Chapter Text
If there’s one thing Izuku hates, it’s the quiet.
It’s not that he doesn’t appreciate peace—it’s just that it’s too much sometimes. Too still. Too empty. The hum of life seems to fade away when he’s alone with his thoughts. His mind had a habit of wandering, and when it did, it usually landed on the things he’d rather not face. He loved his job. That thought was always close to the forefront of his mind, an anchor on days when the loneliness crept in too deeply. Teaching at UA truly was more than a career—it was a way to help shape the next generation of heroes. A chance to analyze quirks, offer guidance, and provide the kind of mentorship that might save lives. It was fulfilling, steady work, unlike most corporate jobs he knew were soul crushing and depressing. But there were days like today when no matter how much he reminded himself of the importance of what he was doing, it still felt hollow.
He stood up from his desk, gathering the last of his papers and slipping them neatly into his worn leather satchel. The staff room was empty now, some of his colleagues including Aizawa sensei had left hours ago, and now the space felt just as quiet as the rest of the campus. There was something haunting about the late hours of UA—when the bustling energy of students and heroes-in-training gave way to an eerie stillness, leaving behind echoes of a world that felt just out of reach. It was strange how places that were once so full of energy could feel so lifeless at night. He slung the satchel over his shoulder, his fingers brushing against the familiar texture of the worn leather.
The job was good. Great, even. He reminded himself of that fact again as he stopped by a window overlooking the courtyard, the faint glow of streetlights casting soft shadows across the empty benches below. His fingers absently tapping against the strap of his satchel, his brain drifting to places it shouldn’t. His face faintly reflecting over the glass. For a moment, it felt like he was staring at two different versions of himself—the man he was now, tethered to routine and the steady rhythm of a quiet life, and the boy he’d been, wide-eyed and full of relentless dreams with a heart so full of passion it almost costed him his life.
There was a time when the view from UA’s windows had felt alive, filled with the energy of training sessions, laughter echoing from the field, and the endless push to become better, stronger. Those days felt so far away now, a blur of faces and moments that he could still recall with aching clarity. Back then, life had been loud, chaotic, and impossibly complicated—especially when it came to romance. Specifically Katsuki. Izuku had spent his entire adolescence trying to untangle the mess of emotions that Katsuki had stirred in him. Admiration, anger, excitement, and something else he hadn’t been ready to name. He remembered the late nights lying awake, questioning himself in ways he wasn’t ready to confront.
He had always liked girls, and that was easy. Normal. But Katsuki had challenged that certainty, not with kindness or tenderness, but with raw intensity. It had twisted Izuku’s thoughts in ways he couldn’t control, his feelings swinging wildly between frustration and something softer that scared him to death. By their final year of high school, the realization had hit him like a freight train: he liked both girls and boys. And Katsuki—abrasive, untouchable Katsuki—had carved that truth into him with every heated glare and every fleeting moment of quiet vulnerability they shared after the war. Katsuki had always been a storm, and Izuku had spent so long caught in its pull that he didn’t know who he was without it.
And no matter how far they drifted apart now that they were adults, there were moments—rare, fleeting—when Izuku could still see the boy he used to know. Moments like the night they’d both found themselves on the rooftop of UA, not long after their final exams. The air between them had been thick with unspoken words, the stars above too distant to fill the silence. Katsuki had looked at him then, his expression unreadable, and said, “You can still be a hero, you know?”
The words had lingered with Izuku ever since, clinging to him like a ghost. Because they’ve been too young, too full of dreams and untouched by the cruel reality of becoming an adult. But life had a way of twisting promises, of turning hopeful words into haunting echoes. They weren’t kids anymore, and the world had reshaped them into something unrecognizable. Katsuki had become what he had always strived to be, blazing brighter and fiercer than ever, while Izuku had stepped out of the spotlight, content to let the next generation shine in his place. Always looking at him from a distant corner. Walking while he ran. Like it had always been since they were children.
It wasn’t his work or the loss of OFA that weighed on him; it was everything else. The spaces in between. The silence. The void that used to be filled with adrenaline, camaraderie, and purpose. He adjusted his satchel and turned away from the window, forcing himself to keep moving. There was no use dwelling on what couldn’t be changed. At least that’s what he told himself.
The cold night air hit him as he stepped outside, the faint scent of damp earth mixing with autumn leaves greeting him. He took a deep breath, the crisp air doing little to clear the fog in his mind but cold enough to make him start moving.
