When Izuku got home from the train station, he locked himself in his room and burrowed under his blankets, his phone clutched tightly in his hand like a lifeline. He tried not to bombard Shouto with texts, but the fear and anxiety gnawed at his stomach and sent his mind reeling.

Can you let me know when you get home?

Shouto hadn't responded. Izuku waited, figuring maybe he just hadn't checked his phone when he got home. Or maybe he was confronted by Endeavor and something happened and-

Izuku squeezed his eyes shut and took a deep breath. He couldn't let his mind wander, not with this.

He unlocked his phone and sent another text.

Everything good?

Simple enough, and if Shouto hadn't seen the first, he'd see this one for sure. Right?

But five minutes, ten minutes, twenty, thirty, no response.

Izuku called his phone. Straight to voicemail.

Maybe he was taking a nap. Shouto took naps, right?

Izuku waited five minutes before calling again-and, again, straight to his voicemail.

He rolled over onto his stomach and stared at his texts, left unread. The image of Shouto smiling at him before the doors closed flashed in his mind and his heartrate spiked.

He called again, sighing in frustration when he heard the generic voicemail.

Shouto was okay, he told himself. He's okay. Maybe he's just out for a run or his phone died or he's in the shower.

He started making a list of all the things Shouto could be doing instead of returning his calls or texts.

It only kind of distracted him but mostly it made him more frustrated, the anxiety spiking into his chest, his heart beating rapidly in his ears.

One more time, he'd call one more time, and then he's hopping on the next train.

Izuku pressed his phone to his ear, his hands clenched tight. When he heard the voicemail again, he sat bolt upright, tossing his blanket aside.

He practically sprinted out of his room, rushing down the hallway. As he slipped his shoes on and grabbed his backpack, he sent a quick, last-minute text to his mom:

Went to Todoroki's. See you soon

-x-

When Shouto stepped through the front door, he could immediately sense the tension in the air, like the calm before a storm. He hung his backpack by the door and slipped off his shoes, padding quietly through the hallway towards the stairs.

As he passed by the large dining room entryway, he paused. Sitting at the head of the table, his back to Shouto, was Enji, his shoulders squared. His flames were burning low, warm orange light bouncing around the dimly lit room.

"Sit," was all he said.

Shouto bit back a retort and instead moved into the dining room, taking his time to quietly walk to the other end of the dining table. And maybe he shouldn't have tried to be so petty, with his father quietly fuming, but he made a point to stand beside the chair at the opposite end of the table. Enji's scowl deepened, his mouth pressed in a thin line.

Shouto bit the inside of his cheek, waiting.

"I told you not to leave," Enji said, his voice low.

Shouto knew he should feel afraid on some level, but he just felt tired. Exhausted. He wasn't done fighting but he wanted to be.

"You did," was all Shouto said.

Enji placed his hands on the table in front of him, his palms searing marks into the ornate wood.

"You were gone all night," Enji said, clenching his fists, "and you missed your training this morning."

Shouto didn't respond. Enji hadn't asked him anything directly, more or less, so he didn't feel the need to speak.

Enji's flames flickered, and he pushed himself up from the table. "I'm sick of your attitude," he growled, towering over Shouto even from across the table, "I'm sick of your complacency."

Shouto lifted an eyebrow and leaned against the table. "I came here for my break to train," he said, his voice sounding far more confident than he felt. "So far, I've spent most of my time waiting for you to come home." He paused, crossing his arms over his chest. "You're wasting my time."

Blood rushed in his ears, trepidation settling over him, his pulse racing. Enji stared down at him, his expression unreadable.

After what seemed like an eternity, Enji opened his mouth to speak.

"You want to train at my agency," he said plainly, his tone contemplative.

Shouto blinked. "More or less," he said.

Enji folded his arms over his chest, contemplating Shouto. "You already have. When you receive your provisional license, then you can join me there again."

Shouto opened his mouth to speak, but Enji held his hand up. He closed his mouth with a click, waiting.

"Wherever you were last night, whatever you were doing," Enji started, and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath, "I was worried."

Shouto blanched, staring wide-eyed at his father. At the man who had never expressed concern over his well-being, at the man-the monster-who had ruined his childhood and separated him from his mother. At the man who pushed him to the breaking point and still demanded more.

"Never again," his father said, his tone taking a much sharper edge. "If you ever-"

"You're lying," Shouto said, his eyes suddenly widening.

Enji stared, and then his expression darkened. He stepped closer, looming over Shouto, everything from his posture to his expression was hostile.

