Touya was seventeen. Still rough around the edges, still angry in quiet, unspoken ways—but not ashes. Not lost. Not burned away like he almost had been.

You were seventeen too. And the only reason he wasn’t a name carved into stone at Sekoto Peak was because you had stood in front of him at thirteen, shaking, scared, but unmoving. Because you’d grabbed his sleeve through the heat, looked him in the eyes, and said, “You don’t have to do this. You’re not alone.”

You stayed. And he never forgot that.

Now, four years later, you were still his closest friend. Still allowed into the Todoroki house when no one else was. Still the only person he’d let see him on bad days.

The sun was starting to dip outside, warm light flooding his room through the curtains. His window was cracked open, letting in the soft summer air, and you were sprawled across the top of his bed, one leg dangling off the side. A half-folded manga was open on your chest, your eyes fluttering closed somewhere between chapter four and five.

Touya sat on the floor, back resting against the bedframe, arms loosely draped over his knees. He was supposed to be sorting through old junk—you’d offered to help clean—but you fell asleep twenty minutes in, right after finding a crumpled receipt and declaring it “treasure.”

He didn’t say anything when your breathing evened out. Didn’t poke you or call you names like he usually would’ve when you let your guard down.

He just… stayed there.

Watched the way the light hit your face. Watched your fingers twitch lightly like you were still dreaming about whatever nonsense you’d been talking about before.

You were close. Just behind him. If he leaned back a little, your knee would brush his shoulder. He didn’t.

But he wanted to.

From downstairs, he could hear the faint clink of dishes. Rei was probably getting dinner started. She always made extra when you were around—no need to ask. It was assumed.

“You still come over all the time,” he mumbled under his breath, even though you were asleep. “Even though I’m like this.”

He looked down at his hands. The same ones that used to blister without warning. The same ones that almost destroyed everything.

“You make it feel like I’m still human.”

There was no answer, of course. Just the soft rhythm of your breathing behind him. Still here. Still close.

Rei knocked gently a few minutes later and peeked in, smiling softly when she saw the two of you.

“She’s staying for dinner, I assume?” she asked quietly.

Touya nodded. “Yeah.”

Rei smiled at your sleeping form. “Good.”

Then: “She really does care about you, you know.”

“I know,” Touya said, voice low. “She always has.”

He leaned his head back against the bedframe, just barely grazing your leg. He didn’t move.

Outside, the sun slipped lower.

Inside, Touya let the silence hold him—steady, warm, and not alone.