The ride back to his apartment was quiet, the bus mostly empty except for a handful of tired commuters. Izuku slouched in his seat near the back, resting his chin on his hand as he stared out at the glowing city streets. Lights from passing billboards flickered against the windows, casting faint shadows across his face.
He pulled out his phone and scrolled through his messages, hoping to find some response to the texts he’d sent earlier. The chat with his old classmates wasn’t as lively as it used to be. Once, it had been a constant stream of jokes, updates, and encouragement, but now it was mostly quiet, filled only with occasional check-ins or congratulations.
Izuku had sent a few messages earlier in the day, hoping someone would respond.To Shoto, he’d used his new hero ranking position as an excuse to meet up and celebrate, even though the real reason behind it was to just be with someone when he felt so distant and lonely. He’d tried to keep the tone light, focusing on Shoto’s success and avoiding anything that might betray the heavy weight in his chest. But no matter how carefully he worded the text, a part of him, buried beneath layers of practiced smiles, couldn’t ignore the bitter sting of envy. Shoto had risen so far, so quickly, while Izuku felt like he was still running in place. Still, he told himself it wasn’t about comparison. He just wanted to be with someone—anyone—when the quiet became too suffocating.
The second message he sent was to Katsuki, and it had been brief. A simple “Are you free tonight?”. Izuku wasn’t even sure why he sent it. It had been nearly three months since their last conversation, and not once had he been brave enough to reach out first, especially knowing how hectic Katsuki’s life had been, and how painfully awkward their exchanges had become since they broke up.
He should probably buy a book on how to get over your ex. Something along the lines of Moving On for Dummies or Breaking Up Without Losing Your Mind. Not that it would do him much good. He could already picture the shelves of self-help books, their glossy covers mocking him as he stood there, holding one in his hands and wondering if he’d ever actually be able to move on. But no, instead of browsing bookshelves, here he was, sending messages he didn’t know how to follow through with.
Izuku’s phone buzzed, snapping him out of his thoughts. Shoto had replied.
Hey. I’m on patrol, but maybe next time.
He had expected it, of course. Shoto was always busy, always in the middle of something. Hero work didn’t pause for social calls. Izuku had learned that the hard way, especially now. The weight of the reply settled on him like a reminder of how little time there was for anything else.
He typed a quick response: Sure! Stay safe out there.
He set the phone down, trying not to let the rejection gnaw at him. The emptiness that crept up wasn’t unfamiliar, but it still stung.
His gaze shifted back to his screen, where the message to Katsuki still blinked, waiting for a response. Izuku wasn’t sure what he was hoping for anymore. A conversation? An apology? Some kind of closure? He couldn’t even remember what they’d left unsaid anymore.
A moment later, another notification appeared. Katsuki’s response was as blunt as ever.
Busy.
Izuku stared at the screen for a moment, his chest tightening. He knew they weren’t brushing him off on purpose. They were both busy—Shoto was a rising star in the hero rankings, and Katsuki had been trying to start his own agency for years now. Their schedules were packed with patrols, missions, and appearances. But knowing that didn’t make the ache in his chest any easier to ignore.
He slipped his phone back into his pocket and turned to look out the window again, the hum of the engine blending into the background. The bus rolled past rows of glowing advertisements, and Izuku couldn’t help but notice the faces staring back at him. Ochako’s poster was the first to catch his eye. She was smiling brightly, her pink and white costume standing out against the bold text: Uravity! Rising Hero!. She looked confident, radiant, like someone who belonged on the big stage. Izuku’s heart gave a small twinge as he realized it had been a while since he’d texted her. But even as the thought crossed his mind, another one quickly followed: When was the right time to reach out to someone you once rejected in high school?
Jesus Christ he was pathetic.
A few blocks later, another billboard loomed overhead. Katsuki’s face stared back at him, a scowl etched onto his features, arms crossed tightly as though daring anyone to challenge him. It was the same expression Izuku had grown so accustomed to over the years. The intensity of it was unmistakable, and for some reason, it made him smile.
The bus slowed to a stop, and Izuku stepped off into the chilly night. His apartment complex was just a short walk away—a quiet, modest building tucked on the outskirts of the city, away from the neon glow and bustle. As his footsteps echoed in the empty streets, he made a mental note to call his mom the next day. It had been far too long since he'd last visited, and she deserved more than just a quick text.
