Chapter Text
“I like you, Kacchan.”
There.
Izuku had finally said it.
It was the last day of junior high, and he had just held out the second button from his uniform—the one closest to his heart—to his childhood friend. They had finished taking graduation photos with their parents only moments ago, and Izuku had asked to speak with him in private behind the school gym.
Now, standing face-to-face in the fading afternoon light, the blond alpha stared down at the button incredulously. Izuku's heart pounded in his chest. The silence stretched too long.
He began to ramble.
“I… I’ve admired you for a long time,” he confessed, eyes darting away. “And I know we’re not close anymore, but I—I think…”
His voice wavered, the words caught in his throat.
“Is this some shitty trick to distract me?”
Izuku’s head shot up. “Huh?”
“Listen just because I got into U.A. and you didn’t—exactly like I said I would—doesn’t mean you get to screw with my future.” Katsuki's eyes narrowed, a sharp scoff slipping past his teeth. “What’s next, Deku? You want me to bite you? Stick my knot in you and knock you up? Make me a teen parent so I’d have to drop out? That your big plan?”
“What-what?!” Izuku’s face went crimson at the crude accusations, his hand curling protectively over the button “Where the hell did that come from?!”
Katsuki didn’t answer right away. He just glared at Izuku, jaw tight, his fists clenched at his sides.
“I didn’t come here to mess with you,” He said, quieter now. Izuku’s chest heaved as he fought to keep his voice steady. “I’m happy you got into U.A., Kacchan. I really am. There was never any doubt. This… this has nothing to do with that, I swear.”
“Bullshit.” Katsuki tilted his chin up, sneering. “Whatever. Just shove that shitty confession, Deku. Not only do I not accept it—it never happened, as far as I’m concerned. M’not gonna waste my time remembering some dorky omega trying to make moves on me. I’m headed to the big leagues, far away from this dump. Lose my number. I’ve already blocked everyone else. Don’t need you riding my coattails when I’m the number one hero.”
With that, the blond turned on his heel and stalked off with an exaggerated gait, shoulders stiff with anger.
Izuku stood there, the button still clenched in his hand. He tried to fumble it back into place, but the thread had already come loose. Eventually, he gave up and walked back toward his mom, past the crowd of families, chin tucked tightly to his chest.
Wondering if the cold, sharp ache in his chest would ever stop hurting.
Ten years later, Izuku liked to think he’d done pretty well for himself.
He’d gotten into Isamu Academy, excelled in his hero support courses, and interned at a handful of small- to mid-sized hero agencies before finally landing a position at Mei Hatsume’s agency. Now he spent his days developing support items and designing new tech alongside her.
Picked up a couple scars along the way, too—but hey, they made for fantastic stories at hero conventions.
Izuku adjusted his glasses and squinted down at the workbench. Staring at tiny bolts and screws all day tended to strain his eyes, but it was worth it whenever a Pro Hero came by and marveled at his work.
Especially—
Knock knock knock.
He startled, almost dropping the screwdriver in his hand. He glanced at the clock.
7:43 p.m.
Definitely past business hours.
“Come in!” He called, pressing the small button beside him to unlock the door from where he was sitting. The door creaked open, and a tall figure stepped in.
“Sorry, are you still open?” the voice asked, rougher than it had been ten years ago, but unmistakably familiar.
Izuku smiled.
Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight wasn’t a regular of theirs but when he did stop by, it was always for something complex. The blond knew his gear inside and out, and he could fix almost anything himself. If he brought it in, it meant he really needed help.
“No, but that’s okay,” Izuku said, wiping his hands on a rag. “I’ll just jot it down for Mei to add to our books.” He grabbed a pen and a spare sheet of paper. “What can we do for you?”
Over the years, the two had formed an easy going acquaintanceship.
“Damn thing keeps leaking my sweat. Can’t find where, though.” The alpha rubbed the back of his neck. “Don’t worry, I—uh—cleaned it before bringing it down here.”
Izuku let out a small chuckle, as if a little sweat was the grossest thing he’d ever handled. “Is it both pieces?”
“Nah, just the left one.”
