"S— Sorry…" Arata stammers, her voice breaking as she pulls away and turns around, unable to face him. "I didn't mean to— I mean I meant to, but you might not— I shouldn't have…"
Before she can flee to the safety of the bathroom, Shoto's hand closes around hers. The pillow he'd been clutching sinks into the carpet with a soft, surrendering thud.
"Wait." His voice is softer than she's ever heard it, a far cry from his usual steady tone. It's charged with a quiet urgency that makes her freeze in place. His thumb glides gently over her knuckles, and in that tender touch, the urge to flee dissipates like mist. "Don't go."
Arata's breath hitches at his request. She glances over her shoulder, meeting his gaze. There's something different in his eyes—something raw and vulnerable—unlike the Shoto Todoroki most people have come to know.
It's as if his usual calm facade has crumbled, revealing a glimpse of the emotions he keeps so carefully hidden.
Why are you looking at me like that?
Shoto steps closer, his other hand finding her shoulder. He gently pulls her back against his chest. His arms wrap around her, awkward at first, as if he's unsure if this is okay. But when she doesn't resist, he draws her to him just a little bit more.
"Can we… stay like this for a while?"
Shoto's voice is almost a whisper, but it carries a gravity that tugs at her heart. His grip on her shoulders becomes slightly firmer. She can feel the rapid beat of his heart against her back, matching the rhythm of her own.
"I just need a moment."
Arata's heart stutters. Shoto isn't one to ask for much, and the fact that he's asking this of her now—with such solemnity—makes her feel like she's holding something infinitely delicate and precious.
She nods, her voice lost in the moment, and leans back into him. Her back presses into the broad chest behind her as his body heat envelops her like a cozy blanket.
"…"
"…"
"… Shoto-san, why…?"
"The last time… you were either crying or unconscious." His words force their way out of his gritted teeth. "I couldn't do anything then…"
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"Everything has been resolved and she's safe now, so… take it easy, all right?" David Shield said to Shoto, one hand patting the boy's back. "Look after yourself. I'm sure this has been hard on you too."
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A sharp pang of guilt twists in Arata's stomach as the realization dawns on her.
The red string he tied around her ankle, his insistence on carrying her through 120 floors, the way he squeezed her hand while recounting his side of the fight during the police interview, like he needed a physical reassurance to tell himself that it was just a memory—
Was all of that because…?
As his friend, she's supposed to help him face this together, to be there for him when he battles his inner turmoil. Like he has always been for her. But only now it hits her how deeply this has been affecting him too.
"I didn't know you're… How could I be so stupid? Even Shield-san noticed… Why— Why didn't you say anything?"
Shoto's palms squeeze the balls of her shoulders. He's quiet for a moment, for once not letting bluntness take his words by the horns. "It's not about me… You've been through enough."
His words sting, not because they're harsh, but because she realizes how much he's been bottling up for her. "I— I don't understand… Of course it's about you too! If I'd known you were having a hard time, I would've wanted to comfort—"
"And then what?" Shoto's voice hardens, frustration leaking through the cracks. "If you flinched, it wouldn't have helped either of us."
Arata winces. The memory of yesterday is still fresh in her mind. The way she had jerked away when his shoulder accidentally brushed against hers—a touch that had sent a cold shiver down her spine. She had inhaled sharply, the sensation too close, too similar to the demon's hand tracing down the same path on her skin.
She had tried to hide it, but the damage was done; something akin to hurt had flashed in his eyes. Shoto withdrew in an instant, keeping her at arm's length for the rest of the day.
Arata bites her lips, her nails digging into her palms. "I'm— I'm sorry… for how I reacted."
"It's not your fault. I know the demon… did something to you. That much I understand." Shoto pauses, sensing the tension coiling in her muscles. His grasp around her shoulders falters as he continues, "I didn't want to make you uncomfortable. Earlier you hugged me first, so I thought… But if this reminds you of him, I'll—"
"No!" Arata's hands shoot up up—so fast as if it was a reflex. They clasp around his forearms, halting them from leaving her. "It's just… sometimes, I get startled at sudden movements… Then um, I— I remember the bad things, like, like… when the demon…"
"Please don't cry, Ara." His request comes out strained, the pain it's laden with stings her. "If you do—"
"No, it's… Shoto-san, listen. When it's you, I'm not scared, I'm not sad…" Arata swallows hard, her voice breaking off. She scrambles to find the right words to soothe him, to convince him of the warm feelings he has kindled within her. "It's the opposite... It— It makes me happy. So happy I could cry."
"Is that… Are you sure, Ara?"
There's nothing else she's more certain of. The sun could set in the east and this one thing would still be true to her.
"Yes." Arata pours the entirety of her soul into that single word and breathes it out. "So please, Shoto-san… If this… if this makes you happy too—"
Her heart almost leaps out of the ribcage when he leans in closer. His forehead rests on the curve of her shoulder, snugly, like it belongs there.
