You didn’t knock. You never did.

Shoto had stopped locking his door a while ago—maybe because he knew it wouldn’t matter when it came to you. So you walked straight into his dorm after classes, tossed your bag on the floor, and climbed onto his bed like it was yours. He barely reacted.

He lay there, one arm behind his head, staring at the ceiling like it held answers. You flopped beside him with a sigh and curled against his side, your head landing squarely on his stomach.

He stiffened immediately.

You ignored it.

“I need affection,” you groaned dramatically, your voice muffled by his hoodie. “I need attention. Pleaaaaaase.”

Shoto didn’t speak. You glanced up to see him blinking at you like you were a new species of alien. But he didn’t move away.

Progress.

You closed your eyes and let your warmth sink into him. Not fire—just body heat. The kind that soothed, that healed. The kind he still didn’t know how to ask for.

It had always been like this. You and Shoto—same age, same face, but cut from opposite sides of the fire and ice. Where he was quiet and cold, you were bold and soft. You weren’t afraid to reach for people. You needed to. After a long day, after the weight of your Quirk settled in your bones and threatened to burn you from the inside out, this—this—was how you coped.

Touch. Warmth. Family.

But even now, your siblings watched you like you might fall apart any second. You saw it in Natsuo’s tense smile, in Fuyumi’s nervous hovering. They never said it, but you knew.

You reminded them of Touya. Too much flame. Too much power. Too many memories of skin turned to ash. You didn’t blame them. But it hurt.

Endeavor never trained you. Maybe he was scared. Maybe he didn’t think you were worth it. After Touya, after him, it was like the fire in the Todoroki household became something to fear. Even when it was yours.

Shoto, though… He was different. He didn’t coddle you. Didn’t treat you like you might vanish. But he still didn’t know how to handle you.

Especially like this—when you were clinging to him, demanding affection like your life depended on it.

“You’re heavy,” he said flatly, staring down at you.

You grinned into his hoodie. “No, I’m comforting. I’m the emotional support twin.”

Shoto rolled his eyes, but his hand twitched like he wanted to move. To push you away. Or maybe… to touch you back.

You didn’t make him choose. You just breathed in the scent of clean fabric and subtle smoke, and stayed still.

“I’m not Touya,” you murmured. “My body’s not breaking. You don’t have to be scared of me.”

“I’m not scared of you,” he said quietly. “I’m scared of what happens to people like us.”

That stopped you.

Because it wasn’t about you. It was about him, too.

You opened your eyes. His face was unreadable, but his hand was slowly, awkwardly resting on your shoulder now. It didn’t move, just settled there like he didn’t know what to do with it. But he wasn’t pulling away.

So you reached up, grabbed his cold hand, and held it. He didn’t flinch. You squeezed gently. “I’m right here, Shoto. I’m not gonna burn out.”