Chapter Text
Izuku straightened his tie, fiddling with the fabric until it sat straight and prim in line with his collar. As soon as he relaxed the fabric seemed to bunch and warp again, his tie falling in a crooked slant across the row of buttons neat buttons he’d done up. He sighed, resigned to his fate, ruffling his hair in an attempt to master at least one force of nature this evening.
Frank Sinatra crooned distantly, a fond memory of a habit All Might had carried with him from America. If Izuku listened close enough he could hear the man singing quietly to himself in the other room, just slightly flat and scooping dramatically with every start of a phrase.The song grew louder as he walked into the room behind Izuku, his scraggly hair appearing in the mirror as he peered over Izuku’s shoulder.
“Looks good,” his mentor said, giving him a warm smile and patting his shoulders. Even retired, his hands were heavy on his soldiers, eliciting a grunt from Izuku.
“The tailors did a great job,” Izukureplied bashfully, tugging at the cuffs. HIs cuff links were All Might themed, a tasteful gold emblem of his signature muscular silhouette and billowing cape.
Now lacking both the muscles and cape, All Might had lost little of the heroic nature that had drawn Izuku to him for all those years.
“Hmmm, they did indeed,” All Might agreed, pulling Izuku around by his shoulders before taking up his tie. “Let me fix this.”
Under bent and gnarled hands, the tie was at last vanquished, and the emblematic red, gold, and blue draped peaceably over Izuku’s chest. All Might thumbed the matching All Might themed tie clip with a fond smile, followed by a knowing wink that had Izuku flushing. All Might had never been particularly hard on Izuku about his obsession, but he did like to choose his moments to tease his protege.
“One last finishing touch,” he declared, before pulling something from his pocket.
It was a pin, old and just a little bit worn. He pressed it into place over Izuku’s lapel, the familiar sigil wringing a gasp from Izuku’s tightening chest.
“Is that…?”
“The original prototype before we released the collectables. One of a kind!” the older man crowed, patting the spot delicately.
Izuku grabbed his collar, carefully brushing the pin with reverent hands. HIs fingers shook as they felt the cool metal of the familiar image. He’d coveted one of these for years. He’d had at least eight of them saved on various fan merch sites, watching the bidding wars far exceed his modest budget. Even now as an established pro hero, the purchase of a limited edition golden age All Might insignia pin had been a far-off dream.
“It’s even got your first golden age costume,” he breathed, overwhelmed by his mentor’s gift. “All Might, I can’t wear this–!”
“Of course you can,” All Might dismissed, waving off Izuku’s reluctance. “It’s yours now. And it goes with your outfit.”
Izuku felt weak in the knees, wobbling in place as he heard his mentor’s words. His hand came up to clutch the gift, his eyes welling with tears at his mentor’s thoughtfulness. It was too much! He didn’t deserve something so monumental!
“All might…” he protested, “Tonight is supposed to be about you, I should be giving you gifts–and something like this, I could never afford-”
“I’ve had plenty of banquets in my honor and keys to the city,” the older hero argued, clapping a hand over Izuku’s shoulder with a warm smile. “It may be about me in name, but for me it’s about the thing I’m most proud of. You’ve earned it, Young Midoriya”
Unable to contain himself, Izuku threw himself into his mentor's arms and cried. His heart felt so full he thought it might burst. All Might’s arms were warm and familiar around him, the steady thumping of his heart melodic against Izuku’s ear. A Big Band blared happily on the radio in the next room over, and All Might hummed the trumpet line with old familiarity.
Izuku had never been happier.
“What do you think, option a or option b?” Mitsuki asked, flashing up two rough sketches. The dramatic designs fluttered as she held them over the bed, the rattling ceiling fan making her job more difficult. She sighed when she got no response, pulling them back and evaluating them for herself.
“I like option a. It’s bold, punchy. It’s the right amount of sex appeal and sultry elegance,” she declared confidently, smoothing her hand over the swatch of fabric she’d found and taped to the sketch. It wasn’t quite what she was looking for, but it was the right idea.
Her audience gave no response. The monitor continued to beat out its methodical rhythm. The muted TV displayed a line of celebrities down a red carpet, a mixture of heroes and movie stars posing for the camera and taking interviews.
She glanced up at the screen, unimpressed. Once upon a time, the lackluster fashion of oblivious heroes had made her hungry for the chance to dress these sorts of people. They needed someone like her, someone with vision and a sense of daring, mixed with the balls to pull it off. Now she found the idea of trying to elevate any of their fashion senses exhausting. People just didn’t appreciate real art anymore.
“Masaru likes B, of course. It’s like he wants me to be a dowdy old maid,” She scoffed, rolling her eyes as she pictured her husband’s simpering suggestion. “I tell him a hundred times not to do sleeves but does he listen?”
Up on the television screen more heroes were walking the carpet. All Might stepped out of the carn and she paused in her discussion. The Midoriya boy followed behind, much shyer than his mentor, but a favorite of the cameras nonetheless. The awkward sort always grew up beautiful, she thought. It was a shame he was dressed in a shapeless flour sack with no feeling or passion. His muscular frame was wasted on such an abomination–those Americans were savages.
The screen cut to an interview with Endeavor. She turned away.
“Anyway. Option A is more dramatic. We’ll have to find the right fabric of course. I want something textured, something rigid and sharp. I want harsh but not severe, you know? “
Again she got no response, but she continued unbothered.
“If this one turns out well, I’ll wear it to the gala next month. With a plunge that low, Masaru will have a fit. But he’ll have a great time with it after,” she said smugly.
“Disgusting.”
“Hah?” she replied, jumping up from her chair and hovering over the hospital bed. “Did you need something, dear? Is everything okay?”
Katsuk peered up at her through half lidded eyes that were underlined with dark shadows. His skin was clammy, a sickly white pallor that was beginning to fade into grey. A line of tubing twisted across his face and into his nostrils, more wires and tubes connected him to the machinery that kept constant watch over his vitals. She glanced over at them, no more attuned to what they meant than when they’d first started out here. His heart monitor kept beeping steadily, and that was what really mattered.
“Katsuki, darling?”
Mitsuki was just beginning to suspect she had only imagined her son’s voice when he croaked again, his voice so faint she could hardly make it out.
“Don’t talk to me about your nasty sex life. Disgusting.”
She huffed, giving his arm a gentle slap before settling back into her chair. Though she pretended to be mad, she couldn’t help but smile to herself.
Her son had a mouth on him, nothing would stop that.
Izuku threaded his way through the crowd, milling through a forest of bodies so thick that he thought he might suffocate. It was a wonder he hadn’t stepped on any toes or lost his flute of champagne in the process of finding a pocket of fresh air. It was packed so tight in the great hall that it was a wonder the fire department hadn't been called. He caught a familiar sight of two toned hair and made a b-line for the corner of the room.
“Shouto,” he greeted, relieved to see a familiar face and escape the niceties of a hundred different sycophants and social climbers.
Since returning to Japan he had been thrust into Shoto’s company many a time, and after getting off on the wrong foot, they’d managed to build a mutual like for one another. They really had Endeavor to thank for their burgeoning friendship, as nothing had convinced Shouto to indulge Izuku’s bid for cordiality and eventually more quite like knowing his father would like nothing less.
“Izuku,” came the murmured reply, almost too soft to be heard above the rumble of the crowd.
“Can you believe it? What a night,” Izuku gushed. Though he was far from in his element, the fanboy in him could not help but have his moment to bask in the unbelievable situation he’d found himself in. There was something about being home, in Japan, and experiencing this that was making his life real in a way that made Izuku dizzily giddy.
“Hmmm,” Shouto hummed, nursing his own flute of champagne. “How are you adjusting?”
“To Japan?” Just fine. It’s good to be back. Jetlag was brutal and then all the press right away–but I’ve adjusted, and it already feels like I never left. Hard to believe it was six whole years,” Izuku rambled, thinking fondly back upon his time spent in America, studying under All Might in the country the older man had grown so fond of.
“Good,” Shouto replied, sounding disingenuous. Izuku had come to know Shouto well enough to know that his detachment was only in appearance and he paid it no mind.
“How are things under your dad–getting any better?”
Shouto sipped his champagne carefully, his lack of answer as clear as any answer. Izuku didn’t press, smiling empathetically. He did not envy his friend for the complications of his familiar relationships. All Might had become more like a father than a mentor. Enji Todoroki was a father who barely justified himself as a mentor.
They struck up a companionable one sided conversation after Shouto’s non-answer, appearing indisposed enough to refrain from being poached by a seeking celebrity or networking hero. Izuku took care of the talking, falling into old habits as he pointed out each hero he saw and filled in Shouto on each interesting–at least in his opinion–detail he could think of for each figure. It filled the time, and the evening passed quickly until Izuku was beginning to wonder where All Might had gotten to and when the ceremony would begin.
“Shouto,” he gasped, a sudden shudder slipping down his spine, buzzing at his fingers and toes. He straightened, peering through the throngs of guests. His companion perked up, following Izuku’s lead.
He pushed through the crowds towards the doors, his hero sense tugging him forward as the sound of screeching tires and a terrible crash filled his ears. People began to scream, some freezing, others surging for the doors same as Izuku.
H pushed through the many bodies, fighting as people panicked. Apologetically, he pushed himself to the front, stumbling down the steps as he caught sight of the wreckage. Heroes poured down beside him, their own instincts kicking into geer.
A car lay smoldering and smoking on the red carpet they had walked through only a little while ago. Barricades lay mangled and bent, debris was everywhere. A young staffer was stumbling to her feet, helped by heroes as she shakily jerked away from the wreckage. More heroes were pulling a man out of the mangled metal that had once been the front seat. Blood dripped from his face and he stumbled in their grip.
“What happened?” people cried.
“What is it?” Shouto gasped, pushing up next to Izuku to survey the damage.
“Call for help!” someone called.
“Let the heroes handle it!” another declared
“Izuku, under the vehicle,” Shouto gasped, grabbing Izuku by his shoulder.
Izuku froze. From underneath the wreckage a familiar shock of yellow hair poked out, barely visible beneath the mangled tires.
“ALL MIGHT!”
Mina watched the screen with wide eyes, one hand over her mouth and the other covering her chest.
“I can’t believe it,” Sero said, shaking his head sadly. “How could this happen?”
“It feels wrong,” Kaminari murmured. “I feel like we should be there.”
Mina shook her head, trying to dispel her own unease at watching the tragedy over the shoddy office tv. As a hero, the inaction felt intrinsically wrong.
“It’s too far away,” she justified, just as much to herself as to her friends. “We’d never make it in time. Besides, look how many heroes there are. There’s nothing we could do.”
The live helicopter footage showed a good dozen or more heroes milling about, hiking up elegant dresses and pulling off suit coats as they set to work with police to lockdown the scene. It was strange to see them in formalwear instead of their costumes. It added to the eeriness of what they were witnessing.
“Once again, we have live reports that a driver crashed through several barricades and onto a live gala event in Central Tokyo. Current toll is uncomfortable. It is not known at this time if this event was targeted. Heroes and police are on the scene of the crime. The driver has been identified as–”
“I don’t know why they keep saying his name, if it was an accident he’s still got a target on his back for the rest of his sorry life,” Kaminari declared, stabbing at his neglected takeout with force.
Nobody replied, but Mina couldn’t help but agree.
“As said earlier, There is currently only one identified injury at this time; Yagi, Toshinori, also known as beloved hero All Might was airlifted to an undisclosed hospital just moments ago. Early reports say that All Might was struck in the process of a heroic save of a staff member of the facility. His status at this time is unknown, but our ground reporting team says that reports suggest that he was badly injured–
Mina winced away from the TV screen, unable to watch again as they replayed the footage from early. It was heartbreaking. She’d never met or worked with Midoriya personally, but the sight of him covered in blood, sobbing as the emergency workers pulled a censored blob from his arms hit too close to home. It was not dissimilar to some of the tragedies she’d worked and would have rather forgotten.
“I wish they’d stop playing that footage,” she said, clutching her knees to her chest.
“It’s ’heartbreaking,” Sero agreed. Pushing up from his seat. “I just can’t believe it.”
From the table, Mina’s discarded comm crackled to life, jolting them from their reverie as Kaminari muted the TV. Mina was secretly thankful for it, glad to pull herself away from the horrible news. She pulled the comm up to her ear, tapping it to open the channel manually.
“Eji?” she greeted, “what’s up?”
“Hey,” came the familiar voice of her closest friend. It was a comfort after the hollow ache of watching the news for the last few hours. “Did you guys see the news?”
“Yeah,” she replied, her heart sinking a little. “Yeah we did. Have you seen it?”
“They’re playing it on every TV in Japan, I think,” Eijiro reported sadly. “Hard to believe.”
“Yeah,” she replied.
Sero waved at her from the corner of her eye, tapping his wrist expectantly.
“Hey, Sero wants to know when you’ll be back so he can get suited up,” she translated, waving away his thumbs up and mouthed ‘thank you’.
“Tell him fifteen minutes, but have Denki go with him. I think we should go out in pairs from now on, there’s no telling what’s going to change after tonight.”
“Good point,” She agreed, “smart thinking.”
“Eh, it’s what Kats would want,” Ejiro replied. “I take it no word yet?”
“Same as every other day,” Mina replied sadly.
Sero had left to suit up, but Kaminari gave her a knowing wry smile and shrug. She smiled back, glad for the connection on a sorrowful night like tonight.
“Well. I’ll be back in fifteen.”
“Sounds good. I’m going to go to bed, make sure you put your com on the charger tonight.”
“Will do, goodnight.”
“Goodnight,” Mina replied, pulling the com back out of her ear.
“Kirishima said you should go with Sero. No telling what tonight will be like,” she relayed, pushing back her chair and pulling the half empty containers of takeout into a pile. She stuffed them in the fridge, pulling the one labeled “Hard-on” to the front for Ejirou to grab when he got back.
“K,” Denki replied, shutting off the TV and rising with a joint-crackling stretch and a yawn. “Sleep well.”
“Call if anything happens?” she asked, feeling a bone aching protective fondness for her boys.
“Sure,” he replied, rolling his shoulders as he meandered towards the changing room.
Mina wrapped her blanket closer around her and headed up to the apartment.
Chapter 2
Notes:
I'm behind on my thesis but I would rather die than open the file at the moment. Here I am instead. A bit more filler until we get to the heart of the story. Sorry my lovelies. Next chapter will be very Katsuki-centric to make up for it :3
Chapter Text
Izuku sat on the couch and stared, unable to move. In the two days since the accident he’d barely been home except to grab a change of clothes. His bloodied suit still sat in the garbage bin in the kitchen.
It was eerily quiet. Usually he’d come home to music playing; Sinatra or some other old music bouncing off the pristine white walls and bending around the sparse but modern furniture. For all ‘ :{8834e34e34e34e34e34e34e34e34e34e34e34e34e34e34e34e34his nostalgic ways, All Might had never been much for interior design. He kept memories more than mementoes, and what little had filled the apartment had mostly been Izuku’s.
It was Izuku’s pictures on the mantle of the sleek, fake fireplace. Izuku’s old All Might posters on the wall in the living room. The majority of his things were crammed into the bedroom where he could live out his All Might obsession in the least embarrassing way. But, a few things had trickled out over the years, finding their place in the apartment to add a live in touch. Anything that had elicited a fond smile and a story from his mentor had stayed out and been proudly displayed.
Izuku stared emptily at the record player tucked in the corner, a tasteful fake plant sat on top of the stack of records–neither of them had been very good at keeping plants alive. The fake one had been a gift from All Might’s agent, an attempt to warm up the new apartment. Frank Sinatra’s album was propped up, his blue eyes cutting across the room to stare at nothing as he smiled in self satisfaction from between fake fronds. Izuku could almost hear the songs, they echoed behind the cacophony of sirens and screams that had been playing on loop for days on end.
He didn’t think he could stand to go into the bedroom now. All Might’s face beamed back at him from every corner. It almost taunts him now, and he couldn’t imagine how he’d ever enjoyed being in there. How had he never foreseen the day he’d come back to the apartment alone, and every reminder of the man he’d come to see as a father would feel like torture?
He couldn’t take the second bedroom either. He’d been aching for a familiar hug and the chance to bury his nose in the familiar smell of his cologne for the last few days. If he smelled it on All Might’s pillow’s he’d melt into the sheets and cease to exist, and he knew how much his beloved mentor wouldn’t want that.
Lost and unable to find himself, Izuku let himself drown in the empty expansiveness of the apartment. Numbly, he grabbed one of the throw pillows and tucked it up to his chest. He wilted into it, pressing his dry eyes into the rough upholstery fabric and waited for the tears to come. They never did, and the apartment stayed cold, quiet, and empty.
The call came when he was out on patrol. He was two hours in on a six hour walking shift and then another four hours on call. Shinsou was somewhere in the alleyways or the rooftops, keeping his patrol in private like he preferred. Every once and a while there was the flash of a shadow flicking between buildings, or the glimpse of a purple hair flicking around the corner.
