oxygen for wind, oxygen for fire
One of them always heats, sizzles and melts; the other is blown away every single time.
But there is one common element between them, and it is the one on which they both thrive.
(click here to read on ao3)
Without air, fire cannot exist.
With too much air, fire cannot exist either.
Which is why Shoto almost loses it the first time they train together, when Shoto is trying to get the hang of using only the power from the paternal side of his family. But every single time he turns up the flames, Inasa extinguishes them using nothing but the tip of his fingertips.
“You sure are a force to be reckoned with,” Shoto mutters, more to himself than to anyone else, as he ducks into a corner to escape the wind. “Gale Force.”
“COME ON OUT, SHOTO!!!” comes the voice of said Force, forceful as ever, and one would have thought the wind had come from the sonic boom emerging from the soundwaves of his vocal tract. Shoto tries to get the flames going again; his efforts were futile as the wind extinguishes them in no time, like they’d never existed in the first place.
Shoto emerges from his corner; he refuses to give up. He knows he’d win once he uses his ice, but hell as if he’s going to give in. (Truth, though, is that he can never bring himself to be cold to Inasa, not really.)
So he turns on the flames again, but he knows he’s lost the match, because he’s met his Achilles' heel, because he is blown away, just like every single time.
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It’s a ridiculous mission, and they all know it.
But Inasa sure is enjoying it; heck, if there was anyone who could enjoy it, it’d be him. (Not even he’d known he loves kids prior to today, but honestly just about anyone would be able to tell that he perfectly fits the role of stereotypical favourite uncle just by looking at him alone.
And just as Inasa thinks he cannot enjoy this silly mission further, he does, and that’s when the unexpected occurs.
Shoto is smiling. At children. (Wilful children nonetheless, but still, children.)
On another occasion, Inasa might have told him to stop vying with him for the position of favourite uncle, but this time he’s too busy staring to care. Little would he have known the Prince of Ice had such a side to him. (Inwardly, some voice inside of him, in the deep of his gut, tells him he’d make a good father. His gut twists a bit, and his heart skips a beat.)
Shoto makes a snow cone for one of the children. He catches Inasa staring, so he makes one for him, too, and Inasa knows he’s lost the mission, because he’s fallen, because he heats, sizzles, and melts, just like every single time.
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They really never should have stepped foot in here.
Had it been just the soba being shitty, Shoto may have forgiven them. But the soba was shitty, and the waiter is apparently either deaf or has a death threat on Shoto, because he’d asked for cold soba, but the soba was boiling.
“WAITER!!! AN ICED WATER PLEASE!!!” Inasa screams and waves, panicking a bit. Shoto realises the waiter is deaf, because he stays in his position and rolls his eyes instead of heading over to their table. (Wait…maybe it was the other option. It doesn’t matter anyway, because his tongue is too fried to care.)
When Shoto’s tongue recovers a bit, he attempts to take another bite of the soba. When he was a young child, his mother had taught him to never waste food. Apparently, habits stick, because he is determined to finish this soba no matter what.
And apparently, Inasa is very touched at his endeavour, because he starts looking a tad teary-eyed. “Let me help you, my comrade!” he chirps, as pumped up as he usually is, even if it’s over soba.
At first Shoto had thought Inasa was about to help him eat his soba, and starts to tell him to go back to his own udon (apparently lukewarm, though he’d asked for hot udon, guess the waiter hates Inasa just a tiny bit). But Shoto was wrong, because Inasa starts blowing like crazy at the soba, and in all seriousness, too.
(Stop doing weird things to my soba, he wants to tell Inasa, but he knows he can never bring himself to be cold to Inasa, not really.)
It’s been a good two minutes and Inasa is still blowing at the soba that isn’t even his. And something in the deep of Shoto’s gut twists a bit, and his heart skips a beat, because hell as if it isn’t the most hilariously adorable sight he’s ever seen, and he is blown away, just like every single time.
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He’d made Shoto angry. (Called him “half-Elsa” and made him dance to Let It Go in front of a very excited Eri, and Shoto couldn’t refuse, and he’d known that Shoto couldn’t refuse because Shoto can’t refuse children, and especially not Eri.)
So it was all his fault. Now he has to down this boiling bowl of udon as punishment. In front of an equally excited Eri, the one little girl he can’t refuse either.
“Eat it,” is Shoto’s voice, showing icy-cold restraint, but Inasa can tell he’s downright burning with rage. “Now.”
So he does, but the scald, from his lips to his tongue to his throat to the very deep of his gut, is more than worth it, because he all he sees in front of him is a tall glass of sobacha filled to the brim with ice, and a Shoto in a silly frilly apron belonging to his aunt, washing dishes with Eri. The sight is awfully domestic and it starts burning a hole through his heart, and he heats, sizzles, and melts, just like every single time.
==========================================
He’s making Shoto angry again.
