Chapter Text
This whole mess starts when Midoriya Izuku stumbles into the wrong floor.
He's a blur of freckles and apologies, his face red and winded from running up six flights of stairs. His hair’s sticking up in wild shapes, his suit is mismatched -- not in a way only a trained eye can tell, like mixing Burberry with YSL, but in a way where his jacket is mustard pinstripe yellow while his pants are green -- and he’s clutching his briefcase to his chest like it’s filled with blackmail or laundered money, his prosthetic hand gripping the handle so hard it’s almost a little bent. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, Uraraka, I know I'm late..”
Hi. I’m Todoroki Shouto. Do you believe in love at first sight? is what future Todoroki would have told him to say.
"Uraraka is on the second floor," he grunts instead, pointing to the door that’s still swinging in recoil. In that moment Midoriya becomes a broken man, as if his smile drops all four floors down but leaves his body behind to flounder. "No," he gasps like a fish keening for air, slumping down against the wall (in a way Todoroki-in-a-few-weeks would try to convince himself was indeed attractive) and scrubbing weakly at his face. It might be tears, it might be sweat. "No, no, nooooo…"
Momo murmurs next to his desk as they watch him tremble back to his feet, eyes scrunched shut with determination. He bids them goodbye and they hear his footsteps start to gain dangerous momentum down the stairs.
Momo files her nails as slowly and calmly as she speaks. “You think he’ll make it?”
Todoroki manages an ‘eh’. He’s a little plain -- he could even be considered forgettable -- and from an on-screen talent assessment, there’s not much marketability in a nervous presence like his. If his demeanor doesn’t get him, the fact that he stretches his neck a little too much like a turtle will. The world is brutal like that.
“But he’s your type.”
Todoroki coughs his coffee out all over his desk and informs her that he never said that.
The rest of the morning is so uneventful in comparison that Todoroki finds himself visiting the coffee machine every hour just to make the day go faster in between calls and budgets and contracts. He’s on his fourth trip when his slacking schedule lines up with Bakugou’s.
"Morning, diva."
"Dumb shit nepotism two."
"You've demoted me to the second one." Todoroki slides down into the only chair in the break room with legs that aren’t uneven. There’s no particular reason why he engages in conversation with Bakugou other than the fact that his venom gives him a little jolt that coffee won’t.
"Deku's here now," Bakugou says like it's adequate explanation, and it's as if his voice grows tender with some sort of sweet childhood memory as he hammers his jar of spicy pickles against the counter.
"Is he the one who came in?"
Bakugou's eyes narrow. "Yeah. Got himself into the morning show, don’t know how, think it’s something between him and the head of the network. And there's pickle juice in my fucking eye, you see that?"
Todoroki pauses. "I see it."
“He planned this.”
From: “T. Shouto” < [email protected] >
Date: November 9, 2016 11:03 AM
Subject: Welcome
To: <[email protected]>
Hello Deku.
Just wanted to make sure you made it okay to your set.
And from all of us, welcome to Yuuei. We all look forward to seeing you around.
Sincerely,
EXPLOSION MURDER VARIETY SHOW Crew
Yuuei Studio
From: “T. Shouto” < [email protected] >
Date: November 9, 2016 3:43 PM
Subject: Fwd: Re: Welcome
To: <[email protected]>
Hello Bakugou,
Fuck you.
See attached
---------- Forwarded message ----------
From: "Midoriya Izuku" <[email protected]>
Date: November 9, 2016 12:56 PM
Subject: Re: Welcome
To: <[email protected]>
Hi there!
Thank you so much! I made it! Don’t worry at all! I am just the new meteorologist but I’m a big fan of you guys!
Umm... lastly, I’m so sorry if there was a misunderstanding, but my name is Izuku, unless that was intentional. I’m sorry if I did anything to make you feel that way...
- Midoriya Izuku
“Yes. Just send the biggest one,” Todoroki rubs his temples under his fingers, rifling in his desk drawer for his migraine medicine. “Please.”
“Name on card?”
“Bakugou Katsuki,” he sighs, swallowing them dry.
The second time Midoriya shows up on floor six, his face is a shade of red that envies Momo’s louboutins, and Todoroki isn’t there to see it. If Todoroki had the connections, he would be in a bomb shelter. Instead he’s at the cafe across the street, watching the choppy security footage on his laptop and listening to Kirishima snicker a play-by-play into the phone.
