Shoto Todoroki had never given much thought to love. Not in school, not in internships, not even during those late-night patrols where he sometimes found himself staring up at the stars, wondering what was missing. He figured it would happen eventually, whenever it was meant to. He just hadn’t expected “eventually” to come in the form of his quiet neighbor from 4B.

They only ever crossed paths in the hall or the elevator. The man — broad-shouldered, perpetually in black, and always carrying the scent of fresh laundry or cigarette smoke (he couldn’t tell which) — never said much. Just a curt nod. Maybe a “Hey,” if Todoroki caught him in a good mood. Most people didn’t affect Todoroki, not deeply, but something about this guy stuck in his mind longer than it should’ve.

At first, Shoto chalked it up to curiosity. The man was…mysterious. Stoic. Definitely older. And there was something grounding about the way he moved — like he wasn’t easily fazed. Shoto, who lived in a world of chaos and over-excitement, noticed the contrast immediately. It made him linger near the mailboxes longer than he needed to. It made him memorize the guy’s footsteps down the hall.

Still, it wasn’t until a Friday evening at a small hero gathering — mostly classmates and agency colleagues — that it hit him square in the chest.

“You get real quiet when you talk about him,” Mina had said, slurping a neon cocktail and squinting at him like she’d solved a math problem. “You know, that guy in your building? What’s his name?”

“I don’t know his name,” Shoto replied honestly, as he had felt the tip of his ear grow hot. “He doesn’t talk much.”

“Oh my god,” Kaminari chimed in, grinning. “You’ve got a crush.”

Shoto had blinked. “That’s not—”

“It is,” Mina cut him off, grinning. “It so is. You talk about him like he’s a storm cloud you want to stand under.”

Later that night, back in his apartment, Shoto found himself by the window, arms crossed, heart annoyingly unsettled. A crush? Him? On that guy?

But then he remembered how his neighbor’s voice, low and a little rough, sounded like gravel in the morning. How his shoulders flexed when he adjusted the strap of his bag. How he once held the elevator door with one hand, coffee in the other, and gave Shoto a glance that lingered just a second too long.

It clicked then, embarrassingly fast.

He did have a crush.

And now that he knew it, every elevator ride became a small battlefield — awkward silences, subtle glances, unspoken words pressing between them like static.

Shoto wasn’t used to this kind of uncertainty. Fighting villains was easier than figuring out how to say “Hi” like a normal person.

But maybe — just maybe — he’d ask the guy his name tomorrow.

Maybe he’d even smile.