A/N: This was written as a response to a request for todomomo fluff with light smut. If I were to use ye olde fanfiction terminology I would roughly classify this as a lime. Anyway, this is my first todomomo piece and I remember that writing this was really difficult and frustrating but re-reading it now I'm rather proud of it. Please remember to read and review!

Summary: "She is like a field of flowers after the summer rain. Like lavender lilies and white oleander and sun-colored chrysanthemums. Her scent reminds him of words unsaid, of a confession weighing inside of him with the weight of the years, and of a love so beautiful that it terrified him." [todomomo][oneshot/drabble]

Disclaimer: I do not own Boku no Hero Academia, Kohei Horikoshi does.

Tonight there's a shallow knock—knock—knock at his door.

"Todoroki-kun…"

Momo's flushed expression is the first thing to greet Todoroki when he answers the door. She's red-faced and out of breath, presumably the after effects of spending too long in the hot springs. The complimentary viridian green yukata provided by the inn clings to her like the summer heat and his first thought is that she looks lovely in it.

His second thought is that he's been staring blankly at her for a while and he should probably say something before it got too awkward.

"Yaoyorozu," is his genius response.

Her chest lifts as she sucks in a breath and straightens her posture. "I apologize," she starts, "were you about to go to sleep? I could come back another time if that would be more conveni—."

"No," he interrupts her, and then pauses in order to attempt a gentler tone. "I mean, it's fine."

He knew she had a bit of a tendency to ramble – particularly when she was embarrassed. He was the opposite; he wanted things clear-cut and straight to the point. Not that he minded hearing her speak. Momo spoke in strikingly refined and crystal clear Japanese, especially compared to his rough manner of speaking. Her every word was as beautiful as a birdsong, carefully chosen and seamlessly woven together like poetry. The inflections of her voice rose like the spring wind, airy, light and wondrously fragrant. The evidence of her upper-class upbringing was clear but there was nothing pretentious or stuffy about it.

Every time she spoke, he heard music.

"Would you mind if I come in?" She finally says. Her coal eyes are bright as she bashfully meets his gaze and Todoroki can feel his heart practically leap into his throat.

Every time she spoke, he fell in love.

His expression remains steady as he shakes his head and wordlessly moves to the side, giving her ample room to come in. She steps inside and brushes past him. His nose catches a whiff of her tell-tale scent. She is like a field of flowers after the summer rain. Like lavender lilies and white oleander and sun-colored chrysanthemums. Her scent reminds him of words unsaid, of a confession weighing inside of him with the weight of the years, and of a love so beautiful that it terrified him.

"How wonderful!" Momo gushes, breaking Todoroki from his thoughts. She slides out of her wooden sandals and steps onto the tatami mats. "I do believe you may have gotten the best room out of the whole team!"

Had he? It seemed pretty normal to him. He awkwardly turns around to look around the room, unsure of how to respond to her comment. Was he supposed to agree? To disagree? Was this a "thanks" moment or a "not really" moment? Was he even supposed to say anything?

"Mm," he finally answers, settling for a neutral option.

"I remember you mentioning you liked Japanese architecture," Momo continues despite Todoroki's vague, monosyllabic response. She kneels down at the short-legged table, smoothing out the crinkles of her yukata before gingerly placing her mysterious package on top of the table. "This inn must really be to your liking then."

"It is," Todoroki agrees before realizing that maybe he should show a semblance of manners and sit down with her. He plops down cross-legged across from her and her smile grows, pleased with his company.

"And the view! It's so lovely!"

It's then that Todoroki realizes it: she's stalling.

"Yaoyorozu," the baritone of his voice calls her gaze back to him and there's a spark of mutual realization as their eyes meet. She was skirting around the real reason of why she was here and they both knew it. Resignation flashes in her eyes before she takes in a deep breath and places her hands on the package.

She's the first to speak. "Well, Todoroki-kun," she starts. Her nervous fingers struggle to unwrap the package as her cheeks glow red with her blush, "this may sound silly but I know that tomorrow is the local Autumn Lights Festival and, while I'm sure that someone as busy as you are may not be interested in going…I…brought this for you just in case—."

She succeeds in pulling apart the wrapping and revealing a neatly folded yukata underneath. She takes her hands away and balls them together on her lap, anxiously folding and unfolding them as she tries to gauge his ambiguous expression.

"O-of course you don't have to accept this if you don't want to," she's rambling again, "I'm sure there's many equally lovely—if not more so—yukata sold in this town but just in case," she stresses again, "you're interested in something homemade—."

"Homemade?" He asks and Momo sucks in a deep breath, apparently breathing for the first time since she'd started talking.