He’d just finished taking photos with a family out getting groceries for dinner when his comm crackled to life, Mina’s shrieks blaring in his ear.
“EIJI! EJI GET BACK HERE NOW! I”M SENDING HANTA TO COVER!”
“What is it?” he barked, heart beating and blood pumping as he turned and began speed walking towards their agency. “What’s wrong Mina?”
“IT’S KATSUKI!” Mina shrieked through the comm. Eijirou couldn’t make out the tone beyond the frantic urgency, and his stomach dropped. He stilled, cold dread filling his chest.
“Mina did he–what happened?” He croaked, head swimming. Shinsou had given up his attempts at hiding, jogging up to Eijirou and placing a worried hand on his shoulder. Along the street several people had stopped to look, whispering amongst themselves in fear.
“They found him one, Kiri,” Mina said, her voice choking with emotion. “Mitsuki called and they’re prepping him for surgery as we speak. You gotta get over there now.”
Eijirou nearly collapsed, leaning heavily on Shinsou as the news set in. The purple haired hero stumbled under the weight, quickly righting them both and grabbing Eijirou with a nervous frown.
“Is it?” Shinsou murmured, holding him tightly.
Eijirou was too overwhelmed to respond. They’d been waiting so long. Months of prayers and pleading with the universe for answers. Days after days of putting on a brave face, holding back fears and worries and promising Katsuki it would get better. An ever growing number of nights where Eijirou had secretly wondered if it would ever really come; only Mina knew that fear, but he was certain they’d all silently shared it.
“You better get there and tell him we love him, Okay?” Mina demanded. “Now hurry up.”
“Okay,” Eijirou promised, grabbing Shinsou’s bicep tightly and shaking him in sheer joy. “Okay!”
The com clicked off and with his second hand now free, Eijirou embraced Shinsou in a tight bear hug. The hero went stiff against him, unused to such displays of affection especially in public. Eijirou couldn’t help himself.
“It’s happening, Shinsou–it’s happening!” He declared, pushing the purple haired hero back to arms distance so he could see the man’s reaction. From behind his voice modulator Shinsou’s eyes crinkled with warmth, his body sagging in relief..
“Guess you better get going. Tell him we’re with him.”
“Yeah,” Eijirou agreed, stumbling over his own feet as he turned to go. “Yeah I guess.”
He burst into a trot, jogging down the pavement feeling as though he was not quite there. He floated just above himself, unseeing of everything in front of him. People waved and called out hello’s, familiar with his face and presence. He did his best to respond, flashing smiles and waving.
He could barely process where he was going or what he was doing until he caught sight of a familiar figure swinging from building to building, crossing his path on his way to pick up where Eijirou had left off. Sero raised a fist and gave a cheer in greeting.
Civilians stopped and stared, but Eijirou didn’t mind. His heart was so full he thought it would burst, and then he’d be next. He threw up his fists and gave a great big victory whoop.
“Excuse me,” Kaminari muttered, pulling his mask up further around his nose and inadvertently curling his shoulders up to his ear.
He tried to maneuver out of the elevator with care, not trusting the plastic lids on the to go cups. The bag knocked against his leg as he squeezed past the other passengers and he winced, praying nothing spilled.
Kaminari walked quickly down the hospital hall and towards the private hero wing of the emergency surgery center, using his free hand to pull his beanie back down over his head. He could feel his hair slipping, and he half expected the gentle tug at the back of his jacket. He bit his lip, trying not to sigh, and turned around.
A young girl looked up at him, barely up to his thigh and with butterfly clips in her bobbed hair. She had thick glasses and the kind of corduroy coverall dresses that had been popular like twenty years ago. He jumped, wondering if this was a ghost.
“Hey,” he said, dropping down on a knee to avoid the embarrassment of anyone seeing the way they were shaking. He gently placed the bag of takeout on the floor, relieved when it didn’t slosh.
“Are you a hero?” the little girl asked shyly.
Kaminari hesitated for a moment. Far be it from him to blow off a fan, this was what he lived for. But tonight was one of the few nights when flying under the radar was preferred, maybe even crucial.
A woman he assumed was the mother rushed towards them, scolding her child as she grabbed the little girl and bowed in apology to him.
“I’m so sorry for bothering you,” she gushed, turning to pull the girl away.
“It’s fine!” Kaminari assured, pulling down his mask. Even if she was a creepy ghost kid, he did have a heart. Obviously they were here for a reason, just like him.
The little girl’s face lit up as she saw him, and admittedly it was cute enough that he didn’t feel so bad about taking a moment and risking the break in his cover.
“Want a pic?” he asked, holding out an arm.
The little girl twisted in her spot bashfully, holding her mother’s arm and looking to the woman for support. Kaminari waited patiently, used to the on and off again behavior of his youngest fans. It was one thing to meet a hero, another to get to meet them.
The mother whispered in her daughter’s ear, and the little girl shuffled over, hands clutched behind her back as she nervously positioned herself next to Kaminari. He gently placed his hand on her shoulder.
“Lets do peace signs,” he encouraged, flashing his to her with a smile. She smiled shyly, wrapping her fingers into a similar pose and turning to face her mother and the camera.
“Say Chargebolt,” the mother instructed, and Kaminari and the little girl both proclaimed his hero name through wide smiles.
She checked the picture, dropping into another bow and thanking him for the picture. The little girl mustered up the courage to turn into him in a nervous attempt at a hug. Before Kaminari could respond the child was darting back to her mother to stare at him further. He waved, promising that he was delighted to be able to meet a fan.
“You are very kind,” the mother said, a loving hand on her daughter’s head. “Thank you so much. Her older brother is such a hero fan. He was caught in a recent villain attack and we are waiting for him to come out of his surgery. He will be so excited to know his little sister got to meet you”
“I’m so sorry,” Kaminari replied, wracking his brain for any of the recent updates he'd seen. He couldn't recall anything exceptional. “Is he alright?”
“Yes!” the mother replied, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. “His ancestors must have been watching out for him. He was struck near the heart with stray shrapnel from an explosion, but they believe he will pull through. This is his second surgery since they brought him in.”
Kaminari was getting rusty if he didn't even know about an explosion. He made a mental note to harass Mina when he got home. She knew everything, usually before anyone else knew it too.
“I’m so sorry,” Kaminari repeated, unsure what else to say. This was the side of hero work he never quite knew what to do with. He was a combat hero, he brought the style and the flair and kicked villain butt with devilish good looks. He didn’t really do this side–the...sad side. And that was for good reason, the consultant Katsuki had fired before the two week trial had even finished had told him it was not his strong suit. Eijirou and Hanta handled those areas.
“Thank you,” the woman replied, as though he’d said the right thing. He smiled back, watching as she and the girl turned to walk back down the hallway.
Cute. Another good interaction for the books. He gave himself a proverbial pat on the back, ready to go find Eijirou and deliver his wares.
Kaminari winced, cursing his forgetfulness as he turned back to the mother and child. They were almost around the corner with the little girl skipping along with her hand in her mother’s grasp.
“Uh, sorry, I do have one request,” he asked, following them back down the hallway sheepishly.
They paused, turning back to him to hear him out.
“Would you mind not posting this for a while?” he asked, wincing at the request.
This was one of the first PR rules, not to put your trust in your fans no matter how innocent they seemed. He didn't want to toot his own horn, but being asked to keep meeting a hero like him a secret was a big ask. And secretly, Kaminari wasn’t sure he’d have actually listened if a hero he’d liked had ever asked him to do the same.
But, his fears were assuaged at the warm sympathy that came over the mother’s face when she looked at him. Maybe it was where he was, or maybe his best puppy-dog look hadn’t gotten too rusty without Bakugou around.
“I understand,” the woman said, nodding in reassurance. Kaminari bowed, thanking her genuinely and waving one more time to the little girl. She flashed him a shy peace sign and he reciprocated before turning back around and picking up his forgotten ramen.
He pulled up his mask, heading towards the waiting room and searching for a familiar face. He didn’t recognize any faces–there weren’t many to pick from–but the worn Crimson Riot hoodie tipped him off. He headed over to an ancient looking table and the bodies slumped around it. He approached, laying his wares at the table and nudging a foot into the slumped body closest to him.
Eijirou jolted awake with a snort, looking frantic for a moment. Kaminari regretted not having his phone on him.
“Rise and shine, sunshine,” he greeted, slumping into his seat and pulling his mask back under his chin but jamming loose hairs up into his beanie to compensate.
Eijriou blinked at him, slowly processing where he was and why he was before seeing the food and lighting up.
“Thanks man,” he said, diving for the food like he hadn’t just woken up from the hardest nap of his life. Kaminari watched in amusement.
“Should I wake–” he said, gesturing to the other bodies slumped in seats at the table. The Bakugous were slumped together, hands clasped together in solidarity as they quietly snored.
“Nah,” Eijirou said softly, smiling at them momentarily. “They’ve been so stressed, I’m glad they finally fell asleep.”
“I take it no news?” Kaminari asked, eyeing the desk where nurses came and went, looking very busy and disregarding everyone waiting.
“Nothing.” Eijirou confirmed around a mouthful of ramen. “Thanks dude, you do not know how much I needed this.”I
“Sure thing. Anything besides being stuck at command central. It’s totally dead tonight. Hitoshi is a life saver.”
Eijirou grunted, shoveling noodles into his mouth in a horrifying display.
“Here. you need this,” Kaminari said, waving a napkin in front of his friend’s face. Eijirou snatched the napkin out of his hands, dabbing primly at his chin.
“Did you see the news on the All Might Agency?” Kaminari asked.
“Yeah. Read an article or something–can’t say I agree with that Midoriya guy, but I guess more power to him turning it down.”
Kaminari grunted in agreement, regretting skipping over himself in favor of the tupperware sitting at home. Katsuki would be proud.
“Not sure how I feel about the Americans getting their hands on it,” he said, fiddling with the magazine discarded on the table.
It was an old issue, The Todoroki guy from high school was staring coldly from the first page with his father’s half-transparent visage floating ominously in the background. “Following in Big Footsteps” it read, “will new graduate Shouto sign on to his father’s agency, or forge his own path?” printed smaller beneath.
“Yeah, but All Might worked with them, right? Makes it feel a little better,” Eijirou argued, slurping on his broth noisily. The Bakugous began to stir.
“I guess,” Kaminari agreed, flicking open to the next page of the magazine.
It was a celebrity spread criticizing what had been the latest red carpet events at the time. “BORING!” the magazine decried in bright red lettering with a sketchy arrow pointing towards some vaguely recognizable celebrity.
It was painfully mundane, and he dropped the magazine before he made it to Todoroki’s spread. The guy had been kind of an a-hole in high school anyway, and not in the secretly lovable way like Katsuki.
“Did they give you guys a timeline or…?”
“Nah, they talked to the Bakugou’s before I got here. They said they’re gonna work extra careful with the nitroglycerin stuff. It could take them a lot longer to get him out,” Ejirou explained, sliding the two other cups of ramen towards the bleary looking Bakugous.
They yawned and stretched and rubbed at knots at the back of their necks, blinking away the sleep and greeting Kaminari with warm familiarity.
“Thank you, dear,” Mitsuki said, passing Masaru his own bowl before daintily going for her own.
“Anything for you, Mrs. Bakugou” he responded, batting his eyelashes just enough to make Mitsuki preen without giving insult to her husband. He was too busy enjoying his own food to notice or make comment.
“Hmm, this needs a drink with it,” Mitsuki declared. “Anybody want anything?”
“You stay, I’ll go,” Marasru responded, pushing his wife back into her seat by her shoulders and planting a weary kiss on her head.
“I’ll take whatever they’ve got with caffeine,” Eijirou requested.
Kaminari quickly seconded that, and a rousing third came from Mitsuki. Masaru nodded assuredly before meandering off to find a vending machine.
“How’s it going with Hitoshi, dear?” Mitsuki asked, daintily plucking out a piece of cooked carrot and chewing thoughtfully.
“It’s good!” Kaminari replied cheerfully,leaning in conspiratorially to tell her the rest. “We’re thinking of moving in together when both our leases are up. Don’t tell anyone.”
Mitsuki hummed in approval, giving him a knowing look.
“Not that I won’t miss you, bro. But the extra fridge space is going to be awesome,” Eijirou declared, elbowing him over the arm of his chair.
Kaminari feigned insult, clutching at his chest and gasping dramatically. “I swear it’s Katsuki who buys all the groceries! And never fear, I’ll still do my part to help clear out the fridge once our dear Kats is back in his rightful position as cooking king!”
“And of course I’ll always make a return when you’re coming to visit, Mrs. Bakugou,” he added with his most charming smile, still staving off Eijirou’s attempts at an elbow to the side.
Mitsuki smiled gratifyingly, waving off his compliment with her usual poise.
Their conversation went on. Masaru returned with drinks in hand, and the night continued to ooze by and slow monotony. Eventually conversation dwindled again, and they fell into a weary silence as they waited for news. Kaminari was just beginning to fear he might descend into an ADHD-fueled madness when he remembered the little girl and her mother, and was struck with an idea.
“Hey, Eijirou,” he said, nudging his dozing friend. Eijirou grunted in response. “How do you feel about making a charity appearance?”
“For a gala? Not sure that’s a good idea after what happened this week,” Eijirou responded teasingly.
“Nah, more lowkey than that,” Kaminari promised. “More like civilian side waiting room. Maybe a recovery room.”
“Ahhhhhh,” his friend said, drawing it out with a slow nod. He thought for a moment, looking over to the nurse’s desk and watching the men and women continue to work and pay them no mind.
“Why not. Anything to take my mind off of waiting right now,” Eijirou agreed, pushing himself out of his chair with a tired groan.
Kaminari punched a fist in the air, pulling on his mask and scurrying towards the hall towards the non-hero waiting area.
Chapter Text
Katsuki thumbed the scar on his chest absentmindedly, staring at the lights that spanned the city, bathing everything in a multicolored glow. Reds and yellows flooded the buildings and streets, while banners floated lazily in the wind.
He was off tonight, but he kept a comm in his ear, waiting for the channels to crackle to life and his team to report back. He never liked not knowing where they were and what they were doing out there. It wasn’t that he didn’t trust them, but it also was.
His finger caught at the slight ridges along his sternum, now healed over and numb to his nervous tic.
“Hey, I thought you were going to bed.”
He startled, leaning back to glare accusingly at the offending interruption that had broken his reverie.
“S’not smart to startle someone sitting on a roof, idiot,” he chided with no real spirit. He was secretly glad for the company. A rare admission.
Eijirou had the decency to look chastised as he scooted towards the ledge, swinging his legs over the side while Katsuki tucked one of his up under his chin, wrapping his arms around it. The breeze brushed over his skin, raising the hair on his arms ever so slightly.
“You know, I’ve seen the scare before,” Eijirou pressed softly.
Katsuki rolled his eyes. “I know that,” he said. He didn’t pull his leg down. Eijriou didn’t press it any further.
“How are you doing?” Eijirou asked, watching the citylife below.
“Fine,” Katsuki replied.
“You’re usually not fine if you’re up here,” came the knowing reply.
Katsuki sighed, unable to argue.
“We’ve had a lot of good conversations up here,” Eijirou pressed.
They had, each one drug from a reluctant Katsuki despite every attempt to keep his thoughts close to his chest. He didn’t know why he bothered at this point, except that he thought so much better up here that it felt like a loss to give up the spot for the fault of its track record.
It was the closest thing to flying since he’d gotten the news.
“It’s the first year anniversary of the accident,” he said, giving in to Eijirou’s notorious puppy dog eyes.
“Yeah,” Eijirou sighed. “Changed everything. I don’t know if things have felt normal since then. “
They certainly hadn’t for Katsuki. Normal was an abstract concept he was just starting to grasp now that he was so far post-op. He still wasn’t sure what he thought of the world he’d come back to. He was even less sure where he fit into it.
“Is that what's got you all mopey tonight?”
“No. It’s the fact that you bums let us drop by twenty five percent,” Katsuki snapped.
Eijirou laughed, brushing off the deflection easily.
“We did our best! We’re just not as good as you at sniffing out danger,” he excused.”Besides, those rankings are made up anyway, you said so yourself.
“It’s not sniffing things out, " I told Racoon Eyes to check the police scanners for Mustafu and Aichi, they’re always chasing perps into our area anyway!” Katsuki barked, not really blaming his friends, but glad for the momentary distraction. It was easier than dwelling on his own thoughts. “And stop listening to everything I say, are you all children? We’re never gonna make a retirement if we don’t–”
“Make a name for ourselves. I know, but it’s just the beginning. Plus, now you’re back and we’re climbing again. We'll be back to where we were in no time,” Eijirou said, although his words held a melancholic ring.
There were two “where we were”’s, one which went thoroughly unacknowledged much to Katsuki’s relief.
