U.A. at night was a different world.
The quiet halls, the faint humming of distant electronics, the way the moonlight filtered through the windows and painted pale silver across the dorm floor—it all felt... still. After everything we'd survived, everything we'd fought for, that silence should've brought peace.
But it didn't.
Not to me.
I stood in the common room, barefoot on cold tile, staring out at the open campus. A late spring storm had rolled in earlier that day, raining unexpectedly like some leftover emotion that hadn't settled with the others. It reminded me of him.
Of the boy who never smiled unless you really looked.
Of the boy who stood in fire and ice and still chose gentleness.
I heard the door open behind me, light footsteps.
"You'll catch a cold," Todoroki said softly, his voice barely above the hum of the heater.
I didn't look back. "You and I both know that won't happen."
A pause.
"Still not sleeping well?" he asked.
I turned slightly, catching a glimpse of him. Sweatpants. Hoodie. His hair was a little messy, like he'd run his hand through it too many times. He looked like the version of himself most people didn't get to see.
"I guess I was hoping the rain would help," I said, voice softer than I expected.
He stepped beside me, following my gaze to the window.
"It's strange," he said after a moment. "I thought I hated the cold."
I glanced at him. "You don't?"
"I did," he said. "For a long time. It reminded me of things I didn't want to remember. My mother. My childhood. My left side."
I watched his breath fog the window, his hands still in his pockets.
"But now," he continued, "it doesn't feel so heavy."
I nodded slowly. "Maybe it's not the cold that changed."
He looked at me then, brows slightly furrowed. "You think I did?"
"I think... you're still changing."
He blinked. "That's a good thing, right?"
I smiled. "It's the best thing."
We stood in silence for a while. It wasn't awkward. It never was with him. It was just... reflective. Like we were both waiting for something neither of us wanted to say first.
So, of course, I said it.
"Shoto," I began, surprising even myself by using his first name, "can I ask you something?"
He turned his full attention to me, and the room suddenly felt much smaller.
"Anything."
"Why me?" I asked, heart thudding. "You could have anyone. You're brilliant, powerful, thoughtful... and yet you confessed to me. Why?"
He looked at me for a long time. Not analyzing. Not calculating. Just... seeing.
"When I'm with you," he said slowly, "I feel like I'm allowed to want things."
I frowned, confused.
He continued. "All my life, people told me what I should want. What I was made for. What my future needed to be. Even when I rebelled, it was always in response to that. Never for myself."
He looked down, a faint flush on his cheeks.
"But you... you never expected me to be anything other than who I am. You saw me. Not my quirk. Not my family. Me."
I swallowed hard.
"When I realized that," he said, voice quiet but steady, "I started to think maybe I could be more. That I could want things just for myself. Like peace. Like laughter. Like you."
My breath caught.
"Shoto..."
"I don't know how to say these things right," he admitted. "I don't have the practice. But when I think about my future—when I picture the kind of life I want to fight for—you're always there."
The tears came before I could stop them.
Because I hadn't let myself want it.
Not really.
Not when so many others were still hurting. Not when we were still rebuilding our world. I thought if I chose someone—if I allowed myself that kind of softness—it would make me selfish.
But he made it feel like survival.
Like warmth after years of cold.
"I love you," I said, voice breaking.
He inhaled sharply.
"I didn't want to," I confessed. "Not because I don't feel it. Because I do. So much it hurts. But I was scared."
He stepped closer. "Of what?"
"Of needing someone," I said. "Of needing you. Because if I lost you..."
He reached out, gently brushing my tears away.
"You won't," he said.
"You can't promise that."
"I can," he said, "because I'm choosing to stay. With you. As long as you'll have me."
I stepped forward before I could change my mind, wrapping my arms around him and pressing my face to his chest. He stiffened for a second, startled—but then melted into it, his arms winding around me with quiet reverence.
His heartbeat was steady.
His embrace was solid.
He was real.
We stood like that for a long time.
When I finally pulled back, his hands slid to my cheeks.
"Is this okay?" he asked, voice barely a whisper.
I nodded.
And he kissed me.
It was soft. Warm. No sign of clumsiness or greed.
Just right.
When he pulled back, his forehead rested against mine.
"I've wanted to do that for a while," he murmured.
"I'm glad you waited," I whispered.
He smiled. And not the practiced, polite kind. The real kind. The kind that started in his eyes and spread to every part of him, thawing something deep in his chest.
We sat on the couch after that, my head on his shoulder, his fingers lightly laced with mine.
Neither of us said much.
We didn't have to.
Because this was it.
The beginning.
Not of something perfect. Not of some dramatic, sweeping romance.
Just two people who had been shaped by fire and ice, finding the quiet space between the storms.
Finding each other.
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|| She's Perfect || BNHA x OP! Reader ||
Fanfictioncomplete [F/N] [L/N] is an incredibly powerful young woman, living with one of the most powerful quirks known to man. She wants to become a hero to honor her parents, who were murdered by villains when she was four years old. After the accident...
