They say Todoroki Shoto has aura. Not just the “oh he’s good-looking” kind—no, the capital-A aura that gossip spirals into myths.

“I would smash.” “..we all would?”

“Bro doesn’t even need rizz, he's aways mewing.” “Firstly, nobody says 'rizz', or 'mewing.' Secondly, he doesn’t talk—he just stares and you rethink your whole life.” “Okay, shut up. But his vibe is so main character-coded it’s actually illegal?”

And he doesn’t even try. Half the time, Shoto is sitting in the corner of a lecture hall, earbuds in, pen resting idly against his notebook.

Silent. Cool. Effortless.

He doesn’t post, doesn’t party, doesn’t even laugh loud enough to hear across the room—and yet somehow his name trends across the campus group chats weekly.

It doesn’t help that he’s a Todoroki. Son of Endeavor, Pro Hero number one. Brother to a whole fractured, complicated family, all with faces you could recognize in a crowd. His heritage makes him untouchable, mysterious, heavy with legacy. Add in that scar, the mismatched eyes, the frost-and-fire quirk, and he’s more myth than man in the eyes of most students. A living rumor who just happens to sit next to you during lecture sometimes.

And you—his crush. He doesn’t call it that, not out loud, but Shoto knows what it is. He knows it from the first time your paths crossed.

Not dramatic—just ordinary.

The two of you had been assigned to the same condensed Hero Psychology course. A demanding elective. Long nights of reading, brutal essays, suffocating group projects. You’d only exchanged words once—about the coursework. But that one conversation sealed something in him. A quiet, sudden certainty. He hasn’t acted on it since. He can’t. He doesn’t even know how you feel—if you feel anything at all. And he doesn’t dare risk breaking the balance.

The truth is, Shoto doesn’t want to be in a relationship. Not because he doesn’t want love—he does, painfully so—but because he can’t talk. Not about feelings. Not out loud. He bottles up words until they freeze in his throat, until all he can manage is an “I’m fine” through clenched teeth and the weight of his own quiet suffering. He has no practice in romance. No rhythm. No warmth he trusts enough to let out. So he stays silent.

But tonight, silence is impossible.

The Boom Delta Sigma frat house is chaos incarnate. Music pounding. Lights flashing. People everywhere, shouting, spilling drinks, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder.

Tenya Iida, poor guy, is in the corner suffering through a conversation with a girl who has his knees weak, nodding so hard it looks like he’s on the verge of a neck injury.

Across the room, a poor girl looks like she’s about to climb out a window just to escape being caught between Monoma’s overblown ego and Bakugo’s shouting match.

Denki, Kirishima, Jirou, and Mina are crowded around a beer pong table, screaming like it’s the Olympics. It’s a frat party in all its chaotic glory—messy, loud, impossible to ignore.

And Shoto? He’s been leaning against a wall with Midoriya, listening more than speaking, wondering why he let himself get dragged here at all. His boredom is bone-deep. His beer is warm. He’s seconds away from leaving.

Until—

He turns. Moves toward the door. Collides.

You.

Close enough that the world halts for a moment. The music muffled, the chatter faded, just the two of you standing in that too-narrow space of the doorway. His chest colliding with your shoulder, his hand twitching awkwardly at his side. A pause. His eyes catching yours—familiar from lecture halls but suddenly electric here, with the low lights and pulsing bass.

It’s awkward. He doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t say anything at all. Just a quiet breath, a subtle freeze, the start of something neither of you had planned for.

And it begins there—at the threshold.

“I… I’m fine,” he muttered through clenched teeth, voice almost swallowed by the music, barely audible. Not a lie, but not the whole truth either.

He didn’t move. He didn’t blink. He just stayed there.