“Anyway. That’s not why you’re up here,” Eijirou continued, brushing past the unspoken as gracefully as possible. “What’s eating you?”
Katsuki sighed, stalling for as long as he possibly could before relenting. The transplant had made him soft, he used to take hours to break open like this.
“All Might went out saving people. He was sick and useless by all accounts, and yet he still managed to be a hero to the end.”
“Kat, you’re still a hero–” Eijirou argued, his voice dripping in sympathy.
“Stop, Ei. I don’t want to hear it,” Katsuki said firmly. “I’m not. Not in the way he was.”
Katsuki thumbed at the scar from behind his leg, pressing his finger into the rigid line as if to test it really would hold. To his credit, Eijirou remained silent.
“All Might went out giving every last bit he had. He was a true hero. I…” Katsuki thought for a moment, struggling to put in words the guilt that laid heavy on him, especially on a night like tonight. “I stole someone's life to stay alive–and for what?”
Eijirou crumpled, scooting closer to Katsuki and grabbing him by the arm.
“You didn’t steal it, Kat,” he said.
It rankled Katsuki. He was frustrated at his friend’s obtuseness, at his hyperfocus on the words and the way he couldn’t seem to look past it to what Katsuki felt.
“I know I didn’t steal it, Ei,” he argued, brushing his hand away. “But I used someone’s hurt. I’m alive because someone died, and now I’m sitting here just….”
he waved a hand, a generic attempt at describing the nothingness his life seemed to have come to for all the attempts made on his behalf for him to stay alive, despite his own too.
“All Might gave life. I took it. And now I’m not even earning it,” he groused, pulling up his other leg as a second shield from Eijirou’s piteous stare.
He could hear what he would say already: “You don’t have to earn it, Kats. We all love you. This is enough. You’re enough. Come down off the roof, go to bed. You’ll wake up and feel better tomorrow.”
But Eijirou didn’t say that, which Katsuki couldn’t decide if it was for better or for worse. Instead, he sighed, studying his feet as he slumped in defeat. Eijirou left the quiet between them for a few moments before he seemed to sum up his thoughts enough to meet Katsuki’s.
“Do you regret it, then?”
The ache in Eijirou’s voice was truly devastating, and Katsuki had not yet rebuilt his resistance to his friend at his most pitiful. He wilted, guilt flooding in at the worry and pain he was putting on his friend. The big idiot had enough on his plate having to basically take over the agency while Katsuki was sick. What was Katsuki doing adding more?
“No. Of course not,” he promised. He really didn’t. He was so incredibly thankful to be alive. Yet he felt guilty too. Guilty for not being able to better use this second chance. Guilty at getting a second chance at all when out there in the world his joy was someone else’s pain. He didn’t know what to do.
“I just…it doesn’t seem right for me to get a second lease on life when someone else didn’t. When people out there were probably mourning and we were celebrating,” Katsuki confessed. “Even if they’re dead and they wouldn’ care, there’s still a trail of broken people left behind.”
“Have you tried to contact them?” Eijirou asked.
Katsuki balked, nearly gagging at the idea. He could think of nothing worse. He never wanted to look those people in the eye and show them what their loved ones heart had gone to–a dispatcher at a failing agency who couldn’t even spend a single night without worrying his friends. They’d be so disappointed.
“No. Of course not.”
Eijirou mulled it over for a moment.
“What if you wrote them a letter?”
“Is it the middle ages? I’m not writing them a letter!” Katsuki scoffed.
“No, think about it, Kats.“ Eijirou argued, growing more animated as he spoke. “It could be anonymous. Just a thank you and I’m sorry for your loss kind of spiel. It’s a chance to…process.”
“No thank you,” Katsuki said, wrinkling his nose in distaste.
Eijirou deflated, going back to looking out over the city with that distant, sorry look on his face. Katsuki almost promised to write the letter just to make it disappear.
A phone beeped, and Eijiou swung his legs back over onto the solid roof, pushing to his feet.
“That’s my break then. I'll make sure to check Aichi too. Who knows, Denki might get his first arrest in three weeks,” he said with a not quite there smile.
“Yeah,” Katsuki sighed, not taking his eyes off the cityscape. “Goodnight then.”
“Goodnight,” Eijirou responded, leaving him in silence again.
Katsuki thought about the letter. What would he even say?
Dear Loved ones of the person whose heart I now possess,
Thank you so much for the heart. I can’t tell you how scared I was that I was going to die until someone you loved did instead. Sure appreciate that.
Love,
Katsuki
Certainly not.
Dear so and so,
I’m sorry I stole something so important from someone you loved. You must hate me, even if you don’t know who I am. If it helps, I hate myself too. I know I can never live up to the loss you had, and I’ll spend every day for the rest of my life agonizing over it.
Kindest regards,
Kat
He scoffed, twisting under the cringe-worthiness of it all. How would he even begin to formulate the words to something like this? Something neither too sappy nor too callus, something that expressed the depth of his gratitude without frivolous emotion and was not just empty promises for his own sake. He wanted to mean everything, to keep his word that their loss was not taken for granted. He wasn't sure if he could promise it wouldn’t be wasted.
He gave up his midnight post. Shutting off his old com and heading for his room in the apartment. He found himself settling in at his desk, a pen in hand as the same thoughts that had plagued him since his conversation with Eijirou swirled through his head.
He grabbed a piece of paper and a pen, and he began to write.
Hello,
I wanted to write to you to apologize for the great pain you have suffered, and to express my gratitude for the incredible gift I was given because of it. Thank you for this second chance, I will do my best to be worthy of the sacrifice it took for me to have it.
Thank you.
He hovered over the note, feeling a distinct sense of incompleteness as the pen hovered over the familiar space that would normally hold a name. He read over the words a second time. They felt…sufficient. Not that Katsuki usually settled for just acceptable.
Before he could convince himself to forgo the letter, he shoved it into an envelope, sealing it and scribbling the address of an unknown apartment that had been emblazoned into his mind since the doctor had first suggested to him that a thank you note was customary for many recipients who were struggling to emotionally heal.
At the time he resented the insinuation the doctor had made. But now, as he slipped downstairs to add the letter to the pile of outgoing mail, he thought that the suggestion wasn’t all that bad.
Izuku set the final box down with an “oof”, leaning against the wall and wiping the sweat from his brow.
“I should just start a moving company. I could save the gym membership and make some cash,” he called over his shoulder.
Shouta stepped in behind him, a handful of loose items clutched haphazardly in his arms.
“You get a free membership at the agency,” he argued, sliding past Izuku to unload his pile on the island of boxes that had formed in the center of the room.
“Did,” Izuku corrected, sliding down the wall until his butt was planted firmly on the laminate floor. He stared up at the place, noticing some spots on the ceiling. Had they been there when he’d toured the place? They didn’t look like mold. Maybe the ill-effects of a dropped smoothie, or an explosive bottle of champagne. Both seemed unlikely, but he had plenty of time to brainstorm.
Shouto did similarly, propping himself up against the plastic wrapped couch they’d left to the movers after Izuku had shattered the expensive balcony window trying to take it out himself.
“Nice view,” he said skeptically, eyeing the primary window which had a charming balcony and the promising view of the back of a nondescript office unit.
Izuku quirked a smile, pushing himself back to his feet and nursing his sore joints as he shuffled over to the first box that presented itself. OFFICE SUPPLIES, it read in big bold letters. He tore the tape, a little disgruntled when it took his quirk to finally break it open, and pulled back the flaps. Stacks of papers greeted him, a mug of pens, a stack of sticky notes shoved in a crevice between printer paper and a jar of paperclips. Balanced carefully on top was a single letter, neatly printed. He made a face, closing the box back up and moving to another.
“What is it?” Shouta said, pushing up to his feet.
“Bills,” Izuku lied, fluttering his hands in dismissal. “Something from the agency, you know how it is. Closing fees, gym membership–all that stuff.”
Shouto dug through the box, pulling out the letter disappointedly.
“Really?” He asked, cocking his hip and brandishing the letter. “You still haven’t opened it?”
Izuku flushed, embarrassed to be caught out and lectured. He had been meaning to read it, honestly. He just…couldn’t. Each time he faced it he came down with some sort of mental block. His hands would sweat, his head would pound, it was like it was quirked.
“I’m just not ready!” he excused, finding the box labeled KITCHEN SUPPLIES and pulling out a handful of cooking utensils in a ceramic jar. “Besides, for all I know it’s not even that–it’s probably just another fan sending a sympathy letter. Marie had that look when she brought it up–you know the one–and I’ve read so many of them I don’t need another. I don’t even know why I’ve kept it around!”
“I’m going to read it to you,” Shouto declared, flipping open the already ripped seal and flicking the letter open with one hand, using the other to ward Izuku off.
“Shou-!” Izuku gasped, lunging for the note and tripping over a pile of cleaning supplies.
“Hello, I wanted to write to you to apologize for the great pain you have suffered–,” Shouto read in a too loud voice, softening as he went.
Izuku went limp, equal parts resigned to his fate and caught off guard by the opening of the message.
“--and to express my gratitude for the incredible gift I was given because of it.” He continued. “Thank you for this second chance, I will do my best to be worthy of the sacrifice it took for me to have it.”
They both stood in silence, neither sure how to respond until Izuku could at last piece together his thoughts.
“That’s it?” he asked, unsure how to feel about the message. It was so short, so succinct and…to the point. Direct.
“That’s all it says,” Shouto shrugged, holding the note out to him.
Izuku took it, scanning the message for any other context, a name or some sort of mark. The page was bare, except for the neat Kanji. Nothing to suggest the sender’s identity, no acknowledgement for the recipient beyond the words.
“I guess…that’s it,” Izuku said, suddenly unsure why he’d held off for so long.
“I guess so,” Shouto agreed, turning to the KITCHEN SUPPLIES box and pulling out a stack of potholders.
They worked in silence for a while, slowly piecing together the apartment until it started to look a little like someone lived there. Once they’d set up the turntable and albums in the corner of the living room Izuku spoke again.
“I don’t know why, but I just assumed they’d tell them who’s heart it was.”
Shouto shrugged his shoulders in response as he centered the living room carpet.
“It’s just…it feels weird that they didn’t say anything. I mean, you would say something if you knew. But then, maybe that’s weird to know. Don’t you think that’d be odd, knowing whose heart you have pumping inside you?”
Shouto grunted in agreement, pulling the couch over the carpet to keep the corners from curling up.
“I think that’s what I dreaded. It’s not so bad now, but I don’t think I could sit there and read a letter where they knew and it was a big deal for them and everything. The way they wrote, it’s more honest that way. It’s straightforward–like they understand but they’re not going to waste words on it. Maybe it’s just me, but I think they’ll use his heart well.”
Shouta stood for a moment, staring at Izuku with that somehow both vacant and yet analyzing stare he sometimes got. Izuku squirmed under it, waiting for the verdict.
“I think you’re moving on, Izuku,” Shouto declared. “I’m happy for you.”
Notes:
Mary is my self insert. She works at Endeavor's agency and she reads all of Izuku's mail. She has those cute chain things on her glasses with hero-themed charms so she never loses them.
Also debated on Shouto actually reading the letter, decided it worked because it's just such an out of pocket thing to grab a letter like that and read it aloud and I would NEVER do it, which I think means that Shouto probably would. Debate in the comments pls.
Chapter 4
Notes:
So, I haven't done any writing on this story since this summer. With school having started and trying to write this dang thesis, I've been overrun. It's been some of the darkest days I've had. My health has been all over the board, students and parents have been HORRIBLE this year, and there's been quite a few personal disasters to contend with. I'm honestly not sure how me and my husband are going to keep things together, and I'm tired and stressed and feel really beaten down. I haven't felt like making art AT ALL because of it.
And then I got a few really sweet comments on this story, and like a little bit of light in the distance of the tunnel, I have enough hope to get up and write. Thank you guys, it really does mean a lot <3
Chapter Text
“I’m not so sure about this.”
Izuku glanced at Shouto, evaluating the humor or lack thereof that might be embedded into the dry delivery. Shouto didn’t look like he was cracking a joke, although he rarely did. He looked dubious, and given the state of the building front and the questionable street it sat on, Izuku was inclined to join that sentiment.
The narrow front of the building was a garish orange, the windows tinted almost black. The building had awkward, jutting balconies, making it look like a child had haphazardly built it out of toy blocks, expanding the size and plopping it down in the middle of the cityscape. Past the first floor, not a single window was uniform in size or shape, and they were all covered in stickers or lined with nicknacks.
“Are you sure you want to look at this one?” Shouto asked hesitantly, eyeing the dilapidated, outdated building. “Endeavor’s isn’t as bad as I’ve made it seem.”
“I’m certain,” Izuku replied, stealing himself for the walk up to the front doors. The street was littered in graffiti, little piles of garbage piling up wherever the wind dropped it. The building was questionable. The neighborhood was equally so. But, Izuku had high hopes,or else he was trying to.
Swallowing his nerves, Izuku thumbed the doorbell duct-taped to the pillar next to the glass doors. He could hear it echoing through the building through tinny speakers, followed by a shrill shriek that was thankfully muffled behind the walls of glass.
“Eiiiiiiii,” a feminine voice screeched.
Izuku turned to gauge his friend’s reaction, wilting a little at the constipated look Shouto made when he was trying not to look uncomfortable.
Oh well, there was no going back. Izuku rolled his shoulders, straightened his back, and put on his biggest smile just in time for the front door to swing open, spiky red hair and wickedly sharp teeth greeting him with a beaming smile.
“Hero Deku? Hey!” The man said, swinging the door wide in an inviting manner, casual and friendly in a way that immediately put Izuku at ease in a nervous sort of way.
Izuku slipped through the door, stepping into a bow as Shouto followed behind him.
“Izuku Midoriya,” He introduced, “Red riot?”
“Yeah! I’m Eijirou Kirishima,” the redhead greeted. “Call me Kirishima–Todoroki, it’s good to see you!”
“Kirishima,” Shouto greeted, popping into a quick bow before a large hand slapped him on the back, pulling him into a hug.
Izuku watched in amusement as the hot and cold hero acquiesced, looking a bit like a deer in the mouth of a lion. Kirishima, to his credit, seemed not to notice.
“I’ve seen your pro career on the TV, super manly! Your battle with Power High? Incredible! Kaminari and I assisted, but we were off to the side so we didn’t get to say hello or congratulate you, but that was a killer save!”
“You were there?” Izuku gushed, proud of his friend and thrilled to have an opening to fanboy for a moment. “I’m so jealous, I can’t imagine seeing it in person–I watched it from America. That last move where Shouto used that misdirect and managed to skewer that support gauntlet and neutralize him without a single casualty? The precision was incredible!”
Shouto remained silent, clearly flustered if the flush slowly forming on his face was anything to go by.
“You’re one to talk!” Kirishima barked, turning to Izuku. “I swear every day there was a new viral video of your saves. You gave those Americans a run for their money!”
Kirishima’s high praise flustered him, sending warmth into his belly at the open friendliness. It was painfully nostalgic for his time in America. He decided he liked Kirishima very much, both as pro hero red riot, and the person behind the suit.
“And what about you?” Izuku chirped, diverting the attention away from himself. “Your quirk is amazing! I saw your debut, you jumped sixteen spots in a month!”
Kirishima scratched at his hair, eyes squinting in embarrassment as he brushed aside the compliment.
“Yeah, well. I’m not really the heavy hitter around here. Don’t get me wrong, we’re all pulling our weight around here. Might Hero Agency’s heroes have all been featured on the top 100 up and coming in the past three years!”
Izuku glanced at his friend, wincing as Shouta quirked an eyebrow at him meaningfully.
Endeavor’s agency didn’t have a single pro hero who wasn’t in the top thirty. They only pulled interns and sidekicks from the top of the top schools. Best Jeanist’s agency boasted the highest turnout record for top 100 up and coming heroes. There were hundreds of agencies in Japan, and Might Agency didn’t even crack the top fifty in Tokyo alone. This agency was…tolerable at best, and all of their meager staff being in the top 100 in the past year alone was clearly more a matter of pride for Kirishima than value for any outsider.
“Anyway. You wanted to see the place, so here you are,” Kirishima said with a wide sweep of his arms in both directions. He looked incredibly proud, beaming at them like he was displaying a work of art. Izuku looked around, taking in the features with great interest.
The entryway looked abandoned. There was a simple secretary’s desk, a wall phone that had yet to be plugged in. A few mismatched chairs had been set up in the corner with magazines strewn between them in an attempt at a cozy sitting area. It failed to live up to the intent.The walls were bare, and one of the ceiling lights had gone out, giving the image of one of those spooky levels in a post apocalyptic horror game.
It wasn’t much to look at, but Izuku hummed appreciatively, just to be polite. Shouto looked constipated again.
Kirishima’s arms dropped and he sagged a little, smiling sheepishly.
“We don’t really use the lobby at the moment,” he admitted reluctantly. “We’re saving up for a remodel.”
