#yaelasbnhawriting

[yaelathewordsmith]

One Moment In A Lifetime

hhhhh okay, first BNHA fic ever, hooray! No clue what the point of this is supposed to be, though, it’s just . . . words. Just ran away from me entirely. Exploring relationship dynamics, I guess? I don’t even know. Hope you enjoy anyway!

Summary: A battle goes wrong in a way it shouldn’t have, and Shouto is not happy. What he ends up receiving, though, is something precious he never expected.

Includes hurt, regret, friendship, and platonic love and care.

(reposted)

*

Shouto usually isn’t one to lose his temper. On rare occasions, yes, when he’s been pushed way over the edge or been offered insufferable provocation or has found himself in situations he can see no clear way out of. It had turned out, amazingly, that Midoriya Izuku (face like a blushing puppy, body like a Greek statue, voice reminiscent of nothing more than a shy deer, personality of an enthusiastically fanatic nerd) was one person who could actually get him furious and throw him off balance (the determination of a piranha that’s just tasted blood, too). Apart from him, though, no single person from 1-A gets him rattled. Bakugou tries - oh, does he try - but Shouto can easily deal with such overt displays of aggressiveness.

Any tendency to back down, to waver, show weakness, has been beaten out of him long ago. Now, he looks in the mirror and is reminded of a mountain lake - still and undisturbed. That’s not a bad thing, he thinks. If nothing else, it’s certainly a safe way to go through life; unaffected by little upsets, little irritations, reserving all focus and discipline for the things that really matter.

So it comes as a surprise, to put it lightly, to find that this - this - has upset him.

“You,” he snaps, whirling around, “are a reckless idiot. What the hell did you think you were doing?”

Fire sparks in his left palm - not the best idea when facing Bakugou, but he pays that thought no mind. He won’t extinguish it. If he has to, he’ll beat Bakugou with his own element. He’d prefer to do so, in fact.

Bakugou backs down, though, looks down and away with a sullen scowl. It isn’t much of a surprise - Bakugou may be many things, but he’s not an idiot, and he never refuses to face any mistake he makes head on - but it exacerbates the itch inside Shouto, the itch to break something, burn something, create some outward manifestation of the frustration and lingering shock (not fear, he tells himself, not fear at all - and hates that he knows he’s lying) that’s burning somewhere deep in his chest.

Midoriya is crouched on the ground, wide eyes, anxious, tattered hood pushed back to hang limply down his back. “Uraraka-san, can - can you rate the pain on a scale of one to ten for me, please?”

Uraraka’s helmet is lying on the ground, pink visor smokey and splintered. One of her bracers is cracked, her belt is missing, and her boots are a maze of dirty scratches. The defect that draws the most attention, though, is the large, ragged hole in her costume on her left waist, where the skin is horribly red and blistered.

Still she smiles, as much as she is able, still she offers Bakugou no hint of resentment or anger in her clear eyes.

“M-maybe six?”

Bakugou snorts irritably, edging around Shouto with a defiant glare to crouch by Uraraka, a little away from Midoriya. He’s keeping his distance from her, Shouto realizes, aware of what he’s just done and ashamed of it, and understanding that makes him grudgingly extinguish the fire that was beginning to burn steadily in his palm.

“My explosions aren’t that weak, girl,” Bakugou growls. “They don’t burn me, but that don’t mean I ain’t aware of how much they hurt. I - “

He hesitates, glances up at Shouto, who stares back unforgivingly, and sideways at Midoriya, who still looks antsy and anxious.

“I’m sorry,” he mutters, glaring at the dirt. “I should’ve been more careful.”

“You should have looked,” Shouto says, the words clipped, “to see who exactly was in your line of fire instead of blasting away because one villain pissed you off. Both Midoriya and Uraraka were already taking care of him. Do you know what his quirk is?”

Bakugou grimaces. “No, damn you, I don’t!”

“Any object, any tool, anything remotely useful will have an effect opposite to the one intended. Since you tried to roast that guy alive when Uraraka was in the way, and she used her quirk to move him, he had the opportunity to touch her and activate his own quirk. And that means no medicine, no cooling pack, not even my ice will help with the massive second degree burn you just gave her!”

Shouto doesn’t even realize how loud his voice has become until Bakugou gets to his feet, snarling.

“I already apologized, you bastard, what the hell else do you want?! Want me to go back in time and fix it? Hah?!”

“I want you to understand exactly what you - !”

“Kacchan!”

Uraraka’s soft voice cuts through the crackling air like a knife. Both Shouto and Bakugou turn instantly, watching as Midoriya helps her struggle into a sitting position.

She smiles again, weak and painful. “It’s fine, Kacchan, it really is, I swear. I know you didn’t mean to. Thank you for apologizing. And Todoroki-kun, I appreciate your concern very much, but please don’t yell at Kacchan. It’s not -” She sucks in a breath, wincing as Midoriya’s gently probing fingers touch a particularly painful spot. She dismisses his hasty apology with a slight shake of her head, and continues, “- it’s not necessary at all.”

Shouto huffs shortly, and Bakugou jerks his head away, scowling at the ground. “Whatever. I’m going to go check that the last of the fires are out.”

