Blood.

Pain.

Screaming,

A turbulent screech, and then-

"You monster."

His eyes snapped open in terror as a silent cry evaded his lips. His fingers were clawing desperately at the sheets, and his legs were intertwined in a haphazard mess with his futon. The vivid smell of metallic blood and sticky sweat seemed to erupt violently throughout the room, as the distant ringing in his ears became insufferable, mingled in with the furious pumping of blood through his veins. His polyester shirt clung to him like a wet towel, drenched in cold sweat. Thin crusts of ice had begun to form in the corners of his room – he must have activated his quirk out of some sort of defensive mechanism.

Using a quirk against a nightmare. Todoroki ran his fingers through his damp hair, sweeping them out of sight. That's about as effective as trying to extinguish fire with oil.

His room felt too cold, yet too hot. It didn't make any sense – but then again, nothing made sense during these nights. A heated microwave would seem freezing, and an ice cube could feel scorching hot on his hand. Just like how the boiling water felt icy-cold against his eyelids, on the old but prominent scar.

This was just one of those nights. One of those nights, where the illogical seemed plausible and all natural, as if nothing else could've been more obvious.

Which was precisely why, Todoroki could be hardly perturbed by the presence of a certain Bakugou Katsuki in front of his door, wearing his default scowl, looking as if he had tons to say.

"Bakugou." He mumbled indifferently, as the other boy's expression contorted in disbelief.

"Don't you fucking 'Bakugou' me, Half'n Half."

"That's your name, in case you don't –"

"I'd like to very kindly fucking remind you, Todoroki-Refrigerator-Shouto, that my room is next to yours, walls aren't exactly helpful when it comes to countering your quirk, and that our walls are very thin." Bakugou growled, his voice low but holding menace. But all Todoroki could think of was how nice it was to have a distraction – not exactly the most pleasant, but a distraction nonetheless – to pull him away from that despicable voice, that intolerable nightmare.

"Can't take some cool weather? My, never knew you were made of such fragile fibers, Bakugou." He responded accordingly, leaning against his doorframe that had also turned cold, lined with thin layers of his ice. The explosion boy looked more that prepared to tear his living soul down into a physical corpse – but Todoroki grunted. "Trust me, you do not want to use your quirk right now, of all times."

Bakugou made a disgruntled noise. "Don't test me, Half'n Half." But he shoved his hands back into his pockets anyway. "And says the one who just used his quirk because he didn't know how to use a fucking AC remote."

"I do know how to use the remote, thank you."

"You're not very convincing, seeing how your room literally looks like a gigantic cooler."

Okay, maybe deciding that Bakugou was good distraction material was too early. Todoroki closed his eyes, his head comfortably rested against the plastic frame. His shoulders were beginning to loosen up, and the ferocious blood flow had relaxed.

"Hey, don't fucking dose off in the middle of a conversation. Do rich little pricks not learn basic etiquette or what?"

Todoroki snorted at that, detaching himself from his temporary support. "'Basic etiquette' is yet another phrase that doesn't go along with you." When he opened his eyes, he was immediately drawn to Bakugou's fiery red ones, holding unspoken charisma and viciousness. It was almost breathtaking – almost – for reasons he couldn't comprehend.

"Another phrase? What the fuck- Okay, actually, you know what? This is a fucking waste of my time. I'm going to kill you if you don't figure out how to use that fucking remote by the next time you sleep."

"I'll be looking forward to that." Todoroki's nonchalant reply was probably the cause of that disturbing crackling sound that came from Bakugou's fingertips, but the hetero-haired boy didn't give it much thought. Instead, he slipped back into his futons and drifted back to sleep, the nightmares forgotten for the rest of the night.

Turns out, that Bakugou wasn't really planning to kill him even when Todoroki froze both their rooms a few days later.

"Do I need to fucking find a YouTube tutorial on how to turn on the air conditioner? Or do you need a personal manual on how to control your fucking shitty quirk, Half'n Half?" That felt mildly insulting, as the two were pretty evenly matched when it came to controlling their quirks, but Todoroki allowed the matter to slide. For now, he wanted to focus – on getting Endeavor's growl out of his head, on muting the endless screams of his mother, and trying to appease the sensation of wetness in his eyes that amplified with the nightmares. And if Bakugou was his distraction, that was fine with him. As long as his distraction wasn't too intent on murdering him anytime soon, then anything was suitable.

"For the second time, I know how to use the remote. And you don't have to barge into my room every single time your room gets too cold for your baby skin."