Shouto stood to his full height, squaring his shoulders, gritting his teeth. He wasn't trying to match his father's energy-he'd never be able to, he knew that-he was trying to counter it, find his own strength and fling it back at him.

Neither of them moved, neither said a word. The tension between them was swelled to bursting, and Shouto knew if he didn't strike first, then-

Enji's arm shot out, reaching for Shouto. He pushed the chair beside him forward, between them, and dodged to the side. But as Enji's fist smashed the chair to pieces, the flames enveloping his arm grazed Shouto's shoulder, singing the fabric of his sweatshirt.

Before Enji could strike again, Shouto leapt forward, vaulting over the table, trying to keep a barrier between them. And then he activated his Quirk, a thin layer of ice mapping its way across the floor, the table, climbing up the walls. The further it grew, the thicker it became, icicles forming on the ceiling, wrapping around and engulfing the chandelier overhead, thin as needles. Shouto left a wide arc around Enji, though he was sure his flames were keeping it at bay.

"Don't pretend to care now," Shouto said, his voice low. He suddenly noticed the significant drop in temperature, the puffs of mist escaping his lips. "And don't pretend to be something you're not."

Enji's flames grew a little higher, burned a little hotter. But he didn't say a word. He studied Shouto, his expression almost thoughtful.

Shouto opened his mouth to speak again, but almost choked on his words when the doorbell rang, echoing through the house.

-x-

Izuku had his gaze forced on the ground, one crooked finger hovering over the doorbell. He was silently cursing his damned hero complex while simultaneously praying that he got the right address when he heard the distinct click! of the door being unlocked.

He snapped his head up and swallowed thickly, fighting down waves of anxiety and trying to steady his heartbeat-which hadn't slowed since he sprinted from the station.

The door opened, just a crack, and there was an audible gasp. Izuku's heart lodged in his throat when he looked up to find Shouto staring owlishly at him from the crack in the door, his mouth opening and closing, trying to find something to say.

"You didn't answer your phone," Izuku blurted before catching his bottom lip between his teeth, trying to silence himself.

Shouto threw a quick glance over his shoulder before slowly looking back at Izuku.

"I literally just got home," Shouto said, his voice hushed. "I would've called sooner but I was visiting my mom."

Izuku's eyes widened with realization. "I'm-" he started, but Shouto shook his head sharply.

"I'm glad you came, actually, but-" Shouto stopped himself, pressing his mouth into a thin line.

And then Izuku heard the approaching footsteps.

"It's just a friend from school," Shouto sighed, exasperated.

The door was yanked open, and Izuku had to crane his neck back to stare into the eyes of Endeavor, the Number Two Hero.

If he hadn't known who this man was or what he'd done, he might've asked for an autograph.

But now it was like a switch had been flipped, and Izuku felt that hatred course through him again.

"Nice to meet you," Izuku said, his voice tight, his expression far from friendly.

He could feel Shouto's eyes on him, urging him to shut up, but he didn't care. He squared his shoulders and stood to his fullest height.

Endeavor simply gazed at him, his face hard set.

"You should leave," he said, a sharp edge to his voice. "Call before barging into someone's home."

"I rang the doorbell, actually," Izuku said simply.

At the sharp glint in Endeavor's eye, Izuku felt a pang of fear in his gut. But it wasn't lost on him that Endeavor cared too much about his image, that Izuku had been broadcast on live television across the country. If anything, he was untouchable.

And on the off chance that he wasn't, he had the Number One Hero on speed-dial.

But Endeavor simply sniffed, turning his back on them.

"Shouto," he said over his shoulder, casting a glare in Izuku's direction. "I expect to see you at five AM sharp. Don't be late."

Shouto stared after his father, watching him leave. When he finally turned, his shoulders sagged, and he blinked at Izuku, his face blank.

Shouto ushered him outside, quietly closing the door behind them.

He was quiet for a moment, simply staring at Izuku.

"Uh," Izuku said.

"I don't know what that was," Shouto said, turning his focus on the front door of his home, "but it's thanks to you."

Izuku swallowed. "Is that good or bad or...?"

"Good," Shouto said, quickly nodding. "Definitely good."

Izuku let out a deep breath, running his hand through his hair. "Great. Because I probably should've watched my mouth or-"

"No," Shouto said, and he gave Izuku a small smile. Izuku snapped his mouth shut. "I think you did just fine."

Izuku returned his smile, and opened his mouth to say something else-but stopped when something caught his eye.