The old Izuku would have launched into a million and one questions. Could Katsuki sweat less on one side? Maybe produce fewer nitroglycerin-like properties? Diet-related instead of gear-related?
But after a few years on the field, Izuku knew better.
Pro Heroes were notoriously protective—and testy—about how much of their quirks became public knowledge.
Instead, he nodded and picked up the left gauntlet, turning it over carefully in his hands. The device was slightly scuffed, some of the tiny vents along its surface clogged with dried grime and dust. He ran a soft cloth over it before attaching the gauntlet to a testing rig.
“So, the leak started recently?” Izuku asked, keeping his tone light. “Any changes in your patrol routine or the tech you’ve been using?”
Katsuki shrugged but kept his gaze fixed on the floor. “Nothing new. Just been sweating more, I guess. Maybe the heat.”
Izuku caught the hesitation. There was something more Katsuki wasn’t saying—but he didn’t push.
“Alright, I’ll run some diagnostics,” Izuku said. “Shouldn’t take long but I can’t make any promises that I’ll be done quickly. Are you comfortable using your other models in the mean time?”
“I won’t like it, but yeah,” Katsuki grunted, crossing his arms. His forearms and biceps bulged almost obscenely under the sleeveless version of his costume.
Izuku had to hold back a sigh.
Summertime was when Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight pulled out his alternate costume variants—the ones that gave the public a peek at more skin than his standard or winter models ever allowed.
“It won’t be for long,” Izuku assured him, turning around to give the gauntlet another once-over.
“Yeah, well… don’t stay up on my account. Seriously, the other models’ll cover me just fine while it’s out of commission.”
Izuku adjusted his glasses and peered inside the gauntlet’s inner mechanism, grateful for the excuse to look away and calm the heat rising to his face.
The wiring was still intact.
Pressure seals looked fine at first glance. But when he touched the sweat filtration node near the exhaust vent, something shifted. A faint click. Loose.
“There you are,” He murmured to himself.
Behind him, Katsuki leaned against the wall with a heavy exhale, arms still crossed. The scent of nitroglycerin lingered faintly in the air.
Izuku swallowed.
“How bad is it?”
“Not too bad,” Izuku said without looking up. “One of the internal seals got knocked loose—probably during combat or a rough landing. I’ll need to rewire a few things and re-calibrate the filtration system. Still need to run a full test, but I’m willing to bet it’ll be good as new by next Monday.”
He finally glanced back at Katsuki, who gave a small nod.
“Cool.”
Silence stretched again.
Silence was usually a good thing. Parts and support items didn’t typically talk—unless they had built-in AI or voice prompts, and even then, it was limited to system alerts and status updates. This silence felt a bit too awkward for Izuku to work normally.
He glanced up to meet the hero’s eye.
Katsuki coughed into his fist, “While I’m here, Round Face told me to invite you to some outing this weekend. Said she tried to text and email you but hasn’t heard anything back.”
Ah.
Izuku winced, embarrassed by his NEET tendencies. In junior high, no one ever texted him. Then high school came, and he got comfortable with not getting random memes sent to him or invites to go out. Practically all his free time was spent in his notebook, jotting down quirk theories and ideas to improve gear.
And as an adult, the only time he checked his non-work-related number or email was to see if new merch had dropped or if a pre-order had shipped so he could rush home and sign for it.
“Oh no. I wasn’t ignoring her—I just don’t check that phone much. Or my inbox.”
“Yeah, figured.”
“Tell her I’m really sorry!” He cried out.
“Tell her yourself, Deku.” Katsuki shook his head. “So. You coming?”
“I dunno…” Izuku adjusted his glasses as they slid down his nose. Ugh, his face was getting kind of oily again. “I do have my plate full here.”
Mei was headed overseas next week to meet with some investors, and Izuku wanted to tackle as many orders and ongoing projects as possible before she left.
The last thing he needed was to be sleep-deprived because he binged the American dub of the old All Might cartoon "for localization research" and then worked 16-hour shifts for seven days straight… again.
“I’ll drag you there myself.” Katsuki pushed himself off the wall and clapped a hand on Izuku’s shoulder. “You got that?”