“Ah, that makes sense,” Izuku replied, giving Shouta an encouraging look.
“Anyway, most everything that’s important is on the second level right now.” Kirishima explained, guiding them towards the stairwell.
The door had a nondescript sticker of a stick figure climbing up the stairs, except someone had drawn spiky hair and giant, round gauntlets on the arms, adding a frowny face for good measure. Izuku swallowed a snort of amusement at the sight of the little cartoon.
“So yeah, up here’s the operation, for the most part. We’ve got a changing room, a break room with a fridge and our dispatcher and intel room,” Kirishima explained, gesturing to each room in turn. He guided them towards each doorway, explaining each of their best features and allowing Izuku and Shouto to look around.
It was...organic. The furniture was mismatched, bits of corporate mixed in with homey and strange, like someone had slowly been collecting and redecorating. It was an eclectic charm that reminded Izuku of the old sitcoms some of the heroes he’d worked with in America had loved.
The changing room was a paint-chipping bench in the center of a small once-bedroom, sporadically placed ohooks drilled into the wall and a bin sitting under each set. Hero costumes, backpacks, and clothing hung off the hooks, boots and gloves spilling over bins and onto the floor around. Above each set, a whiteboard had been placed with each bearing a word and a series of doodles.
A beaten-up looking All Might backpack hung underneath the “Blasty” placard, which had been decorated in a mixture of explosions and hearts, a crude doodle of a hand giving the middle finger poking out from one corner. Izuku smiled, heart warmed by the old merchandise.
“We have an attached bathroom and shower and bath in here too,” Kirishima explained, growing sheepish again as he continued to talk, “But the shower head is messed up at the moment, so we mostly use the apartment upstairs. You’d, uh, be welcome to use it as well.”
Izuku nodded along, examining the cozy bathroom, clearly meant for a family residence and not the robust and streamlined facilities of the other agencies he’d toured. Endeavor’s agency, which he had toured in polite deference to the new number one hero, had boasted ten shower stalls per locker room, with several provided across the facility.
The break room was much the same in nature; A flat screen TV took center stage, a few ratty old couches and chairs sat around it. A kotatsu table had been shoved into the corner, a sad looking plant sitting on top. Another corner held the boasted fridge, bearing the remnants of an old kitchen with an ancient looking but large sink and a hotplate that had seen better days.
The room was better decorated than the lobby, though that was not much of a compliment. One wall was covered in photographs, stuck straight onto the drywall with cutesy pins. Another wall bore a whiteboard, covered in ridiculous cartoon images, most of the same figure he’d seen scribbled on the stairwell door. Amongst the doodles in bubble letters was written “WELCOME BACK BLASTY”.
Izuku perused the photos, picking out familiar faces. UA heroes he had followed from America, rookies he’d been analyzing and reviewing on the hero forums ever since they hit the top 100 up and coming heroes. He saw Chargebolt and Celophane, Alien Queen and Eijirou in his Red Riot costume. There were others there, pro heroes he didn’t recognize or that he knew were from other agencies.
Some of the pictures were out on patrol, selfies with fans pinned along with handwritten messages. The occasional doodle was interspersed. He smiled, warmed by the sweet display. A fluttery energy began pooling in his gut as he started to pick out blond hair and red eyes amongst the cluster of smiling faces. Candids and posed, his toothy grin always had an edge to it, like there was a joke only he knew and it may or may not be at the expense of everyone else in the room. It still unsettled Izuku a little, stirring up a kind of fear he didn’t think was entirely negative.
A sudden string of curses filtered through the room, muffled from the barrier of the wall but losing none of their potency as someone launched into a furious but unclear tirade. Izuku glanced around, trying to place the noise, catching Shouto’s unimpressed eye as he did.
“Oh, uh, we’ll get to that, but that would be Kats,” Kirishima said, noticeably awkward as he tried to carry on. The shouting continued, a few words trickling in as their host did his best to appear nonchalant.
“Wrong street...dingus…no brains…mutation quirk…”
Izuku instinctually leaned towards the wall, his heartbeat picking up and the fluttering in his stomach turning into summersaults.
“We’ve also got a sleep room for overnights,” Kirishima continued, skipping the next door in the hall for a narrow one at the end. He threw it open to reveal a small walk in closet. Someone had laid a futon out on the floor. All four corners met the wall. A single poster was stuck to the wall, All Might smiling as the text above his head said “All Might Says: An effective hero gets 8 hours!”, a mattress brand’s logo fighting for attention with the hero in the tattered corner of the old paper..
“Oh,” Izuku replied, fishing for a reply. “Cozy.”
“Yeah,” Kirishima replied, quickly closing the door. “It’s mostly for insurance. If you offer overnight coverage they want you to have one, and Kats said that filing one of our bedrooms would mess up the multi-purpose insurance on the residence side.”
“”Sounds complicated,” Shouto said.
“Yeah,” Kirishima agreed. “We mostly just sleep in the apartment upstairs.”
“You live here? Izuku asked.
“Not all of us, but yeah. There’s a three bedroom upstairs. It’s part of why we bought the place. It’s pretty convenient rolling out of bed and being at work,” Kirishima said with a smile, approaching the final door at last. The noise was growing louder, the words growing clearer as they approached.
“Your ETA is fifteen minutes, make it thirteen or you’re dead to me. The comic book place across from Ginkos, officers on site but no heroes yet–”
Kirishima paused at the door, looking reluctant as he held the door knob. He turned back to them, leaning conspiratorially. Izuku and Shouto leaned in as well.
“Uh, Kats is mainly on support duty right now. Just as a heads up, he’s kind of…pent up,” Kirishima explained, wincing as he said the last two words. He chewed his lip before continuing. “He’s a great hero, super good in the field…he just…uh, had some work done recently.”
As he spoke, Kirishima gestured vaguely towards his chest. Shouto nodded solemnly. Izuku tried and failed to properly process the implications.
What kind of work would Katsuki have gotten done on his chest?...Piercings?
Izuku flushed at the thought, trying to will away any images of his old childhood friend shirtless. It was highly inappropriate. Entirely unprofessional. Absolutely filthy and perverted.
Kirishima opened the door and stepped inside, allowing them to follow him.
“Hey Kats–”
“LEFT YOU IDIOT! I SAID LEFT! HOW DO YOU NOT KNOW YOUR DIRECTIONS?” Kacchan shouted.
Izuku froze, all thoughts of proper behavior gone as the final barrier between him and his estranged childhood friend disappeared. He stood, watching the rear view of a high-backed office chair where the top half of a fluffy head poked out with massive headphones planted firmly over the top.
Katsuki didn't react to them, solely focused on the wall of screens in front of him. several monitors were laid out, stacked on top of one another to form a giant wall of tech. The upper level was a series of street views, flickering through different shots and locations. The bottom was opened to a city map where a blinking dot was moving slowly through the winding streets. One screen had been devoted to the CCTV footage of a shop interior, a figure clearly menacing as they harassed the people inside, shoving them and waving their hands in threatening gestures. Its neighbor portrayed what must have been outside that shop, police building a perimeter around the area as people gathered to see the commotion.
“I’m dyslexic, be kind to me!” a voice wailed through the computer speakers. Izuku thought he recognized it, although he couldn’t place it at the moment.
“Run faster,” Katsuki snapped into the headset mic. “Hold a minute, I’m calling dibs for you.”
“Okay-”
“This is hero Dynamight at Might agency, I’ve got Chargebolt in route. ETA twelve minutes. Confirm.”
Izuku watched in awe as the man worked like a captain at the helm of his ship, flipping flawlessly between conversations, flicking through screens, checking coordinates, and feeding information to his hero as he descended on the scene. Katsuki made it look effortless, never once breaking a sweat as he argued with first responders. He was firm and demanding, yet cool and confident in a way that felt like nothing had yet happened that wasn’t perfectly under his control.
“I don’t care about some extras on the next block, I need to know how many entrances there are and if there’s any entrances between neighboring businesses..you’re sure…confirmed–-Dunce face, the building has a basement with a side entrance with a keypad lock. Code is 2-6-4-1-0. The register is one of those new electric locks, if you fry it open he’ll be too distracted to notice you, try not to fry the lights.”
Izuku was enthralled, willing to stay and watch the magic happen for the rest of the day. Even only seeing the back of his head, Izuku could imagine the focused determination that burned in Katsuki’s eyes. It made Izuku’s heart beat faster just to think of it. Should he say something? Should he just wait–Katsuki was busy. This was important, he wouldn’t appreciate Izuku distracting him from his work. That wasn’t the first impression Izuku wanted to make. Not that it was a really first impression to begin with. But, it was a second first impression. A do over, the chance to reintroduce himself as someone Katsuki would respect and want to work with and maybe even admire.
“Sorry, he’s pretty focused when he’s working,” Kirishima excused, ushering them back out the door. “I can ask him to meet you later, if you’d like. There’s not much to see in there, honestly. Just the support station and some space to set up for paperwork. We share. Do you have your own laptop?”
“Yeah,” Izuku replied automatically, still staring at the space in front of him where Kacchan had been just seconds ago.
“Oh good. We’re working on a tech budget, but it’ll be a while before we can provide computers. We’d have to ask you to bring your own.”
“No worries,” Izuku replied, feeling dazed.
Kirishima followed his gaze, a worried frown on his face as he stepped into Izuku’s line of sight, the slightest hint of defensiveness in his posture as he declared emphatically:
“I know he seems like a lot, but he’s the best hero here and he takes good care of everyone. He’s got his own way of talking, but there’s no better support out there either in that room or on the field. I’d trust him with my life.”
“Oh–yeah, yeah! He seemed amazing,” Izuku spluttered, embarrassed at being misunderstood. He waved his hands animatedly, trying to express his respect for the explosive hero's methods.
“He’s straightforward, effective,” Izuku gushed, hoping he’d smoothed everything over.
“GODDAMMIT THE VIBRATOR IS BUTTING HIS BIG, FAT HEAD IN, MOVE!”
Kirishima winced, offering Izuku an apologetic smile.
“Why don’t you come up to the apartment and we can talk about details?” he offered.
Izuku agreed, following the hero up a second stairwell and to the final floor.
The apartment was cozy, less eclectic than the agency, much more lived in and used. It was clean, impeccably so, and Izuku’s heart twisted in melancholic joy to see a certain number of All Might Memorabilia embedded into the decor.
They were greeted with tea, a girl with pink skin and a bubbly smile welcoming them in with a casual smile. She shook Izuku’s hand, squealing at his grip in a way that made him want to hide his face in embarrassment. She was kind, abundantly so, but her attention was so poignant that he was relieved when her attention turned to his companion.
“You probably don’t remember me,” she said, gushing over Shouto flirtatiously, “ We were in the same year at UA, although we never ran in the same circles. I’m Mina Ashido–hero Alien Queen: The Slime Hero!” she introduced herself, striking a dramatic pose. Shouto’s look of constipation grew exponentially.
“Call me Mina,” she said, batting her eyelashes. Shouto’s face morphed into something a little less pained and a little more afraid.
“C’mon, sit. Sit! I have to patrol soon, but I made tea and the contract is on the table–no pressure,” Mina continued, unbothered by the lack of encouragement she received. Izuku was bodily pulled from his spot in the entryway, barely managing to kick his shoes off and don a pair of slippers before she was planting him on the couch.
Shouto followed, looking like an ice sculpture as he stiffly yielded to Mina’s handsy guidance. He fell more than sat next to Izuku, looking for all the world like he expected to be drawn and quartered rather than served tea by their bubbly host. She doted over them, asking them both at least twice if they wanted anything to go with their drinks. They both adamantly denied.
“Sorry, she’s just excited,” Kirishima said, waving Mina out the door as she blew them all a kiss. The door rattled as she slammed it shut, making the dishes in the cupboards clatter.
“She’s nice,” he encouraged, giving Shouto a pointed look. His companion nodded stiffly, hiding behind his tea and diverting his gaze.
“Well. I guess you’ve seen the agency. I apologize for the casualness. My partner, Bakugou used to do most of this side of things”
Izuku nodded vigorously, soaking up the minute pieces of information, quietly jealous at the familiarity and partnership that seemed to exist between Katsuki and Kirishima. He’d watched it blossom from across oceans for years, but now seeing the tangible evidence he was overcome with the itch to compete.
That couldn’t be a good thing.
“But I’m curious. You’re All Might’s successor. You had a successful career in America. You could probably work at any agency you chose. Why look at us?” Kirishima asked. “Forgive my forwardness,” he quickly added.
Izuku smiled. He’d been asked a similar question plenty of times, and the answer was always the same. He looked at Shouto again, appreciating the companionship in this moment. Shouto had heard and honored his answer every time, although it was clear the hot and cold hero didn’t fully understand Izuku’s reasoning.. Izuku was grateful for such a friendship, they had not known each other long, but Shouto had proved a reliable figure.
“Not to say that we aren’t a good option–we’re up and coming, and this is only the beginning. We’re going to be big,” Kirishima justified in the absence of Izuku’s immediate answer. “But we’re not there yet, and you have a free pass to the top. Why work your way up?”
“I understand your confusion,” Izuku replied diplomatically. “I’ve heard this question quite a bit the last few days. The truth is that it’s what All Might wanted for me, and I want to keep his wishes.”
The answer always took a little bit out of Izuku to say, even if it was so simple. Shouto said he was moving on and healing, but the pain never seemed to fully leave, and Izuku could never explain how important this was to him without feeling the knife twist and the regret settle deep in his chest.
His second reason went unspoken. It was private, just a little too creepy and middle school Deku-ish for his liking, even if it was the biggest reason he’d chosen this agency.
“All Might debuted with a big agency, and I think he always regretted it. He missed something other heroes had. There’s something valuable about starting small. So, we always planned to look for an agency for me, somewhere to build a reputation from the ground up, and to bring up an agency and heroes who deserve it just as much as those big agencies.”
Kirishima looked surprised, but the warm sparkle in his eyes told Izuku that he liked the answer. Izuku could see the way it inspired new energy in the hero. It was a welcome sight after the cold mirth he’d seen in the eyes of the agent representatives he’d explained this to before.
“That’s an honorable goal,” the red headed hero said with a smile that somehow felt more open and genuine than any so far.
Izuku smiled in lieu of a thanks, sipping his tea as he glanced at the contract sitting on the coffee table between them and Kirishima followed his gaze.
“You don’t have to decide today. But, I figure I can talk through any questions you have now. And you can think about it, if you’re even interested,” Kirishima offered, handing the contract to Izuku.
“I am,” Izuku replied, trying not to sound too eager. He’d told himself he would think on it and not just jump in. But, he was sold on the place, not just eager to work with Katsuki, but charmed by the home-grown, ground up feel of the place. Thinking about belonging here made him feel excited, and he found the thought of chasing success exhilarating, a far cry from what he’d felt trying to imagine himself at any of the agencies he’d toured already. They’d felt soulless, but this felt like the heart of what being a hero meant to Izuku.
Kirishima looked almost surprised at Izuku’s response, pumping his fist in the ear with a cheer of “Manly, bro!”
His smile was infectious, and Izuku beamed at the approval.
“We’ve got six other heroes right now. There’s Kats and me, Mina, Denki, Hitoshi, and Sero. You’ll meet them all eventually. We rotate jobs, but we’re open to requests. We try and keep two in the field at a time, and we take turns on nights and dispatch and support so Kats isn’t on twenty four seven. We rotate holidays too–but that’s all in the contract. We don’t have a janitor, so you’ll have some cleaning and maintenance duties around the agency, but Kats hates when it gets dirty so he does it all most of the time and you don't have to worry about it. Uh, Kats–Bakugou, sorry, he hates it when I call him that when we’re talking business, isn't patrolling yet, so we’ve all been taking on a few extra hours to cover his shift. We wouldn’t make you do that–do you have any questions?”
Izuku tried to digest the wall of information. He nodded along, poking through the contract to try and locate the information. The packet was much smaller than the ones he’d been given by Endeavor’s agency and the HPCS. He’d thrown both of them in the garbage. Shouto had pulled Endeavor’s back out to burn it on the balcony. He’d said it was symbolic, because it was what he should have done the moment he’d gotten his own. Izuku had patted him on the shoulder and suggested therapy.
“Uh, what’s the neighborhood like?” he asked.
“Oh, it’s fine. People are nice here, they like the heroes who take the time to say hi. It’s a lower income location, so we try to get involved, volunteer at the local shelter and whatnot. It’s not required, but it’s helped; we don’t get rocks thrown through our windows anymore!” Kirishima explained with a smile. “Our patrol area is about a fifteen mile radius before the next agency, but we do overlap a lot. Sometimes we do joint patrols of other areas, wherever Katsuki thinks we’ll be most effective. But don’t worry, we’re on call for any major alerts. You can get called in for the big ones too.”
Izuku nodded along, picturing himself on a patrol rescuing cats out of trees for little old ladies and taking his own photos to go up on the wall in the breakroom.
