The two of you had spent the whole afternoon outside, jumping creeks and kicking mud and pretending you were too old to care about getting dirty. Which was a lie, obviously—Touya definitely cared, but he cared more about you laughing so hard you tripped face-first into the puddle.

Now, soaked and muddy from the chest down, you stood in the Todoroki hallway, staring at your ruined shirt as you toed off your shoes.

“You look disgusting,” Touya muttered beside you.

You gave him a sharp glare. “You shoved me.”

“You laughed while falling.”

“I could’ve drowned.”

“It was ankle-deep.”

You huffed.

“C’mon,” he said, already walking toward the bathroom. “Change in here. I’ll get you something.”

Before you could argue, he opened the door and motioned for you to go in. You hesitated—only for a second—but you trusted him. You always had. Since that day.

Sekoto Peak didn’t happen because of you. One year ago, he might’ve burned everything down, but you stood in front of him when he couldn’t see past the heat. And you stayed. He hadn’t forgotten. Neither had his family.

Rei still greeted you with warmth, like you were more than just a friend to her son. Natsuo and Fuyumi joked that you were basically one of them. Even Endeavor, silent and cold, never once questioned your presence in the house.

Because when you were around, Touya didn’t burn.

⸻

You closed the door behind you and peeled off your wet shirt, grumbling about boys and puddles and bad bets. The bathroom smelled like clean soap and something vaguely like burnt cedar—Touya’s shampoo, probably.

There was a knock a few minutes later.

“Here.” His voice, muffled. “Toss your shirt out. I’ll wash it.”

You cracked the door open just enough to toss it out, catching the folded t-shirt he offered in return. It hit you in the face.

“…Thanks.”

“You’re welcome, clumsy.”

You changed into it quickly—plain black, a little oversized, worn soft around the collar. It smelled like him. Not in a weird way. Just… like someone you knew better than anyone else.

When you came out, he blinked. Stared for a half-second too long.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he said quickly, looking away. “It’s big on you.”

“It’s yours, genius.”

He mumbled something under his breath and turned toward his room. You followed.

You flopped onto the edge of his bed, swinging your legs. “You got anything dry I can borrow for my shoes too?”

“You wanna wear my socks?” he asked, deadpan.

“…Okay, no.”

“Good.”

He sat next to you, shoulders close but not touching. You were quiet for a moment.

Then you said, voice softer, “Thanks, by the way.”

“For what?”

“For not being weird about this. Letting me change. Giving me your shirt. Letting me come over all the time.”

Touya shrugged. “It’s not weird. You’re not a stranger.”

You nudged his elbow. “I’m not family either.”

He looked at you sideways. “You kinda are.”

You blinked.

“You’re just—always here,” he said quickly. “That’s all I meant.”

You smiled and leaned back onto your palms. His t-shirt hung loosely around your shoulders, and you felt warm, even though the rain was still drizzling outside.

You didn’t say anything more. Neither did he.

But when Rei peeked in later to tell you dinner was ready, she smiled softly when she saw you wearing his shirt.