Izuku held back another sigh. Casual touch between them felt so nice—especially since he was only wearing a black tank top thin enough to feel like actual skin contact—but the memory of the few times Kacchan’s quirk had accidentally singed him was enough to keep him on his toes.
He quickly shrugged off Katsuki’s hand and opened his calendar app. He typed in Uravity's Get-Together and set a reminder.
“I’ll be there!”
The weekend crept up on him faster than expected.
The notification popped up with a chirp at 3:30 p.m. sharp: GET-TOGETHER TONIGHT
Izuku stared at it for a long moment, groaning quietly into his hands.
It wasn’t that he didn’t want to go. He loved pro heroes—especially the ones that came from the infamous Class A. Most of them stopped by Hatsume Tech regularly enough that they felt more like peers than untouchable celebrities. And even the ones he didn’t see often were always kind when they visited the lab or ran into him at events.
It’s just…
Izuku looked down at his worn All Might T-shirt—graphic cracked and faded from years of washes—and his oversized short, and groaned again.
Time to find some decent outside clothes.
He didn’t have many. Izuku had learned early on that working in tech and hero repair meant his wardrobe lived a short, miserable life. Stained, torn, or both—fast. Best to stick to bargain-bin and clearance-rack items.
He stood in front of his closet, staring at the meager row of options like they were some impossible puzzle.
No hero merch—that was kind of in bad taste around so many pros. That left him with two clean black T-shirts, two pairs of jeans that weren’t covered in oil stains, and one sad button-up shirt that had seen better days back in high school.
“Why didn’t I just say no?” He muttered to himself, pressing a hand to his face.
But Katsuki had looked really serious about dragging him there. Izuku wasn’t sure if that was a promise, a threat, or both.
He sighed and yanked out the least-wrinkled shirt and the one pair of jeans without visible scorch marks. It would have to do. He tugged them on, ran a comb through his hair until it looked halfway tame, then grabbed his glasses.
Only to grimace at the smudges clouding the lenses. They needed to be cleaned, badly.
He left them behind.
The gathering was already in full swing by the time he arrived.
The scent hit him all at once—fried oil, charcoal, soy-glazed meat. Alpha pheromones, beta colognes, someone wearing far too much scent neutralizer. His nose wrinkled.
Not unpleasant.
Just... a lot.
He hovered near the entrance, unsure if he should text Uravity to let her know he’d arrive—
“Midoriya!”
Ah. Never mind.
“You made it!” she cried, waving both arms overhead.
He waved back, offering an apologetic grin as she jogged over and immediately pulled him into a hug.
“You didn’t respond to any of my messages, you jerk,” She scolded, though her voice held more amusement than actual irritation.
“Sorry, sorry! I’ve just been swamped, I’ve got a ton of repairs and orders I need to get through—”
“I know, I know. Bakugo already told us.”
Izuku blinked. “He did?”
She gave him a knowing smile and looped her arm around his. “Yup. Said you’d be stubborn about it but that he’d make sure you came.”
Izuku didn’t know what to say to that. He glanced around the bustling izakaya, scanning the crowd between low tables, servers moving between booths, trying to spot the aforementioned blond menace.
He didn’t have to look far.
Dynamight was leaning against the pool table, listening—or at least tolerating—Red Riot and Chargebolt as they animatedly recounted something. Probably a patrol incident. He was wearing a white V-neck and black pants, the simple outfit clinging a little too well to his broad frame. The soft lighting made his tan look even deeper, more golden.
Izuku had always been the more tanned one between the two of them, back in their school days. But now, with his work keeping him cooped up indoors more often than not...
He touched his own cheek self-consciously.
Then, uninvited, Katsuki’s fourteen-year-old voice echoed in his head.
'Not gonna waste my time remembering some dorky omega trying to make moves on me. I’m headed to the big leagues—far from this dump. Lose my number... Don’t need any of you extras riding my coattails when I’m the number one hero.'
Well.
Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight was currently sitting pretty at number four on the hero charts.
And Izuku?
