(A/N: Welcome back, Izuku! Here's the fluff before the storm. It's really coming next time, folks.)

It's three months to the day after the Olympics when Todoroki Rei moves out of the hospital and into Shouto and Fuyumi's small, two bedroom apartment.

For Izuku, the time drags on at a snail's pace, and he knows he's not the only one. Shouto is fidgety when he visits him at the hospital during the week and a half he spends there, which could be chalked up to the anxiety of seeing his friend in hospital, but he's still buzzing with nervous energy when Izuku comes home, and he knows he wasn't the only one experiencing the slow drag of time. Waiting for something that only it can bring.

Still, now that he's here, he's not sure where those three months went, the physical therapy and check-ups are little more than a blur in his mind's-eye when he wakes up to the sun filling his room in the middle of February and something in him knows it's come out just for Shouto's mom.

His own mom lets Izuku tag along for the move, but he is absolutely-definitely-under-no-circumstance allowed to lift anything.

It's only a small box, Izuku thinks as he shifts both of his crutches to rest under his right arm and lifts what is actually a medium to large sized box out of the backseat of Fuyumi's Subaru and onto his shoulder. He's glad his mother seems to have hit the traffic they'd narrowly missed on the way from the hospital. He doesn't want to worry her, but he's totally got this. It's only three flights of stairs up to the door and the box isn't that heavy, and what's the point of even coming if he's not going to help.

He's almost regretting his decision by the time he's trudged up all three floors and is standing in front of Fuyumi and Shouto's door. There's an ache in his shoulder and he's accidentally put weight on his ankle multiple times, but all of his complaints fall out the window at the sight that greets him from the open doorway.

There are boxes strewn around the living room, half opened and forgotten, it seems. An old case style record player is set up on the counter and a song that Izuku's never heard before fills the room. It doesn't matter if he knows it or not, he's captivated by the way Rei-san twirls around the room, carefree and graceful, and, when she pulls Shouto into the middle of the floor and leads him in an awkward dance that's just a few beats behind, it's Izuku's own heart that skips a beat at the sound that escapes Shouto's lips and the way those lips are pulled taut across his rosy cheeks.

Izuku thinks he'd live the last three months ten times over if it means he could see that smile on Shouto's face at the end. To hear him laugh, just like that, he'd do it again and again and again.

It's a million miles away from the boy who'd shown up, pale-faced and thin-lipped, at his door following his first visit with Rei-san a year ago, after the court petition for visitations had finally gone through. There'd been hope in his eyes though, hope that he and his mother could move forward, build a new relationship free of Enji's heavy hand. It's that hope that Izuku did his best to cultivate, watering it with encouraging words and an open ear, bringing it light with his widest smiles.

When he finally had the privilege of meeting Rei-san, three months ago, just before the Olympics, wary and anxious, it was the light in Shouto's eyes and the warm, grateful smile on his mother's face, that fizzled the nerves right out of him.

(It didn't stop him from turning bright red when Rei-san thanked him for bringing her son back to her. There was that word, hero, again, and, even if Izuku didn't totally agree, watching Shouto and his mother sharing easy words and even easier smiles, he couldn't help but feel proud of the role he did play, grateful that every little piece fell into place so that he could meet Todoroki Shouto.)

He doesn't know how long he stands there, glued to his spot as he watches mother and son dance, so many long avoided emotions escaping and filling the room with each turn. Soon though, Fuyumi is there, and he doesn't miss the wet sparkle of her eyes as her mother pulls her into the room and a dance of their own.

Izuku's eyes follow Shouto as he continues to spin and move his hips to the melody and he knows he's never been more in love; until, that is, Shouto opens his eyes to find Izuku looking at him. The smirk on his face screams trouble and Izuku yelps when Shouto shimmies closer and pulls him into a fumbling dance of their own, Izuku's cast and crutches leaving him with little more to do than sway back and forth as he leans into Shouto. It doesn't matter though, all Izuku knows is Shouto, Shouto, Shouto, and, if they weren't in the presence of his family, he thinks he'd lean up and kiss those lips that must ache from being stretched so wide for so long. Izuku's certainly do.

