Chapter Text
The Aston Martin screeched down the street, jerking sporadically. Horns blared from behind the expensive vehicle when the lights would shutter and shut off, dying at nearly every stop before it haphazardly rumbled to life and jerked forward again.
Katsuki totally knew how to drive a stick shift. Of course he did. Just because he’d never learned, didn’t mean he didn’t know how to. He was Katsuki fucking Bakugo, for chrissake. It wasn’t like it was fucking hard.
The bright blue Aston Martin squealed into the parking lot of the mansion, pulling up too quick for comfort next to an array of other fancy cars, before slamming to a stop. The pavement was now decorated with skid marks, a collection of evidence against the crime. Katsuki didn’t even bother to wait for the smoke to clear before the driver’s door slammed open, and he strolled out, hands in his pockets and nonchalant.
He was relaxed, in zen. Nothing like a good drive to clear the mind.
A very angry, very loud blonde haired man with blue eyes and a simply gaudy suit was seething as he stormed over to Katsuki. “What the hell did you do?! Are you insane?! Did you never learn how to drive you–” Neito shrieked, letting out an array of curses that washed over the purely euphoric, shit-eating grin that was decorating Katsuki’s face.
What? He never said it was his car.
“Katsuki Bakugo!”
And, the smile slipped.
Katsuki might as well have been looking into a mirror when it came to the pissed older woman that stormed over, shortly behind Neito. They shared the same spiky ash blonde hair, the same angry crimson eyes. They shared the same damn quality fashion sense. Being the CEO and heir of a global fashion monopoly would do that to you.
“Where the hell have you been, you brat?!” His mother seethed. “You’ve been missing for fucking hours. You’re going to give me wrinkles, you piece of shit.”
Katsuki’s expression twisted into a scowl. “I was out. Copycat over here pissed me off, and my car was buried with the others in the lot, so I figured I’d borrow his.” At the shriek of indignation from said copycat, Katsuki leveled a crimson glare, his expression decorated with a cocky smirk. “What? I didn’t think you’d care. We have the same car, after all.” It was a lie. His was better; his was red.
“Yours isn’t fucking stick shift you motherfucker!” Neito seethed.
“Hah? You trying to imply I don’t know how to drive your shitty car?” Katsuki’s grin took on a new level of challenge, and he leaned over into Neito’s face, enjoying the way his cousin shrunk back slightly. Just slightly.
“The god damned skidmarks say otherwise!” Neito retorted, gesturing wildly. Katsuki waved his hand dismissively. “Those were there already,” He remarked, sounding bored.
“THEY’RE SMOKING!”
“Hm. Weird.”
An arm wrapped around the furious blonde before he could explode in his rage – funny how the tables had turned from several hours ago, and Katsuki was loving every second of it – and Mitsuki pulled Neito forward.
“Neito, honey, don’t worry. You know we’ll take care of any damages my shithead son caused. I’ll have a talk with him, why don’t you go back inside and enjoy the party, huh? We’ve got that wine imported from France that you liked so much,” His mother entreated tenderly. Her face was relaxed in a warm smile, but the sharp look in her eyes suggested she was anything but content. Perhaps for the first time that night, a heavy feeling of dread sunk in Katsuki's gut.
Fuck.
Seeming to get the same sense that Katsuki did, Neito visibly relaxed. His angry expression morphed into his own cocky grin that he directed straight at Katsuki. Fortunately, Neito dipped back inside the massive mansion without another word, leaving Katsuki to the mercy of Mitsuki Bakugo.
She turned towards him, arms crossed, and smiled. A chill went down Katsuki’s spine, and he offered a sneer in return. She looked like a god damned shark.
“Katsuki, my dear, sweet, child,” His mother purred in a purely saccharine voice, and the tone sent his heart into a panic. Katsuki lifted his chin in defiance, but he couldn’t help the way his chest tightened in fear. His mother wasn’t nice. She was never fucking nice. If she was nice, that meant he was really, truly, in some deep shit.
