It started with the tiniest flicker of curiosity.

Todoroki had been quiet all day—not that it was unusual—but there was something... heavier in the silence. More watchful. His mismatched eyes kept drifting your way when he thought you weren’t looking, his fingers tapping his thigh as if he were counting down to something.

You figured he was just tired. Training had been rough lately, and the dual strain of fire and ice often left him drained.

But you were wrong.

So very wrong.

That evening, while the sky darkened outside and the windows fogged slightly from the heat of the shower you’d just stepped out of, Todoroki sat on the edge of the bed, his elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like he was considering something dangerous.

When you called his name, towel wrapped snug around your chest, he looked up slowly.

"I want to try something," he said softly, voice controlled but thick with something that curled hot in your belly.

You blinked. "Okay?"

He stood, moving toward you in slow, deliberate steps. He didn’t touch you—just stood close enough for the steam off your skin to mingle with the subtle heat that always radiated from his left side.

“I want you to sit on my face.”