The sound of a loud sniffle breaks the spell and brings them all back to the present, four heads turning to the doorway, where his mom is failing to hold back tears and even Yagi's eyes are a little wet.

(Izuku doesn't miss the tender way Yagi holds Inko to his side, hunched a little so he can wrap a protective arm around her shoulders. It's not the first time he wonders if there's something between them. He can't help but hope there is.)

It's Rei-san who laughs and welcomes them in, a flustered Inko who offers to make lunch, and Shouto who still has an arm wrapped around Izuku's waist. Everyone is smiling and happy and Izuku knows it can't get any better than this.

Two months pass by in a flurry of healing and school prep, and Izuku doesn't even have a chance to worry that he won't be seeing as much of Shouto now that Rei-san is back. If anything, he's seeing more of him. What with the tri-weekly family dinners that his mother hosts and Shouto needing a place to sleep with his own mother taking his room and all. Plus, Ochako left for university in September, a semester earlier than Izuku and Shouto since she hadn't participated in the Olympics. Izuku misses her, but he's fine, better than, really, savoring all the time he's getting to spend with his best friend without his girlfriend around to distract him.

That's probably how they end up on calling it quits a week after he and Shouto have moved into the dorms at MU, deciding it would be better to explore the world separately while they're so far apart. Izuku isn't as upset about it as he thinks he should be, but he doesn't really take the opportunity presented to him either.

Or any of the ones for the following three years. Despite the fact that he and Shouto decide they should probably just share a dorm after they spend their first semester tormenting each other's roommates with frequent sleepovers, late night study sessions, and countless hour-long debates over whatever obscure topic one of them has dug up recently. Needless to say, both roommates request transfers and it only makes sense for them to room together.

It's not like Izuku has never shared a room with Shouto, they'd practically lived together for the last two years anyway, but something about the lack of parental presence makes their first few weeks together absolute torture. He's suddenly hyper-aware of the space between them when they are studying on Shouto's bed and he can't help but shake and blush when they share late-night ramen because they were both too busy to remember dinner. There's something so intimate and romantic about it and Izuku doesn't think he's going to last much longer.

At first, he doesn't say anything out of respect for his relationship with Ochako. They were together for a long time and it doesn't seem appropriate to jump right into another relationship, no matter how long he's been holding back his feelings.

Then, it's the newness of being on their own. Everything is bright and shiny and they have the whole world in front of them. Something about it leaves Izuku feeling like a kid with his first crush again, which just so happens to be Shouto anyway, so he doesn't mind savoring the fluttering wings of butterflies in his stomach at the sight of Shouto's heavy eyes and the sound of his sleepy voice wishing him good night.

(He's also still pretty positive that Shouto doesn't see him that way. They're just best friends. He'll tell him one day, but for now, he's happy growing up with Shouto.)

Eventually, the excitement fades, and Izuku finds himself too busy with exams and essays and study groups, to worry about his feelings for Shouto. Shouto's just as busy anyway, but they still make time for late-night ramen and weekly movie nights with their shrinking group of friends from high school and sometimes new ones that someone (usually Izuku) invites to join.

Sophomore year flies by with little fanfare, save for the winter break that they spend at Izuku's. They somehow find themselves sipping hot chocolate alone on the porch on Christmas Eve, watching the snow fall against the deep purple sky. Shouto's eyes are literally twinkling and his scarf is pulled up over his mouth, but Izuku knows he's smiling and the warm flush and wide smile on Izuku's own face are all his fault.

(He almost tells him then, but it's such a pretty moment and he doesn't want to ruin it. So, he's selfish -or maybe it would be selfish to tell him- and tucks the moment into the ever-growing space in his heart labeled Shouto.)

There's also spring break when Yagi suggests they go for a family hike. He is officially part of the family now, he and Inko having finally admitted they'd been dating over a year at dinner shortly after Shouto and Izuku returned for summer break. Though, if he's being honest, he's been family to Izuku since the first time he told him he had potential.