Mitsuki took a step forward, and Katsuki flinched slightly in spite of himself. She merely adjusted the collar of his shirt, fixing his tie. “You know I love you,” She continued in that sickly sweet voice, dripping like candy.
“Bullshit,” Katsuki spat.
Normally his backtalk would result in her flying off the handle, but instead, that crimson gaze of hers leveled to meet his, steely and cold in spite of the warmth in her tone. Sweat dripped down the back of Katsuki's neck.
“You’ve been causing a lot of trouble for me lately, dearest. First the insults you gave to Mr. Sako at our last party, and now stealing dear little Neito’s car. You can’t just leave these events when you get a little upset. You know we have a reputation to uphold.” The threat was unspoken, but clear as day.
Katsuki met it with his own furious gaze glinting in challenge. “Nothing wrong with getting some air to clear my head, mother,” He sneered, throwing some of her bullshit back at her.
Once more, and adding to how truly terrifying the woman in front of him was, Mitsuki didn’t rise to the bait. “You know, you’re getting to be about that age, aren’t you? Twenty-three already. Don’t you think it’s time for you to settle down?” Mitsuki simpered, and she stepped back. Her smile was still warm and plastered across her face, but her eyes blazed with contained fury.
Katsuki blinked at the change of topic, his scowl deepening in his confusion. “Hah? The fuck do you mean?” He asked, annoyance masking any fear that might have leaked into his tone. No, he was not a grown ass adult afraid of his mother, thank you.
“What I mean, dear, is that I think you ought to start bringing a partner around to these events. It would be good to have someone by your side to help you play nice. You are the heir, after all, and you’ll need to have some stability if you want to inherit the company.”
“I don’t need a fucking partner, and I don’t fucking play nice,” Katsuki snapped, before the words caught up to him, and he froze. His heart stuttered unevenly inside his chest once, then twice.
Mitsuki’s smile was gone, replaced with a cool tranquility that was so unlike her loud, boisterous fury that it was frankly leaps and bounds more terrifying. “I think you do, dear. It would be a great show of faith that you take the family business seriously. In fact,” She paused, and took a step towards him. “Dare I say, if you don’t start bringing someone to these events, I might need to question your dedication to our company. I’d hate for your lack of dedication to affect your finances, after all.”
Katsuki’s eyes were blown wide open, and all blood had drained from his face. She was threatening to disown him.
“You wouldn’t,” He whispered, for once, unable to bring more volume to his voice.
Her eyes glinted with that same fury, her voice startlingly calm, and she took another step forward into his space. It was Katsuki’s time to cower, just slightly. “Oh, I would, dear. You’ve been nothing but a pain in my ass lately and I’d have to think twice about giving the company to someone so volatile, you know. How would it affect our reputation? It’s purely a business decision.”
“You can’t!” Katsuki shouted, having found his voice. His fists were clenched so tightly they shook. Mitsuki rose to the challenge.
“I can and I will, Katsuki Bakugo! This is the last straw! You are the heir to the company! Act like it! Either you start bringing a partner around to these events and show you’re serious about your future, or you can kiss your precious fucking future goodbye!” She shouted. Her face was contorted into an ugly snarl, and Katsuki was reminded of a gorgon. It lasted a mere second before her face was fixed into the same pleasant expression she reserved for her guests.
Mitsuki spun around, running her hands down her blazer to fix her outfit. “I’m being very generous, Katsuki,” She called dismissively over her shoulder, sauntering away as though nothing had happened. “Bring someone to the next event to show me that you're serious about your future or I will disown you. That’s final.”
Katsuki stared after his mother, his jaw clenched and arms trembling with fury. His mind whirled. He’d been a brat his whole life, sure. Had he been told he had a bad attitude? Absolutely, on more than one occasion. Had it gotten him in trouble before? Frequently. Even so, never once in his twenty three years of life had his mother threatened to disown him. With utmost certainty, he knew it was more than a threat. It was a promise. He ran a hand through his hair, pacing slightly. “Fuck,” He cursed under his breath.