"Well, no shit, you almost freeze my balls and I'm supposed to dismiss it as 'damn, I always wanted to sleep in a refrigerator' and continue to sleep? Eat shit, Todoroki." Bakugou snarled – a gruffness the scarred boy was becoming accustomed to. It was a little too sharp during their first night meeting, but he supposed his ears were trying just as hard to be sidetracked as he was.

"Well, regard it as one of those and just sleep."

"Yeah, right. I'd feel endangered to sleep again after that."

Todoroki clucked his tongue, feeling somewhat sorry for his careless actions. Without asserting much thought into his words, he asked, "Want to come in?"

"Huh?" Bakugou's volume increased at exponential levels with every advancing alphabet, and the odd-eyed boy passed on an imploring look to make him tone down. The last thing he wanted was the whole dorm to wake up from this superficial encounter.

"It was just a suggestion. You're not obligated to do it."

"I'm never obligated to do something, dipshit." But surprisingly enough, Bakugou pushed through and entered his room. "Fuck, this room's colder than mine." He could hear the shudder in the rough boy's tone, as he slumped down on the carpeted floor.

Out of his remaining shred of amiability, Todoroki offered, "Want something warm?"

"Fucking better than freezing to death, perhaps." He took that as an indirect 'yes'. Shuffling across the room to his miniature "kitchen", or the best the school provided as basic culinary necessities, Todoroki picked up a mixture of hot chocolate and began boiling the water. Boiling water. He observed, biting the inside of his mouth as he waited patiently in front of the steaming kettle.

When the hot chocolate was done, he brought them to the table, where Bakugou was seated by with his less threatening scowl. He sipped the beverage and mumbled, "Not as shitty as I expected." Todoroki took that as a fair compliment, coming from Bakugou.

The two sat side by side in silence – not cozy, not awkward, but a feeling in between – drinking the hot chocolate as it gradually grew cold from the chilly atmosphere.

"Are you going to stop freezing your room anytime soon?" Bakugou grumbled, placing the plastic cup on the roundtable as he leaned the wooden frame of Todoroki's bed. The mattress was where it felt the coldest, the blankets stiff with frost, where the latter had been in closest proximity with.

I wish I could stop, too. "I don't know." Was the most honest Todoroki could get at the moment, considering his status regarding social relationships with Bakugou. The blonde would probably less than satisfied with that answer, as much as anyone else would, but he didn't say much. Then he eventually departed, leaving a snarky comment behind as he slammed the door shut.

These nights repeated throughout, and became more of a routine than an occasion – during daytime, the two would continue their violent exchanges, ignoring the previous night. Then that midnight, Bakugou would come in, complaining about Todoroki not being able to control his annoying quirk. Todoroki would make hot chocolate; sometimes coffee if they were near dawn, or whatever Bakugou's preference was for the night. He quickly discovered that Bakugou was a fan of ginger tea, or anything spicy that could burn his throat.

Their time together was nothing more than a few words, at most some fragmented sentences going back and forth, usually insults. It was a queer bond they shared during the most questionable hours of the day, but this bothered none of them. Bakugou never inquired why Todoroki had these tendencies, even when he was fully aware that his double-shaded classmate was absolutely capable of controlling his quirk to a certain extent, and Todoroki admitted – he was extremely thankful to Bakugou about that. Even if his natural personality trait was to fuck off about other people's business, Bakugou was doing a lot for him. It wasn't abnormal if he already requested for a room transfer at this point – but he didn't.

That night was just supposed to be like one of their many nights. Quiet, peaceful, a distraction.

But no.

That wasn't what happened.

The nightmare was more vivid- terrifyingly real, the blood almost tangible, the screams louder, his father's assault continuing relentlessly in the background, and the agonizing, deafening shriek that sounded from his mother – formed a inharmonious yelp as a strangled cry tore from his lips as well.

His breathing was accented and uneven – he wasn't even sure if he was breathing. He couldn't hear, and his bed was absolutely frozen into a hard block of ice, making his skin go numb at the contact. His vision was going rapidly between white and black, he couldn't breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe, breathe breathe breathe-

"Todoroki."

He didn't feel the strong two hands that were grasping his shoulders, and barely heard the alarmed voice that echoed inside his room. All he could think of was the kettle, the water as it sizzled against his skin, and the words- the dreaded words- his father- Endeavor –

"Stop," He begged with a whisper, coughing as he choked on his saliva. "Make it stop…" His hands traveled aimlessly until they grabbed on something to hold, something that felt like cloth around his dull fingers. He pulled the cloth closer to him, practically clinging to the material as if some nonliving object was supposed salvage him from this never-ending dream.

Then, he heard the sound of a heart beating. It was beating fast, and the piece of cloth felt oddly warm with comfort. His breathing was still hitched and uneven, and he wasn't sure if he was crying or not. But a hesitant, gentle touch to his back brought him back his senses, as the hand drew small circles.

