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The boy next door isn’t allowed to come out and play.
Izuku knows this because the first time he knocked warily on the door the tall, angry man that answered told him so. Shouto, Izuku thinks the boy’s name is, also remembered from the shouting he hears sometimes. Mom says it’s bad to listen in on others, so Izuku tries not to, but—
They yell a lot, the family next door. Mostly the man. Shouto’s father.
Izuku wishes he could help, but he’s small and terrified and doesn’t know how. He’s never seen dad yell at mom. Izuku’s dad is away, mostly. He has an Important Job and an Important Career and a not-so-important son. Izuku doesn’t mind. He’s got mom. Mom’s the best.
He just wishes he wasn’t so lonely all the time.
…
The other kids at school won’t play with him. Kacchan has driven them all away by now. Izuku doesn’t mind that, either. He knows Kacchan gets just as scared as he does under all the bravery he tries to put on for everyone else. He’s known Kacchan forever, knows him better than anyone else. He’s just now starting to wonder if maybe that was a mistake.
He’s just—
Well. The loneliness just aches, sometimes. He wishes he had a friend. A friend who doesn’t insult, or kick, or punch him. A friend who isn’t ashamed of him.
Someone to share snacks with, maybe. Someone to talk about All Might with. Because All Might is cool. He’s big and strong and he saves people, protects them. Izuku wants to be big and strong like that too, one day. Someone who can protect.
Right now, he can’t even protect the lunch mom packs for him each day. When she asks, he always tells her he’s hungry because he shared his lunch with friends, and she smiles. Izuku likes that smile. It’s worth every bad thing in the world. All the hidden stolen lunches. All the kicks and the scrapes he swears he got playing with the older kids.
He loves his mom, and he wants her to be happy, at least.
…
The first time Izuku talks to the boy next door is on a sunny day in mid-March.
He witnesses him leaving his house with a backpack too large for him and seemingly all the determination of the world etched on his face.
“Hi,” Izuku says weakly, startled in the middle of putting on his boots. He’s a big kid now. He can tie his own shoes and everything. He doesn’t trip even once.
“Hello,” the boy next door says. “Who are you?”
“Mi—Midoriya Izuku,” Izuku says. The boy is—
He looks about Izuku’s age, but he’s dressed like a grownup, and his eyes look really, really sad.
“I’m Todoroki Shouto,” he says, “but I’ve decided I’m not going to be a Todoroki anymore.”
“You won’t?” Izuku asks.
The boy nods sharply once. “Yes,” he says. “I’m just going to be Shouto. That’s why—that’s why I’m going away. So I can go and be Shouto somewhere else.”
Izuku blinks. “Why can’t you be Shouto here?” he asks, finally remembering to tie the loops he’s clutching onto together and let his laces go.
“I can’t,” the boy says. “I’m not allowed.”
That sounds like a grownup thing. Izuku doesn’t know a lot about grownup things like the monthly bills mom takes care of, but he wants to help. To help the boy staring at him with sad eyes and clutching at the straps of his backpack like he’s afraid someone will rip it away from him.
“You can be Shouto with me,” he says. It comes out sounding more like a yelp, and Izuku kind of hates himself for that, but Shouto goes wide-eyed and says, softly, “I can?”
Izuku nods. “I’ll share my gummy bears with you.”
…
Shouto is Izuku’s first friend. First real friend. His mouth doesn’t twist angrily around words like Deku. Instead, he calls Izuku by name. Just that. Just his name. It feels like when he comes home after a long day and sprawls on the couch. It feels like when mom makes him hot milk with cinnamon because he can’t sleep. It feels—
Good, in a way he didn’t know was possible.
For the first time in his life, Izuku is not terrified. (Except of losing it. Of losing the tiny, stolen moments he gets being someone’s friend. Being Shouto’s friend.)
Shouto’s dad still yells a lot, but Shouto seems happier. With Izuku. Maybe—maybe because of him? Kacchan used to say he was useless, back when Izuku still paid attention to everything he said, but, seeing Shouto’s small smiles, Izuku doesn’t feel useless at all. For the first time, he feels good. Less small. More like All Might. More like he’s helping someone.
…
The first time Izuku mentions All Might to him, Shouto blinks, and says, “All Might? What’s that?”
“Oh,” Izuku says, wide-eyed and eager. “He’s this really cool superhero. He helps people. Come on, I’ll show you.” He clutches at Shouto’s sleeve without thinking, but—it’s the first time he’s touched him. The first time they’ve touched. Shouto’s hand is cold, and Izuku suddenly wants to clutch it between his own. Shouto shouldn’t be cold. He shouldn’t be uncomfortable or get yelled at or—or anything.
He deserves to be happy. Should be happy all the time. Izuku wishes he could make sure of it.
Shouto glances back at his apartment, and some of the fear Izuku wants desperately to chase away for good creeps back into his gaze. “I don’t know if I can,” he says. “If my—if he finds out he’s going to be really mad.”
“You—you don’t have to if you don’t want to,” Izuku says. He really, really wants Shouto to come over. Wants to sit and watch All Might be cool on TV and maybe even heat some food for them in the microwave, because mom lets him use it now, says he’s big enough. But if Shouto can’t—
Shouto glances back again. “I’ll come,” he says, nodding firmly once.