According to Mitsuki, Katsuki ‘played nice’ for the rest of the party. What that looked like was drinking expensive Scotch – because who the fuck drinks Reisling? – outside by himself, seated on one of the stairwells and fuming internally, but whatever. Most of the guests knew to steer clear of the explosive blonde. Unfortunately, his peaceful glowering did not manage to go completely undisturbed.
A man with two toned hair, half red and half white and split perfectly down the middle, approached, looking Katsuki up and down. A prominent burn scar drew attention to his left side, the side with the red hair. Rather than marring his finer features, it accentuated the turquoise eye on that side, so different from the brownish-grey eye on his right. Shoto held a champagne glass delicately in his hand, and his outfit was a rather fancy suit.
Katsuki shot one glance at him and scoffed, tossing back a sip of his Scotch. “Not in the fucking mood, half-and-half,” He snarled in warning.
Shoto took a seat beside him on the marble staircase, his multicolored eyes searching. He frowned. “You seem more grumpy than usual,” Shoto concluded, finally looking away.
Katsuki raised an arm and shoved at his shoulder. Shoto was undeterred, recovering seamlessly with not a drop of his drink spilled. He’d been expecting it.
“I said, I’m not in the fucking mood,” Katsuki snapped. Shoto took a slow sip of his drink.
“This have something to do with what happened with Monoma earlier? He seemed pretty smug after he came back inside,” He queried.
Katsuki let out a dark laugh. “That fucker just started it. Her Royal Bitchiness is just doing what she does best tonight,” He grumbled.
Shoto nodded in understanding. “I see. And what would that be?” He kept his multicolored gaze cast outwards towards the patio, lit up by a variety of lights. A turquoise pool shimmered ahead of them, cast in the stone of the granite flooring, and the garden behind it tossed odd shadows into the massive yard beyond. Katsuki released a long-suffering sigh, running a hand down his face.
“She threatened to disown me if I don’t start bringing someone to these events. A partner. Fuck.” Katsuki let out a loud groan, and Shoto tilted his head curiously.
“What’s the problem with that? It's been awhile. You don’t want a partner?” He inquired.
Katsuki barked out an incredulous laugh. “Fuck no. Think I want to get anyone else wrapped up in my family’s shit?” He shook his head, setting his drink down. “Why would I want to drag anyone else into this bullshit when I don’t even want to do it? And after the disaster last time-" Katsuki's words came out a little softer, a little bitter. "No. I don’t want to get involved with anyone any time soon.” If he had been sitting with anyone else, and hadn’t been friends with the half-and-half bastard pretty much since birth, he wouldn’t be talking about this shit. It was a rare moment of vulnerability for him. Fortunately, he trusted Candycane over there to keep his mouth shut.
Shoto nodded thoughtfully. “What about bringing someone you know, like Kirishima? You’re pretty close to him, right?”
Katsuki looked at him like he had two heads. “Did you not hear what just I fucking said, half-and-half? Eijirou’s my friend. Nothing more. I ain’t getting him involved in this bullshit. Besides, we sponsor him. Conflict of interest or some shit.” He shook his head, letting out a grunt of annoyance. “This pisses me off. I don’t wanna do shit I don’t want to do. Then that means the Royal Bitch just fucking wins."
“You don’t have much choice if you want to keep your money,” Shoto pointed out, and Katsuki leveled him with a crimson glare. He hoped it was enough to drill a hole into the man’s head, but he merely stared back, unphased.
“I already fucking know that, dumbass,” Katsuki snapped.
“Well,” Shoto hummed thoughtfully. “If you don’t want to involve any of your friends, why don’t you just hire an escort?” He suggested.