"I can't make it stop if I don't know what it fucking is, Todoroki." The familiar gruffness muttered next to his ear, the hand still on his back as Todoroki realized that he was tugging at Bakugou's shirt. "For Christ's sake, stop crying. What makes you think I'd be a connoisseur at consoling crying boys if I'm the reason girls cry, huh?"

He hurriedly retracted from Bakugou's chest, or at least, tried to – but the latter's hold was firm, and it barely gave him room to escape. Well, it didn't. "Bakugou –"

"You were hyperventilating. And it was more than fucking clear that you were undergoing a panic attack. Who knows if there will be aftershocks, or shit like that. We don't want that happening." We, he says. Todoroki thought, as his forehead rested against the tough surface of Bakugou's lean stature. "And to be honest, it's fucking cold." Bakugou muttered in utter distaste, tightening his hold on Todoroki. The partial red head stifled a laugh at that.

"I'm not a heater, Bakugou."

"Well too bad, you're the warmest thing in this room right now." Todoroki gave an appreciative hum – it must look comical, insane, even – that the Todoroki Shouto, exemplary student of UA High School, was snuggled in the arms of the most destructive student in the academy, namely Bakugou Katsuki. He saw the door left wide open, with a small dent on the exterior, which would most likely ensue problematic interrogations from the dorm director – but both classmates could care less.

It was yet again one of those nights, where even the illogical seemed possible.

A few nights passed since then, without much conversation between the two. It gave Todoroki some time to recall the events of that night, without having Bakugou hinder his trail of thought.

I think I have a crush on him. He concluded dispassionately, uncertain how to feel about this newfound realization. Coming from a rather secluded household, he had not been given the opportunity to actually consider how he felt towards a particular individual – all that mattered was how he could benefit from said social interactions. But now that he had experienced a life outside those boundaries, he discovered an affection he never knew he possessed for someone else.

A troubling fact, indeed.

In the corner of his eye, Bakugou and Midoriya were engaged in a heated argument about the material they had just learned in class, regarding the prime qualities of a hero. Kirishima and Kaminari were not attempting in the slightest to even appease the conflict as they watched, and the others in the classroom weren't particularly irritated by this normal exchange.

And yet, Todoroki's eyes repeatedly journeyed through the vicinity until he locked his eyes on Bakugou's literally exploding figure, shouting with uncontained rage and fire. It made Todoroki inquire why he fell for such a troublesome being – he was rowdy, hot-tempered, and loud, with a significantly rough edge.

But well, he looks pretty attractive.

And he can be quite nice, if he's in the mood.

Not to mention, he's well rounded with his studies as well.

Todoroki furrowed his brows as silent words went back and forth in his head. The Japanese kanji letters seemed like scribbles floating on the page, and he hadn't realized that fourth period began five minutes ago. Not that Aizawa ever reprimanded him for slacking off in class – he knew Todoroki would catch on, one way or another.

But unfortunately, Todoroki couldn't concentrate for the next two hours of school.

A knock was heard at his door, 8 in the evening.

"Who is it?" Calling out from his desk, Todoroki closed his chemistry homework.

"Me."

It was just like Bakugou, to expect one to know who he was just by stating an obvious standpoint. But it worked, as Todoroki knew anyway.

"Yes?" The steel-eyed male frowned, as his skeptical gaze met Bakugou's wild one. "Do you need something?"

"No." Bakugou grunted, his attention averted to the side. Which wasn't very Bakugou-like – he faced anyone with a straight, venomous look.

Despite thinking this, Todoroki pressed on. "Then what brings you here?"

"I don't know," Struggling to speak – that's not much of Bakugou fashion either – "Maybe I wanted to see your dumb fucking face."

Todoroki blinked. Bakugou's face was red – redder than Todoroki's hair, and that was saying something. "Whoever you are, you're not using your quirk for wise purposes."

"I'm not a fucking quirk-spurred duplicate, you asshole." Bakugou snapped, his hands digging angrily into his poor pockets. "Whatever. Just let me in."

"I'm doing my chemistry homework."

"Does it look like I give a shit? Your fault for flunking time management." Forcing his way past, Bakugou took a seat on his usual spot in the room. Or your fault for making me have a crush on you, Todoroki resisted the urge to retort, as he closed the door with a resilient sigh.