“Oh, uh, we don’t have any secretary, so it’s all your own paperwork,” Kirishima added. “Bakugou has been in charge of filing with the office of hero affairs, and he’s got a perfect record going, and he won’t like you if you mess it up. So, you gotta be disciplined.”
Shouto grunted, the most he would say on the matter. Izuku elbowed him just to ensure his silence.
“I’m not great–but I’ll get better!” he insisted. Shouto looked skeptical.
“I’m not so great either,” Kirishima admitted, “Kats–Bakugou–helps me get it done most of the time.”
Izuku tried to imagine staying up late to go over paperwork with Katsuki. He used to imagine them up late studying together for their finals at UA. Would it be similar? Gosh, he was so jealous of anyone who got to study with him.
“What’re your social media and relations policies like?” Shouto asked, eyeing the contract with suspicion.
“Oh, we don’t really have one,” Kirishima reluctantly admitted. He looked embarrassed again, scratching at his head. “We just kind of ask that you…be respectful.”
“I can do that,” Izuku replied, nodding vigorously.
He knew why Shouto had asked. Endeavor’s agency required the signing over of all social media accounts, public or not, meaning that Shouto had been forced to surrender his quite popular Endeavor hate account, much to his chagrin. Izuku himself had a hero fan account nearly as old as himself, that he was loath to fork over to even the most trusted social media specialists. Besides, no way was he giving anyone access to his fanfic account willingly.
“What about sick policy?” Shouto continued.
“Call out if you need to with as much time as you can manage. Crud happens, we can make things work. No use in risking lives going out when you’re not 100%.”
“And your health insurance?”
“Expensive,’ Kirishima joked, wincing as he gave a wry chuckle. “We’ve got the platinum plan.”
Shouto raised an eyebrow, clearly impressed.
“We, ah, have some accident prone heroes on the team,” Kirishima replied in lieu of an explanation.
“Then Izuku will fit right in,” Shouto deadpanned.
It was as good of a green light from his friend as Izuku was going to receive.
Chapter 5
Notes:
Telling myself there's no use working on my thesis until I can get it to the writing center and have someone do editing. This is, in fact, a lie. But I am very gullible.
Chapter Text
Katsuki sighed, pulling off the headset and massaging the pressure points on his skull. He’d splurged on the nicest pair he could find and yet he still ended the day with a headache and sore spots. He ran a hand through his hair, pushing his hair back and scratching at the parts that had been pressed flat. It felt glorious, and reinvigorated him enough to consider making the trek upstairs.
Hitoshi poked his head through the door, eyeing him carefully.
“Good to go?”
“Yeah,” he replied, rubbing his tired eyes. “Soy Sauce Face is in a high traffic area, keep a close eye on him. Chargebolt is still wrapping up the takedown from earlier. Make sure he does his paperwork before he calls it in for the night.”
“Yes, mom,” Hitoshi replied, grabbing the headset and taking Katsuki’s place in the chair.
Katsuki swatted at his head.
“You warmed the seat for me. Thanks,” Shinsou deadpanned with a disgusted look.
“It’s a taste of where you’re going after I strangle you,” Katsuki snapped, slipping out the door with a curt, “Good night.”
He felt for his pager in his pocket, the emergency device that never left his side except to plug into its portable charger. The rest of the team had theirs too, he hoped, he'd checked to make sure they were all gone this morning.
He sloughed up the stairs, slipping into the apartment and kicking off his shoes in favor of plush All Might themed slippers waiting for him by the door in their customary spot.
“Kats,” Eijirou greeted, waving him over to where he sat on the couch, watching an old rerun of a J Drama Katsuki vaguely recognized.
“‘Sup?”
“That hero came today–the one I told you about?”
“The one you wouldn’t tell me a damn thing about?” Katsuki asked accusingly.
“I told you I would take care of it. I didn’t want you meddling,” Eijirou insisted. “Anyway, he and Todoroki came by to tour–”
“Todoroki?” Katsuki snapped, glancing in the corners of the room just to make sure the freak wasn't hiding somewhere. It was unlikely, but Todoroki was unnervingly illogical in his behavior and Katsuki wouldn't put it past him.
“Yeah. they’ve been all buddy-buddy in the news. I’m surprised you don’t know who it was who came by just by that.”
“You know I don’t do socials anymore,” Katsuki reminded Eijirou, shuffling into the kitchen.
“True. Anyway, I brought them in while you were working with Denki. You were distracted so you didn’t notice,” Kirishima brushed him off, far too nonchalant.
Katsuki could feel his face flushing. How hadn’t he realized? What had they seen and heard? What had the Icyhot bastard though, that snobbish bastard! He was probably bragging to his rich friends right now, laughing about their shitty agency and–
“Don’t worry about it. You made a good impression, I think,” Eijirou tried to appease. “Deku seemed interested. I think he liked us.”
“Deku!” Katsuki growled, firmly ignoring the way his voice cracked as he uttered the name. “It was Deku?”
Kirishima at least had the decency to appear remorseful. He wilted in his seat, smiling sheepishly.
“I thought you’d turn him down if you knew.”
“I wouldn’t have to!” Katsuki snapped, brushing his hands through his hair, pushing it back from his forehead as he heated up. “I take it he doesn't know who owns the agency?”
“He didn’t mention anything, didn’t even act like he recognized you. But again, he seemed motivated, I think he liked us.”
Katsuki let out a harried breath, trying to breath out to sixteen counts and failing miserably. There was no way the nerd hadn’t done his research. How could he not know? It wasn’t like Katsuki had kept it on the down-low or anything, what was he doing coming to Katsuki's agency.
“Your name is on the website, he obviously knows. Maybe just doesn’t care,” Eijirou suggested.
“There’s no way he doesn’t care. Katsuki argued, trying another round of deep breathing; in for four, out for sixteen. He failed again.
This is a fucking mess!” Katsuki groaned, feeling his blood pressure rise. His heart was starting to beat quickly, thudding in his chest. He froze, pressing his hand over the spot as if to steady it there, keep it from falling out. He could feel Eijirou worried frown as he squeezed his eyes shut, focused on calming his racing heart.
Phantom pain echoed through his chest, enough that he quickly found a seat, slumping into a chair in their miniature dining room that usually just served as a holding place for things that belonged in the office but nobody could be bothered to walk down a flight of stairs. Eijirou was on him in a minute, hands hovering like he was afraid to touch.
“Kats! Kats!” he worried, overwhelming Katsuki’s personal space, looming like a great cloud of concern.
“I’m fine,” Katsuki snapped, waving away his overzealous friend and regaining his composure after a few moments of practice breathing. He went back to his breathing, in for four and out for six, building his way up until he could do a full 16 seconds.
Eijirou was reluctant, but he did eventually return to his seat, and Katsuki was left to stew in his displeasure.
“Why did you do that?” He finally asked.
“Because it’s good for us,” Eijirou answered honestly. “Deku is an invaluable hero, and this is a once in a lifetime opportunity. How many heroes like him go for an agency like us?”
Katsuki sighed. Eiijrou was right. He usually was. He cared just as much about their agency as Katsuki did, although it sometimes took remembering. He’d done a good job taking care of things while Katsuki had been gone, not an easy task between the both of them, muchless on his own. He hadn’t even thanked him for it.
“Oi, Ei,” he called, getting his friends' attention. “I never said it, but I know how big a shitshow this place is. You did good keeping it in line, even if you let the vibrator mess around in our territory.”
Eijirou smiled, giving Katsuki a knowing look.
“You’re going soft, Blasty,” he warned. “I told Midoriya you’d be a hardass, don’t go melting on me now.”
“I’ll show you hard,” Katsuki snapped, eliciting a giggle from his friend.
Katsuki smiled, pushing himself to his feet to peruse around the kitchen as he'd originally intended, pulling out bits and pieces to put together a meal. An easy quiet filled the space between him and his friend, filled only by the dramatics of two forbidden lovers in rural Japan a few thousand years ago. Katsuki lost himself to his thoughts, relaxed by the familiar practice of meal making. It was an art he had mastered young, and the ease with which it all came together put him at ease.
He began preparing the cutlets, pressing them flat and dunking them in the egg and breadcrumbs.
As the aroma of garlic filled the room, Katsuki pondered this new addition to the agency. Izuku was…a problem. If the nerd remembered--why wouldn't he remember?--there was no way he would sign himself on to Katsuki’s agency of his own sanity and volition. And if he didn’t, first of all, why not? And second, how long would that last? How long until he would connect the dots and then despise Katsuki again? What if he’d signed on purposefully, and he was planning to take down the agency and Katsuki dream as revenge for all those years of bullying?
At the expense of his own career? Katsuki hardly knew this version of Izuku, but he doubted someone driven enough to succeed All Might was either psychotic enough nor wasteful enough to spend their newfound career on revenge over middle school.
Katsuki set the cutlets frying, dodging the sizzling oil as he wiped his messy hands on his apron. He pulled out another pan, throwing containers of leftovers into the pan and ferociously mixing the medley of vegetables and old rice.
But why his agency? Why now? Was it the All Might situation? Surely the legendary hero had wanted better than this for his What was Izuku thinking?
“Oi. Eijirou,” he called, waiting until spiky red hair poked back over the couch.
“Hmm?”
“Why’d he choose us?” Katsuki asked, checking the color on the cuts of meat before flipping the cutlets.
“Oh. He said it was what All Might would have wanted. Something about missing out on something important.”
Katsuki grunted, not sure he understood, but unwilling to question the word of All Might. Jealousy turned in his gut, a grown up echo of a childish resentment Katsuki couldn’t help but indulge in the privacy of his own home and among his most forgiving of companions.
Karma had been particularly bitchy in its response to Izuku. It had taken the one thing Katsuki would have died for and given it to Izuku instead. If the heart hadn’t almost taken Katsuki out, the news that Izuku had developed a quirk, been taken under the wing of the greatest hero in the history of the universe, and been whisked away to America like some princess might have done it for him.
In the end, UA had been a conciliatory prize compared to what Izuku had inherited. And what had followed had been an ironic and cosmic pile-drive of karma to the groin. Or the heart, rather.
“By the way, Kats. I hope you don’t mind, I wasn’t sure if you’d be ready to see them and if you’d be wearing a tank top or shirtless or–”
“Why the hell would I be shirtless?” Katsuki snarked, rolling his eyes at his friend as he pulled the cutlets off the pan, patting them dry and adding them to the rewarmed leftovers he’d been plating. “What did you do?”
“I just made some mention that you, uh, had a surgery,” Eijirou squeaked, trying to look casual as he eyed Katsuki nervously from his side of the couch.
Katsuki dropped the broccoli he’d been djusting tomake Eijirou’s plate look like a smiley face.
“What?” he asked, fixing Kirishima with a murderous glare, daring the man to speak what Katsuki thought he’d spoken.
“I…mentioned that you, well, had a surgery.”
Katsuki breathed heavily through his nose, trying to calm himself. Willing his hands not to spark, forcing his heart to calm.
“I didn’t give any specifics,” Eijirou justified. “I just mentioned that you’d had some work done on your chest, no big deal!”
Katsuki gripped the countertop, a scream threatening to erupt as he tried to calm himself. He sucked in a deep breath, then another, then another. Eijirou cowed on the couch, hands over his head.
“You told them I had work done, on my chest?” He asked through gritted teeth. “Is that specifically what you said?”
“Not in those words exactly,” Eijirou promised.
“But you told them I had surgery on my chest?” Katsuki insisted, mere seconds away from losing his composure.
“Yeah…” Eijriou deflated. “But it’s okay! They didn't know it’s heart surgery and they were super understanding.”
Katsuki did scream, the countertop nearly cracking under his grip as he fought for any way to dispel his rage that was not murder nor destruction of the apartment he’d worked so hard to clean this morning.
“Shitty hair,” he growled, body shaking with barely contained fury. “They’ll think I had A BOOB JOB!”
The plates clacked in emphasis of Katsuki’s outburst, and Eijirou visibly paled, his jaw working as he tried to think of some way to save himself. He looked like a fish, gaping wildly with his eyes bulging out of his Eyes. Katsuki burried his head in his hands as the raw humiliation flooded him to the point of dizziness. He leaned against the counter, sagging in defeat.
"Eijirou, I will murder you," he groaned, mourning what little of his dignity he had thought he had left. It had gone so soon, too young, too pure. Murdered by an idiot with ugly hair.
“It’s not all that bad, Katsuki,” Eijirou comforted, quiet and nervous as he leaned over the couch to provide comfort. “Given your figure, they probably think you got a reduction.
“Do you have a crush on Kirishima?”
The boba ball Izuku had been carefully sucking up the straw rocketed to the back of his throat, smacking straight into his uvula and ping ponging down his throat entirely whole. He hacked, the tacky blob plopping into his fist as he gasped fr air, brushing tears out of his eyes.
“What?”
“Red Riot–do you like him?”
Izuku made sure not to take a drink this time, so as to fully appreciate the absurdity of the question without any risk to his life.
“What? No!” he protested, flushing at the idea. Kirishima was nice, but just the image of his face had Izuku filling with something that was definitely not lust. He was just nice, welcoming, warm and familiar in that way only a rare few strangers could be. Izuku liked him, he was excited to work with him. He certainly did not have any romantic feelings towards him.
“You’ve been,” Shouto waved his hand vaguely, “about this whole thing. You get all giddy whenever you talk about the agency. It wasn’t that good, was it?”
Izuku flushed. Was he that obvious?
“No, it’s not that,” he assured chewing on his straw nervously. “I’m just excited.”
Shouto’s look was skeptical as he grabbed the contract sitting between them and flicked through it once more, as though in doing so he would find whatever secret thing had Izuku nearly bouncing out of his seat at each mention of the place. Izuku was going to combust if he didn’t tell someone.
“The guy on dispatch? Dynamite?” he asked, looking for recognition.
Shouto grunted, thumbing through another page.
“I went to elementary school with him,” Izuku explained. “We were…close. childhood best friends, I think.”
A white eyebrow raised, the most expression Shouto had shown since the tour of the agency. Izuku had finally piqued his interest.
“I know he went to UA with you and I watched all the sports festivals, and I know he was kind of…well he was kind of an ass. And he was jerk during middle school, he used to bully about being quirkless and everything–”
“And you’re worried about working with him?” Shouto interrupted, looking stormy.
“Yeah! I mean, no!“ Izuku spluttered in response. He wasn’t exactly sure how to justify how he felt, it was all just a matter of instinct and understanding, not exactly sane or explainable. “I mean, yeah I’m worried. But not because of how he was…I think he’s changed. But I’m…anxious to know.”
Shouto snorted, his skepticism all over his face. It hurt Izuku to see his friend disagree so strongly with something he felt so passionate about. Whether he needed it or not, Shouto’s approval was valuable. It also stung a little to think of anyone hating Katsuki that much, even if he had been an unquestionable jerk.
“I know you probably have no reason to think he’s changed but his hero name is one I came up with when we were kids!” Izuku explained, trying to figure out how to express how deeply meaningful that was. How could he explain how significant a simple childhood hero name was? How much it spoke to Izuku, and why he had to pursue it? . “I know it seems weird, but there’s no way he would have picked that name, not with how he felt about me, unless…”
His friend’s face relaxed minutely, pondering Izuku’s evidence.
“Besides, he debuted and he was doing well, climbing the ranks and getting interviews and exposure and people were saying he was going to turn it around from UA and then poof , he just disappeared. No articles, no interviews, no take-downs. His career? Gone–”
Shouto deflated, chewing his lip thoughtfully as he stared at his own empty boba cup.
“--And why? The Kacchan I know wouldn’t have given up his career for the world. He was going to be number one. Something
had
to have changed. And seeing him today? It’s not his spirit, he’s not broken down or subdued. So something else had to have happened, and I want to know,” Izuku finished, taking a break to nurse his drink while he analyzed Shouto’s response.
He left unsaid that he was dying to know if Kacchan’s return to form with his hero name was a one off, or if the other parts of their childhood plans held any merit. Was there any chance they could be friends again? Especially when they both had changed so much. Izuku had a quirk now, and Katsuki had the agency he’d always wanted, were they both satisfied enough with where they’d ended up that they could include one another?
“I always thought he was an ass,” Shouto admitted. Setting the contract back on the table opened to the back page where it waited for Izuku’s signature. Katsuki's and Eijirou’s signatures were already stamped on their respective lines. “But I trust your judgement. If you think it's worth it to find out about him, then do it. And if you hate it, we can use Endeavor's money to cover the fee for breaking the contract.”
Izuku’s heart swelled, relief flooding him at his friend’s reluctant approval. He was certain Kacchan had changed. He was excited to prove it, to show Shouto the wonderful person Izuku had known in middle school. He took a hefty slurp of his drink, thrilled with the outcome.
“So, you have a crush on Dynamight, then,” Shouto followed up.
Izuku coughed around another tapioca pearl.
