Izuku holds his breath as the train approaches the junction. Another train is about to pass through in the crosswise direction; this one should detect that and stop to wait.

He glances at the monitor. The tracker for the other train isn’t showing up at the intersection — the system thinks it’s all the way back at the previous switch. But he can clearly see that it’s right there— goddamnit, it’s not going to stop.

“Fuck,” he says, as the trains crash into each other and both get derailed.

He sighs and runs a hand through his hair. This group project for his computer science class isn’t going especially well. They’re supposed to write a program to control these model trains on a track set up in the lab, but the sensors are unreliable, sometimes the wheels get stuck or the tracks don’t switch properly, and George hadn’t responded to him at all over the weekend.

The professor is supposed to review their progress tomorrow morning, so they really have to spend all day working on it until they manage to iron out all the kinks. Maybe all night, too.

George had better show up. He and Izuku had shared a few classes together before this one; he’d seemed like a safe choice of partner since they were already well acquainted. Less likely to flake. So much for that theory.

“Izuku, hey, sorry.” He jumps at the sound of George’s voice.

George deposits his stuff on the desk and leans over Izuku’s shoulder to look at the monitor.

“That sensor’s still not registering properly?”

Izuku shakes his head.

“Ugh, that’s just what I need,” George grumbles. “Sorry, I would have worked in it over the weekend but I just had such a shitty—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Izuku says, cutting him off. They’ve wasted enough time, he doesn’t need to spend even more listening to George’s lame excuses.

Maybe that’s unfair. Maybe George had legitimately had a shitty whatever, but either way, they can’t afford to get distracted now.

“Let’s just try to focus,” he says, more gently. “Can we implement a probabilistic model based on estimated velocity and existing sensor data?”

George nods. Good — he’s back in work mode. Maybe they have a chance at passing this course after all.

Izuku spins in his chair, casting for inspiration. Their new virtual tracking model is promising, but not enough. Maybe if they take a more conservative approach? Can they still meet the imaginary traffic quotas?

“You’re muttering again,” George says.

“Sorry.” Izuku stops spinning. Honestly. George ‘Pen Clicker’ MacMahon is one to talk.

“Take a break while we wait for it to compile,” George says, standing and stretching his arms. “Or there’s no way you’ll be able to focus if we have to pull an all nighter.”

Izuku rubs his eyes. That’s fair. It’s already midnight, with no end in sight.

“Okay,” he concedes, “what was your shitty something?”

“Huh?” George turns to face him. “Oh, yeah. John and I broke up. Spent the rest of the weekend bingeing on ice cream and bad television.”

Guilt settles in his stomach, and Izuku grimaces. “Sorry. You want to talk about it?”

“Ugh, it’s just—” George sighs heavily and drops into his seat, leaning back and stretching his legs out in front of himself. “Apparently some girl from his psych class has been talking to him and he wants to give things a shot with her. This always happens.”

Izuku frowns. “What always happens?”

“Whenever I date a bi guy, this happens. A girl comes along, and I’m tossed aside. Never again. Can’t trust ‘em.”

Izuku shifts in his seat, uncomfortable. “I mean… that’s a bit of a blanket statement, don’t you think?”

George shakes his head. “You wouldn’t get it; you’re straight.”

Well, about that. Izuku bites his lip. He’s not interested in George — especially not now — but it still stings to hear someone spouting biphobic garbage so casually. It’s only recently that he’s even realized, and he’s not out to anyone, so George couldn’t have known… but still.

“Yeah, I guess I wouldn’t,” he says, flatly. Awkward. So awkward.

The screen flashes. Oh, thank god. “Look, it’s finished.”

The numbers on his door are blurring together. Not a good sign. Izuku fumbles in his pockets — where did he put his keys? His headache pounds — his brain is punishing him for the delay; it wants him in bed, asleep, right now.

He drops his head against the door and groans. He must have left his keys back at the lab.

“Nooooo.” It comes out as a low whine.

“All-nighter?”

Oh god, that voice. That silky smooth, could listen to it all day, every day, in every context—

“Izuku, you okay?” Shouto leans against the wall, face coming into view as he slides down until Izuku can look at him from his limited perspective of having his forehead against the door.

Tears start to fill his eyes, and Izuku stands up, scrubbing his face. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Ugh, sorry,” he says, and it sounds pathetic. “I’m just so— I need to sleep, like, now, but I forgot my keys and they must be all the way across campus at the lab, and my partner turned out to be an asshole, and my head—”

Shouto, blessed angel from heaven that he is, pulls out his keys and unlocks the door.

Izuku exhales in relief, practically a sob.

Shouto helps him to his bed. Izuku leans against him maybe just a little more than necessary. He smells so fucking good, it’s just not fair.

He groans and collapses onto the bed.

“Come on, feet up,” Shouto says, tugging at Izuku’s shoes. “How many energy drinks did you have?”