Midoriya looks up at that. “Kacchan, don’t forget to check on the guy with the knife quirk! I don’t think he’ll be able to cut through the rope, I don’t think they can reach his wrists from his fingers, but just make sure - “

“Shut the fuck up, Deku, I know!” Bakugou gets to his feet, hand brushing across Uraraka’s shoulder for a brief, hesitant moment, cheeks dusted light red as he does so. “I’ll check on all those assholes, you don’t have to nag me.”

He gives Shouto a glare, and Shouto gives him a cool look in return, but steps aside to make way for him. Bakugou understands, and he regrets it, and that’s enough for Shouto. For now, at least. Later, he will talk to Bakugou and demand to know what had him distracted, what had him riled up, because it’s not the first time he’s been careless like this. It’s been happening for more than a week now, and if he doesn’t get it together, they may not be permitted to work together anymore, as rookie heroes. He needs to tell Shouto what’s wrong, or he can tell Midoriya, or just anyone, but it needs to be worked out before anyone gets hurt again - including Bakugou himself.

That it’s I’ll-Crush-You-And-Any-Dreams-You-Ever-Had-Bakugou that this is happening to, of all people, is, of course, a minor consideration, no matter how worrying it is. Shouto is good at leaving personal desires out of the picture, focusing only on the final goal to be achieved.

He learned that a long time ago, too.

Freezing Bakugou into the world’s most bizarre popsicle until he agrees to talk to (to confide in) Shouto can wait until later, though. Right now -

He kneels where Bakugou had crouched, not sure if Uraraka will be uncomfortable with the idea of being around him, his fire, especially when it’s the reason that the buildings around them, in this part of the abandoned town, are scorched and soot-streaked.

“We need to get you help,” Midoriya says, all wide and earnest eyes. “Will you be okay while one of us goes, Uraraka-san?”

The corner of her mouth quirks up vaguely - it’s all she can summon of her earlier smile.

“Of course, Deku, I’ll be fine. It’s really not - as bad as it -”

Shouto reaches out without thinking, to steady her as she sways, but his touch is, of course, unneeded. Midoriya already has one strong arm around her shoulders, keeping her upright, silently urging her to lean back against the rough block of concrete that is part of a fallen pillar. Shouto doesn’t remove his hand from her arm, though. Useless as the gesture may be, it makes him feel like he’s helping somehow, providing her with some modicum of support and comfort, that he’s not entirely useless in the situation. And it - gives him some small measure of comfort.

“You’re exhausted,” he says. “You were fighting longer than we were, and using your quirk almost constantly. The burn is the worst of it, but that’s not all that needs attention. We need medical professionals, or at least transport to a medical facility.”

Uraraka makes a soft sound that’s something between a snort and a laugh, one hand brushing against her useless phone. “And we just had to run into someone with a quirk that disables electrical devices today, didn’t we . . .”

“I could carry you,” Midoriya offers. “We could be at the next town in ten minutes.”

Uraraka shakes her head weakly, brown hair limp over her eyes. “Already - nauseous from Zero Gravity. I - thank you for offering but - bounding up and down like that - “

“Right, of course,” Midoriya says instantly, forehead creasing with worry. “Then, Todoroki-kun? Is your quirk - ?”

“It’s possible, yes, I can do it. But it would be slower, it would also exacerbate the nausea, and I don’t want to take the risk of my ice worsening your injury. If even the slightest bit comes into contact, I think it would feel like - like fire, probably - “

Uraraka shrinks back at that, just a little bit.

Shouto forces himself not to clench his fist, and continues, “And anyway you’re not supposed to apply ice to burns.”

Midoriya exhales, short and sharp. “Okay. Okay, okay, then I’ll go, I’ll get them, since I’ll be faster. I’ll be back as soon as I can, okay? Todoroki-kun, you’ll stay with - ?”

“Of course,” Shouto says before he even finishes the sentence. Of course, because where the hell else would he be?

Midoriya nods and is in the air almost before Shouto can blink. The thuds of his jumps are loud, concussive, and fading rapidly. They only hear three before he’s outside their range of hearing.*

Uraaka slowly lets her head fall back, her breathing going shallow and her features scrunching up in a way that implies that she’s been trying far too hard for far too long to seem calm and composed, and has just allowed herself to break. To stop.

It hurts, in a dull kind of way, because this is someone bright and kind and good, someone Shouto has fought beside too many times to count, has trusted with his life and been trusted with hers in return, someone who is comrade and friend and just - just dear to him, he realizes, she is dear to him in a way few people are. A bond forged in battle is no easy thing to replicate. And so seeing her like this, in pain, and being unable to help feels like something is squeezing his heart, compressing it until every heartbeat is a subdued ache.

But there’s nothing he can do, so he keeps his hand on her shoulder and resigns himself to feeling jittery and uncomfortable as he waits for Midoriya to return.

There are flakes of ash floating by, the air horribly still. Stifling. The only sounds are distant crashes of rubble that’s decided to fall only now, and the faint grunts of the trussed up villains. Bakugou, Shouto can’t hear at all (for once). He’s executing his mission in unnatural silence. Shouto hopes, vaguely, tiredly, as exhaustion sweeps over him in a wave, that he hasn’t run into any trouble - or killed the guy who’d irritated him so much in the first place. That’s an odd quirk, to be sure . . . it seems ridiculous, frustrating, but are there . . . possible uses?

