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Shouto had never liked hugs before. They were a sign of weakness - that's what Enji had told him, anyway.
He always felt so cold after his mom’s hugs, though somehow he doubted that it had anything to do with her quirk. Whenever he was in her arms, he felt like he was wrapped in a thick, soft blanket, like sunlight was bathing over him in warm golden beams. He felt light and heavy all at the same time - the cold only appeared when he was pulled away.
But he hated it. He hated that warm feeling - it was wrong. It wasn’t allowed. So when mom came to give him hugs he would turn away, face burning, chest aching, and tell her that he was a big boy and he didn’t need hugs anymore.
“Oh, Shouto,” she would say. She would crouch down and gently place a hand on his shoulder, waiting until he looked up to offer a smile. “It’s okay if you don’t like the hugs, but I need you to know that I love you.”
She stopped hugging him after that. He was glad for it. He was.
Things weren’t that much different after joining Class 1-A. It was strange to be around kids his age, but it wasn’t that hard to get used to. It helped that he didn’t talk to anyone much at the start - it was easier to just soak in their presence without having to interact with any of them.
And then came the Sports Festival, and Midoriya, and his stubbornness that pulled Shouto out of the darkness he’d inhabited since the day he was born.
The ensuing changes were subtle. He still didn’t talk much, but he would let Midoriya talk to him, and he would actually listen. And when Midoriya asked him to join himself, Iida, and Uraraka at lunch, he found himself excited at the idea.
Shouto was used to eating alone; he didn’t like eating with his family and before Midoriya, he didn’t exactly have friends to share meals with either.
He thought that would be the biggest change. It was already completely out of character for him to be spending so much time around others, but he didn’t mind breaking people’s expectations anymore.
“You don’t need friends,” Enji had said. “Such frivolities will only distract you.”
“But, onii-chan has lots of friends-”
“Natsuo is not like you, Shouto. You are better than him. You must act like it.”
So he did, up until he finally joined the hero course and realized that nobody else his age was raised like he was.
Nobody else his age was raised to be a living weapon against evil. Nobody else his age was denied sleep until they could master complicated combat maneuvers. Nobody else his age was afraid of their own quirk.
Not even Midoriya, whose quirk broke his bones with each use, was afraid.
“I’m pathetic,” Shouto admits to him one night. It’s late, but it’s not a school night, so he doesn’t particularly care. He’s laying flat on the floor and Midoriya is snuggled up next to him, resting his head on Shouto’s stomach.
(It burns. But he can’t pull away. He can’t.)
Midoriya shifts, sitting up. Shouto looks up and sees him looking down, confused and concerned and maybe even angry. He glows under the fluorescent light, and the shadows cast across his face only serve to accentuate his discontent.
“Why would you say that?”
Shouto turns away, stares at his hands. One is cold, and one is freezing. He shrugs as best he can, still laying on the floor. Midoriya reaches down, takes his hands and squeezes.
“You’ve come so far, and I only just hit the starting line,” he mutters. “Your quirk used to break you, and you still used it because you wanted to save those around you…”
“What do you mean, you just hit the starting line?”
Shouto looks up at him again. He feels strange now, laying on the floor while Midoriya looks down at him, face now unreadable. He pulls his hands away, sits up, and takes a deep breath before answering.
“My fire,” he says, and his voice is too shaky. He swallows, hoping it will bring calm. “I know how to use it, but only just. And for so long, I didn’t want to. I had this incredible power at my literal fingertips…”
“...and you couldn’t bring yourself to use it,” Midoriya finishes. Shouto nods, closing his eyes and clenching his jaw. “But you’re using it now, aren’t you? You’re learning, and growing, and getting stronger, just like everyone else.”
“But I put myself at a disadvantage for no reason,” he argues. “I made myself weak in an attempt to appear strong. Can’t you see how stupid that is?”
Midoriya just shrugs.
“Maybe it was a bit stupid, but it’s in the past. You’re not pathetic at all, Todoroki-kun. You’re one of the strongest people I know.”
And it’s like he’s been hit with a wave of ice, frozen in place and unable to do anything but shiver and shudder. Midoriya puts a soft, careful hand on his shoulder and he swears it burns him. He can feel the heat penetrating his skin, muscle, bones, heart.
“You’re too nice to me,” he says, choking on tears. “You’re too nice. Why are you so nice?”
Midoriya pulls him into a hug and he is on fire, engulfed in flames on left and right, burning hotter than the sun. Midoriya squeezes, holds him tight, runs a hand through his hair. He is soft, and bright, and he is holding Shouto like he will float away should he let go.
He gasps for breath between sobs, and Midoriya rubs his back, wipes the tears from his face, tells him it’s alright.
He listens.
Like always, Midoriya speaks and Shouto listens. He takes in all the praise, all the comfort, all the love offered to him. He holds it and it burns him, but it is the good kind of burn that he never wants to let go of.
“Thank you,” he gasps. He opens his eyes, finally, and looks at Midoriya, stares into the sun. “I, you, I needed that.”
He shuffles backwards, and Midoriya stands to grab some tissues off of his desk. He sits back down and offers the box to Shouto, who takes them readily.
They don’t talk for a while. Shouto doesn’t count the seconds, he just sits and breathes until it becomes easy again. He’s cold, and the blanket he pulls off of the bed doesn’t do much to help. Still, he wraps himself up and sighs, leaning into Midoriya.
“Feeling any better?”
Shouto nods.
“Do you need water, or a snack? You cried for awhile, you should probably drink something…”
Before Shouto can even answer, there’s a plastic water bottle in his hands. He unscrews the cap and takes a big sip while Midoriya settles down next to him again, a protein bar sitting on his lap.
“Sorry,” he says softly, when he’s finished drinking. “I didn’t mean to break down like that. I don’t really know why it happened.”
“It’s alright. Everyone needs to cry now and then,” Midoriya says. “Protein bar?”
He takes it, unwrapping and eating it slowly. His stomach rumbles, and he dully remembers skipping dinner to work on quirk training. His self control wavers after the first bite, and the next thing he knows, Midoriya is shoving another protein bar into his hands.
He just stares at it.
“Thank you,” he says finally, unwrapping it. He doesn’t look up at Midoriya. He can’t.
“Oh, no problem! I have a ton of those for-”
“Not that,” he interrupts. His heart stutters, and with all the confidence he can muster: “I mean thank you… for holding me.”
Midoriya doesn’t say anything. Shouto doesn’t want to look up and see him rolling his eyes, looking judgemental, holding back laughter.
“You never have to thank me for that,” he hears, and his head snaps up in shock, and of course Midoriya isn’t rolling his eyes or holding back laughter, and the look on his face is as genuine and loving as always. “If you ever need a hug, I’m always happy to oblige.”
Shouto swallows. He pushes the protein bar back into its wrapper and tosses it on the bed, then lifts his blanket shroud with one arm. Midoriya’s eyes widen ever so slightly, and then he’s crawling under the blanket, snuggling into Shouto’s side.
“Thank you for being my friend,” he says, and Shouto wants to laugh because that should be his line, not Midoriya’s.
“Right back at you,” he mutters. His eyes are closed but he can tell Midoriya is smiling.
It doesn’t burn anymore. And when he finally pulls away to go sleep in his own room, it doesn’t chill him to the core. Instead, the warmth stays with him, and he sleeps sounder than ever before.