The Course of True Love (and First Dates)

In which everything goes horribly wrong

It was Friday night in Brooklyn, and the city lights were reflecting off the sky: orange-tinted clouds pressing summer heat against the sidewalks like a flower between the pages of a book. Todoroki walked the floor of his loft apartment alone and wondered, with what amounted to only mild interest, if he was about to be stood up.

Being asked out by a Demon Slayer had been among the top ten strangest and most unexpected things that had ever happened to Todoroki, and he had always endeavored to live a very unexpected life.

He had surprised himself by agreeing.

This past Tuesday had been a dull day at home with the cat and an inventory list that included horned toads. Then Midoriya Izuku, eldest son of the Demon Slayers who ran the New York Institute, had turned up on Todoroki's doorstep, thanked him for saving his life the day before, and asked him out while turning fifteen shades between puce and mauve. In response Todoroki had promptly lost his mind, kissed him, and made a date for Friday.

The whole thing had been extremely odd. For one thing, Midoriya had come and said thank you to Todoroki for saving his life in a fight against a demon. Very few Demon Slayers would have thought of doing such a thing. They thought of magic as their right, due whenever they needed it, and regarded warlocks as either conveniences or nuisances. Most of the Demon Slayers would as soon have thought of thanking an elevator for arriving at the right floor.

Then there was the fact that no Demon Slayer had ever asked Todoroki out on a date before. They had wanted favors of several kinds, magical and sexual and strange. None of them had wanted to spend time with him, go out to a movie, and share popcorn. He wasn't even sure Demon Slayers watched movies.

It was such a simple thing, such a straightforward request—as if no Demon Slayer had ever broken a plate because Todoroki had touched it, or spat "warlock" as if it were a curse. As if all old wounds could be healed, made as though they had never been, and the world could become the way it looked through Midoriya Izuku's clear green eyes.

At the time, Todoroki had said yes because he wanted to say yes. It was quite possible, however, that he had said yes because he was an idiot.

After all, Todoroki had to keep reminding himself, Midoriya wasn't even all that into Todoroki. He was simply responding to the only male attention he'd ever had. Midoriya was closeted, shy, obviously insecure, and obviously hung up on his blond friend Bakugou Katsuki.

He had told himself that this date would be a bit of excitement, an isolated incident in a life that had become a little too routine, and nothing more.

He tried not to think of the way he'd given Midoriya an out, and how Midoriya had looked at him and said with devastating simplicity, I like you. Todoroki had always thought of himself as someone who could wrap words around people, trip them up or pull the wool over their eyes when he had to. It was amazing how Midoriya could just cut through it all. It was more amazing that he didn't even seem to be trying.

As soon as Midoriya had left, Todoroki had called Momo, sworn her to secrecy, and then told her all about it.

"Did you agree to go out with him because you think the Demon Slayers are jerks and you want to show them you can corrupt their baby boy?" asked Momo.

Todoroki ran his finger through his cat's soft fur. "I do think the Slayers are jerks," he admitted. "And that does sound like something I'd do. Damn it."

"No, it doesn't really," said Momo. "You're sarcastic twelve hours a day, but you're almost never spiteful. You have a good heart under all the ice."

Momo was the one with the good heart, Todoroki thought with a small smile.
The warlock looked out the window. There was a Polish restaurant across the street from his house, its flashing lights advertising twenty-four-hour borscht and coffee (hopefully not mixed together). He thought of the way Midoriya's hands had trembled when he'd asked Todoroki if he wanted to go out, about how glad and astounded he had seemed when Todoroki said yes.

"No," he said. "It's probably a bad idea—it's probably my worst idea this decade—but it had nothing to do with his ancestors. I said yes because of him."

Momo was quiet for a few moments. If Kaminari was around he would have laughed, but Denki had disappeared to a spa in Switzerland for a series of complicated facials meant to bring out the yellow in his complexion. Momo had the instinct of a healer: she knew when to be kind.

"Good luck on your date, then," she said at last.

"Much appreciated, but I don't need good luck; I need assistance," said Todoroki. "Just because I'm going on this date does not mean it will go well. I'm very charming, but it does take two to tango."

"Todoroki, remember what happened the last time you tried to tango. Your shoe flew off and nearly killed someone."

"It was a metaphor. He's a Demon Slayer, and he's into blonds. He's a dating hazard. I need an escape strategy. If the date is a complete disaster, I'll text you. I'll say 'Blue Squirrel, this is Hot Fox. Mission to be aborted with extreme prejudice.' Then you call me and you tell me that there is a terrible emergency that requires my expert warlock assistance."

"This seems unnecessarily complicated. It's your phone, Todoroki; there's no need for code names."

"Fine. I'll just text 'Abort.'" Todoroki reached out and drew his fingers from his cat's head to his tail; Konpeito stretched and purred his enthusiastic approval of Todoroki's taste in men. "Will you help me?"