“Uh.” Izuku tries to count. One when they’d first realized they’d be up most of the night. One about halfway through. One right before class started. His heart had felt like it was going to explode during their evaluation. They’d passed, at least. Trains didn’t crash. Quotas met. Barely.

Had there been one more? “Three? Four?”

Shouto sighs. “Did you eat?”

Izuku shakes his head, rubbing his face against his pillow.

“Okay, ‘Zuku.” God. His voice is so gentle. Shouto’s fingers through the back of his hair are like heaven itself sent a cure for Izuku’s pounding headache. “Give me your fob for the lab. I’ll get your keys and bring back some breakfast — just get some rest now.”

Ughhhhhh— he’s just too fucking good for this world. How does someone like Todoroki Shouto actually exist? For real? So insanely beautiful and kind and thoughtful and for some reason he actually wants to be Izuku’s friend and take care of him and—

The door clicks shut, the lock turns, and he’s gone.

Izuku inhales sharply and sits up. The light in the room is all weird, like all the wrong parts of the walls and ceiling are lit up, or something. At least his head doesn’t feel like it’s full of sand anymore.

“Welcome back to the land of the living,” Shouto says, across the room. He closes his book and swings his legs over the side of his bed, sitting up.

Izuku rubs his face. “What time is it?” His voice is all wonky and rough. He clears his throat.

“Almost four.”

Makes sense — that’s why the light is wrong; the sun is in the wrong place for waking up.

Shouto nudges the mini fridge with his foot. “Food’s in here — I didn’t want to wake you up.”

Izuku smiles. “Thanks,” he says, crouching down and pulling the fridge door open. There are two food containers in the otherwise nearly empty fridge.

“Pass me one?” Shouto holds out a hand.

Izuku complies, and takes the other for himself. “You didn’t eat already?” He sits back on his bed and nudges the fridge door closed with his foot.

Shouto shrugs, opening his box. “Thought I’d wait for you.”

“Oh.” Izuku fumbles opening his box, face heating up.

Shouto slurps his noodles. He swallows, and pauses with his chopsticks in the box. “So, asshole partner?”

Oh, yeah. That. So uncomfortable. But what if—? Izuku slows his chewing. What if Shouto thinks the same way? He’s been out as gay since high school, but hasn’t seriously dated anyone as far as Izuku has ever seen.

“He just— I guess he just went through a breakup, and his ex was bi, so he was saying these things—“ Izuku swallows. “It just really bothered me.”

Shouto coughs. And coughs, and coughs. Is he—?

“Are you okay?” Izuku puts his food down and crosses the room, taking Shouto’s box from his hands and putting it on his nightstand. “Are you choking?”

He hovers his hands around Shouto, hesitating. Not supposed to pat someone’s back, right? He fights the instinct.

Shouto shakes his head, finally breathing. “I’m okay,” he says, a little breathless. “Just forgot how to swallow, I guess.”

Izuku’s eyes go wide. No, no, don’t go there. He drops down beside him.

Shouto smacks his shoulder. “Not like that, you jerk.” He’s grinning, though.

“Sorry.” Izuku grins back, rubbing the back of his head.

“Why—?” Shouto clears his throat. “Why did it bother you?” He’s serious, now, looking Izuku right in the face.

Izuku can’t look away. “Uh— what George said, you mean?”

“Yeah.”

Izuku bites his lip, heart pounding. He glances away and back at Shouto. “Um, well— he was just— he was saying this stuff about how bi people can’t be trusted, because they’ll leave you for a girl, stuff like that.”

Shouto just blinks at him, with the slightest frown creasing between his brows.

“And, uh— I guess it bothered me because—“ He swallows. He feels sick. He hasn’t said it out loud before. What if Shouto agrees with George? Will this affect things between them? “Do you think that too? Would you— would you not want to date a bi guy, because of that sort of thing?”

“Depends,” Shouto says, slowly. “On the bi guy in question, I think.” He’s looking at Izuku so intently, it’s so hard not to look away.

And then Shouto blinks, and he looks away. “But generally speaking, I think your friend is full of shit.”

“Not my friend,” Izuku mutters.

“Izuku—”

“Shouto, I— I think I’m bi.” Izuku hugs his arms around himself. “At least, I think some guys—” one guy, really, “—are attractive.”

“Iz—”

“I wasn’t trying to keep it secret from you.” The words rush out. “I haven’t told anyone else. I’m still figuring it all out—”

“Izuku,” Shouto says, a little louder, and then his hand is on Izuku’s shoulder.

Izuku stares.

“Of course I wouldn’t think you’re less trustworthy because of your sexuality,” Shouto says, with a quiet forcefulness. “You’re allowed to take all the time you want before you tell anyone.”

Izuku’s lower lip quivers.

Shouto’s hand squeezes his shoulder gently. “You’re my best friend, Izuku,” he says, and Izuku stifles a sob. “We moved to America together, we’ve been roommates for years — of course this doesn’t change anything.”

“Right, of course.” Izuku laughs wetly. “I’m sorry— I can’t believe I was afraid you might think differently about me. I guess I’m a bit of an asshole, too.”

Shouto shakes his head, thumb stroking Izuku’s shoulder. “No, I remember how terrifying it was, back then. I was afraid of how you all would react, even though you and Tenya and Ochako were my closest friends.” He sighs. “You were the first people I told, and I thought everything would change.”

Oh.

“You’re not an asshole for feeling scared.” He looks up as Shouto nudges under his chin. “Okay?”

Izuku nods. If he says anything, he’ll turn into a sobbing mess for sure. He leans in for a hug, instead, and Shouto’s arms come around him.

He closes his eyes and brings his arms around Shouto’s waist, exhaling slowly against Shouto’s shoulder. It feels so insanely good to be close to him like this. There are maybe some things— Maybe he would like something to change.

He lets himself indulge, for just a moment— lets himself nuzzle against Shouto’s neck, just a tiny bit. What would it be like, if they were more than friends? If he could do this whenever he wanted? If Shouto would feel him trying to get closer, and pull him tighter against his chest—

Shouto pulls him tighter against his chest, and Izuku stops breathing.

It’s just the slightest pressure from Shouto’s arms around him, but it’s real — Izuku can’t be imagining it, right?

Shouto’s long fingers trace gentle shapes against Izuku’s back, just— just barely touching, and he shivers. It feels incredible.

“Shouto,” he breathes. His heart hammers in his chest. Is this—?

Shouto pulls away suddenly. “Sorry,” he says, roughly, head in his hands, and Izuku’s never seen him so flustered. “Sorry, Izuku— you just told me, and— fuck, I’m such an asshole— I can’t believe—”

Shouto is breathing hard, and Izuku is so, so confused.

“What—?”

“I was just being stupid, okay? Just forget it,” Shouto says, voice harsh. He meets Izuku’s gaze, and his expression softens. “Please? Okay?”

“Wait, Shouto—” Izuku frowns. What’s he supposed to forget? That hugs from Shouto are the most wonderful thing in the world? Why is he so upset?

“It’s just— this is like a dream, yeah?” Shouto says, running his hands through his hair. Fuck, he’s gorgeous. “I never thought it was even a possibility—”

Shouto groans and falls back onto his bed, arms over his face. Izuku just sits there, rooted to the spot.

“But you just came out to me— I can’t fucking— ugh!” Shouto’s voice is muffled, but he sounds really, really rattled.

Izuku reaches out a hand, but pulls back.

Shouto laughs brokenly. “And you were just talking about being afraid of everything changing—”

His heart is going to beat its way right up and out of his mouth. Can Shouto really be saying what it sounds like he’s saying?

Slowly, he lies down next to Shouto, who is breathing raggedly, face still hidden by his arms. Is he crying?

“Shouto,” he starts, softly, and Shouto’s face turns towards him, still behind his arms. “Maybe it would be okay… for some things to change?”

He touches Shouto’s forearm.

Shouto lets his arms drop away from his face but leaves his hands, fingers spread, eyes peeking out between them.

“Do you know what made me realize?” Izuku asks, and he bites his lip.

“What made you realize?” Shouto asks, hoarsely.

He swallows. “A few months ago we were studying, and a piece of hair fell in front of your face.” Izuku sighs. “It took everything I had not to reach over and tuck it behind your ear.” Once that image was in his mind, his imagination had let a whole scenario play out — he’d tuck Shouto’s hair back, and their eyes would meet, and Shouto’s breath would catch, and Izuku would lean in—

He’d panicked for a week. It had explained a lot. The vague discomfort he’d always felt whenever Shouto went out on a date — no one ever got a second date, but still. How whenever there were holidays and he went back home to visit Mom and Toshi, he spent the whole time thinking about being back here with Shouto.

How sometimes, lying awake at night, he’d let himself wonder what would happen if he got up and crossed the room. What would happen if he were lying next to Shouto on his bed—

Like they’re doing right now. Oh, god.

“Do you know why I never go on a second date with anyone?” Shouto asks, almost a whisper. He slides his hands off his face, resting one halfway between them on the bed.

Izuku searches his face. “Why don’t you go on a second date with anyone?”

“Because every time, when someone asks me out, I tell myself, ‘Maybe this time— maybe this one will make me feel a fraction of what I feel when I’m with Izuku’.” Shouto’s eyes are wide and afraid — he’s never looked so vulnerable before. “And I just— it never happens. Nobody compares.”

The room starts to spin, just a bit — oh, he’s been holding his breath.

He reaches out and interlaces his fingers with Shouto’s. Their eyes meet. Shouto’s breath catches.

Izuku leans in.