He climbed the stairs to the third floor, the faint hum of street noise fading as he reached the hallway. The building itself wasn’t much—modest, a little worn down, but it suited him just fine. The landlord, an elderly woman named Mrs. Kobayashi, lived on the ground floor. She was kind and chatty, and over time, they'd formed a strange, unspoken bond. Izuku often helped her with simple things—carrying her heavy grocery bags up the stairs or fixing a leaky faucet. She always insisted on baking him cookies as thanks, and he found himself enjoying those small, shared moments of warmth. The hum of the street below barely reached him, and the walls were thick enough to keep the noise of the world outside from intruding. It gave him a sense of solitude that, for all his years living with his mother and then at UA’s dorms, he'd never truly experienced.
Thoughts of what to have for dinner buzzed in his mind as Izuku made his way down the hallway, his footsteps steady and familiar. But as he reached his door, something stopped him cold.
The door was ajar.
Not fully, but just enough for him to see the faint sliver of light spilling out into the hallway.
Izuku’s brow furrowed, his hand tightening around the strap of his satchel. Had he forgotten to lock it this morning? No, he was certain he had. He was always so careful about those things. His heart began to pound. He didn’t have a quirk anymore. If there was someone in there, a burglar or worse, he had no way to defend himself. His first instinct was to reach for his phone, to call the police and let them handle it. But something inside him—a reflex from years of studying to become a hero—pushed him forward. Quietly, cautiously, he nudged the door open.
The apartment was cloaked in shadow, save for the faint glow of the living room lamp spilling its warm, amber light across the modest space. At first glance, everything seemed undisturbed—no overturned furniture, no broken locks, no signs of forced entry.
And then Izuku saw him.
A man stood in the corner of the room, partially hidden by shadow. He was tall, broad-shouldered, and dressed in a dark suit that fit him with meticulous precision. His posture was relaxed, but there was a tension in the air, a quiet authority that made Izuku's skin prickle. The man turned his head slightly, just enough for the dim light to catch his sharp, angular features. His silvery blonde hair gleamed faintly, combed back in a way that made him look both calculated and commanding.
It was not until the man fully turned around that Izuku noticed the book clutched in his hand. One of his hero analysis journals. The one with the detailed notes on All Might's fighting style, the one with his scrawled observations on Endeavor's techniques. The one that contained years of research on different pro heroes as well as infamous villains, years of dedicated analysis and rants of potential quirk uses.
“You have such a fascinating mind” the man said, his voice calm, almost soothing. Low enough that Izuku could almost feel the vibrations ripple through his chest. The tone held an air of control, but it wasn’t sharp or cold. If anything, it was strangely inviting, as though it were coaxing him to listen, to lean in just a little closer. There was a faint accent, foreign and lilting, the edges of each word brushing against the Japanese syllables like a feathered caress. It was subtle but distinct, hinting at origins that Izuku couldn’t quite place. And yet, the way the words rolled off his tongue made them sound deliberate, like a melody composed just for this moment.
Izuku’s gaze snapped to the man’s hand, his breath hitching. His journal rested between long, steady, gloved fingers, held with an almost reverent delicacy—as though it were a priceless artifact rather than a battered notebook filled with frantic scribbles and disjointed thoughts. His pulse quickened, and for a fleeting moment, he seriously considered bolting.
“If I wanted to hurt you I would’ve done it before you entered Shinjuku station” Izuku froze. The mention of the station hit him like a hammer. He’d been watched—closely, deliberately—since he left UA. The man stepped forward then, just enough for the light to fully illuminate him. The man was striking—intimidatingly so. His thick blonde eyelashes framed icy eyes that gleamed with an unsettling sharpness, like frost on steel as he assessed him. His high cheekbones and chiseled jawline gave him an air of elegance that resembled one of royalty. His silver hair, combed back with meticulous precision, gleamed faintly under the light, catching every movement as he shifted forward. Every detail about him was polished, deliberate, as if crafted to leave an impression. His sharp, angular features were even more striking up close, but it was his eyes—grey, intense, and unyielding—that pinned Izuku in place, stealing his breath.
“Besides,” the man continued, a faint sensual smirk tugging at his lips, “I’ve been dying to meet you, Izuku Midoriya.”
Why did his own name sound so dangerously sexy coming from him?… Did one of his friends send him a stripper?