periapse, give us your take on izuku's hand in shouto's hair!
THANK YOU FOR THE PROMPT! it was sitting in this box for a while, and i thought long about it, and i finally figured this was too good a chance to pass up!!! i make no promises on characterization, but here is my small answer! please enjoy!
for a moment i could breathe again.
ft all-the-right-words-izuku
As expected, from childhood, Izuku still isn’t used to being in other people’s rooms. And Todoroki’s room, so traditionally Japanese, gives an atmosphere so formal that after he helps Todoroki to the futon, he subconsciously settles into seiza.
It’s so quiet.
“You should rest if you’re feeling unwell,” Izuku says, awkwardly.
“It’s my mother,” Todoroki answers. To a different question. His voice cracks.
Izuku is up in an instant, and though he wavers, he quickly steels himself and shuffles closer. Todoroki sits only a few feet away, and his entire body is locked so stiffly, so unnaturally still that, if given time, he could turn to stone.
“There’s—there’s a burn on the inside of her hand,” Todoroki breathes, in pain and wonder, fingers curling into his track pants. Incredulity lives somewhere in counterpoint with the notes of hysteria in his wrecked tones. He holds his tattered composure by the fraying seams. He’s five full-body tremors away from a controlled breakdown.
There would only be one reason after all.
“From ten years ago,” he grounds out, jerking his head away. “When the—the kettle—the steam—she didn’t say—I didn’t even know.”
Some comforts cannot be conveyed by words, only imparted by touch, but when Izuku reaches for him, to ground him, Todoroki flinches away, and his heart seizes in his chest.
“I ruined this hand too,” Todoroki rasps, gazing wild and wide-eyed at him, and Izuku remembers hand crusher. The only thing crushed is Todoroki’s voice.
“No,” Izuku says vehemently. “Todoroki-kun.”
He raises himself up to his knees and closes his hand around Todoroki’s wrist, pulling him forward.
“This is something my mom would do when I was a kid,” he says as Todoroki comes into his arms. And, as if it needed explanation, he adds awkwardly, “For comfort.”
Izuku tries to remember the exact way his mom cradled him. It was with her fingers tangled in his unruly curls, but Todoroki’s hair is all silken strands when he molds his left hand to the curve under the crown of Todoroki’s head.
Todoroki’s cheek rests in the juncture between his neck and shoulder, Todoroki’s nose brushing against the line of his throat, Todoroki’s bated breath warming the underside of his jaw. From here, Todoroki could probably see the spattering of freckles across his nape.
Todoroki trembles once when Izuku presses the tips of his warped fingers to his hairline, beneath his fringe. The sensation is probably muted against the scarred skin, but he trembles a second time when Izuku brushes forward against his scalp and combs his hair back in repeated motions.
“Breathe, Todoroki-kun,” Izuku mumbles. “It’s awkward if you d-don’t.”
With a stuttered pause, Todoroki unclenches his fists.
The curve of his broad shoulders sinks from siphoned tension, the long line of his stiffened spine gives in, and then, slowly, he becomes limp in Izuku’s hold.
Izuku should say something to Todoroki. His mother would have kissed the words into his forehead, things like Izuku, don’t cry! or Your hero will come with a smile! But these are words that he can’t offer to someone who doesn’t cry. Or someone who was told since birth that he was made only to surpass All Might.
But he has to say something.
“My hand isn’t ruined,” Izuku says instead, confident, and his lips are so close to flesh that the air from his words puffs against Todoroki’s exposed forehead. Todoroki inhales sharply. “If I want to help people, I have to get stronger and move forward. And when I look at this hand, it becomes a symbol of the things I want to do and the things I have to do before that. So it’s important to me. And…I learned something.”
Todoroki’s what? is the ghost of a whisper.
Izuku, in a moment of faltering inhibition, leans down to mouth these words into skin. “Sometimes, heroes bear scars because they want to save others.”
Todoroki’s calloused fingers circle around his wrist, pressing along the flesh of his palm, and Izuku shifts away, stilling his ministrations with a heavy swallow, wondering if he’s gone too far. Todoroki pulls back and pulls Izuku’s hand down, letting his knuckles brush against scar tissue.
They stare at each other.
Heroes bear scars because they want to save others. By that reasoning, the scars on his hand—
Izuku realizes too late and chokes, flushing red, releasing Todoroki swiftly and completely. It’s not untrue. It’s also not what he intended to come out with in the middle of a serious conversation about something else.
“U-Um,” Izuku begins as he scrambles to his feet. “So, to c-conclude, I—I think Todoroki-kun’s mother is moving forward. So T-Todoroki-kun should too, unburdened. And like how you h-held my hand just now, then with y-your mother, when you visit tomorrow…”
Todoroki’s lips part to speak.
“Goodnight!” he blurts and runs out.
/
A very good, solid move. Nicely done, Izuku thinks to himself. Couldn’t have even handled it remotely better.