“Midoriya.”
Izuku's heart caught in his throat. He took a step back, mind working overtime for an excuse—any excuse—but whatever feeble ideas he might have constructed crumbled to dust before he could formulate them. Caught in a heterochromatic gaze, he felt his senses slow in a way he'd never experienced before.
“You're Todoroki-kun,” he breathed out. “From Ethics.”
He saw the other's lips twitch slightly, as if Izuku had said something amusing. “Yeah. And you're Midoriya. From Ethics.”
“Why—What are you doing here? It's…I mean, that is…it's late.”
“And the school is closed,” Todoroki added, stepping closer. His eyes seemed to be glowing, as if they were polished mirrors reflecting a great light.
But eyes weren't mirrors, and the school was dark.
His eyes flicked to the door Todoroki had come from: the Registrar’s Office. Had Todoroki broken in, as he had? To break in after midnight and go to the Registrar’s Office…
His eyebrows rose.
“You!” Wincing, he lowered his voice. “Todoroki-kun,” he hissed, “are you changing your grades??”
This time, the other's lips didn't just twitch, but lifted into a real smile—a small, close-lipped one, sure, but real. Izuku couldn't recall ever seeing him smile before, but then, why would he? As far as classes went, Ethics kind of sucked.
He had a nice smile, but something about it made Izuku's hair stand on end. His arms were covered in goosebumps.
“I don't need to change my grades, Midoriya,” Todoroki said smoothly. He took another step forward. Izuku took another step back. “And I doubt you do either. Why are you here?”
“I asked you first.”
“You did,” he agreed. He took another step forward. This time, when Izuku tried to retreat, he found his back colliding with one of the study tables littered throughout the lounge area. Todoroki kept moving until he was directly in front of him. Technically speaking, Izuku probably could have pushed past him. The room was open, so he wasn't exactly boxed in. Yet something like fireworks was sparking in his brain, as if he were an animal being backed into a cage. His heart felt like it might burst from his chest any minute. There was something primal within him screaming that he was in danger, as if Todoroki were a great threat. Why? Izuku didn't know much about him, true, but he'd never thought of him as a frightening person. A little rude, maybe, but not frightening.
Todoroki leaned in close. His eyes were still glowing, and Izuku wanted to ask about that, but his voice died in his throat. That feeling from before—some archaic instinct—told him not to look at those beautiful, mismatched, glowing eyes.
That ship had already sailed, though.
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