He’d long since accepted that some feelings were better left where they belonged—quiet, unspoken, tucked away where they couldn’t hurt.
“I—uh,” he said with an awkward chuckle, glancing back at Ochako. “I didn’t want to make it seem like I didn’t appreciate the invite.”
Uravity, ever gracious, didn’t press. She just gave his arm a squeeze. “You're here, that’s what matters.”
He followed her through the crowd, catching snippets of conversation and bursts of laughter. Cellophane and Pinky were arguing over song choices at the karaoke machine.
They arrived at the table she had been at when he walked in, pros were already packed around a low table cluttered with skewers, karaage, gyoza, and grilled squid. Half-empty pitchers of soda and beer squeezed in wherever they’d fit.The warm, greasy scent hung in the air alongside laughter and half-shouted conversation.
“I brought some card games if anyone wants to play!” Grape Juice yelled from the end of the table, waving a box above his head.
“No strip poker!”
“Aw, come on!”
Izuku eased into an open seat and struck up a conversation with Ingenium. They slipped easily into conversation about support upgrades, reinforced patrol gear, the logistics of inter-agency collaboration. Izuku found himself relaxing.
There was something comforting about being around alphas like Uravity and Ingenium. That kind of quiet, tempered dominance made it easier to breathe.
And if he was honest—completely, painfully honest—it quieted the part of him that still felt… unclaimed and alone.
What a night!
Izuku stepped out of the building and onto the quiet sidewalk, rolling his shoulders and enjoying the feel of the cool night air against his skin. The heat and noise of the izakaya lingered on his clothes—the scent of soy, char, and something sweet still clinging to his jacket.
He’d told the others he needed to head out early to get ahead on the week’s work.
Which wasn’t exactly a lie.
Mei was flying out soon, and they had a lot to finalize before she left.
But truthfully his social battery was running dangerously low, and the omega in him was itching to dive into his nest.
Small Might was probably waiting for him too.
The senior cat he’d adopted last year wasn’t especially clingy, but Izuku felt he deserved to be doted on all the same. Cuddles on the couch and head scritches atop of a soft blanket while something played on the TV in the background.
Izuku smiled to himself at the thought.
Yeah.
That was exactly what they both needed to end the night.
He’d only made it about a block before he noticed footsteps behind him. Just a little too close for comfort.
As an omega, he’d learned—sometimes the hard way—to stay aware of his surroundings. Still... probably just someone heading toward the same train station.
Right?
He pulled out his phone, pretending to text someone. Of course, he didn’t actually have anyone to text at that moment. Maybe his mom? But she’d definitely be half-asleep by now, curled up under her weighted blanket watching one of her cozy dramas. The last thing he wanted was to startle her with a vague late-night message that might send her into a panic thinking—
“EEEEK!”
A hand landed on his shoulder and Izuku jumped hard enough to nearly fling his phone into the gutter.
“Shit, Deku!” a familiar, irritated voice snapped. “You trying to wake the dead?”
Izuku whipped around, heart hammering. “D-Dynamight?!”
Katsuki stood there with his hand still half-raised, scowling. But not in the 'ready-to-blow' way. There was something… almost sheepish in the way his brow furrowed.
“You good?” He asked, voice gruff but noticeably quieter now. “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you, damn.”
Izuku let out a shaky breath, stepping forward instinctively. He leaned in and gently rested his forehead against Katsuki’s deltoid, pressing a hand over his own sternum. His fingers twitched slightly, half-tempted to grab the fabric of Katsuki’s hoodie.
“I… I’m good,” He mumbled. “Just making sure my heart’s still here.”
The natural scent of Katsuki—warm alpha musk layered with something sweet and sharp, almost like burnt caramel—steadied him, easing the leftover adrenaline.
Then it hit him what he was doing.
Izuku jolted upright with a strangled noise, his face going hot. Thank GOD for the height difference—if he were two inches taller, he probably would’ve headbutted Katsuki right in the nose.
He took three stumbling steps backward before throwing out two shaky thumbs-up like a socially malfunctioning NPC.
“I’m! Great!”
Dynamight blinked at him "…You sure?”
