Chapter Text
The Endeavor Agency was EXACTLY as Shoto Todoroki remembered it.
Sterile hallways. Harsh fluorescent lighting. The faint, lingering smell of smoke that seemed to seep into the very walls. He stood in the lobby with his hands shoved into his coat pockets, watching frost creep across the windowpanes, and tried to convince himself this was just another internship. Just another mission. Just another opportunity to learn from the number one hero.
The fact that the number one hero was also his father was irrelevant.
"You're brooding."
Todoroki turned.
Midoriya stood beside him, his Allmight scarf wrapped twice around his neck, a thermos of tea in one hand and that perpetually worried expression on his face. He'd been doing that a lot lately—watching Todoroki like he expected him to shatter at any moment.
"I'm thinking," Todoroki corrected.
Midoriya's voice was gentle, but his eyes were sharp. He'd gotten better at reading people over the past year. Annoyingly better. "It's going to be fine. Endeavor—" He paused, searching for the right words. "He's different now. You said so yourself."
Todoroki said nothing.
Different.
Yes, his father had changed. He was trying. He was apologizing. He was doing all the things Shoto had spent his entire childhood wishing he would do. And somehow, that made everything worse, because now Todoroki couldn't hate him with the same clean, uncomplicated fury he'd carried for sixteen years.
Now there was guilt mixed in. And confusion. And a thousand other feelings he didn't have names for.
The agency doors slid open, and a blast of winter air cut through the lobby. Bakugo Katsuki walked in like he owned the place.
He always did that. Walked into rooms like he was daring them to challenge him. His shoulders were set, his jaw tight, his crimson eyes scanning the space with the kind of hyper-vigilance that most people mistook for aggression.
Todoroki knew better now.
Bakugo was always reading, always calculating, always cataloging exits and threats and weaknesses. It was exhausting to watch. It was more exhausting to look away from.
"Tch. This place is smaller than I expected," Bakugo said, shrugging off his jacket. Underneath, he wore a black turtleneck that Todoroki definitely did not notice the fit of. "Thought the number one hero would have a bigger operation."
"It's functional," Todoroki said. "He doesn't believe in excess."
Bakugo snorted. "Rich, coming from a guy with a literal fire beard."
Despite himself, Todoroki felt the corner of his mouth twitch. "I'll be sure to pass along your architectural critique."
"Please don't," Midoriya muttered.
A sidekick appeared to escort them to the briefing room. Todoroki fell into step behind her, but his attention drifted sideways. Bakugo was walking close to the walls, his eyes tracking every hero in the building, noting their positions, their gear, their readiness. He was already studying the agency's layout, already planning how he would navigate it. Todoroki had seen him do this a hundred times, but he'd never watched him do it.
There was a difference. He was learning that now.
The briefing room was warm, at least. A long table dominated the center, covered in maps and case files. Endeavor stood at the head, arms crossed, flames licking at his chin. He looked exactly as Todoroki remembered: larger than life, imposing, impossible to ignore.
"Good. You're here." Endeavor's voice rumbled through the room. "Sit."
Midoriya sat immediately. Todoroki sat slowly. Bakugo remained standing for exactly three seconds too long, holding eye contact with Endeavor like he was waiting for a challenge. When none came, he dropped into the chair closest to the door.
Always an exit strategy. Todoroki filed that away.
The briefing covered their first week's assignments. Patrol routes. Villain activity reports. A series of smaller operations designed to test their coordination with the agency's sidekicks. Todoroki listened with half his attention, the other half occupied with the strange, restless energy building under his skin.
He was aware of Bakugo's presence in a way he hadn't been before. Aware of the way Bakugo's fingers drummed against the table when he was impatient. Aware of the way he leaned forward when something caught his interest, his whole body going still and focused. Aware of the way his hands moved when he spoke—sharp, precise gestures that punctuated every word.
Todoroki had never noticed anyone's hands before.
He noticed Bakugo's.
They were scarred. Not badly—small marks, the kind that came from years of uncontrolled explosions and reckless training. His fingers were long, his grip strong. When he picked up a pen to mark something on the map, he held it like a weapon.
Todoroki realized he was staring.
He looked away so fast his neck cracked.
"—Todoroki."
He blinked. Endeavor was looking at him, something unreadable in his expression. "I asked if you had any questions about the patrol routes."
"No." His voice came out rougher than intended. He cleared his throat. "No questions."
Beside him, Midoriya was giving him a look. That look. The one that said I see you and I know exactly what you're doing.
Todoroki ignored him.
The briefing ended. They were dismissed to their quarters—small rooms on the agency's upper floor, sparsely furnished but private. Todoroki's was at the end of the hall, next to Midoriya's, with Bakugo's directly across from his own.
Of course.
He stood in his doorway, watching Bakugo enter his room without a backward glance. The door clicked shut. Todoroki stared at it for a long moment.
"Hey."
He flinched. Midoriya was leaning against his own doorframe, arms crossed, that knowing look still plastered across his face.
"You okay?"
"Fine."
Midoriya's expression softened. "You know you can talk to me, right? About anything."
Todoroki looked at him. At the sincerity in his eyes, the patience in his posture. Midoriya had always been like this—too kind, too understanding, too willing to carry other people's burdens. It was one of the things Todoroki admired most about him. It was also one of the things that made him want to keep his distance, because if he started talking, he wasn't sure he'd be able to stop.
"I know," he said finally. "Thank you."
Midoriya held his gaze for a moment longer, then nodded. "Get some rest. Tomorrow's going to be long."
He disappeared into his room. Todoroki did the same, closing the door behind him and leaning against it.
The room was quiet. Cold. He could hear the wind outside, could see his breath fog in the air. He should turn on the heater. He should unpack his bag. He should do any number of practical, reasonable things.
Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed and thought about Bakugo's hands.
About the way they moved when he talked. About the scars on his knuckles. About the heat that seemed to radiate from them even from across the room.
Todoroki pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes.