Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Todoroki's POV

Second year was supposed to be the beginning of the “after.”

The part where everything settled. Where the fighting stopped meaning survival and started meaning something… lighter. Something closer to living.

I believed in that.

I believed in it because of you.

I remember the way the sunlight used to pool on your desk during Hero Ethics. It was a gold so bright it made your messy green hair look like a halo. I’d sit two rows back, pretending to listen, but my focus was always somewhere else—tracing the line of your shoulders, watching the way your hand moved too fast across the page, like your thoughts would disappear if you didn’t trap them in ink fast enough.

You were still writing everything down.

Even after everything.

You seemed so… solid then.

Untouchable in a way that didn’t make sense. You were the one who had stood at the center of everything and survived. The one who carried something far heavier than the rest of us ever could—and somehow, you were still there.

Still smiling.

Still trying.

I thought that meant you were okay.

…

I convinced myself that the distance between us was a kindness.

A necessary one.

I saw the way you looked at Ochaco Uraraka.

It wasn’t obvious—not to most people. But it didn’t need to be.

It was in the way your head tilted toward her without thinking. The way your voice softened, just slightly, like you were afraid of breaking something fragile between you. The way your eyes—always so intense, so focused—became a little softer. Warmer. Almost… reverent.

I remembered the day at the gates.

The rain hadn’t stopped. It clung to everything—your hair, your clothes, your skin—like the world itself was trying to wash you away. And she stood there, soaked and shaking, screaming into a megaphone like your existence was something worth fighting for.

And you looked at her like she had rewritten something inside you.

Like she had given you permission to stay.

I understood then.

There was no space for me in the center of your world.

So I didn’t try to make one.

I settled for the edges.

I became careful.

Secretive.

I practiced the art of being “just Todoroki.”

I made sure my sighs were quiet. My stares were brief. My presence… unobtrusive.

I didn’t want to be something you had to think about.

I didn’t want to be something that complicated your peace.

…

“Sorry, Todoroki-kun! I’ve got to run—All Might’s waiting!”

You would say it like that—light, almost apologetic. Like leaving was something small.

Like it didn’t matter.

You’d laugh, just a little, already halfway turned away before I could respond.

And I would nod.

That was all I ever did.

I would watch your back disappear down the hallway and think—

He’s just working harder than the rest of us.

He’s just… being himself.

…

I noticed things.

I just didn’t understand them.

The way your skin felt colder when our hands brushed during training—not just temperature, but something deeper. Like warmth was something you were slowly losing the right to hold onto.

The way your breathing would hitch, but not from exertion.

The way your Quirk flickered.

That… bothered me.

Your power had always been overwhelming. Loud. Alive in a way that filled the space around you whether you wanted it to or not.

But it started to change.

The green lightning that once cracked through the air began to thin. To hesitate. To falter at the edges like it didn’t have the strength to exist for long.

Like it was burning itself out.

I remember watching it once—really watching it—and thinking it looked like the last embers of a fire that had already consumed everything it could.

I should have asked.

I should have stopped you.

I should have—

…

I told myself it was normal.

That it was the aftermath.

That this was what happened when someone like you carried something like that for so long.

I thought you were shedding it.

Letting it go.

Becoming… just a boy again.

And I thought that was a good thing.

…

I imagined the future.

Not mine.

Yours.

I imagined graduation.

I imagined you standing there, smiling in that quiet way you did when you were overwhelmed but happy. I imagined the way everyone would gather around you, how your name would be spoken with something close to awe.

I imagined watching you from a distance.

That part never changed.

I imagined you with her.

Standing beside her. Laughing with her. Living a life that had nothing to do with war or sacrifice or loss.

I imagined sitting in the front row at your wedding, wearing something formal, something composed, something that hid the way I felt.

I imagined smiling.

I imagined convincing myself that it was enough just to see you happy.

I built an entire life out of “almosts.”

And I was… content with that.

…

I was so careful.

So precise.

I thought I was doing the right thing.

Protecting you from something unnecessary.

From something inconvenient.

From me.

…

I should have been protecting you from something real.

…

I didn’t know.

That’s the truth I can’t escape.

I didn’t know that every time you rushed out of the room, it wasn’t dedication—it was urgency.

I didn’t know that “training” meant sterile white walls and quiet voices measuring how much time you had left.

I didn’t know that your heart—something so kind—was slowly losing its rhythm.

I didn’t know that your Quirk wasn’t fading.

It was taking you with it.

…

You were disappearing in front of me.

And I let you.

Because I thought there would always be more time.

…

The news didn’t feel real.

There was no sound to it.

No impact.

Just silence.

A quiet classroom.

And Aizawa-sensei standing there, unable to meet our eyes.

That was when I understood.

Not all at once.

But enough.

Enough to feel something inside me… fracture.

…

Now, the “after” is here.

But it isn’t what I thought it would be.

The world feels… wrong.

Like something essential has been removed, and everything else is trying—and failing—to adjust around the absence.

…

I’m standing in your room.

It still smells like you.

Paper. Laundry detergent. Something faintly warm that hasn’t completely faded yet.

Your things are exactly where you left them.

Your notebooks are stacked neatly, filled with thoughts you never got to finish. Your All Might figures are lined up with the same care you always gave them, like they were watching over something important.

They’re guarding an empty bed.

…

I’m holding the note your mother gave me.

I haven’t opened it yet.

I don’t know if I can.

Because if I read it—

then this becomes something permanent.

…

I spent a year convincing myself that silence was kindness.

That distance was respect.

That loving you quietly was enough.

…

I was wrong.

…

You died alone.

Because you didn’t want us to see you weak.

Because you didn’t want to burden us.

Because you were still trying to protect everyone—

even at the end.

…

That was never your responsibility.

It should have been mine.

I should have seen you.

I should have chosen you over my own hesitation.

Over my own fear of being unnecessary.

…

Izuku—

…

I would have listened.

If you had told me.

If you had said anything.

I wouldn’t have looked away.

I wouldn’t have stayed silent.

I wouldn’t have let you carry that alone.

…

I would have given you everything.

My time.

My strength.

My life.

All of it.

Without hesitation.

…

Just to hear you say my name one more time.