“Light it up again!” Inasa chirps, clapping his hands a little. He looks so happy Shoto wants to punch something; for the first time Shoto realises that Inasa smiles with his eyes. “Please? It’s my birthday.”
They’ve been at it for a good two minutes – Shoto attempting to light up candles on the birthday cake, Inasa blowing the candles out before the birthday song ends (before he makes the wishes); Shoto lighting them up again, Inasa extinguishing them again –
He’s making Shoto angry again. Except this time, he actually kind of has an excuse, because it’s September 26.
(Not that the date matters, because deep down, Shoto knows that regardless of what day it is - what week, month, year, decade or century - he can never bring himself to be cold to Inasa, not really.)
“Hurry up and make a wish,” is all Shoto says. (Whatever Inasa wishes, Shoto wishes for it to come true.)
“Okay,” Inasa clasps his hands in prayer and closes his eyes; he looks so happy Shoto wants to punch something. “Then I wish we could stay like this forever.”
And when Inasa blows the birthday candles (this time for real), he is blown away, just like every single time.
He’s trying to make Shoto happy again.
Today proves to be especially difficult, because Shoto is looking like he’s about to punch something. (Apparently it had been an especially difficult day, first with the villains, and then with the reporters.)
But if there is any day that Inasa must succeed, it is today.
He glances at the calendar for motivation. Breathes. Tells himself he can do it. Turns off the lights, and starts singing. (Halfway into the song, he realises he forgot to light the candles on the pool of soba noodles that was supposed to be the replacement for cake, and he panics, waging a bit of a war with the lighter.)
(Luckily, he eventually wins the war, and in front of him is the birthday boy Shoto, looking all wide-eyed and shell-shocked in the semi-dark.)
January 11. In another world, they may have been enjoying some sort of vacation somewhere bright and sunny, instead of fighting literal and metaphorical villains in the dark. Inasa wishes it were the case for Shoto; he doesn’t deserve this.
But nothing’s going to stop Inasa anyway, so he has been trying, is trying, and will always be trying, for as long as he ever can, to make Shoto happy again.
“Sorry,” Inasa drops to his knees; some of the soba spills a bit. He’s so bad at this, he’s so bad at everything; he’s failed again. Curse him, curse everything. “I just wanted to make you happy.” He starts crying himself, but it isn’t long before his tears evaporate, because he realises Shoto is smiling.
And he heats, sizzles, and melts, just like every single time.
==========================================
It’s the second time they grab a drink together, and it’s the first time Shoto sees him like this.
The first time they did, Inasa had gotten piss-drunk, so Shoto had to carry all hundred-and-ninety metres of him on his back, with him snoring and breathing down his neck. It wasn’t very good for his heart, especially because Shoto’d had quite a bit to drink himself. (Eventually Inasa vomited all over the taxi, and it was very, very bad for the taxi driver’s heart.)
This time, Inasa has gotten piss-drunk again, and thank goodness they’d gotten a room instead of a taxi, was what Shoto had initially thought.
How wrong Shoto was, because Inasa starts stripping.
“Don’t do this,” Shoto growls, trying to hold him down, all hundred-and-ninety metres of him. “It’s bad for my heart.”
Unfortunately when it comes to a pure physical brawl without Quirk, Goliath is sure to win.
He pulls Shoto down, and he can feel him breathing down his neck. The smell of alcohol is not helping – Shoto feels his stomach churning lightly, and his heart beating heavily.
“What do you want,” Shoto tries, but at this point not even he knows what he wants himself.
“I don’t want anything,” Inasa’s voice is deeper and growlier than usual, and the sound knocks the breath out of Shoto. “Not money, not fame, not fans. Not even the clothes on my back.” A pause.
(Stop doing weird things to my heart, he wants to tell Inasa, but he knows he can never bring himself to be cold to Inasa, not really. So he says nothing, and lets his body do the talking instead.)
The clothes on their backs are gone, but it’s not like Shoto cares, because he now knows what he wants, and he has had it all along without even having to try, and it is with this revelation that he is blown away, just like every single time.
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It’s the second time Shoto invites him to his house, and it’s the first time Inasa sees him like this.
The first time he did, it was because Fuyumi had wanted to invite all of his friends over, and much unlike her name, she was literally the warmest human being to ever exist.
This time, Shoto may have broken her record.
“How did you get this ill,” Inasa starts to panic. 38.7, reads the thermometer, and Inasa panics further. “This is very bad for my heart.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve taken the pills.” Shoto’s voice is deeper and growlier than usual; it must be the fever, or perhaps it was the pills, but whatever it is, the sound knocks the breath out of Inasa. “Just sit down, here. Or lie down, or whatever you wish.” He pats the other side of the bed, and Inasa is surprised because it’s rare for Shoto to make requests.
