re always allowed to want it, even if it’s unattainable. It’s never wrong to try.” He smiles then, the slant just the slightest bit crooked, and Shouto tries not to stare at the way his lips quirk up at the side. “Sorry I laughed, I just never thought you’d think so hard about something like that.”
Embarrassed, Shouto flushes and looks down. “... It was confusing. I don’t - I’ve never felt this many things.”
Midoriya sobers, smile growing soft. “That’s okay. Feeling things is good, and wanting things is too. I’m really happy you’ve found things you want for yourself.”
Unwillingly, Shouto blushes harder, entirely caused by the tender look in Midoriya’s eyes. It’s the kind of look with warmth that sinks to his bones, heat that sweeps to his marrow and tangles around his heart. The kind of look that makes him fall in love.
“What if… “ Shouto starts, “What if trying to get the thing you want might ruin what you already have?”
Midoriya hums, tilting his head to the side. A lock of hair slips over his eyes, and Shouto holds back the urge to do something stupid like reach out and brush it away. “I guess that’s a matter of importance then. Is the thing you want more important than what you’d lose? Is it something worth the risk? And more than that: will you regret it if you don’t try?” He leans back in a stretch, and Shouto silently weighs his desires.
Having Midoriya or not having Midoriya? Having Midoriya obviously wins every time, no matter the shape or form. This should be an easy decision, but something still catches in his throat. Is it worth it? No. Will you regret it?
… Will he?
He’s not entirely sure of the answer himself. He’s not entirely sure of anything at all. All he knows is this heavy, haunting need bearing down on his chest, and the echo of Midoriya’s words.
You’re allowed to want. It’s never wrong to try.
Will you regret it if you don’t?
At the back of his mind, a tiny voice whispers a quiet, convicted ‘Yes’ .
Midoriya settles back to being cross-legged, and Shouto decides. He takes in a breath and speaks before he can lose his nerve.
“What I wanted -” He stumbles, “What I want, is you.”
There’s a moment where Midoriya doesn’t react. There’s a moment Shouto panics and tries to swallow the words back up, but they’ve already flown too far. There are so many moments, so many seconds that drag on like years, before the dawning realization reaches Midoriya’s eyes.
“Todoroki-” He starts, and Shouto is burning, but he has to get everything out.
“I like you,” He says, and he’s pretty sure his face is as red as half of his hair. “I don’t know when, I don’t know how, but I know why. You’re amazing, you’re stunning, and I can’t - I don’t know how to look away. I don’t ever want to. I -”
Midoriya places a hand over Shouto’s mouth. His eyes are wide and wondering, and before Shouto can think to breathe, Midoriya tackles him to the ground.
They go down very ungracefully. There may be grass in Shouto’s mouth, and elbows stick in places elbows should not go, but the space between them disappears and Shouto’s senses are filled with nothing but Midoriya. As amazing as that is, Shouto is very confused as to why he’s been bodychecked into the dirt, but there’s a bubbling feeling in his chest like elation when he looks up and sees Midoriya’s disbelieving smile. His eyes are bright and green and dazzling , and when he laughs, it’s clear and bright - ringing like music on the wind.
“I liked you for months!” Midoriya sputters, and there’s no way this is real. But he’s warm and solid everywhere they touch - from his arms wrapped around Shouto’s chest, to his legs, tangled with Shouto’s own. “I thought - I thought you hated me because you figured it out -”
“- I could never hate you,” Shouto rushes, a little bit desperate. Midoriya leans down above him and he’s so close - too close for Shouto not to blush. Too close for him to not notice and catalogue every detail of his skin. “I like you. I like everything about you. Your spikes, your mumbling, your freckles, your receives, your laugh - Did I say I like you? Because I do. I like you so much it was all I could think. I want -” His voice catches. “I want so many things I don’t know if I’m allowed to have.”
Midoriya’s fingers card through his hair, slow and gentle, and Shouto could live under his hands forever. “Tell me what you want,” he murmurs. “Tell me everything.”
Shouto does. “I want to hold your hand. I want to kiss you. I want to go on dates. I -” He flushes, embarrassed. “I… I don’t know what else couples do, but I want to do that too.” Midoriya laughs again, and Shouto continues.
“I want - I want to play volleyball together, for as long as we can. I want to go to Nationals and challenge the world, and I want you there by my side, every step of the way. I want to reach for the pro-leagues with you, and I want-” His words cut off - there are too many things for him to say them all.
“I want everything with you,” he finally confesses. “I want everything together.”
“You’re allowed,” Midoriya whispers. “You’re allowed.”
“If it’s alright with you, Mirio-senpai, I’d like to play setter.”
They’re finalizing the team roster for the next tournament, and Shouto finally knows what he wants. For a moment, Mirio looks surprised, then he beams.
“I hoped you’d say that.” There’s a twinkle in his eye that says he knew what Shouto would choose all along. “Then Midoriya will be our ace! I’m looking forward to seeing your crazy quick in our next games.” He ambles off in a cheerful jaunt, and Shouto can’t help but feel a little bit lighter.
Practice passes as usual. Iida marches through drills, Kirishima bounces a volleyball off his head, and Monoma threatens businessmen into funding their equipment. It’s echoing footsteps on wood, the screech of rubber on a fast turn, and the smack of a volleyball against hands as they practice serve after serve.