Katsuki’s eyes all but bugged out of his skull, and an incredulous laugh escaped his lips. “An escort? A fucking whore?” He exclaimed in disbelief, his voice rising with each word. “You’re suggesting I hire a fucking prostitute. You want me to bring a prostitute to my family’s business events.” Katsuki laughed loudly. “My family that owns a fucking fashion monopoly. My family that is arguably one of the richest families in Japan, right next to yours. That family? You want me to bring some sleazy, dirty– and I don’t want to fucking have sex with someone like that!” Katsuki’s ranting was growing in volume and agitation as he went on, only interrupted by a hand on his shoulder.
“Bakugo. Easy. Not like that,” Shoto stated firmly. “Not just a prostitute. An escort. And you don’t have to have sex with them if you don’t want. I was in a similar situation to you with my dad a while back, but you know I don’t have any interest relationships or sex or anything like that. I’m not suggesting you just find someone on the street. There’s a website I used. Lots of professional people hire escorts from this website, so they’re used to going to events like this sometimes. It’s discreet.” He shrugged, dropping his hand from Katsuki’s shoulders. “It’s where I met Uraraka, anyways.”
Katsuki physically recoiled, sputtering in disbelief. “Fucking – Round Face?! Fucking Cheeks is a whore??”
This was where Shoto’s multicolored gaze narrowed into a glare, for the first time tonight. Granted, any expression on his childhood's friends face was often muted and monotonous as the rest of him, so it merely displayed via a subtle twitch of the muscles at his brow and a small frown. No, the true sign of agitation was presented in how Shoto's voice proceeded to drop low in warning. “Easy, Katsuki. She’s my friend. She’s been my friend for a long time now. Could you not scream it at your family party?”
Katsuki could only stare, his mind whirling a hundred miles a minute as he processed the suggestion. He turned away from Shoto, dropping the agitation in favor of rumination. The thought of fraternizing with someone like that frankly repulsed him a little, but to bring them per Mitsuki's request...
A cocky smirk began to tug at his lips, growing into a full on grin. “God. Wow. That would be fucking hilarious." Katsuki's crimson eyes were ablaze with something that promised mischief at best, spiteful catastrophe at worst. “I get to keep my inheritance and also get to give the fat middle finger to my bitchass mom by bringing a god damned prostitute to these things.” He whipped out his phone. “You’re a genius, half-and-half. I could fucking kiss you.”
“Please don’t,” Shoto drawled. “I don’t know where that mouth has been.”
“Fuck off. What’s the website?”
A few hours later, the party had long ended and the two heirs were perusing the website in the safety of Katsuki’s penthouse. Shoto peered over his shoulder from his seat on the couch, raising a single eyebrow. When he said nothing, merely continuing to stare with a small nod to himself, Katsuki let out a low growl.
"The fuck is it?"
“So you are only looking at men.”
Trust the fucker to make it about that. Fortunately, Katsuki was too distracted to be irritated at the premise of his undisclosed sexuality. He clicked his tongue. “Another ‘fuck you’ to my mom. She said she wants me to settle down, so she probably wants grandkids or some shit. Can’t badger me about that if I’m with a man,” Katsuki huffed dismissively, retaining his focus on the website.
It had taken him awhile to figure out how to set up his account, and repeated reassurance on the discreteness of the website from Shoto. Even so, he wasn’t going to just pick anyone. If Katsuki was doing this, he was going to be picking the best. He wouldn’t tolerate anything less. They'd be getting his hard-suffered money, after all. Katsuki began sorting first by gender, then by top rated. He made a face at some of the reviews posted on the top three, and scrolled down a bit to find some men more in his age range. A flash of green caught his eye, and Katsuki’s thumb paused, hovering over the screen.
The young man was pretty, for sure. He had only been part of the website for a short while, maybe a year or two, but he had nothing but an abundance of five star ratings. There was something about the way those freckles decorated his cheeks, something in those shimmering green eyes that caught his attention. His curly green hair was a mess atop his head, but it framed his face almost like a cherub. Katsuki let out a grunt, and Shoto glanced over at his screen again.