Momo dragged in a long, annoyed breath. "I will help you," she promised. "But you've called in all your dating favors for this century, and you owe me."

"It's a bargain," said Todoroki.

"And if it all works out," said Momo, cackling, "I want to be best woman at your wedding."

"I'm hanging up now," Todoroki informed her.

He had made a bargain with Momo. He had done more than that: he had called and made reservations at a restaurant. He had selected a date outfit of red Ferragamo pants, matching shoes, and a black silk waistcoat that Todoroki wore without a shirt because it did amazing things for his arms and shoulders. And it had all been for nothing.

Midoriya was half an hour late. The probability was that Midoriya's nerve had broken—that he had weighed his life, complete with his precious Demon Slayer duty, against a date with a guy he didn't even like that much—and he was not coming at all.

Todoroki shrugged philosophically, and with a casualness he did not quite feel, padded over to his drinks cabinet and made himself an exciting concoction with energizing potion, cranberry juice, and a twist of lime. He'd look back on this and laugh one day. Probably tomorrow. Well, maybe the day after. Tomorrow he'd be hungover.

He might have jumped when the buzzer sounded through the loft, but there was nobody but his cat Konpeito there to see. Todoroki was perfectly composed by the time Midoriya ran up the stairs and hurtled through the door.

Midoriya could not have been described as perfectly composed. His green hair was going in every direction, like an octopus that had been dropped in soot; his chest was rising and falling hard under his pale-blue T-shirt; and there was a light sheen of perspiration on his face. It took a lot to make Demon Slayers sweat. Todoroki wondered exactly how fast he had been running.

"Well, this is unexpected," said Todoroki, raising his eyebrows. Still holding his cat, he had flung himself lightly on the sofa, his legs hooked over one of the carved wooden arms. Konpeito was draped over his stomach and meowing in perplexity about the sudden change in his situation.

Todoroki might have been trying a bit too hard to appear louche and unconcerned, but judging by Midoriya's crestfallen expression, he was really pulling it off.

"I'm sorry I'm late," Midoriya panted. "Kacchan wanted to do some weapons training, and I didn't know how to get away—I mean, I couldn't tell him—"

"Oh, Katsuki, that's it," said Todoroki.

"What?" said Midoriya.

"I briefly forgot the blond one's name," Todoroki explained, with a dismissive flick of his fingers.

Midoriya looked staggered. "Oh. I'm—I'm Midoriya."

Todoroki's hand paused mid-dismissive-flick. The gleam of city lights through the window reflected off the blue jewels on his fingers, casting bright blue sparks that caught fire and then tumbled and drowned in the deep blue of Midoriya's eyes.

Midoriya had made an effort, Todoroki thought, though it took a trained eye to spot it. The light-blue shirt fit him considerably better than the unholy gray sweatshirt that Midoriya had been wearing on Tuesday. He smelled vaguely of cologne. Todoroki felt unexpectedly touched.

"Yes," said Todoroki slowly, and then he smiled slowly as well. "I remember your name."

Midoriya smiled. Maybe it didn't matter if Midoriya did have a little thing for Apparently-Katsuki. Apparently-Katsuki was beautiful, but he was the sort of person that knew it, and they were often more trouble than they were worth. If Bakugou was gold, catching the light and the attention, Midoriya was silver: so used to everyone else looking at his friend that that was where he looked too, so used to living in Katsuki's shadow that he didn't expect to be seen. Maybe it was enough to be the first person to tell Midoriya that he was worth being seen ahead of anyone in a room, and of being looked at longest.

And silver, though few people knew it, was a rarer metal than gold.

"Don't worry about it," said Todoroki, swinging himself easily off the couch and pushing Chairman Meow gently onto the sofa cushions, to the Konpeito's plaintively voiced dismay. "Have a drink."

He pushed his own drink hospitably into Midoriya's hand; he hadn't even taken a sip, and he could make himself a new one. Midoriya looked startled. He was obviously far more nervous than Todoroki had thought, because he fumbled and then dropped the glass, spilling crimson liquid all over himself and the floor. There was a crash as the glass hit the wood and splintered.

Midoriya looked like he had been shot and was extremely embarrassed about it.

"Wow," said Todoroki. "Your people are really overselling your elite Demon Slayer reflexes."

"Oh, I am so—I am so sorry." he mumbled.

Todoroki shook his head and gestured, leaving a trail of blue sparks in the air, and the puddle of crimson liquid and broken glass vanished.

"Don't be sorry," he said. "I'm a warlock. There's no mess I can't clean up. Why do you think I throw so many parties? Let me tell you, I wouldn't do it if I had to scrub toilets myself. Have you ever seen a vampire throw up? Nasty."

"I don't really, uh, know any vampires socially."