"Coffee? Or ginger tea?" He asked, walking up to the cupboard as he found his kettle. This developing habit – of preparing a drink for Bakugou whenever he came over – was something Todoroki grew fond of. He enjoyed witnessing that millisecond of satisfaction on Bakugou's face, until rapidly reverting back to his ordinary scowl. Then he'd provide Todoroki with his habitual contrasting remarks, like 'not bad' or 'half-shitty', but still chugging down the whole mug in a matter of minutes. Sometimes their conversations would last a few seconds, or even spanned to a few longer minutes. They always had at least one topic to converse about for the day, whether that was about a particularly exceptional sparring session they had that evening, or an intriguing topic that aroused in class.

That afternoon, oddly enough, wasn't about either topic.

"What do you like to eat?" Bakugou started awkwardly, and Todoroki felt absolutely puzzled at this sudden turn of moods.

"Cold soba."

"Birthday?"

"January 11th."

"Favorite color?"

"White."

"That's a fucking shade."

"A color to me."

"Favorite movie?"

"Don't have one."

"Do you have a fucking life?"

"So, what's the point of this?"

Bakugou looked ready burst, as he exclaimed, "Because that fucking Angel face told me to –" Then he seemed to be reconsidering that response, as he shut his mouth – and waved the matter away. "Forget that I said that."

Kind of hard to, when you barely give me this much attention. Todoroki had to admit, Bakugou showing some kind of interest – forced or willingly – was quite pleasant. "You still haven't answered my question. And I answered at least three of yours."

"Unimportant details."

The half redhead smirked – and asked, quite testily, at that –"Do you like me?"

It was intended as a pure joke. And had it been otherwise, Todoroki would've mentally prepared himself for a proper response to whatever Bakugou had to say about this. The unfortunate thing was that, he had not done so, and therefore was not adequately ready for what the blonde had to say next.

"What if I do?"

A heavy flow of blood pulsed in his vessels, his breathing stopped, and everything froze around him, even when he hadn't used his quirk at all. Bakugou's red eyes were looking directly into his, sincere, ferocious, hungry with desire, that desire seemingly toward Todoroki. The heterochromatic eyes of his remained glued to the gaze, the intensity locked between the two boys in the room, unperturbed by whatever was happening around them.

But a second later, Bakugou broke the stare, and stood up with reluctance. "Forget that."

"Bakugou –" Todoroki quickly turned around, myriad questions spinning through his head – did you mean that? Were you serious? If you were implying something, then –

"I was fucking joking." His comprehensions were shattered like glass shards, as a heavy pang hit his chest. "You were, too."

Todoroki felt a lump arising in his throat, as he tried to gulp the lurking object down, blinking the tears away that seemed to be blurring his vision. "I guess." Was all he could manage, as he desperately swallowed the sob that was scratching at his vocal chords, forcing it down to his gut until he wanted to puke.

Bakugou left without another word, the definite click of the door confirming his departure. A tempestuous wave of sorrow and brokenness consumed his soul, as he gasped for air in attempt to settle his breathing. The whimpers grew to sobs, which ultimately led to a break of feelings, tears streaming down his pale face, wetting the scar on his left eye. He bit down on his bottom lip to prevent any audible noise evading his system, not wanting Bakugou to heed him next door.

It was weird – his tears were lukewarm, but somehow, it felt hotter than the boiling water that hit him ages ago.

He didn't sleep for the following three days.

He could've – he had plenty of time. The teachers were gracious enough to excuse them from massive amounts of homework, as they had exams coming up in two weeks. He might as well could've slept for the whole day, and nobody would've given a shit.

But no, Todoroki Shouto couldn't bring himself to do so.

Because he knew.

The nightmares would return, proving to be worse every single day.

In his nightmares, Endeavor, his mother, and that cursed cacophony in the background will reappear, rendering his senses useless.

But more than that, in the end, he feared to see Bakugou in those dreams – the dreaded 'joke' of that night developing into something much more, tailing his back for years to come, eventually contaminating Todoroki for the rest of his life.

Then he'd wake up, only to be back in his freezing room, covered in frost and a layer of his own ice, and being forced to meet the person of his worst nightmares again – in reality.

He felt sick. He didn't know it was possible, as his quirk seemed to be perfect for maintaining temperature-related homeostasis in the human body, but apparently, he was wrong. Coughing for what seemed like the seventeenth time that day, and almost tripping over air for about double the times of that, Todoroki was seriously beginning to attract the concerned look of his classmates. Even Aizawa had given him a fair warning alone after first period, and that was definitely a sign to consider.

During the usual sparring sessions of class, he chose to go once or twice – damn, he couldn't even remember – and was told to sit out of it for the rest of the hour. He was definitely feverish – maybe he really should've just ignored that fucked up alarm.

"You really should go see Recovery Girl, Todoroki-kun." Midoriya addressed the obvious, which Todoroki grunted at.

