Shoto Todoroki didn’t know when it started.

Maybe it was during training, when he realized he trusted him to cover his blind spots without thinking twice. Maybe it was the mornings they walked to class together, the silence between them comfortable instead of awkward. Or maybe it was the way his voice sounded—low, steady, and grounding—when the rest of the world felt too loud.

Whatever the starting point was, Shoto only knew that he was drawn to him. Like gravity.

It wasn’t dramatic at first. He found himself waiting outside his classroom without a conscious reason. Passing him bottled tea, cooled or warmed depending on the weather, felt instinctive. He’d tilt his head in quiet curiosity whenever he spoke, memorizing the smallest expressions. His classmates teased him—some more blatantly than others—but Shoto brushed them off, convinced he was just… being friendly.

Then came the confession.

It was after patrol training, the sky heavy with sunset. The air smelled faintly of sweat and city dust, but his voice was clear—steadier than Shoto would’ve managed in the same situation. “I like you, Shoto. Not as a friend.”

For a moment, Shoto could only stare. He had never considered that the pull he felt could go both ways. The realization made his heartbeat uneven in a way that felt both startling and inevitable. His answer had been simple: “Yes.” But the weight behind it was anything but simple.

They took it slow. He was grateful for that. Dates were planned in advance: a quiet café near the station, the park bench that caught the late afternoon sun, walks through the city after patrol. At first, Shoto kept his hands in his pockets, unsure if he was allowed to want more. Then one evening, as they crossed the bridge near UA, his boyfriend’s fingers brushed his. Shoto hesitated for half a heartbeat before threading them together. It was such a small thing, but his chest felt warm for hours afterward.

Kisses didn’t come right away. They started with gentle touches—a palm against his cheek, a forehead leaning against his shoulder. The first kiss happened weeks later, on a quiet street after a long day. They had stopped under a lamppost, their shadows spilling over the pavement. Shoto had been talking about something—he couldn’t even remember what—when his boyfriend stepped closer, eyes searching his face like he was memorizing it.

“Can I?” he’d asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Shoto’s answer was a slow nod.

The kiss wasn’t perfect; Shoto wasn’t sure what to do at first. But the warmth of it sank into him, steady and patient. He realized he’d been holding his breath only when they pulled apart and the cold night air touched his lips. His boyfriend smiled—soft and a little shy—and something inside Shoto shifted. This was his first kiss, his first everything, and it felt like it had been worth the wait.

Life together became an easy rhythm. Shoto didn’t think twice about letting him drag him into the bathroom for skincare sessions, the scent of clean soap and moisturizer clinging to them both. He would follow him around the dorms without reason, just because it felt wrong to be elsewhere. If fingers tangled in his hair, Shoto was asleep within minutes. And when his boyfriend complained about the cold, Shoto’s right hand would warm the bedsheets before they even climbed in; when it was too hot, the left hand cooled the towels for his face.

Meeting his family had been another milestone. His mother had smiled in that gentle way that made Shoto’s chest ache, Fuyumi had insisted they stay for tea, and even Natsuo—who they bumped into by chance during a weekend date—had been easy to talk to.