"It does." His answer vibrates softly in her ear, and the sensation shoots a warm shiver throughout her body. Her knees threaten to buckle beneath her, but his arms keep her steady, anchoring her to him.
"Then, I'd like this…" Her heart pounds so loudly she's sure he can hear it. Following what it tells her, she melts further into the safety of his embrace. "Because it's you."
Shoto doesn't say anything, but perhaps the way he holds her even closer, the way a spot on her shoulder burns under the heat of his face— is louder than any word he can utter.
"Thank you," Arata chokes out between the sniffles she tries to keep to herself—because Shoto just asked her not to cry—but damn it, it's impossible not to when her heart is bursting to the brim because of him. "F— For doing all you could to protect me, for being afraid of losing me. I can't— I can't change what happened, but… remember, you didn't lose me. I came back, right?"
Shoto buries his face deeper into her shoulder, his hair brushing against her neck in a way that sends a swarm of butterflies fluttering in her stomach.
"You did." A murmur it is, one with jagged edges spiking out of each sound he makes. It's all she needs to know that he is recalling the black and blue drawn across pale skin, the red that bloomed like roses on a tattered party dress. Seeing the aftermath was all he could do. "But not after that demon tortured you. Because I couldn't—"
"No. Because I wasn't strong enough. But I'll— I'll be stronger. I'll train with Aizawa-san after we get home, so… you don't have to worry." Here is a promise Arata never thought she'd ever utter because she didn't care much for power, and now she does to have the absolute certainty of being together, of coming home. For it means seeing him again above all. "And if this happens again… I promise I'll fight my way back to you, Shoto-san. Be it that demon or whomever. B— Because I don't want to lose you either."
"… I'll hold you to that," Shoto says. She shudders as the faintest brush of his lips draws a smile against her shoulder—small but genuine, at last. "But don't make me wait too long. If you do, I'm coming for you."
Her chest fills with a warmth long forgotten, like the touch of sunlight after years in the dark. Her fingers tighten around his forearms—the very arms that reached for her, that took her in even she had been more monster than human. "Okay… As long as I can do the same for you."
"Okay."
Arata doesn't let go, and neither does Shoto. They stand in the glow of the setting sun. Until the tension in the room finally gives way to a calm, steady rhythm, like the rise and fall of their breathing.
Shoto finally pulls back, just enough for Arata to turn around to face him. And this time, he doesn't look away from her. Even as heat crawls up the back of his neck, he holds her gaze. Her cheeks are flushed with a shade that he's sure rivals the tips of his ears. Her green eyes shimmer, reflecting the twilight as they flicker across his face—ready to catch for anything that goes unspoken.
Putting his emotions into words is a skill he hasn't mastered yet. But he wants to try, for her. "Thank you, Ara... If you didn't open up first, I don't think I could."
Arata fidgets, a shy smile playing at the corners of her lips. "I'm just… glad if it helped. I— I wasn't sure if it was too much, or—"
"It's not too much." Slowly, his hand reaches up to brush a stray tear on her cheek. The simple gesture makes her eyes flutter closed for a moment, and he feels a warmth spread through his chest, a warmth he's beginning to embrace rather than resist. "It's the push that I needed."
Her eyes open again—less damp but shimmering to nonetheless—and there's something hopeful in them, something that makes his heart beat a little faster. "For me too, Shoto-san."
Something has shifted between them—subtle, yet undeniable. Something he can't quite name yet, but he knows it's there, quietly taking root in the spaces between them.
Although if these moments are any indication, it's likely this something will either run his poor heart into the ground, or engulf it with a warmth so profound he might never want to let go. Or perhaps, it'll do both, a blend of emotions he never saw coming before her. Either way, he knows he wants to understand it.
He looks at Arata again, at her bashful expression in the fading golden hue of the sunset, and feels a resolve growing within him.
Perhaps we can figure it out together. One step at a time.
Eventually, Arata takes a small step back, fiddling with her own ponytail. She glances around and suggests, "We should probably, um, get dinner and tidy up these pillows. It's… getting a bit late."
Shoto nods, the corners of his mouth curling upward as he starts collecting the remaining pillows. Again, but now with a lighter heart. "Sounds good. You pick out dinner, I'll choose a movie for us to watch while we eat, then we can call it a night?"
"Deal."
Arata heads over to the telephone at the other side of the room, leaving him with a stack of pillows gathered beside him. The spot where she was is replaced with a faint chill from the air conditioner, a stark contrast to the lingering warmth of their embrace.
But for the first time in what feels like forever, despite her absence, Shoto feels a sense of peace residing within him as her earlier promise echoes softly in his mind. Because no matter what comes in the future…
"I'll fight my way back to you, Shoto-san."
And finally, he can breathe easy again.