"Well, yes," she struggles to look at him, her gaze darting between him and the tatami mat floor, "I…I made it myself."

His eyes widen.

"Of course not by myself! And I don't mean with my quirk either! I enlisted the help of a renowned seamstress from Kyoto. Her family is close with mine and when I let her know of my desire to sew together a yukata…for you," the blush returns in full force, "she was kind enough to teach me a little bit."

Todoroki is quiet. His eyes soak in the beautiful steel blue of the fabric as he runs his fingers over the vertical silver lines that ran along the length of the yukata. A deep fondness blooms in his chest. He can imagine her with her hair pulled back in her trademark high ponytail and dark eyes narrowed in that intense glare she got when she was focused. He imagines her carefully threading needle through fabric, tirelessly working stitch-by-stitch to make sure that the end result was perfect.

And it was perfect.

"Thank you," he finally manages to say and he thinks that even those words aren't enough.

"So…does that mean you like it?"

"Yea," he nods, struggling to keep his voice even, "I like it."

Momo's posture relaxes as she lets out a relieved sigh. "I'm so glad," she admits with a laugh and she places a hand on her chest. "I was worried that you wouldn't."

And then he notices. "Your fingers," he says, and she looks down at his comment.

"Yes, well—," her voice dies in her throat as he reaches across the table and lightly takes her hand in his. He can feel her stiffen at his touch and he looks up to see the color drain from her face and her gaze slide back to the ground. She coughs in a poor attempt to regain her voice. "There's a first time for everything and this first time unfortunately meant pricking my fingers for many weeks straight."

He quietly regards her bandaged fingers, his fingertips lightly caressing the gauze before he asks, "can I kiss them?"

"M-my fingers?!"

He nods silently, his crimson and white hair flopping with his motion. "My mother used to do that for me when I was younger whenever I got bruises."

"Did it make you feel better?"

"Maybe. I think so." His gaze grows distant before he refocuses on her again. "Do you mind?"

And there it is again. The silence. It sits between them with the heaviness of the summer humidity. The summer heat clings to her skin in a thin sheen of sweat but his frostbite touch, the feel of the pads of his fingers tenderly running along the length of her bandaged fingers, sends chills running down her spine. She can hear the crickets and cicadas chirping from the outside, the owls hooting, and even the whistle of the evening wind. They all rise in one voice; a night time orchestra that gives her strength to whisper, "no."

There's quiet courage in her voice, the courage to face a truth they both knew but had never said aloud.

"I don't mind."

And finally Momo can see through the strands of his dual-colored hair that a similar blush had colored his face bright red. He's just as nervous as she is but, with her permission, Todoroki gingerly lifts her hand and presses a chaste kiss to each of her knuckles – once, twice, thrice, four times. He pulls back but his lips hover over the back of her hand and his head remains bowed as if in a silent prayer.

"Thank you," he says again. His voice is hushed, muted with a gratefulness that was too much for him to carry with one heart. "Thank you."

Graced with newfound courage, Momo shuffles over to his side, her grip still on his hand as she kneels next to him. "You're welcome," she says and swoops toward him to press a tender kiss to his cheek and he can feel it in his bones, a heavy foreboding and a terrible, aching want. Any moment now, he was going to break.

"Shoto…"

And that moment was now.

His lips silence her before she can say anything else. His kiss falls on her as gentle and as light as the morning rain, as tender as a hello, and as vulnerable as a goodbye. When she kisses back it's with eyelids fluttering shut and a relieved sigh that says finally, finally, finally, you're mine and I'm yours.

Her tongue swipes across his lips and an unfamiliar fire dances underneath his skin. There's frost on her lips and fire on her tongue but all he can think about is how delicious his name tastes as it rolls off her lips. Her hands thread through his hair as he hurriedly pulls apart her yukata, his heated hands seeking the coolness of her skin.

Todoroki gently pulls the both of them towards the floor and spreads her across the tatami mats, her midnight hair haloing around her in beautiful, dark rivulets. Her milk-white skin is stark against the viridian green of her open yukata and her gaze is intense as she whispers his name again and shrugs the rest of it off.

Todoroki hovers over her and runs a tentative hand along her jawline, leaving goosebumps in his wake. She turns her head into his hand and kisses his palm before looking back at him. Her eyes say the words that his mouth cannot and immediately he knows he has to rectify that.

He leans down and presses a soft kiss to her earlobe before confessing into her ear. He takes in a deep, shaky breath and again his lungs are filled to the brim with her: with the scent of flowers and grass, of sun and rain, and of words finally said and confessions finally confessed.

He pulls back and looks into her tear-filled eyes. It's only after she smiles and whispers, "me too, Todoroki-kun. I feel the same way," that he finally realizes it.

He's crying too.