"It's fine." It clearly wasn't, but Todoroki couldn't give many shits about the nonsense he was spurting that moment. "I'll just go to my room."

"No, you're going to the fucking nurse."

A calloused hand roughly picks him up by the collar, causing him to stand on his feet. It's Bakugou, who's giving him a cross look – the oddity of his usually crude red eyes are tinted with something else – in the corner of his unrequited love, Todoroki wants it to be concern. But he knows his feelings aren't returned – that's literally what unrequited love is all about.

At that, a sudden surge of irritation and anger passed through his ill body, as he weakly shoved Bakugou's heat away from him – but with no avail. Instead, his legs almost gave up on him upon the action, his body having exerted too much energy on that single push. He felt pathetic as his composure crumbled, as his body was pulled towards Bakugou's firmer hold.

"I'll take him to infirmary." Is what Todoroki vaguely hears, amongst his strangled pants and huffs of air. He's quite sure the whole class had their attention focused on the two, but with his current condition, the boy couldn't do much about the issue. Bakugou had begin to drag him across the floor, Todoroki's right arm hung lifelessly around the blonde's neck and shoulders.

"You're fucking heavy, Half'n Half. Are you even trying to walk?" Annoyance was present in Bakugou's voice, along with something else that Todoroki wasn't intelligible enough to decipher. It caused the destructive pang again in his heart, the sickness doubling the pain within him. It made him want to cry all over again – but he couldn't. He couldn't do that in front of Bakugou, of all people.

The walk to the infirmary felt like hours, until Bakugou released his grasp and Todoroki collapsed on the bed. He could hear a distant conversation occurring in the background, and something about an ice pack and a few medicinal pills – until his vision darkened completely, yanking him down to a bottomless abyss.

He saw his mother.

The usual kettle.

The same boiling water.

Endeavor, and that exact same pattern of how he punched his gut.

The younger him shivered out of fear, pain, pity, and hatred.

And then his mother would screech,

"You monster."

But no.

That wasn't his mother-

That was-

A choked whimper erupted from his mouth, as he gasped for air. He couldn't see – his vision was still dark, then white, then dark again. The cycle seemed endless, and he was convinced that this was the continuation of the nightmare, that he'd always be stuck in this horrifying wheel of repetition for eternity, alone, so utterly alone, with nobody – nobody – nobody –

"Todoroki." Warmth. He felt warmth. It was near – touching him – speaking to him – "Todoroki, please."

He recognized that voice. This warmth, this scent, this sensation – it felt too familiar, too real to be true. If this was another dream, Todoroki didn't want to wake up – ever, or for the next life to arrive. A stuttering sigh exhaled, he clung to the warmth, only hoping that it wouldn't vanish when he reached for it –

"Katsuki." The name left him so smoothly, as if it had been waiting forever. Jitters ran through his body, and he felt like he was floating in midair. "Don't leave. I don't want to wake up- not just yet –"

"Shouto." That's it. This has to be a dream. "Wake up, for fuck's sake. I have so many things I need to tell you."

That's when his fogged vision suddenly turned crystal clear. There he was, in his room, wrapped protectively in Bakugou's arms, a rivulet of tears flowing freely down his face, the salty liquid soaking the blonde's shirt. Todoroki's hands were tangled around Bakugou, like a child that was absolutely clueless about what they were doing. And Bakugou – god, his eyes –

"Shouto." His given name – one he despised for ages – sounded melodious as it rolled off Bakugou's tongue. Todoroki didn't believe it when Bakugou kissed the corner of his left eye, coming into contact with his ancient scar, licking away the tear tracks that still remained. "Stop crying. I hate it when you cry. Or when you look so fucking in pain." The normally brusque, harsh voice was extremely gentle next to his ear.

"Katsuki." It felt totally natural to call him as such. "Are you real?" A dumb question, really – but Todoroki needed an affirmation.

"More real than whatever piece of shit that made you cry just now." A thump of joy ran through the hetero-eyed boy's system, as Bakugou's nose rubbed against the crook of his shoulder. "Tell me about it. I'll blast the asshole."

An actual, humorous laugh left Todoroki. "You can't blast a dream, Katsuki."

"Great, I'm looking forward to breaking the record." A rather dumbstruck look planted on his face, Bakugou faced up and stared into Todoroki's eyes. Then breaking a crooked smile, his hand caressed Todoroki's hair, as he said, "You're fucking beautiful, Todoroki Shouto."

"Likewise, Bakugou Katsuki."

That's probably as far as their 'I love you's got. But neither of them found such phrases necessary, as they pulled in for a kiss that was worth a thousand words – it was just one of those nights.