“He’s cute,” The bastard remarked, and Katsuki shouldered him roughly.
“Okay, but he looks good right? Good enough for this shit?” He inquired, not taking his eyes off the screen. “I don’t know what the fuck I’m looking for, so.”
“He looks more than good to me. He’s one of the top rated, right?” Shoto questioned, studying the screen. Katsuki nodded. “I didn’t realize that was your type, though,” He continued thoughtfully.
Katsuki ripped his eyes away from the man’s photo and glowered at Shoto. “The fuck’s that supposed to mean, you half-and-half bastard?” He snapped. Shoto shrugged nonchalantly.
“I didn’t realize you were into the pretty boy type. Figured you’d be more into tall and brawn, like Kirishima. Or, you know...” He shot Katsuki a meaningful glance.
Now Katsuki really did shove him. “I fucking told you Ei and I are friends! Fuck off with that shit, already!” He hissed, a drop of venom coating his tone in warning.
Shoto raised his arms placatingly. “My bad. He’s the only one you’re really friends with besides me, so." It wasn't lost on Katsuki how Shoto was subtly avoiding the other part of that conversation. Seems he didn't have a death wish, after all.
“Well I’m fucking stuck with you, and same with him. So shove it and quit making assumptions,” Katsuki huffed, returning to the screen. He clicked the profile, reading the brief description offered there. “The fuck kind of name is Deku, anyways?” He grumbled to himself. The last name stirred something in the back of his mind, but it refused to rise beyond a vague sense of familiarity, so he ignored it.
“I think it’s meant to be read as Izuku,” Shoto pointed out.
Katsuki flipped him off, but his lips curved into a grin. “Well, I said it’s Deku, so as far as I’m concerned, he’s Deku.” Shoto shook his head, returning to his own phone and not bothering to argue with his hotheaded friend. Katsuki studied the picture for half a second longer before clicking Book An Appointment.
Somewhere halfway across the city, Izuku Midoriya’s phone chimed. Normally, this late at night, he wouldn’t bother checking it; as it was, he had only just settled into bed. It had been a long day, made even longer in that he spent it dealing with several rude, entitled clients. It wasn’t an uncommon experience, but God was it draining dealing with people like that while still trying to ensure he got his five star rating at the end of it. Izuku’s future finances, his ability to continue working for this website instead of the more seedy shit he used to do – that all depended on those five little stars. Even if the names of the clients who gave the reviews wasn’t public to other clients, it was public and held in very high regard by the website managers. If you got good ratings, you were more likely to get higher paying clients. If you got bad ratings or reviews, you could be kicked from the site. So, in short, he spent a lot of his job kissing ass, when he wasn’t literally kissing ass, and he was exhausted.
Even so, the chime was the sound that specifically indicated when an appointment had been booked. After a day like today, Izuku didn’t want to go into anything unprepared. And at this hour, who knew when he’d been booked for, so he let out a weary groan and grabbed his phone. The luminescence of the screen was the only light in the dark of his room, casting an eerie glow on his surroundings. He blinked through bleary green eyes as he opened his browser to the website, lazily scanning the details of his most recent booking. His eyes lingered on the name, and he blinked once, then twice.
Abruptly, Izuku screamed, reflexively flinging his phone across the room. His pallor had gone sheet white; he was bolt upright in bed, his hands trembling. He forced himself to scramble off the bed, trying to find where his phone had been flung and promptly gone dark. His hands reached out in the dark of his room, and a string of curses left his lips as his fingers closed around the device. He turned the screen back on and let out a sigh of relief. Fortunately, it wasn’t broken.
Izuku brought the offending screen back to his attention, and his entire body turned stiff as stone. He read the name again. And again. Katsuki Bakugo.
Bakugo.
Bakugo, as in Bakugo Industries, as in one of the richest companies in Japan, second only to Endeavor Inc., the tech company.
Bakugo Industries, as in the eighteenth richest company in the world.