Chapter 6
Notes:
How mean am I for making you wait 6 whole chapters before the two love interests actually meet? Does that make this a slowburn?
Chapter Text
Izku delivered the contract back to Might Agency the next day, signed with a flourish and set for a start date a week away. He rang the doorbell, waiting patiently until a voice sounded from above.
“Hey! You’re Deku!”
He backed up back onto the sidewalk, craning his neck and shielding his eyes from the sun. A blond head poked out, waving animatedly.
“Yeah!” he called, waving back. It was difficult to make out the figure silhouetted in the sun, but the voice was somewhat familiar.
“Gimma second, I’ll let you in!”
A few seconds later, pro hero Chargebolt poked his head out the door, squinting into the sun and beaming at Izuku.
“Whoa, you’re bigger in person than I thought you’d be. Blasty said you used to be short.”
Izuku’s heart skipped a beat. Kacchan remembered him? He remembered how short he was? He talked about Izuku?
“Come inside. Everyone’s out today, I’m on dispatch duty but it’s hot as hell today and nobody is out. The most that’s happened is a dog wearing boots and Sero didn’t even want to go see it, he said it was too hot to waste energy. Can you believe that? Too hot for a dog with boots? Anyway, it’s just me and Blasty today and he’s working on paperwork which means he’s absolutely boring to be around.”
Izuku followed the talkative hero up the stairs, nodding along, smiling again at the doodle of Kacchan on the door and keeping a nervous eye out for the real version. It was muggy in the agency, he could hear a dozen fans whirring and even Chargebolt had shucked his usual uniform for shorts and a t-shirt. Izuku felt self-conscious in his slacks and dress shirt. He’d been picturing this as a big, formal event like the kind of fancy press releases and public signings like the big agencies did, but it made sense now that he looked around that a small agency wouldn’t take things so seriously.
Would Katsuki think he looked ridiculously overdressed?
“Anyway, My name’s Denki Kaminari, but you can call me anything as long as it’s flattering,” Kaminari said with a joking wiggle of his eyebrows. Izuku just smiled, unsure if he was being flirted with or teased and too nervous to clarify either.
“Here, grab a seat,” Kaminari said. He had led Izuku to the dispatcher's room. He plopped into the large desk chair, sliding the headset Kacchan had been wearing yesterday around his neck, swinging back and forth casually as he gestured to a line of empty desks and desk chairs pressed to the other side of the room.
Izuku picked the least worrisome looking chair, stiffening as it creaked and groaned under his weight anyway. He held the contract politely in his lap. He was used to being the talker, filling long silences with his own chatter, sometimes out of awkwardness, other times out of his own enthusiasm.Denki’s easy chattering left him feeling uncertain what to do with himself.
“Oh, is that your contract?” Kaminari asked, glancing at the paper in excitement. “I call dibs patrolling with you.”
Izuku flushed, wondering who planned patrols and what the likelihood was that he could pick and choose who he wanted to work with.
“You can throw it there,”Kaminari said, gesturing to a pile of papers loaded into a receptacle labeled “Late Documents” with a worn-out sticky note. “Blasty will look it over tonight and get back to you at some point, he’s a stickler for paperwork. It’s been worse since he’s been back from the you-know-what,” the lightning hero chattered on, gesturing vaguely to his chest. “I think he’s going stir crazy, but he’ll be back to patrolling soon, he’s healing pretty good. You can barely see the–”
At that moment the door opened and words followed a figure into the room.
“Dunce face, you’re missing your casualty report for March 8th in the robbery incident. I need it on the desk by six tonight.”
Izuku was left tongue tied, staring at the figure of his hopes and dreams for the last ten years. Katsuki stood before him, soft and raw and real. He was dressed in a simple set of workout clothes, a high necked tank top that elongated his figure, highlighting the width of his shoulders and the narrowness of his waist. Slim fit joggers bunched effortlessly into a flattering figure of a slim and athletic build. Worse yet were the simple glasses perched on Katsuki’s nose.
Izuku gaped like a fish, his mouth opening and closing as he cast about for something to say. Words were evasive, so he settled for the one that seemed to keep bouncing around.
“Kacchan.”
Kaminari guffawed, and Katsuki shifted his gaze to stare at Izuku from over those horrible, beautiful glasses, lowering the papers he held in his hand. His gaze narrowed as he responded.
“Deku.”
“Kacchan! Kacchan?”” Kaminari shrieked with glee. “Kacchan, you never said a word!”
Izuku melted under the hardening of Katsuki’s gaze, murder radiating quiet and controlled from him as he sternly ignored Kaminari’s hoots and hollers.
“Did you bring the contract?” He grit, his composure cracking in the smoldering of the papers in his hand. He glanced down, shifting the papers to his other hand and using the other to pinch out the smouldering burns.
Izuku cast about for a moment, finding the contract where he’d placed it at Kaminari’s direction.
“Yes!” he chirped, rising up and handing it to Katsuki with a nervous bow. The blond did not bow in return, flipping through the pages and glancing carefully down at the last page. His expression was unreadable.
“Follow me,” he said, turning and heading back the way they came.
Izuku launched himself from the chair, glad to be free of Kaminari’s mirth and giddy for the chance to be alone with Katsuki. He followed him through the door and out into the hall.
“Keep it PG, Kacchan!” Kaminari called out the door. Izuku winced, scrubbing his sweating palms on his slacks as he gauged Katsuki’s response.
He stayed surprisingly calm, turning on his heel and opening the door once more. He poked his head in, uttering four curt words.
“I will fire you,” he threatened, closing the door behind him with a great deal of control and continuing to lead Izuku towards the break room.
Katsuki counted his breaths again, determined to keep them to 8 beats per exhale. Izuku was talking again, describing his schedule preference while Kastuki was supposed to be taking notes, except that his palms were so sweaty he could barely grip the pen, and he had to count just to breathe properly.
After Kaminari’s comments, even the entire distance of the coffee table between them didn’t seem like enough. Katsuki had broken out in a nervous sweat, and he ‘d since had the distinct and unwanted realization that he’d forgotten to reapply deodorant after his workout and shower that morning. He kept his arms clamped down tightly to his sides.
“--All Might was pretty big on being comfortable with any schedule, though, so I'm pretty flexible. He kept me on my toes and at this point, I can probably sleep on command. He taught me this weird trick–”
Izuku winced and fell silent before offering Katsuki a strangely apologetic look. Katsuki floundered from behind his notepad, unsure of how to react. Out of all the scenarios he’d pictured since hearing Deku was considering applying at the agency, this had not been one of them.
“Sorry, I, uh, know you were a big fan,” Izuku murmured, scrubbing his hands together. His demeanor diminished, and for a moment he was the Izuku Katsuki was familiar with, although so very little else had stayed the same.
Ridiculously, all Katsuki would really focus on were his hands. They were massive hands. Attached to massive forearms and even more massive biceps. Izuku had grown in the states. Somehow, his TV appearances failed to translate exactly how big he’d gotten. His face was familiar, the messy hair had gone unchanged, but Izuku was straighter, more confident, and even his smile seemed to have a previously unpossessed edge to it…until he smiled at Katsuki.
“Ha?” Katsuki asked, realizing a moment later how rude it sounded. He cringed inwardly. He was trying so hard to keep this professional but here he was.
It clicked a split second later what Izuku had said,
“Oh,” Katsuki acknowledged, straightening out a little further, clearing his throat. He was flustered,caught off guard by Izuku’s apology. It was absurd for him to be apologizing to Katsuki of all people and for that.
“I should be the one to apologize for your loss,” he declared, trying to muster up something polite and distant and also summative of the empathy he had for what Izuku had gone through.
The whole event had happened so close to the surgery, it’d been days before anyone had deemed him strong enough to know. His own grief had been monumental, the heartbreak he’d felt for Izuku had been strangely deeper. He’d been so used to battling his jealousy and resentment for the nerd that the emotion had caught him off guard, and he’d sobbed into his mother’s shoulder for the both of them. The thought was embarrassing now.
“Thank you,” Izuku bashfully replied, yanking at a curl and tucking it behind his ear. It popped out a moment later, going back to dangling obnoxiously in front of his eyes. Katsuki had the urge to fix it himself, but he resisted, focusing on his breathing. It was no good if he had a heart attack from over-embarrassment from fixing some ex-childhood friend’s hair.
The acknowledgement of his heart sent phantom pains lacing through his chest, and he thoughtlessly reached up to rub at the scar. Izuku’s eyes followed, landing on his chest and staying there for just long enough that Katsuki remembered what Kirishima had told him. He flushed, pulling his hand away, and Izuku did the same with his gaze, cheeks going red as he focused on somewhere over Katsuki’s shoulder.
Good, at least they were both embarrassed.
“It’s, ah, been a long time, Kacchan,” Izuku stuttered, trying and failing to progress their discussion into small talk.
Katsuki had never been particularly good with formalities. It was even worse when he was expecting to throw up a vital organ any second. Part of him wanted to rely on old habits and scream or cuss, let off a few explosions, just to distance himself and fill the room at the same time. He refrained however. He’d promised himself he could be professional, reserved. It was as much to prove to Izuku that he’d gotten better as it was proof to Katsuki that he’d moved on.
“Same for you, D- Izuku,” he replied, stumbling over his mistake.
He’d made it once already, falling into the old name. Thankfully Izuku had strangely taken on the name for his Hero identity, and Katsuki had fallen back on that excuse, repeating it until even he was beginning to believe it. He desperately wanted to know why Izuku had done that, was it to throw it back in Katsuki’s face? Was this all about getting even?
Izuku’s face shifted into something unreadable as Katsuki sat and waited for his next move. He seemed to ponder something, chewing on his lip until he realized Katsuki was waiting.
“Oh, uh, you can call me Deku.”
“I’lll make a note in your team debrief that you prefer to go by your hero name,” Katsuki intoned flatley, trying to fight off the welling of defensiveness that was threatening to make him say something that would have been very old Katsuki. He counted his breathing again, but was interrupted.
“No, uh, actually I don’t mind what anyone else calls me. It’s just that I’m used to you calling me Deku and I think I'd miss it if you stopped now.”
The defensiveness somewhat receded, replaced by wariness as Katsuki scribbled out the note on his notepad, trying desperately to control the beating of his heart. He’d miss it? What the hell did that mean? He risked a shrewd glance at Izuku again, trying to read him and finding it utterly impossible. Izuku was too honest, it made him almost impossible to understand sometimes.
“Anyway. I was wondering if you’d like to get dinner sometime. Catch up on things. I’d like to hear about the agency,” Izuku suggested hesitantly, peering over at Katsuki like he wasn’t sure if he’d get blown up or kissed.
Katsuki wasn’t so certain either.
“I can arrange for the agency to have a dinner night where you can hear the story and meet everyone if that’s what you’d like,” Katsuki offered, retreating behind this offer, guarding the swelling pitter patter of his heart as his thoughts kicked into high gear about what exactly Izuku was planning. He had an inkling, but he refused to be humiliated, much less walk blindly into it.
“Actually I was thinking it could be just us,” Izuku replied, quieting Katsuki’s thoughts in one fell swoop.
He swallowed, brushing a thumb across his chest just for comfort, and then counted to eight.
“There’s an American themed restaurant down the street,” he said, unable to meet Izuku’s gaze. He stared at Izuku's hands instead, folding into a prayer on his lap as he waited patiently for Katsuki’s full response. “You can tell me if their wannabe food measures up.”
Izuku melted as the first savory taste of a bacon cheeseburger with no lettuce, extra onions, and a juice, ripe tomato graced his taste buds. He groaned, forgetting where he was for a moment as the twang of last year's top country hits floated through the background. The greasy, calorie laden food made his heart sing as thoughts of warm summer days and a Dr. Pepper floated through his brain.”
Katsuki, sitting across the booth, looked somehow both stormy and yet blank, like he was fighting everything in himself not to react. Izuk was suddenly aware of the frankly undignifying bite he’d taken. He returned the burger to the plate carefully, grabbing the napkin to cover his mouth. Thankful for it as a trail of ketchup inched down the corner of his mouth.
“Well?” Katsuki barked, his voice gravely and harsh as he stared Izuku down from the other side of the napkin, his own food untouched.
“Amazing,” Izuku swallowed around the wad of burger, admittedly still mostly unchewed but desperate to please.
“I missed this,” he added with a dopey smile, wiping away the evidence of his mess. He went in for a more dignified bite.
Katsuki grunted, beginning in on his own burger with much more reserve and poise. That was a word Izuku would never have considered with Katsuki. He was loud, brash, bold, demanding. He yelled and cussed and teased, and he certainly didn’t pull his punches with Izuku. It’d been that way even before middle school, It made the current Katsuki all the more nerve wracking.
It wasn’t that he was particularly subdued. Katuki still felt intense. Everything down to his gaze felt like it burned with that familiar vigor Izuku had come to know. But there was a stillness that previous Katsuki had lacked. It was like a cat on a windowsill watching a bird. They may have looked relaxed, but every muscle was poised to strike, waiting intently.
Katsuki was much the same. As unfamiliar as the word control was to describe the Katsuki Izuku had known, this Katsuki most certainly had some new facet of it, down to the collared dress shirt that was carefully buttoned up to his neck.
Kacchan, but one inch to the left, Izuku thought to himself as he watched the other hero take a bite of his own burger. Katsuki didn’t react, certainly not as embarrassingly as Izuku had, but he didn’t complain about the food, which seemed like a good sign.
“You know, in America they make them even bigger, and they give you, like, twice as many fries. You get a TON of food,” Izuku said, mostly to fill the silence.
“No wonder they’re so fat,” Katsuki responded, the barest hint of his old self coming through in the scathing remark. It made Izuku feel a little bit more at ease.
“Yeah, but not everyone eats it all. It’s kind of a thing there, you’re not supposed to eat everything. They give you a box and you take it home for lunch the next day. I never did it though because I burned so many calories. You would not believe the villains there–they were crazy! Much wilder than here. But that’s the funny thing. They were like times-ten but so were the people. One time, I was called into this small town to handle someone who was threatening to blow up the whole town. I was the closest hero but off duty and also two whole hours away. I thought for sure they’d be toast, but by the time I got there the town had the villain tied up on a flag pole and they’d found and detonated all the explosives off in some place away from the town. I didn’t do a thing, but they still thanked me for my service, and a lady even made me dinner. You would have loved it, Kacchan–”
Izuku caught himself, flushing at the rambling tangent he’d gone on. He wasn’t even looking at Katsuki, so caught up in remembering the funny story. He’d always heard the stereotypes about Americans, and he’d been surprised and delighted to realize most of them were real, to the best and worst outcomes. He’d often wished, even after his rough ending with Katsuki, that he could have shared those moments with him.
“Sorry, I’m rambling,” he said with an awkward laugh.
“I don’t mind,” Katsuki replied with a flippant shrug. “I can see you’re still a nerd about everything, how many of those stupid, little, notebooks did you drag home just about America?”
That was very Kacchan. Izuku felt his blush intensify, something in him beginning to squirm in excitement as it was bubbling up inside him. Katsuki’s words should have been cutting, but there was an edge of familiarity and playfulness to them that Izuku was sure he hadn’t missed. It felt like, well, friendship.
“Shit. Sorry,” Katsuki hissed, looking a little frantic as he glanced around for some kind of escape. “Excuse me, I should just go–”
Izuku grabbed his wrist, stopping him before he could go, his mind running a mile a minute as he processed Katsuki’s reaction, making sense of the whiplash from such a sudden turnabout. His own mind was moving with alarming speed.
Katuski’s response was unsettling enough. The old Katsuki would never have apologized. He would have doubled down, even if he felt guilty and probably would have said worse. That was not good, Izuku knew that, but yet he wanted the old Katsuki. He liked the familiarity and the knowing one another and understanding how each other worked. This newness was unsure footing and he didn’t know how it worked or what all it meant, he wanted to get past it. And yet? Katsuki’s apology was a warmth in his veins he couldn’t describe. It was an acknowledgement he’ed long since made peace with not having and never expected to get, and yet he was getting it and it felt good.
He’d only hoped Katsuki had changed for the better, never allowing himself to fully believe it could actually be. This confirmation was everything, and yet to see his once friend so distressed made Izuku want to fight something, even if it was himself who had caused it to begin with.
“No!” Izuku begged, flushing as he realized the intimacy of their position with them leant over the table and Izuku’s hand around Katsuki’s wrist, holding him there, maybe even pulling him closer. He flushed, but maintained his hold.
“Please don’t go, I don’t mind. I missed it, actually! It’s good to be called these things by you, especially when…”
He trailed off, suddenly unsure of himself. Had he read into Katsuki’s behavior? Maybe he had misinterpreted everything, assumed something was there when it wasn’t. Maybe Katsuki didn’t see them this way, maybe he didn’t even want Izuku around.
Izuku dropped his hold, flushing and ducking his head with a muttered apology, watching Katsuki sheepishly as he waited for the blonde to set him straight. He always had, and Izuku needed it right now. It was one thing he’d always appreciated about Katsuki, you always knew where you stood with him.