They're on said hike, when Izuku almost sprains his bad ankle because he doesn't notice the thick root protruding out of the ground in the middle of the trail, too busy staring at the way Shouto's t-shirt sticks to his back and emphasizes the muscles there. His ankle does swell and ache, though, so he spends the rest of the week taking it easy and avoiding the knowing look in Fuyumi's eyes. She had been standing right next to him, after all.

(Of course, he doesn't tell him then. Tripping is embarrassing enough without admitting you were ogling your best friend.)

It's the beginning of Junior year when someone in his creative writing elective tells him he should write a book after his third short story reading. The suggestion takes him by surprise, he's never been without ideas, tidbits of prose and dialogue dancing around in his overactive thoughts, but he'd somehow never considered following it beyond his pointless daydreams.

His classmate's words stay with him through the day, brightening the light in his eyes and filling his mind with ideas. Too many ideas and by the time he's made it back to his dorm his head is pounding and he'd like to think about anything besides his prospective novel.

Shouto enters the room twenty minutes later and finds Izuku sitting on the end of his bed, backpack still slung around his shoulders and eyes wide and somewhere far away. It's not an uncommon sight, so he greets him like usual and Izuku snaps back to the present like he always does and explains himself before Shouto even has the chance to ask.

"I think I might like to write a book."

"I think that's a great idea." Shouto says as he pulls his textbooks from his bag and sets them on the desk before taking a seat on his own bed and leaning back on his elbows.

"You don't think it's weird?"

"No I think it makes a lot of sense, actually. You're a very good writer. What do you want to write about?"

"OH! I'm not sure yet. I mean I guess everyone would probably want me to write about my experience working with Yagi and like the road to the Olympics or whatever, so I'll probably just write that." He's even surprised at the words that come out of his mouth, but they aren't untrue and Izuku has a nasty habit of putting others before himself.

(Or, maybe he's scared, and writing about gymnastics is the easy choice. It's just the truth, so he can't be judged for something that came from him. He's never reckless for his own benefit.)

Izuku winces a little when Shouto's brow raises at that, inquisitive and unbelieving.

"You want to write an autobiography?"

"Is that bad?"

"No, just surprising."

"You don't think I should."

A laugh escapes Shouto's lips at that and Izuku can feel the heat in his cheeks, both from the embarrassment of being laughed at, and because of the sincere way Shouto is looking at him.

It's hardly a moment before Shouto is looking at him with a soft smile teasing at his lips and the clench of Izuku's heart is actually painful.

"I don't know why I'm the one reminding you of this, since you taught it to me in the first place, but you should write whatever you want. You have good ideas, Izuku. I'm sure whatever it is, it'll be amazing."

Izuku's sure his entire face is red now, but his throat is also dry and Shouto looks so determined and kind, and it's just so sweet.

(It's right on the tip of his tongue, so he has to keep his lips shut lest it escapes and pushes the one person who can somehow reach him through his chaotic thought processes and calm his anxious nerves away for good.)

"I- I- um. Thank you." Is all he manages.

Shouto's shrug is so nonchalant, Izuku tucks it away as more evidence that Shouto absolutely does not have more than platonic feelings for him.

"It's the least I can do, I don't think I will ever be able to repay you for saving me, I'm glad to be the best friend to you I can be. I don't know where I'd be without you."

Izuku thinks he might die, here and now, because Shouto is so achingly honest, and that, by itself, is his proof.

So, he tucks away any confessions that might be lingering on his lips and expresses his own gratitude, "without me? You'd be fine, I, on the other hand, would honestly probably be dead right now."

"You wouldn't be dead, you might just have a few more broken limbs and a book about the Olympics."

"Ugh, that sounds awful." Izuku smothers a laugh with a feigned groan and finally slides his backpack off his shoulders and onto the floor, kicks off his shoes and lays back on the mattress.

