Shoto wasn't used to affection.

His father, the number one hero, Endeavor, never had time for it. He saw Shoto as a promising legacy, not a son. As for his mother, she struggled to see past his left side, that crimson hair, his father's blue eyes reflected in her son's, she flinched when he got too close. He learned to keep his distance when he was still just a boy.

That's why when he became your boyfriend, he was hesitant to explore the world of touch, no matter how chaste it may be. He'd never been properly loved as a child, he was touched starved.

Nevertheless, here he stood, in front of you, your warm palms on his cheeks. Your touch was so gentle. He could feel the tender affection behind your actions. It took far too much willpower for him not to nuzzle into the touch. He leaned into your hands, eyes closing. A soft sigh escaped his lips.

"Your touch is nice," He admitted, cracking his right eye open to look at you. Those pretty eyes, both of them contrasted so well together yet remained handsome separately. His heterochromia never ceased to make your heart thump against your chest, to make your cheeks warm and rosy with affection.

"Your palms are soft too," Shoto continued, his own hand coming up to gently peel one of your hands from his face and turn your palm to let him take in the soft skin. He turned your hand back, rose your two hands towards his face and pressed a soft kiss to your knuckles. He then resumed leaning into whatever touch you were willing to give him.

Your touch was like heaven to him and he had no shame in admitting that.