"What happened?" Izuku asked, his hand reaching for Shouto's shoulder, his eyes glued to the singed fabric.

Shouto followed his gaze, pouting in confusion. "What? Oh." His eyes widened slightly, and he nodded. "That's new."

"Yeah, I don't think I gave you a burned sweatshirt," Izuku said, frowning.

Shouto met his gaze, reaching up to tug Izuku's hand off of his shoulder; it didn't go unnoticed that he held the connection, and Izuku silently cursed as heat rushed to his cheeks, staining them red.

"It's okay," Shouto said, giving Izuku's fingers a light squeeze before letting them go.

Izuku's hand fell heavy at his side. "It's not."

"I'm okay," Shouto reiterated, turning to face Izuku completely. "Nothing happened."

Izuku's eyebrows pulled together, disbelieving.

"Okay, something happened," Shouto said, stuffing his hands in the pockets of the sweatshirt. "He was ticked when I got back, and blew up." At Izuku's look, he tacked on, "He didn't actually blow up."

"So, what happened?" Izuku asked, forcing his gaze on Shouto's face instead of the burned fabric. The image of the bruises on Shouto's arms flashed in his mind and chills snaked across his skin. "Before I showed up."

Shouto glanced to the side. "You showed up before anything actually happened," he said, his voice quiet. "I may or may not have called him out, though."

"On what?" Izuku pressed.

Shouto lifted his shoulder in a shrug. "Being a shit dad."

Izuku blinked.

Shouto was quiet, then, and didn't try to meet Izuku's gaze.

Izuku watched him, his eyes flicking from his scar to the burned sweatshirt, something rising in his chest, swelling like a balloon.

"Stay with me," he blurted, taking a step towards Shouto.

Shouto tensed, his heterochromatic eyes meeting Izuku's, unblinking.

"Shouto, you can't stay here," Izuku said, gripped by a sudden sense of urgency. "At least not by yourself."

Shouto's eyes widened slightly, but he remained silent, his mouth pressed into a hard line.

"If you stay," Izuku started, his voice growing softer; he reached out and gingerly wrapped his crooked fingers around Shouto's wrist. "This is going to get worse." He gazed at his scarred hand, his heartbeat like a steady drum in his ears.

Shouto relaxed minutely, his wrist going slack in Izuku's grip.

Izuku looked up to find Shouto staring at him, thoughtful.

"I know," he finally said.

They were quiet for a few short moments before Shouto reached up with his other hand to gently pry Izuku's fingers free. Again, he held the connection.

"I'll just go back to the dorms early-"

"I'll go with you," Izuku said, probably too quickly.

Shouto's head shot up. "But your mom-"

"She'll be fine," he said with a flippant wave. "Remember what I said? I didn't want you to be alone for your whole break."

Shouto's eyebrows pulled together. "I haven't been. But you don't have to go back early just because of me."

"I know," Izuku said.

Shouto contemplated Izuku, idly running his thumb over Izuku's twisted knuckle.

"We can leave tomorrow morning," Izuku said, staring down at their hands. "Break's almost over anyways."

"You're okay with that?" Shouto asked.

Izuku looked up, then, and smiled.

"Yeah," he said.

"Sorry," Shouto said, and it almost seemed like a knee-jerk reaction. Izuku's chest tightened.

"For what?" Izuku asked.

Shouto was quiet for a moment, and then he let go of Izuku's hand, taking a small step back.

"Making you worry," he said.

Izuku stared. "Shouto," he said, and at his tone, Shouto looked up. "When you left, it took everything in me not to jump on the train with you."

Shouto blinked, his lips parting in surprise.

Izuku took a short breath before pressing on. "And when you didn't answer your phone, I couldn't talk myself out of coming over here just to make sure you were okay."

Shouto simply stared, waiting.

"You don't need to apologize for other people worrying about you," Izuku said, the words tumbling out of his mouth before he could even process what he was saying. "If I'm worried, it's because I care about you."

As soon as the words flew out of his mouth, Izuku felt the urge to be embarrassed, expected the blood to rush to his face. But almost simultaneously the realization dawned on him that he didn't need to be embarrassed for his confession, because it already seemed like they were past that point, anyways. Just mere seconds ago, they were holding hands. Last night, they had been so close , their noses touching.

Izuku felt the sudden urge to wrap his arms around Shouto, then, and never let him go.

Shouto, on the other hand, was still staring, wide-eyed. The faintest hint of red colored his cheeks.

"I'll-uh," Shouto sputtered, the red in his cheeks going a few shades darker. "I'll go get my stuff."