Katsuki waited for a moment, looking a little lost as he weighed Izuku’s words and stared at the spot on his wrist where Izuku’s hand had been. It seemed to take forever to Izuku before he slowly sank back into the booth, rubbing at his chest as he seemed to collect himself before giving Izuku a very Kacchan look.
“Whatever you say, nerd.”
“They’re definitely in love,” Mina declared, staring unabashedly through the storefront window. The subjects of her stalking were to enwrapt in one another to notice anyway.
“Let’s not make any assumptions,” Kirishima, ever the voice of moderation amongst their household, cautioned.
She sighed, rolling her eyes and cocking a hip as she watched Midoriya explain some sort of story which involved aligning the salt and pepper shakers along with both their glasses and even a few pieces of cutlery. Katsuki was nodding along intently, shifting the salt shaker in such a way that had Izuku gesturing in wild and animated agreement.
“Their sexual tension is palpable,” she reported.
“See, that’s what I’m telling you. Izuku totally had the hots for Katsuki in glasses,” Kaminari agreed, his voice cracking to life from across the city.
“Gross, I do not want to know about anyone’s sexual proclivities,” Shinsou chimed in as well.
“If Katsuki likes the guy, I’m more than happy for him,” Kirishima justified, and Mina could just see him throwing his hands up in defense back home in command central. “I’m just saying, we shouldn’t be nosey.”
Mina rolled her eyes at the emphasis Kirishima put on the last word.
“I missed the play by play,” Sero said, speaking through the comms even though Mina could see him across the street, having just wrapped up helping a local shop owner tape up the rest of her sale signs. “Have they kissed yet?”
“They’ve blushed, they’ve held hands, and they’ve been sucked in too deep in each other's eyes to take a bite of food in five whole minutes,” she summarized quickly, leaving her comm on so that the rest of the team could enjoy the recap.
“That’s all?” Sero teased, earning similar chuckles from the others on their open line.
“I do have to say, I’ve never seen Katsuki flirt before,” Mina said, leaning in close to observe as Katsuki snickered at something Izuku said, hiding behind sipping his drink as Midoriya preened at the attention. “He’s surprisingly demure.”
That earned all sorts of snorts from the other boys, each adamantly denying Katsuki’s ability to be even polite. She merely shrugged, well aware none of the boys could see her, and continued on.
“I’m serious. He’s actually coy. You should see him–our little seductress.”
“Sero, tell us the truth,” Kaminari teased.
“I think he’s batting his eyelashes,” Sero teased, coming to stand next to Mina. She pulled him close, snickering quietly as Kirishima tried to defend the “manly blinking”.
“He could teach you a thing or two about flirting, Denki,” Sero added, snickering with Mina as their friend blustered indignantly. Shinsou was silent, but they could both nearly picture his humm of disappointed agreement.
“”You’d both better scram before they catch you spying,” Kirishima warned.
“We will,” Mina promised, taking one final look at the couple before pushing Sero down the street and away from the window. “Just needed to know what we’re working with.”
“And what are we working with?” Kirishima questioned, sounding rather skeptical.
“I’d say our dear little Katsuki is about to have a whole new set of heart problems,” Mina confirmed.
A chorus of pained groans etched through the comms, Krishima’s rambling scoldings about “above the belt comments” being drowned out in the complaints of the others.
“That’s morbid,” Kaminari snickered.
“Morbid, but true. We’ll have to be very helpful these next few weeks, is that clear?” Mina demanded, putting some force behind the question. Her boys answered in confirmation, Sero throwing in a solute for good measure.
“Good,” she said, glancing back at the restaurant. The two were still talking, she could just barely make them out through the window, two blurry blobs leaning in close. “We’re going to give them all the help they can get. I’ll have Katsuki married off or dicked down by the end of the year.”
The cries of horror and protest followed her all the way back to the agency.
Chapter 7
Notes:
Wow it's been a long time. I promise I haven't forgotten this sucker, life has just been a little insane. But I'm still slowly picking away at the plot. For those of you here for the inevitable angst, I promise it's coming and I promise I will give it my best, most dramatic attempts
For now, I just need to make sure to build you a happy, wholesome story so it hurts when I rip it from your wonderful, happy hands >:3
I've got a promisingly angsty chapter on the way along with some major romance progression you'll hopefully enjoy. Just don't give up on me quite yet!
Chapter Text
If Izuku had any questions about his belonging at the agency, his worries were squashed upon walking into the locker room on his first day and seeing a hook and whiteboard set up for him with “Deku” scrawled in cartoon letters and a crude doodle of what must be him with All Might’s signature hair pieces.
He promptly burst into tears, leaving Mina to tuck him into her ample bosom and brag about her sketching skills and thoughtfulness.
“Katsuki said the All Might reference would be fine, so if you’re crying because of that, blame him,” She declared, releasing him to dab at his eyes and wipe away the burgeoning snot that threatened to run down his nose. He did so promptly, happily slinging his backpack up and setting his costume case in the basket below, picturing this for the next however many years with joy.
“Wait until you see the break room. We even redid the board for you,” she continued waving him over to the break room to point out the board. Sure enough, it had been revised to a pertinent “Welcome to the team, Deku!” in big, bubble letters. A small basket of fruit sat on the Kotatsu, which had been shoved in front to display it.
Izuku smiled, overwhelmed by the welcome and relieved by the warmth of it. Despite his dinner with Katsuki, he’d had his nervous what if’s that had been threatening to taint his first official day on the job.
“Sorry we couldn’t get everyone in, but it’s awful trying to coordinate when there’s so few of us. I’m supposed to show you the ropes today, you’ll patrol with me for half the day and then Katsuki wants to train you in on paperwork and dispatcher’s seat. Most of it’s pretty easy–and you’re staying for dinner upstairs tonight. We were going to order in to celebrate, but Katsuki insisted on cooking instead.”
Izuku’s heart fluttered with nervous excitement at the listed agenda, especially the promise of Katsuki’s cooking. His cooking had been a thing of legend even in middle school, when he’d known a total of three recipes by heart and made them all with a fierce and exacting skill. Izuku could only imagine how much better things had gotten since then.
“Sounds great!” he cheered, his enthusiasm building as his day began. He quickly dressed, joining Mina in the breakroom where she untangled herself from a complicated pose, pulling him over.
“Do you do yoga? I always do some yoga before I go out. I know you’re supposed to warm up before you workout, but I like a warm-down, you know?”
“Izuku nodded along, good naturedly pulling his body into a few basic stretches. He’d visited his current gym that morning, but his nervousness had tightened his muscles and cooled his body enough that he didn’t mind the additional delay.
Mina worked through her stretches with casual familiarity, pulling herself into complex twists and stands that had Izuku envious of her flexibility. She rambled as she did them, talking about where she’d learned what pose and which muscles she was using.
“Katsuki does this with me sometimes–did I tell you that? He took up yoga after the surgery. He’s quite flexible, you should see him,” she rambled, not even looking at him as she arched her back into a downward dog.
Izuku flushed, trying to dismiss all pictures from his mind, glancing around the room again with the resolute decision to assess the grout on the tile in the kitchenette. It was surprisingly clean.
“Okay, let's go get you teched up,” Mina declared with a sigh, pushing herself up and heading towards the neighboring room.
Izuku followed, listening and nodding dutifully as she handed him a comm set and showed him how to attach it.
“We’re working on getting video streams going, but Katsuki says it makes his head hurt and the street cameras are better anyway. I think he’s being stingy, we could totally do live-streaming and be a complete hit–” she rambled, fiddling with her own set as she fixed her earpiece in place.
Hers was pink with little purple acid splatters, and someone had taped “Pinky” onto the charging port she’d pulled it from. His had no embellishments, the sleek black it had probably come out of the box with, but someone had already taped his hero name down in front of its respective charging port. The handwriting was impeccable.
The door opened suddenly, and Izuku and MIna both turned as Katsuki pushed into the room. He was dressed simply in a tee and sweatpants, his hair wet from a shower and he had a steaming ceramic cup in hand.
“Morning Kats!” Mina chirped.
Katsuki merely grunted in acknowledgement, giving Izuku an appraising look.
Izuku felt like a bug under a microscope, left squirming and feeling small as Katsuki observed. He didn’t know what to say, whether to bow or wave, or say nothing at all. Would Katsuki be offended if he didn’t offer a greeting? He was technically Izuku’s boss, after all.
“Goodmorning,” he squawked, flushing at how high and pitchy his voice seemed to be. If Katsuki noticed, he said nothing, brushing past them both and glancing over at the empty charging cases.
“You changed your suit,” Katsuki replied, frowning.
“Things are flashier in America,” Izuku replied sheepishly, scrubbing at the hair at the back of his neck where a thin line of sweat was already forming. “I thought the cape was a bit much, especially for patrol.”
That hadn’t been all the requests Izuku had asked for in upgrading his suit before starting his work. He’d swapped out some of the flashier colors and armored fit for something more streamlined. America had seen bigger opponents and he’d compensated with heavier armor, padding himself out to withstand anything and everything America had sent at him, from exploding alligators to a couple thousand bees in a trenchcoat.
Now that he was back and working in such a calmer area he’d opted to soften the look, going for more form fitting around his torso, but keeping the stability enhancing armor from the arms and legs. HIs stylist had said the effect made him look muscled out but sleek, and the reduction of details gave him a “refined elegance”. Now he just felt a bit ridiculous, which felt strange when standing behind the hodgepodge of color and fur that was Mina’s costume.
“I think he looks hot,” Mina chimed in, not at all helping Izuku with the feeling of wanting to melt into a puddle and slide out the door.
Katsuki generously ignored her, still assessing Izuku’s hero suit with an icy gaze, before at last looking Izuku in the eye.
“Getting rid of the bulk around the torso gives you a better range of motion.”
“Yeah, I figured around here there’s less room to just, you know, smash things. So more range of motion means I can move a little easier and really refine those moves,” Izuku replied, flushing as he realized Katsuki was still looking at him with that sharp, critical focus that made him feel small.
He still had no idea if Katsuki approved or not, his words seemed positive, yet his stare was intimidating. He shrunk, wilting under the intensity of it until Katsuki turned away.
“You went over comms with him?”
“I was in the middle of it before you walked in,” Mina said somewhat accusatoryly, giving Izuku a knowing look as she playfully rolled her eyes.
Katsuki set down his cup, fiddling with the keyboards as the computers flashed to life. A chime sounded through Izuku’s earpiece as Katsuki pulled his headset on, positioning the mic right in front of his mouth. He pressed something on the keyboard and began to speak.
“Check, check, pro hero Deku this is Dynamight speaking, do you copy?”
Katsuki’s low growl crackled to life in Izuku’s ear, mixing with Katsuki’s voice in the room a little disorientingly.
“I copy,” he replied to Katsuki, choosing to speak to the figure in front of him and not through the comm.
Katsuki frowned, coming over and tapping at the comm in his ear, sending the sound thudding through his skull.
“Tap once to speak with the dispatcher, twice to comm in to all current in use, and three times for emergency services. Same number of taps to turn them off. Test.”
“I copy,” Izuku repeated, tapping the comm once to reply his message, once to end the communication. He could hear his crackly voice through the headset, faint where it pressed against Kasuki’s ears.
“Good. Mina?”
Mina’s comm check went quicker, and Katsuki had soon moved on to bigger concerns.
“There was an armed robbery just east of us last night. Suspect is still on the loose. Brown hair, short, pierced nose but no other distinguishable details. They believe he has a sensory-increasing quirk. Keep a lookout.”
“Yes, mom,” Mina teased, rolling her eyes again with dramatic flair as she shooed Katsuki towards his seat.
“Make sure you take him by the park so he knows where Shindou patrols, I won't have that human vibrator sticking his ugly face into our space just because there’s someone new he things he can take advantage of–”
“I will! Just relax and enjoy the view, it’ll be fine!” Mina said with a dramatic sigh. “Hurry up, Midoriya, he’ll lecture us all day if you stay here. I’ll tell you everything you need to know while we walk.”
Izuku did as he was told, hastening through a quick once over before following Mina out the door, offering Katsuki an awkward half-wave that went unnoticed in Katsuki’s newfound focus. He was already inches away from the screen, scrubbing grainy security footage that must have been from the robbery he’d mentioned.
“He’s really dedicated,” Izuku observed, following MIna once again down the stairs and out onto the sidewalk. The day was sunny, already a bit warm to boot and he was grateful for the promise of an afternoon inside, even if it was to go over paperwork.
“Oh yeah, he’s always like that. When he first got back it was even worse, he’d be up for days at a time if you let him. He was obsessed with getting the agency back up to its old numbers.”
It was little tidbits of information like this that Izuku yearned for, storing away for future reference as he slowly pieced together the puzzle of Katsuki’s life. They were always so small, and they paled in comparison to the consuming desire to understand everything about his one-friend. But he hardly knew where to begin when it came to understanding everything he’d missed.
“He was gone for a while, for the surgery?” he asked, trying to seem casual.
“Yeah,” Mina confirmed distractedly, clapping her hands together and quickly changing the subject. “Okay! So, we’re patrolling southwest sectors, so that means we brush up right along Shindou. He usually does evening patrols, but Katsuki will want to make sure you know where he’s not supposed to be.”
Shindou was not a name Izuku was familiar with, but judging by the context clues, he could assume this was a figure not well liked by Katsuki, or by Mina if the slight wrinkle between her eyebrows was anything to go by.
“Whose this Shindou guy?” Izuku asked.
“Oh, no one that important. He’s, like, way down in the hero rankings. He’s just some jerk who has a crush on Kats–a total creep if you ask me, even if he is pretty cute,” Mina rambled, striding down the sidewalk with a dismissive wave.
A strange warmth pooled down in Izuku’s gut, not the good kind.
“A crush?” he asked, realizing too late that he’d spoken with just a little too much force.
Mina turned around like a cat who’d caught the canary, asking gleefully “Worried?”
Izuku spluttered, waving his hands in alarm as he tried to think of a way to explain himself. No! Of course not! He just didn’t like the idea of someone bothering Katsuki, especially if he didn’t like it! No, he wasn’t worried at all. Katsuki could handle himself, after all!
“I wouldn’t be,” Mina said with a wink, turning back around and continuing her walk, waving for ,Izuku to follow and trusting that he’d be right at her heels. “Katsuki thinks he’s a loser and he absolutely can’t stand him. He’d do anything to make him miserable–not that I blame him. Shindou is a total sleazeball. Besides, he’s not Kats’ type.”
It was bait. It was entirely bait, completely and obviously meant to trick and trap and even Izuku could tell.
“What is his type?” he asked, catching up to walk in stride with Mina as they turned down another block.
“I don’t really know,” Mina said with a shrug, looking both ways before crossing a street. Across the intersection someone waved, shouting her name excitedly and pulling out their phone. She smiled back, blowing them a kiss and flashing a peace sign in a cutesy pose before continuing her path. Izuku followed awkwardly, offering only a shy wave and smile.
“Katsuki hasn’t really dated since the whole thing,” Mina said, growing suddenly serious and contemplative, waving vaguely at her chest. “And he wasn’t really that interested in anyone in high school either.”
Izuku sombered, thinking carefully about her words. There was a sense of melancholy to the description that he could understand, the sort of loneliness that life brought for so long of your life. Although, on his part, it was entirely self inflicted once he’d learned the power of deodorant and a smile.
“Alien Queen! Is Deku working with you?!?”
Izuku watched as a young schoolgirl approached, looking absolutely giddy as she approached them, bowing profusely to Izuku as she garbled out an excited “I’m your biggest fan, pro hero Deku! I watched you in America, you were so good!”
“He’s part of the agency!” Mina declared proudly, showing him off like a prized show dog as she boasted about him and the “numbers he would do” once he was settled in.
“It’s your first day?” the schoolgirl asked, looking at him with all the adoration of a lovestruck teenager. He flushed, humbled and touched by the affection if not overwhelmed still to be the center of any adoration.
“Yeah, it’s great to get started!”
HIs response caused an eruption of squeals and a teary-eyed request for a picture which he complied to, overwhelmingly flattered and unsure of what to do. Despite so many years of this, the fan reception still came as a surprise. Mina gleefully snapped pictures on both the girl’s camera and her own, encouraging every ounce of hero worship until Izuku could at last disentangle himself with a bowl of appreciation and make some excuse for himself and the patrol he was supposed to be learning. The schoolgirl was reluctant to be sent away, until at last Mina generously switched sides.
“You’d better get to school. You can show all your friends and tell them you’re the first person to get a picture with Pro Hero Deku on his new route!” she suggested, the perfect saleswoman.
Her idea was instantly taken to with a deep flush and a squeak of excitement. Izuku waved politely as the young girl bounded away, her newfound energy appearing in her race towards the train station and a stream of “thank you’s” among other promises to love him for eternity following behind her.