Then practice is over, and it’s just him and Midoriya in the quiet. They pack up the gym, clean up the nets, and then Midoriya is waiting at the door, meeting Shouto’s eyes with a shy, tender smile. Their hands wind together as they begin walking home in the dark, and everything settles to being just right.
“Are you excited for the tournament?” Shouto hums his assent and Midoriya beams. “I can’t believe we get to play on the first string! I mean, we’re only first years, and I’m just a beginner -”
Shouto interrupts him. No one gets to criticize his boyfriend - not even himself. “- You’re a great player and you deserve it. You’ve worked harder than anyone else.” Midoriya flushes and Shouto curves into a smile. Softer, he adds, “You’re going to be incredible. I can’t wait to see you win.”
“Todoroki, it’s bad luck to make predictions!” He’s grinning though, so Shouto’s sure he doesn’t really mind. They lapse back into comfortable quiet, fingers intertwined.
“Still…” Midoriya mutters, “I’m nervous. I always freeze up in official games, and what if I can’t do the quick, and what if I mess up, and what if I let everyone down, and -” Shouto can see him getting more worked up by the second. His words are fading to whispers, and he’s about to go off on a mumbling tangent of self-deprecation when Shouto pulls him close and silences him with a kiss. Midoriya sputters a confused protest, so Shouto does it again, breathing him in. He tastes like sunshine and summer skies, and Shouto’s heart stutters in his chest, threatening to burst out.
Midoriya tries to keep talking: “I’m not good enough,” he says, “I don’t think I can do it,” and Shouto kisses every lie off his lips, again and again until Midoriya melts into his arms.
“You’re amazing,” Shouto murmurs, dizzy when he finally pulls away to breathe. “You can do anything.” And he can. And he will. Midoriya is the kind of person that shakes worlds. He’s gone bright red, too dazed to argue back, but Shouto kisses him again anyways, this time all teeth and tongue.
He’s allowed to, after all.
His father’s office is cold and dark. It gleams with thousands of metal faces - trophies of silver, bronze and gold, staring down from every angle. Their gazes feel a lot like disapproval - like condemnation.
“Shouto,” his father says, and his voice is cold with buried anger. “Shouto, why are you not Yuuei’s ace?”
Because I don’t want it. Because someone else deserves it. Because there’s something else I need to be.
“Because I’m not you.” His hands tremble, so he curls them into fists. “I could never be you. I never wanted to be you. I am someone else, and I -” His words catch. “- Even if I play volleyball, I refuse to be a part of your legacy.”
Endeavour rises to his feet, every inch the towering menace of Shouto’s dreams.
“Your future was decided a long time ago, Shouto. Stop being difficult and do as you are told.” His shoulders are tense and set, intimidation in every shadow, yet now, Shouto is not afraid. Now, he looks Endeavour in the eye, standing his own ground.
“No.” It feels unreasonably good to finally say it, so Shouto does it again. “No. I will not.”
Endeavour’s temper flares. His hands are clenched, and Shouto can see the way they itch for destruction. “I made you who you are - you owe me your obedience!”
“I don’t owe you anything,” Shouto says, and it feels a bit like freedom. “I will respect you as my father, but my life is my own. I will live it the way I choose.”
“You don’t know anything,” Endeavour spits. “You are a child , and as long as you live under my roof, you will do as I command.”
Shouto smiles. He was waiting for that. He pulls a keyring from his pocket and twirls it around his finger, silver metal glinting in the light. “I have other options.” He says. “Touya would say hi himself, but I don’t think he ever wants to see you again.”
For a moment, the fire leaves Endeavour’s eyes. For a moment, his fury cracks, and there is a sad, lonely man who is losing his second son. Who had already lost him from long before. Shouto pities this man, who will never know what it means to be free. Then the moment passes, and Endeavour gathers himself back together, mustering some measure of rage back into his tone.
“You will regret disgracing the Todoroki name,” Endeavour says, but the venom in his words slides off like water. Todoroki is just a name - an old, ancient thing Shouto’s been tied to for too long.
“I don’t regret anything,” He promises. “I won’t - not ever.”
“You won’t know how to live without your purpose,” Endeavour says, and Shouto used to believe him. “It’s all you were ever born to be.” Shouto had thought that, once upon a time, but now he knows better. Now, he knows the truth.
“Watch me,” Shouto says. “I’m going to find my own future.” The keys land in his palm, and he turns to leave.
Endeavour doesn’t stop him. Endeavour says nothing. But when Shouto leaves he sighs, heavy with a weight that might be respect.
For a long time, Shouto didn’t actually know if he liked volleyball.
Volleyball had been a cage. Volleyball had been a shackle - an expectation forever dragging him down. Volleyball had been someone else’s dream - someone else’s love, and for a long time, Shouto never knew how to make it his own.
But now there’s a green-haired boy who holds out his hand, beckoning Shouto into the light. It’s your power, isn’t it? He says. This isn’t your father - it’s you. Midoriya smiles, pulls Shouto out of the dark, and slowly, Shouto’s learning to believe him.
Now, volleyball is something that burns in his chest - alive like a second beating heart. Volleyball is passion, volleyball is excitement, and volleyball is fun with Midoriya at his side. Together, they’re unstoppable. Together, they’ll take on the world.
“We’re going to be great,” Midoriya says, and Shouto can’t help but smile.
“We already are.”