Oh no. Oh god. Izuku robotically stood to a stand, pacing back and forth in his room and muttering up a storm, ignoring bits of furniture and messes of clothing that threatened to trip him up. Bakugo Industries were more than just a fashion monopoly; that was just their specialty. They sponsored hundreds of professional athletes, they had stocks in just about every other major company out there. Their logo was on practically everything high fashion. They were global.
Izuku was way out of his depth here. He had never had such a high end client. This could make or break his future. He knew a bit about the owners of this company, but he hadn’t heard much, if anything, about a Katsuki. The thought stopped him in his tracks, and Izuku forced his breathing to even out. Maybe it wasn’t actually anyone connected to the Bakugos? Maybe it was just a coincidence, someone with the same name? He pulled up his phone again, googling the name. Trusty Google would tell him.
Katsuki Bakugo. Son of Mitsuki Bakugo and Masaru Bakugo. Sole heir to Bakugo Industries. Save for the minor factual information about him on Wikipedia in relation to his parents, there was a startling lack of information on Katsuki on the internet. Not even a photo. Izuku let out a tiny squeak, pressing his fist to his face, squinting his eyes shut. Why? Why had someone like that chosen someone as plain as him?
There was no doubt about it; Izuku was way out of his depth. He knew of only one person he could call, the person who had helped him get on this website in the first place and off of the streets. His fingertips trembled as he dialed the phone number, and he held his phone to his ear like a lifeline. It was late, but he prayed she would answer anyway.
Ochaco’s light voice sounded through the line on the third ring. “Izu-kun? Is everything okay?” She didn’t sound tired or anything, so that was good. At least he hadn’t woken her up.
“I need help,” Izuku squeaked, clutching his phone tightly. “I got a client – I can’t believe – I never thought I’d get someone like this on the website. I knew we dealt with high end clients sometimes but I didn’t think it would be someone like this, oh god Ochaco what am I going to do? I’m going to screw it up. This is going to ruin everything. They’re going to take one look at me and then I’ll be cast from society, I’ll probably be banned from Japan, I’ll never see my mom again–” He babbled incoherently, continuing his frantic pacing.
“Izuku. Calm down,” Ochaco entreated, interrupting him. “I can barely understand you when you’re on one of your rambling sprees like that. It’s going to be okay. Who booked you?”
Izuku forced himself to take a deep breath, feeling tears well in his eyes. God, he hated that he was such a crybaby sometimes. “Bakugo. It’s a Bakugo,” He stammered.
“Oh my god, really?!” Ochaco exclaimed, but rather than panicked, she sounded delighted. “That’s amazing, Izuku! This could be so good for you!! Oh my god, I need to know. Who was it? Mitsuki or Masaru? I never pegged them for something like this, but you never know in our line of work, huh?”
Izuku squinted his eyes shut, his feet stumbling to a halt. She sounded way too excited about this. Did she not understand how panicked he was? “It’s neither of them. It’s. Um. Someone named Katsuki Bakugo? Apparently he’s their son, but I haven’t found anything on the internet about him besides that. There’s not even a picture. Isn’t that weird? Have you heard of him?”
Ochaco’s silence on the other end of the line did little to assure Izuku, and he found himself pacing his room again while he waited for her to respond. “Hm,” She vocalized finally, which was a very unsatisfying and definitely not reassuring response, and Izuku repeated in a squeak that brought his voice up an entire octave,
“‘Hm’?!”
“Well, Izuku,” Ochaco started, sounding a bit hesitant. “I do know him. Through my client, you know, Todoroki. Bakugo’s kind of…” She let out a cough. “He’s kind of an ass. Definitely a hot head. He’s got a massive temper and is always getting into fights. His parents have to constantly get media reports taken down because the ones with him in them are never good.” Izuku’s heart sank. Oh god. This situation was going from bad to worse.