“I’m sorry, so sorry, but thank you,“ he hides himself behind the muffin basket, which still isn’t big enough to eclipse his smile. “They’re really good! Uraraka and I ate half of them already…”
It’s here that Kirishima interjects “whoa, man.. all the nasty carrot cake flaxseed ones are gone. He’s an animal.”
Todoroki's ashamed of himself for the shiver that goes up his spine. "Uh. Keep going."
“We’re going to save the rest for Iida! He likes these.” -- Of course Iida would like blueberry. Goody two shoes. -- “I didn’t mean to guilt anyone, I was just confused… I guess I thought I got hatemail, you know!”
“I’m a dumb bird. I shit on cars. Signed, Bakugou Katsuki.” Kaminari gapes, reading the card Satou had printed.
“I don’t know what you guys had to do to Kacchan for him to let you guys do that!” Midoriya’s laugh is cherubic.
“I never-- HALFIE,” Bakugou snarls, inhuman, and leaps from his desk.
“... and that’s what happened,” Kirishima relays, voice rumbling with his laughter and the static. “Are you coming back? It’s all good now, Midoriya had him do some breathing exercise, haha!”
“No. Don’t ask where I’m going,” Todoroki mumbles, closing his laptop, and he’s halfway in his car by the time he sees the door of their building swing open for Bakugou Katsuki.
“Good news, everyone! If you’re in need of a shower, you can just step outside! W-we have an 80 percent chance of rain tonight, so please pack your umbrellas, or share one with someone you love dearly...“ God, he’s cute. Bad, but cute. Midoriya waves his hands around so much that he smacks the green screen behind him and sends a wobbly ripple through the map. “Everyone please try your very best to stay dry! I will be too! Okay, back to Uraraka...”
After a few weeks pass and Midoriya Izuku becomes routine, everyone on floor six observes what they dub 'the problem', where Todoroki arrives to the office early but sits down at his desk, opens his laptop, and stares with a mask of impassivity at the TV stream. He does not let anyone engage with him for a good twenty minutes.
There’s a bet going around on what will get him to answer. Today is Momo’s turn to step up to plate. "Todoroki, it's been floating around the office that 'he's ripped under that dad-suit'. Just thought you'd like to know."
"That's not relevant to me."
"My apologies, I forgot you already caught on." Momo follows his eyes to the misbuttons in Midoriya's shirt, that show gaps of freckled skin whenever his tie shifts out of place.
Todoroki tells her they're real professionals so his job is to pay attention to detail. He takes a labored sip out of his tea but his mouth is still dry.
The office exchanges hushed and anxious descriptions of the way Todoroki fixates on the screen (intense, buglike, hawkish) as Midoriya draws a clumsy circle across the interactive map’s surface with no regards to the tucking integrity of his shirt. Stupid All Might tie. Those pop culture references make him good with kids -- not that children really seem like a target audience when no child would turn on the news for fun -- but it’s the sentiment that matters. It’s good for the parents who like the morning show or tune in at breakfast long enough to be trapped by that big sweet smile. It’s bad for Todoroki Shouto, who just wants to rip that tie off.
He never thought the sentence ‘being cockblocked by All Might’ would apply to him.
"I bet he smells really good," Todoroki mumbles, even after the camera has switched to Uraraka and Iida discussing construction work. Momo taps her finger on her chin, waiting patiently for the cologne catalogue he's going to spout out down to the brand, and he makes up his mind on what fantasy he wants to go with. "Like oranges, like he's just peeled an orange and now the orange peel smell is all in the air and everyone asks who's been peeling oranges..."
"Todoroki. I didn't know you were into the Mister Rogers type," Kaminari hangs over his desk.
Todoroki whips his head to look at him. “That is not true.”
It's an easy misconception to make but there's a clear distinction. He’s still working on the narrative but Midoriya's more like a soccer mom; once he showed up to the building in a monochromatic teal tracksuit, and he’s certain that there’s fruit leather in his briefcase.
"Please go back to work," Tokoyami scolds them both, though his eyes are pleading, and Todoroki closes out of the TV stream and clears his throat.
He'll defend himself properly later.
