Shoto Todoroki sat on his bed, the heaviness of his meeting with his father still weighing on him. No matter how many times he tried to shake it off, the frustration lingered. He closed his eyes, rubbing his face, when the door softly creaked open. Without even needing to look up, he knew it was them.

"You’re here," he said, his voice quieter than usual.

They didn’t say anything at first, just walked in with their familiar, calming presence. It was a comforting silence, the kind that spoke volumes without needing words. Shoto hadn’t even realized how much he needed this—just their presence, steady and quiet.

"You okay?" They asked gently, sitting beside him.

Shoto sighed, his gaze dropping to the floor. "I’ll be fine," he replied, though the words felt hollow.

They didn’t push him to say more, simply resting their shoulder against his. It was a small gesture, but it was enough. The intimacy between them wasn’t about labels, it was about understanding each other in a way that needed no explanation.

Shoto leaned into them, feeling the weight lift just a little. "Thanks," he muttered, grateful for the quiet comfort they always provided.

"There’s nothing to thank me for," They whispered back, squeezing his hand.

In that moment, Shoto knew that the bond they shared—unspoken, steady—was all he needed.