It’s the best day of Izuku’s life. He tells Shouto everything about All Might, and Shouto listens patiently and even says, “Wow, that’s cool,” a couple of times, and Izuku heats up snacks for them and splits them in half with Shouto, and they sit, and they watch, and they laugh, and—
It’s great. Izuku wishes every single day could be like this. Wishes Shouto never had to leave. “We could play together all the time,” he says, “if you didn’t have to leave.”
“I don’t want to,” Shouto tells him.
It feels like a secret, and it makes Izuku’s heart ache.
…
Izuku doesn’t see Shouto for a month and a half, after.
When he does, worried and clutching at the bottom seam of his shirt, Shouto has bandages wrapped around half of his face, and he’s not smiling. Not like last time.
Izuku rushes towards him without thinking. “Did—did your dad—?”
Shouto shakes his head. “My mom,” he says, bringing a hand up to the bandages. “They sent her away.”
Izuku’s heart drops all the way down to his feet. If Shouto’s alone with his dad now—
“I’ll keep you safe,” he says, even if he’s just a kid. The same age as Shouto. Even if he still sleeps with a night light. He wants to keep Shouto safe, to keep him happy, more than anything he’s ever wanted. Even more than he wants that limited edition All Might poster mom promised they could get for his birthday. He’d give up all the All Might posters of the world, just to know that Shouto is safe. That he’s not getting yelled at every day. That he’s happy.
Shouto gives Izuku a sad smile. “I don’t think you can,” he says. “I don’t think anyone can.”
Izuku decides he’s going to prove him wrong, no matter how long it takes. “I will,” he says. “I’ll find a way.” He takes Shouto’s hand—cold, still, even now—between his own, clutches it tightly and repeats, “I promise.”
Shouto stares at him, unspeaking. “I hope you do,” he says eventually, voice small.
…
Izuku finds out Shouto has a sister, that he has siblings, completely by accident.
“I’m not allowed to be around them,” he tells Izuku. “I think it’s because I’m broken.”
Izuku looks him over, heart thumping in his chest as he checks Shouto over for wounds. “What did you break?”
Shouto shrugs, seemingly in one piece. “I don’t know,” he says. “But—he probably does. He’s the one that won’t let me be around them.”
“You’re not broken, Shouto-kun,” he says. He’s usually very scared to say anything at all. But with Shouto, he wants to be brave. Mom says that’s what you do for the people you love. And surely, Izuku must love Shouto a lot. He should tell him. “You’re whole. And you’re my friend and I—I love you. A lot. So don’t be sad. Please.”
Shouto blinks, and then goes very, very still. “You—love me?” he echoes back.
Izuku nods once firmly, cheeks red. “Yes,” he says. “I—I do.”
“No one has ever told me that before,” he says. “No one besides my mom. By then even she said—and they—they sent her away and I—I think I’m alone now.”
Izuku shakes his head. “No,” he says. “You’re not alone. You have me, Shouto-kun.”
Shouto looks at Izuku like it’s the first time he’s really seeing him. “I have you,” he repeats, and he looks—he looks a little less sad, and maybe that’s enough. Maybe that’s what helping people is really like.
Maybe Izuku is a little more like All Might now. It feels like it, if Shouto’s happier because of him.
…
They’ve known each other for more than a year when Izuku blurts, carefree because the weather is warm and Shouto’s father is away and they have a day to themselves and he’s never seen Shouto smile this often, “Shouto-kun, when we grow up, I’ll marry you.”
Shouto’s face goes red. “You’ll what?”
Izuku stops chasing after him, stills himself too. “I said I’ll make sure you’re safe, so—I’ll marry you. So I can be sure. So we can be happy together.”
Shouto considers this very seriously. Then, he says, “Fine, we can get married then. If you’ll still want to when we’re older.”
“I’ll always want to,” Izuku says, sure of it with every inch of his small body. He’s always going to want to see Shouto happy, to make him happy. That won’t change with the seasons, or with his height, or with the snacks mom packs for his lunch. Even when he’s as big as mom and dad, he’ll still want to be Shouto’s friend, to see him smile. “You’re my best friend, Shouto-kun.”
Shouto considers this very seriously too. Izuku wonders if that’s the only way he knows how, if that’s why he wants to see Shouto’s smile so desperately. Because it’s a rare thing, no matter how much time they spend together, no matter how often he sees it. It still feels like a rare thing.
“You’re my best friend too, Izuku,” he says, and Izuku’s heart swells. “Can we still be best friends after we get married?”
Izuku nods. “Of course,” he says, taking both of Shouto’s hands into his own. “Of course we’ll still be best friends after we get married.”
Shouto smiles at him. It feels warmer than the sun.
…
When they grow up, it goes like this—
They don’t get married, but they do go to high school together, and then pick out colleges close by and Izuku kisses Shouto for the first time the day before they’re set to leave, watches him bring a hand up to his mouth as if he can’t quite believe it, and then kisses him again just because he can, because Shouto lets him, because Shouto chooses him, wants him.
It’s a start, and it’s theirs.
(It’s all Izuku could ever, ever need. Shouto, his. His best friend and more, forever. Just like they promised.)