That’s why when they’ve found themselves face to face on the ring of the sport festival once more, for the third time ever since they’ve met each other, and Izuku smiled at him, eager and challenging, self-confident but never full of himself, Shouto blinked, dazed and shocked, in realizing just how blindingly beautiful his best friend was. The way Izuku’s white shirt clung on his muscles, the little peek of his collar bone and the hard lines of his pecs visible under it, the way his thighs curved and filled the school gym uniform. ‘Oh, fuck—‘ Shouto thought, his head spinning, feeling like he just got run over by a freight train. ‘Shit. He’s- hot?’

“My thanks.” He says, smiling back. “What is your name, boy?” “I’m Izuku! Izuku Midoriya, sir!” The boy replies, excited, looking up at him. And Toshinori looks into the unmoving washed out green, into milky white pupils visible behind the mess curly hair, and realizes. The boy is blind. The boy that he distinctly saw dodge a series of fairly quick attacks, light on his feet and clearly used to some kind of training, the boy that had thrown him the bottle at the perfect height and perfect speed, the boy that has easily collected his spilled groceries and orderly put them back into the little plastic bag— The boy. Is blind.