“You’re supposed to be teaching him the patrol routes, not starting his fanclub.”
Izuku jumped as Katsuki’s growl echoed over the comms. Mina was giggling, already tapping hers to reply.
“It’s not my fault he's already so popular. I’m just making sure you know what sort of goods you have on hand. You might need to order him his own security guard–unless you want to volunteer,” she teased in a singson voice,the sound mingling between the static version in his ear and the bright and clear voice right next to Izuku.
He flushed, feeling the tips of his ears start on fire and his mouth go dry at the embarrassing things Mina was saying. Katsuki growled into the comms again, the sound reverberating through his skull as he imagined Katsuki watching from somewhere above.
“Sorry Kacchan,” he wheezed, “I’ll try to stay more focused.”
This led to a coo from Mina, and a resulting argument which Izuku was only half privy to as his own comm line went dead.
“I’m just having a good time. It’s your fault for scheduling me with him–”
“Then maybe you should have offered to take him yourself–”
“I’d like to see you try–”
“Argue all you want, I know you’re a sucker,” she said primly, shutting her comm down with a flick of her wrist. She blew a kiss towards the skyline where Izuku imagined Katsuki must be watching from any number of general security cameras before continuing primly down the street looking horribly self-satisfied.
Within the hour the word had spread of Izuku’s coming, and nearly every step of the route was filled with curious onlookers and nosey neighbors bent on seeing the new hero on their block. The people who’d come to see him were strangely polite, keeping their distance except to push small gifts into his hands, little drawings or trinkets, or in the cases of some of the elderly women, bits of food.
At first, he turned to MIna for help, overwhelmed and unsure. She graciously helped him carry the gifts, and when they inevitably became too many, she sweet talked a konbini into supplying them a bag which he carried for the rest of the patrol.
Their patrol was mostly through residential areas, towering apartments housing the industrial workers from the parks that made up most of the surrounding area. There were occasional corner stores and stands, with the agency seemingly planted right in the center of the largest commercial center in the little pocket of territory they patrolled. The area was mostly quiet, more dilapidated than the shiny epicenters of Tokyo, but not without its charms in an older, lived-in sort of way. There was a familiarity to it that Izuku couldn’t quite put his finger on, but which felt like fuzzy old memories of the way the world had looked and felt when he was a child.
It was heartwarming, as were the people who stopped their way to offer their welcomes, or to ask after other heroes. There were many questions after Katsuki’s wellbeing, and by the end Izuku had adopted Mina’s signature “better every day, he’ll be back out soon,” despite being the least educated person on the subject/
It did not surprise him that at least a few of the bentos pushed into his hands were instructed to be given to Katsuki, and not him. And given the number with his name on it, he was hardly jealous. In fact, he found himself growing fonder and fonder of his new position as the phenomenon continued.
By the time they were back on their way to the agency, walking through the industrial parks to avoid the rush hour foot traffic, both of them had their hands full, and the conversation was flowing easily.
“I don’t think I ever had this much attention on patrol, except for this one place in America that was really out in the sticks. Someone made me take home a mac and cheese that had more cheese than noodles. It made Toshinori so sick that I haven’t eaten anything that hasn’t come pre-packaged again. I still don’t know if it was something in the food or all the cheese.”
“‘Yeah, Katsuki never lets us eat any of it either, but he always sends stuff back. I always wonder if they think the same things about his cooking. They’re missing out if they do!”
“He makes them all food?” Izuku asked, impressed.
“Yeah!” Mina said, glancing around before leaning in close and speaking quietly. “The people around here…they give a lot. They’re very generous, but they're not wealthy. You’ll find out quick, people are too prideful to ask for help around here, so you have to find ways to sort of…sneak it in.”
“Really?” Izuku asked, glancing down at his bag of gifts with newfound appreciation. He felt guilty, taking from people who needed it so much more than him. He’d inherited much more than a quirk, he certainly didn’t need the food.
“Don’t, I know what you’re thinking but don’t worry. We felt kind of weird about all the generosity too, but it’s a dignity thing, you know? You have to have something to give it away, it’s important to them, I think.”
Izuku had never thought of it that way. When he’d been living in America with Toshinori he’d chocked it up to strange American customs, along with the jorts and smiling at everyone you made eye contact with. He wondered if there was something similar.
“It’s been hard-earned, too. It took us a few years before they looked at us like we weren’t some kids causing trouble. There’s a reason this jurisdiction was so available, you know. Low crime, whatever does exist is just petty, unwelcoming neighbors. The first few months I think we had at least three rocks thrown through the windows.”
“Really? Why?” Izuku asked, shocked by the idea of such poor behavior. He’d come to think of Japan as near-perfect in their polite self control and appreciation for order. It was hard enough to imagine there was crime here at all.
“Us, I think. This community hasn’t had many heroes, not in a long while. They’re lower class, the crimes are small and petty. There’s not a lot to draw in heroes. And then here we come a bunch of kids straight out of school and I’m sure they thought we were going to destroy the place, not that I blame them.”
“That must have been difficult,” Izuku admitted, trying to imagine what it would be like to be received coldly instead of with the warmth he was accustomed to. It was hard to picture.
“It was hard at first. Nobody wanted anything to do with us, people kept breaking in and stealing junk or vandalizing just to mess with us. It drove Katsuki up a wall, I swear he wanted to blow up every house on the block.”
“Why didn’t he?” Izuku asked, genuinely curious to know what would curb Katsuki’s anger. Certainly the frosty treatment must have rubbed his ego the wrong way.
Mina shrugged, offering him a quiet smile.
“He’s not the same Katsuki you probably knew before UA. He mentioned you used to know him when he was younger, by the way. Things happened, he grew up. I think you can see that in him, right?”
He could. Katsuki had changed so much, he’d quieted in a way Izuku desperately wanted to understand but didn’t. He wanted to ask, but it felt wrong to hear it from Mina, like he was pushing into things he had no right to know. She’d been there, she’d earned the right to know while Izuku hadn’t.
“So we stuck it out, kept trying to show up every day and keep things in order. It was really rough that first year, and we almost didn’t make it. But we kept going, and somehow things got better.”
“I’m glad,” Izuku said, genuinely meaning it.
“Yeah, me too! It’s honestly great here, even if the crime is still a drag. Not much exciting ever happens, but sometimes the grannies make you food and the industrial workers like us because we give them job security–or at least the really destructive heroes do. Honestly, I think they all just look at us like mascots at this point, but I’ll take it over dodging rotten fruit or something awful. They always vote us up as high in the hero rankings as they can, it’s sweet.”
Mina’s care for her community was equally sweet, in Izuku’s opinion. He hardly ever heard heroes talk about their people so fondly, and the picture she painted of the community they worked in made him even prouder of the choice he’d made.
Chapter 8
Notes:
If you're reading Will of the Fates, my star wars angst au, I promise I'm not slackin' I just absolutely cannot write this stupid scene and it's harshing my mellow. At a season like this, as I go to battle daily with middle schoolers who cannot stop "what the helly" as they throw clay at my ceilings (I'm an art teacher), I desperately need one thing that will not harsh my mellow. So, no Will of the Fates for the month of May, most likely.
That being said, this chapter also barely happened because spring is horrifically busy, so please enjoy 2k words of desperately cobbled together slop. I promise there's more to come, but right now I come to you frazzled and half torn apart by 12 year olds so this is the best I have.
Chapter Text
Working at Katsuki’s agency was perhaps the best and worst experience Izuku had ever had. On one hand it was incredibly personal. It was homey, involved, and honest. Izuku loved the rawness of the work. It was like being back in small-town America, where all the pros knew the store owners by name and stopped to chat with bystanders about whose kid just learned to walk and when their niece or nephew were graduating, and whether their sibling got the job or not.
He loved the involvement, feeling like his hands were in every step of the process. All Might had wanted him to have a taste of it all, trying every type of agency in every type of environment. Although he’d loved the momentum of the bigger agencies, he found that he looked forward to the quiet administrative tasks that balanced out the physicality of the other side. He found himself taking notes of special details to put into his daily debrief, bits of thoughts and what had inspired them, funny things he’d seen that day or important revelations he’d had about the community. He didn’t imagine anyone would read them, but the idea that they were there, a small piece of his heart and mind and the journey he was on, filled him with a quiet joy.
But it was also agonizing. That, for the most part, was due to one key figure.
Katsuki in Izuku’s ear was the greatest torture Izuku had ever known. Katsuki’s voice had always been appealing, husky and raw, animated in its rises and falls in such a dynamic and appealing way that it’d always had Izuku hook, line, and sinker. He spoke with such passion and confidence, like he put his whole heart behind every word he said. Having that in his ear–like he was right there speaking into his ear–was…
Izuku wasn’t sure there was a word for it, honestly. It sent goosebumps up and down his arms, made his hair stand on in and set his heart beating with the energy to take down a thousand bad guys, just because he knew Katsuki would be watching, listening, analyzing.
It was also absolute hell.
The first few days Izuku tripped over himself constantly, nearly dropping an old lady as Katsuki’s husky “nicely done” crackled through his ear, or getting lost in Katsuki’s precise directions enough to need them spelled out for him in insultingly simplistic detail after the second time he’d gotten the address. Katsuki made him so self-conscious he could hardly function, simultaneously desperate to earn more praise and attention and terrified of the next moment it would be there to fluster and trip him up.
Anything to get one of those amused chuckles or hums of approval.
Even now, weeks in, IUku was addicted to Katsuki’s voice. He could hardly imagine a day without it, his attention suffering on the rare days when Katsuki was not in command central, and he dispatched under one of the others. They were all friendly, all wonderful, all helpful, but none were ever as perfect as Katsuki.
Izuku felt like he was in middle school again. Perfect was perhaps the only word to describe the object of his affections. He’d had to admit it to himself by the second week, egged on by Kaminari and Sero’s knowing looks and teasing comments.
They’d cornered him in the break room, nursing a cup of tea before his second round of nightly patrols, wringing the confession from him with expert ease. He was grateful for their promised confidence, and despite some close calls and his deepest fears, no mention of his admitted school-boy crush had made their way back to Katsuki per his request.
Not that this was entirely necessary.
Izuku could not describe his relationship to Katsuki, but he dared to believe it was at the very least something. When he was feeling especially daring he might even call it something. Izuku didn’t think two people could look at each other the way they did or have the length of conversations they had without putting some suggestive emphasis on the word. Yet, the sacred words had not been uttered by either of them, and though they tip-toed around them with tentative intent, neither had dared yet to toe the line.
Instead, Izuku clung to late night conversations and tea invitations, to offered showers in the upstairs bathroom followed by a meal, and then a movie, and then an offer to use the couch, after all he’d be here early tomorrow anyway. He quietly congratulated himself on the knowledge imparted by Kirishima that he was, to date, the first person to have been welcomed openly to spend the night, muchless to have received repeat invitations.
Izuku had learned quickly not to take up the couch offers–his body was not what it had once been–but he never minded the late night walks home and not enough sleep that came with the outcome. Sleep felt second rate to the high of drawing every closer to knowing Katsuki as intimately as he once had.
Katsuki, to Izuku, was the greatest puzzle to ever solve. He was somehow exactly the same and yet a new and complex puzzle to solve. There were yeared of shared experiences followed by years of nothing. There was so much ground to cover! With every conversation, Izuku’s picture of Katsuki became more vivid, more lifelike. The closed-off, angry boy he’d known in middle school was still, in many ways, the grouchy creature he remembered. Yet edges had softened, and where he remembered harsh and abrasiveness, he now found a personality textured with a surprising amount of modesty.
Something had softened Katsuki, made him a quieter soul, not less formidable or opinionated, certainly no less brash and crude, but a stiller and more resolute person. Much to Izuku’s chagrin, Katsuki remained painfully tight-lipped about the what and why, and Izuku was both desperate and too polite to press. He waited with baited breath to earn Katsuki’s trust, and be told.
“One more rep. You got it?”
Katsuki nodded, looking exhausted but resolute. He adjusted his grip on the bar, sinking a little farther into his stance.
Izuku stood ready and waiting, watching carefully for any sign of overexertion. Today was his first day of working out with Katsuki. He’d only recently switched over his gym membership, taking Kirishima’s advice and utilizing a local gym close by. He’d been a little skeptical about using a public gym at first, but the staff were serious in guarding heroes’ privacy and he hadn’t had any trouble since he’d begun. Katsuki’s trust was enough to give him confidence.
They’d agreed to meet up early and work, Izuku with the primary motive of his regular workout but a less above table motive of adding to the many pieces of the puzzle he was working on. He was certain he could learn something from Katsuki’s training regime. What, he hadn’t the faintest clue, but something.
Katsuki hoisted the bar onto his shoulders, carrying the weight into a squat and lifting, his muscles bulging with the effort. It was a good amount of weight. Nothing compared to a strength quirk’s range, but for a regular lifter it was nothing to scoff at.Still, not what Izuku had expected for the ever overachieving Kacchan he remembered.
Katsuki strained against the bar, clearly fighting through this exhausting last rep, testing the very limits of his capabilities and, perhaps, attempting to show off just a bit if Izuku dared to flatter himself just a little bit. He, admittedly, looked very good in his regular high necked tank top and joggers. Izuku was at least a little distracted as he spotted, his attention often slipping to the wrong kind of form through the set.
Katsuki dipped again, four out of the five completed and Izuku offered a grunt of encouragement which was candidly returned. Katsuki huffed under the weight of the bar, pausing to collect himself before his last one. HIs face was flushed, his brow dripping with sweat, a look of determination in his eye. He was breathing heavily, sucking in big gulps of air.
“Looking manly, bro!” Kirishima called from across the gym, waving from where he’d just entered and throwing up a fist before heading off to the lockers. The staff waved at him, calling after him with friendly greetings that he returned nonchalantly. Izuku smiled and waved as well, turning back to Katsuki as he lowered himself into his final squat.
One moment Katsuki’s form was perfect, his focus lasered-in as he deep breathed through the rest of the squat. The next, he was diving out from under the bar, the clatter shaking Izuku from his shock as the weighted bar hit the ground with a force, Katsuki stumbling out from under it with nanoseconds to spare before the entire weight came down on top of his back.
Izuku yelped, reaching for the weights to keep them from rolling and for Katsuki at the same time. The gym filled with shouts, attendants rushing over to make sure all was alright. Izuku grazed a hand against his companion, turning to Katsuki in surprise.
Katsuki was shaking, his eyes wide and his face pale. His hand was gripping his shirt tightly, digging into his chest as he gasped through shallow breaths. He looked faint, staring at the floor in shock.
“What happened?”
“Dynamight, are you alright?”
“Is everyone okay?”
“Katsuki!”
Izuku watched in surprise and alarm as Katsuki was yanked away from the flurry of worried gym goers and staff, pulled off to the side and pushed onto one of the seated machines a short ways away. Kirishima hovered over him, yanking Katsuki’s hand off of his chest, leaving dents in the fabric and probably scratches in the skin below. He was murmuring quiet, urgent words to Katsuki, kneeling in front of him
Izuku watched helplessly, heat flushing his cheeks as he was forced to watch. He was meant to be spotting Katsuki, how had he missed him faltering? Katsuki could have been hurt–
He watched, wondering if he should turn away and what he should do with his hands, as Katsuki began to respond to Kirishima’s questions. He looked exhausted, a flush returning to his cheeks as he seemed to realize the commotion around him. He swiped at his face, brushing away trickles of sweat as his gaze tellingly refused to meet Izuku’s or Kirishima’s.
The redhead glanced over at Izuku, his face apologetic as he turned back to Katsuki, whispering something to him that had the other grimacing. Izuku began thinking up excuses to go, clearly a useless bystander in this situation and feeling worse for it every moment.
Katsuki let Kirishima pull him up onto his feet. He wobbled for a second, catching himself and striding towards Izuku, resolutely ignoring all the concerned flurry around him.
“I can hear your brain going a mile a minute,” he griped, grabbing his water bottle and towel to dab at his face and the back of his neck. “I’m done for today, finish your workout, and we’ll talk after work.”
It was hardly the encouragement Izuku wanted, yet it buoyed his spirits enough to give Katsuki a resolute nod and watch him make his way towards the bathrooms without crumpling into a ball of tears.
“Don’t worry. You didn’t do anything wrong,” Kirishima said, coming up to stand by him, brushing a hand through his spiky red locks with a tired sigh. The staff and other gym goers had dispersed back to their various tasks, leaving them alone in the weight lifting area. “I know it doesn’t feel that way, but you wouldn’t have seen it. It’s happened more than a few times with me, too.” Kirishima said with a wry chuckle.
Izuku could tell how hard he was trying to cheer Izuku up. He appreciated it, but it did little to sooth his distress. Kirishima’s comfort was a reminder of how far from familiar he and Katsuki really were. And he could not shake the resounding feeling of failure of their gym visit.
He skipped the rest of his training, choosing instead to spend extra long in the showers before heading to his shift.
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