The Realist(Shoto Todoroki x reader- Bakugo's twin sister)

Chapter 58

By the time I dragged myself back to my dorm, Mirio's cheerful face was still burned into my vision- mostly because I'd 'accidentally' planted my fist right across it.

He'd laughed it off, of course. He always did. Sunshine wrapped in muscle. But I'd seen the surprise flash in his eyes before the smile returned, that split second where even he hadn't expected me to connect. Surprised he didn't phase through it like usual.

My knuckles throbbed, dull and steady, as I peeled my sweaty clothes off and headed for the shower. The hot water washed away the dirt and tension from training, but it didn't wash away the taste that lingered on my tongue.

Peppermint.

I shut my eyes, groaning under the spray as if the water could rinse the thought out of me. It was stupid- it was toothpaste, that was all- but every sharp, minty trace clung to me, dragging me back to the stairwell, to lips that had been warm and unsteady against mine.

Fucking peppermint.

When I finally emerged, skin flushed pink from the heat, I ran the towel through my damp hair, sighing as it dripped in lazy rivulets down my back. My hand caught my attention then- red scuff marks smeared across my knuckles, little badges from my 'accident'. I held it up in the light, turning it slowly. The memory of Mirio's startled face made me chuckle under my breath. I went back up to my dorm quietly and closed the door.

With a sharp flick, I tossed the towel toward the hamper, missing by an inch but not bothering to fix it. Instead, I focused on the bruised skin. Energy hummed in my palm, glowing faintly as it swirled around the marks. The ache melted away as the scuffs smoothed into nothing.

I could've left them. Honestly, part of me wanted to- proof that today had been real, that I'd thrown a punch, fought, kissed, lived. But questions weren't worth it. Scuff marks on my knuckles after a night I was supposed to be asleep?

Too obvious.

By the time I crawled into bed, my body sagged into the mattress, exhaustion tugging at me. The ceiling stretched pale above me, familiar cracks webbing across it like constellations I couldn't name. I stared, unblinking.

Did that really happen?

The thought whispered through me, unwelcome but relentless. My fingers curled into my blanket, tugging it up as if I could hide from the memory. But I didn't want to hide. Not really.

My lips tingled just remembering- the way his mouth had moved with mine, hesitant at first, then hungry, pulling me deeper until I'd forgotten where I ended and he began. The way my hand had slid into his hair, tugging until he made that low sound that had nearly undone me right there on the stairs.

It hadn't been fake this time. Not like the fantasies I'd laughed off or the almosts that left me hanging. This was real. Flesh and blood, heat and peppermint. His restraint cracking, my sarcasm melting, both of us colliding like we'd been daring it to happen all along.

And it could happen again.

No. It will happen again.

The certainty coiled inside me, heady and addictive. I smirked into the dark, the corners of my lips tugging up before I could stop them.

My hand found Gang Orca, the ridiculous plush I refused to admit I liked having around. The soft fabric gave beneath my fingers as I pulled it close, the black cherry-patterned blanket sliding over me.

I buried myself in it, the faint warmth of my earlier shower clinging to my skin, the peppermint still haunting my mouth. My eyes slid shut, my smirk lingering.