“I’m going to die,” He moaned. “This is it. My life is over. Everything I’ve worked to keep things afloat–”
“Hey now! Don’t get like that. This could still be really good for you!” Ochaco encouraged in a cheerful voice, but it sounded a lot more forced than it had a minute ago. “If anyone can warm that bastard’s cold, dead heart, it’s you!”
Again, not reassuring. Izuku had never heard Ochaco curse this much in his life, and he’d known her since he was about fifteen.
“That doesn’t comfort me,” He mumbled, pressing a hand to his face.
“Listen, Izu-kun. You’re not alone in this. Of course I’m going to help you. Katsuki is an egotistical asshole, and he is almost certainly going to be difficult to keep happy, so you’ll have to play nice, but I know you can do it. You can come over tomorrow and we’ll iron some things out for the meeting, I’ll help you pick out some nice clothes to wear. Ooh, I know! I can give you a whole makeover! Yeah, we’ll do that! Oh, wait, I forgot to ask. When did he book you for?” Ochaco inquired, and Izuku could imagine her jumping up, waving her hands excitedly as she paced about her room. He frowned slightly; in his haste and panic over who had booked him, he hadn’t even bothered to check when.
“Uh. One sec,” He mumbled, shifting his phone from his ear and pulling up the website again.
“This weekend. Saturday evening. There’s no notes or anything on it,” Izuku informed, bringing the phone back to his ear. He wasn’t sure whether to feel relieved or panicked about that information. On one hand, he had almost a week to prepare. On the other hand, he had almost a week to panic.
Ochaco hummed thoughtfully. “Oh! I wonder if it's for that party? There’s a dinner and dance with a bunch of companies this weekend that Todoroki is going to. I bet Katsuki is wanting someone to keep him company for when he inevitably gets shitfaced drunk after,” She said with a giggle.
“A party?” Izuku repeated faintly. “I don’t think I even own anything fancy enough for something like that.”
In his work, he’d usually been invited to client’s houses or hotels to give them company. Occasionally, he’d join them at casinos or out drinking, but never an official party, and never with such an elite client. Ochaco may be used to it, but he was so out of his depth. He’d only been listed on the website for about a year and a half, due to it requiring a higher end reference. She’d started on the website about five years ago, and met Todoroki about four years ago by sheer luck. She’d had time to work her way up the ranks, but Izuku was only just starting to get on his feet.
“Don’t worry, Izuku. I’ll help you. I’m sure you have something. Worst case scenario, you can borrow something of mine,” Ochaco entreated gently. Izuku pinched the bridge of his nose.
“I don’t think he’d want me showing up in a dress,” He remarked, his voice lilting slightly in humor in spite of the stress he was feeling.
“Who knows?” Ochaco chirped, laughing. “I’m looking forward to hearing what he’s into. How about you plan to come over Saturday morning and I’ll help you get ready?”
Some of the tension in Izuku’s chest unraveled, and he let out a soft sigh. “Yeah. Okay. Thanks, Ochaco. You’re a hero,” He murmured into the phone, flopping back onto his bed. “I really don’t know where I’d be without you,” He admitted honestly.
Ochaco’s voice came through the other line, a little more gently. “Don’t sell yourself short. I couldn’t have made it all these years if I hadn’t had you as a friend. You kept me hopeful, you know? Inspired me to make my situation, to make myself better. The least I can do is to try and return the favor,” She expressed softly. “So don’t worry too much. Everything will be okay. You’ve been through bigger challenges than this.”
Izuku felt a smile creeping up his lips. “Alright. I trust you. Thanks again.”
“Any time. Get some sleep, okay? I’ll see you on Saturday!” Ochaco chirped cheerily.
“Okay, you too. Take care,” He parted, ending the call. He leaned his head back into his pillow, closing his eyes. His mind was still whirling with everything that could go wrong, but at least he knew he had Ochaco on his side. He’d been through worse than this. Much worse. Heck, maybe she was right. Maybe this could be good for him, in the same way her long term client Todoroki had been for her. And maybe, just maybe, by the time Saturday rolled around, he’d be feeling more confident and relaxed.