Shouto’s eyes snap open.

“Uraraka,” he says, softly, urgently.

She levers her own eyes open and blinks at him blearily.

“If my ice would burn you - would my fire cool you?”

Her mouth opens a little, shock sharpening the features of her face.

“I - it - it might? But . . .” She frowns a bit, getting that look of furious focus that only appears when she’s trying desperately to think. “But ice isn’t good for burns, so would it - how would it - ”

“I don’t know,” he tells her, left hand already itching to be set ablaze. “Would you - like to try?”

Her eyes flick up to meet his, and he catches a glimpse of dark fear in them before she forces it back, swallowing.

“If you don’t want to -” he says immediately. He doesn’t want to pressure her in any way.

But she shakes her head weakly, biting her lip. “I think - m-maybe we should. It- “ Her voice breaks on a rising sob. “It really hurts, Todoroki-kun.”

“Okay,” he murmurs, trying to sound as soothing as he can. “We’ll do that, then. If you feel the slightest pain, anything at all, tell me immediately and we’ll stop, yes? We’re going to take this slow.”

Uraraka nods, pushing herself upright. Shouto allows one small flame to kindle at the tip of one finger, holding it like it’s a baby bird.

“Ready?”

She nods again, eyes screwed shut. He moves it towards her side carefully, the sight of the red-gold light against her burned, angry-looking skin making him wince. But he presses on, moving closer, closer, until he’s less than an inch away, and she should definitely be feeling some heat now, even if nerves have been damaged. But she says nothing.

“Feel anything?”

She shakes her head, relaxing a little. “No heat, but there’s like - a cool breeze?” Her eyes fall open. “I think you were right, Todoroki-kun.”

He moves closer, gingerly, until it’s almost licking at her side. “Now? Is it too cold?”

“N-no, it’s - good. It’s - ohh -” She almost shudders in relief when he allows it to press against her entirely. “It’s like cool water, it’s perfect.”

Shouto sighs quietly. “Good.”

He allows the flames to envelop his hand entirely and, very carefully, lays it flat against the burn. He can feel her skin even through the fire licking at the underside of his palm, rough and puckered and blistered, and his mouth twists without him meaning to.

“Todoroki-kun, could you - here?” She points, and he moves his hand accordingly, thinking about how if he had Kendo’s quirk in addition to his own he could just enlarge his hand to cool the entire affected area. But he doesn’t, and he can’t, and so he ends up absently stroking the entire burn in controlled sweeps, taking care not to get too close to the cloth of her costume because he has no clue as to whether the villain’s quirk extends to the clothes of the affected person as well.

It’s - weird. Once the buzz of his shock and anger has worn off, now that he’s doing something useful, helpful, it’s just odd. The whole situation is odd, kneeling on ashy ground in the middle of a ruined town, stroking a teammate’s burn with a hand on fire. And it’s even weirder that he’s doing this for Uraraka, of all people, because he might not be the most attentive person when it comes to social relationships, but everyone who had been in their class knows that there’s something between Midoriya and Uraraka, something tentative and nebulous and undefined that the two of them are too embarrassed to address; something that lasted through all the years since UA till now. And so if anyone should be - uh, touching (petting, Shouto thinks, and shudders slightly, shaking the uncomfortable thought out of his head) - Uraraka’s waist like this, it should most definitely not be Shouto.

But . . . it’s Uraraka. And since it’s Uraraka (as adept at defusing uncomfortable situations, with soothing words and just the right gestures, as she sometimes is at creating them, with nervous chatter and flustered hands) the smile she gives him and the way she relaxes, peacefully, ensures that he settles down to his task soon enough, the repetitive motion soothing away the chaos of battle still churning in his mind surprisingly effectively.

It’s one moment in a lifetime, one incident among hundreds that Shouto will experience in a lifetime as a pro hero. Yet later, when he’s older and more battle-scarred, when the white has started encroaching onto the red half of his hair, it’s that moment he thinks of when he thinks of tranquility, stillness, peace - Uraraka with her eyes closed, head tipped back against cracked concrete, the rise and fall of her chest gentle and steady (when before it had been harsh, stuttering) because his hand on her waist, his flames, are washing her pain away, keeping it at bay. It’s that atmosphere that he remembers, smokey and heavy and silent but - quiet, and comforting, as the adrenaline in his blood slows to a halt and his whirling thoughts slow and settle around a centre of silence.

It’s a feeling he will only be privileged to experience a few times in his life, that feeling of true peace. And he will never tell anyone, but to himself, Shouto can admit that the reason he watches Uraraka’s back more carefully in fights after that, the reason he listens to her worry about how Midoriya might never like her back, the reason he helps her make horrible Valentine’s Day chocolate and trains with her more and reads the books she recommends and -

- and becomes something of a best friend -

- is that he’s grateful to her for giving him that, that single, precious period of peace.

Even if is just - one moment in a lifetime.