“Okay,” Inasa tries. “I’ll sit down, but first I need to get you some food. The meds won’t be effective unless your body has the energy to deal with them. What do you want? I can cook chicken soup, or instant ramen or soba if that’s what you prefer-”
“I don’t want anything. Not soup, not ramen. Not even soba.” Inasa feels Shoto’s hand grab his hand before he can stand up, before he can leave, before he can evacuate. “Just you.”
(And Inasa knows he can’t refuse, because he’s met his Achilles' heel.)
Inasa’s sure he’s not the one running the real temperature, but still he heats, sizzles, and melts, just like every single time.
==========================================
Shoto’s eyes are transfixed on the television screen.
He’s too nervous, for one who isn’t even participating in the actual battle. He wishes he is, but instead he’s here in the hospital, stuck and unable to help out.
Five minutes in, and Shoto barely notices that he’s barely breathing. “Hurry up and win already,” he thinks, almost aloud, awaiting with bated breath. “Don’t let the villain take you.”
Truth is, he knows that if the villain does take him, then he’d never be breathing any more, not in quite the same way. (And neither will the villain, because Shoto has never been able to tolerate anyone taking what’s his.)
The villain doesn’t, luckily, and Gale Force emerges victorious, surrounded by almost a hundred villains, collapsed on the floor, limp as ragdolls.
“What a force to be reckoned with,” goes the news announcer. “Trust Gale Force to knock the breath out of everyone!”
And knock the breath out of Shoto he did, because it’s hard to believe this mighty, heroic figure on the TV screen is the same overgrown child who begs for pancakes for breakfast, begs for hugs before leaving for work, begs for goodnight kisses.
(And no matter how childish the requests, Shoto grants them readily, because he knows he can never bring himself to be cold to Inasa, not really.)
And as he stares at a Gale Force staring down villains with a victorious smile on the television screen, for the first time, Shoto realises it isn’t always that Inasa smiles with his eyes; mesmerising as he still is, he never wants this smile to be one directed at him, because a real killer smile this is, directed only at those who kill, too.
It doesn’t matter which Inasa this is, because he’s still his, and Shoto doesn’t believe his luck; it’s been many years, but still he is blown away, just like every single time.
==========================================
Inasa’s eyes are transfixed on the television screen.
He curses himself for not participating in the actual battle. He wishes he is, but instead he’s here in the hospital, helping patients evacuate. It’s an important job, too, but he’s too worried to properly concentrate.
Still, he does, and he’s actually marginally relieved the hospital does have a still-functioning TV screen, even amidst all the rubble. Should something untoward happen on the battle scene, Inasa decides he will drop everything and fly to him. It wouldn’t be the most professional of Inasa, but he is too worried to care, because he knows what’s most important to him.
“Hurry up and win already!” He screams, and a collective gasp emerges from the patients, not knowing the speech wasn’t meant for them. (Luckily for him, some of them interpret it as a motivational speech, and start moving faster.)
The speech wasn’t meant for the patients – it was meant for them, the two fire-wielders on the TV screen, on the battlefield; the two banes and sources of his existence.
Had it not been for the first Todoroki, Inasa would never had wanted to become a hero; he reckons he’d be better off selling his services as some human version of an electric fan. Had it not been for the second Todoroki, Inasa would never have become a hero, would never have realised that life was worth living and saving; would never have learnt to live.
“Don’t let the villain take you,” he mutters, more to himself than to anyone else. Inasa has never been selfish, but he knows what he wants, and he knows what’s his.
And the villain almost takes the first Todoroki, but he doesn’t because the second Todoroki manages to reclaim him, and as the latter clings onto his father, crying warm, liquid tears of relief –
– the sight of them burns a hole through his heart, and he heats, sizzles, and melts, just like every single time.
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The door clicks shut behind him. The lights are on, and Inasa knows someone’s home.
He’s home, too, Inasa realises himself.
The apartment is smaller than they’d expected – not very ideal at all, considering one of them is a good hundred and ninety-one centimetres tall. But they’d gotten it for a good deal, and it is within the vicinity of both of their agencies, so no one’s complaining, really.
No one’s complaining, really, because they know what they want, and they know they already have what they want.
“Welcome home,” comes a voice from behind him. Right behind him, in fact, because he also feels something (someone) stuck to his back, hugging him. Although Inasa had always known that Shoto has always been warm in his own cold and silent way, Inasa realises he’s been particularly affectionate lately, and it is with this revelation that he heats, sizzles, and melts, just like every single time.
“Chicken soup, or instant ramen? Or udon, we have one packet left-“
“Not soup, not ramen. Not even udon.” Inasa smiles, interlacing their fingers together, and it’s the eye smile he reserves for Shoto; and when Shoto receives it, he is blown away, just like every single time.
Without air, fire cannot exist. Wind cannot exist either.
And here, in this tiny kitchenette of this tiny apartment of theirs, air is wearing thin, but they figure they could share.