"Could be worse," Shouto says as he copies Izuku, staring up at the ceiling from his own bed. "Anyway, I'm serious. I'd probably be awful right now if I'd continued down Enji's infallible plan for ultimate success."

"Like you're not already awful?" Izuku teases because the thought of his life without Shouto is bad enough to think about, the idea of what Shouto's life would be like if he'd stayed in Enji's custody leaves bile rising in Izuku's throat and an angry fist pounding against his skull. He'd rather laugh it off like the ridiculous thought it is.

A pillow flies across the room and smacks him in the face.

"Hey!" Izuku cries with a laugh.

"Don't be rude," Shouto says with a pout as he crosses his arms across his chest.

He looks so cute, Izuku can't help the giggle that floats from his lips as he sits up and grabs the pillow, takes it across the room with him and sits down next to Shouto. His gaze is unwavering as he stares at the ceiling, but Izuku can see the way the corner of his lips quiver like he's trying to hold back a smile.

"Shoutoooo," Izuku whines a little, "I'm sorrrrryyy." Then he bats him in the face with the pillow and the way Shouto's eyebrows shoot up to his hairline coupled with the genuine betrayal in his eyes leaves Izuku feeling a little guilty.

Not for long though, because Shouto is tearing the pillow from his hands and smacking him in the side of the face with it.

"I'm keeping this."

It's Izuku's turn to pout now, "you started it."

"You were being rude." The glare Shouto sends him is betrayed by the tiny smirk on his lips.

"I said I was sorry!"

"Hardly," Shouto says with a roll of his eyes.

"Okay, okay, okay, I don't think you're awful, Shouto. You're smart and strong and I'm so lucky to have you in my life. Let's just agree we were meant to be?"

A few seconds pass before he realizes what he's said, or what he hasn't said rather. Meant to be friends, of course, that's what he meant. Shouto must know that, but he's taking a long time to respond and Izuku is starting to fidget under his gaze, wishing he could take it back, but for once his blabbering mouth has decided to stop working. Clamped shut for fear he might continue that thought, confess his undying love from pleading lips. So, he sits there and waits and hopes Shouto will take it how he meant it and not as the accidental confession it really is.

"Yeah, something like that," is what he settles on, and Izuku isn't sure that makes him feel any better.

"Well- I've got a lot of homework and…" He says as he gets off the bed, but doesn't move any further away, just stands, awkward and exposed and looking anywhere but Shouto.

"Yeah, me too," Shouto replies, and that is that.

(And Izuku is certain now that Shouto doesn't love him, not the way he wants him to.)

When Izuku wakes up the next morning, there are images of a boy who wants and wants and another boy who hurts and hurts and a hero and a monster and an impossible dream flooding his brain, so he jots down some notes and is officially writing a book.

(He tells his mom and everyone else at family dinner on Sunday, but he's tight-lipped about the plot. Won't give anyone a hint, least of all the inspiration for said story.)

For Izuku and Shouto, The rest of Junior Year is exams and student-teaching and case studies and the kindling of a story he doesn't have the guts to talk about. It's also laughter and determination and growth.

It's the look in Fuyumi's eyes and the scarlet blush on her cheeks as Rei-san and his mom tease her about her latest date with Emiko, the woman who'd apparently swept her off her feet in a bookstore downtown.

It's Yagi and Shouto critiquing the Winter Olympics from the couch at his mom's house, their voices rising as they speculate amicably about the gymnast from Russia.

It's rekindling his relationship with Ochako, who texts him out of the blue one day in the Spring and he's glad to hear from her, hopes they can be friends again, after everything.

It's working harder than he's ever worked before and knowing he can do it because Shouto is matching his every step.

It's… really, really great.

In retrospect, Izuku will wish he'd spent a little more time savoring it, wish he'd taken any one of those chances the universe had thrown to him.

Just to get it out there, to say it, to know.

Even fate eventually gives up, and, as it always does, his luck will eventually run out.

(A/N: Oh Izuku. Somebody needs to help this boy. Thank you for reading! Please comment if you're feeling it.)