“I’m sure!” Izuku chirped, voice a full octave too high. “All good! Everything’s great!”
There was a beat of silence.
The blond pulled his car keys from his pocket and gave them a lazy jingle. The sound oddly loud in the quiet night. “You need a ride?”
“No thank you. I’m headed the opposite way.”
One of Katsuki’s eyebrows twitched. “And how the hell d’you know which way I’m headed, Deku?”
Fuck his life.
Izuku flailed for dignity and came up empty. “Guess I don’t. Thanks anyway! Have a nice night!”
He turned and booked it down the sidewalk at an aggressively fast walk, resisting the urge to break into a full-on jog.
Mercifully, Katsuki didn’t follow.
The next morning, he had Mei contact Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight to let him know the gauntlet was ready for pickup.
Izuku had gone above and beyond, making sure it ran smoother than ever. He re-calibrated the filtration node, reinforced the internal seals, and even cleaned and buffed it until it until it practically gleamed.
Then kicked himself in the butt because why on earth would Dynamight want a shiny gauntlet.
That wasn’t his style.
He’d probably scowl and mutter something about being able to smell the polish. Or say something like, “What, you think I’m supposed to blind villains instead?”
And so, rather than face the awkwardness of handing it over in person, Izuku retreated to the basement and let Mei handle the pickup. She didn’t push, didn’t tease—just gave him a knowing look over the rim of her goggles, while lazily tossing a screwdriver between her palms. Probably guessing how long he’d stay buried down there.
It was generous of her, really.
If their roles had been reversed, Izuku might’ve spent hours ribbing her.
Instead he buried himself in a half-finished side project instead. Something low-stakes. A grappling hook-like attachment he’d been toying with for weeks, designed for adaptive use in rescue work. It definitely could’ve waited, especially considering how fuzzy his head still felt from one beer the night before.
Being a lightweight really sucked.
He scrubbed a hand over his face, then adjusted his goggles and leaned closer to the workbench—trying not to think about anything other than screws, circuit paths, and the soft whirr of the soldering tool in his hand.
The best part of being good at his job?
How infrequently pros physically visited Hatsume’s agency after their order was done. Ya know unless a big fight happened.
So Izuku had been quite content when they blew through most of their backlog and repair orders, confident—almost certain—that no one from Class A would be stopping by anytime soon.
Which, naturally, meant that the very day Mei left, Great Explosion Murder God Dynamight came knocking. And during business hours, no less.
Dangummit.
“Hi,” Izuku greeted automatically, stepping out from the side bay, his work apron still on. “What can I help you with today?”
“You got—” Dynamight paused, throat working as he cleared it. His Adam’s apple bobbed visibly, and his voice came rougher than usual. “Got anything to help cool me down?”
“Cool you down?” Izuku was confused. Pro Hero Shoto was the one who famously needed cooling systems, relying on a suit with a built-in temperature regulator. Dynamight, on the other hand, whose Quirk literally thrived on sweat, kind of seemed like the opposite problem.
Izuku had even toyed with the idea of designing a self-heating suit for him—only to scrap it after realizing it could backfire spectacularly.
Too much heat, not enough control, and suddenly you’re dealing with unstable combustion patterns
“Shitty summer’s pushing me to my limits,” Katsuki muttered, clearing his throat again. His voice rasped around the edges, and he looked irritated that it didn’t help. “I’m chuggin’ water and electrolytes like crazy out there. It’s not enough. You got anything or not?”
Izuku tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the worktable, then reached for one of his older notebooks. The one full of half-scrawled ramblings on elemental users, mostly fire-based. As he flipped through, he passed a few charred pages—burn marks from when he’d tested heat-resistant paper prototypes.
He shuddered slightly.
Izuku’s eyes then flicked up toward Katsuki, taking in the subtle sheen of sweat at his temple, the way his jaw tensed. He thumbed through a few more pages, mind already racing.
“…I might have something,” He said carefully. “It wouldn’t be a full suit. Not right away. But I could prototype a cooling vest with internal gel packs, maybe compact hydration nodes.”
Katsuki grunted, which Izuku had long since learned meant keep going.
“It’d need to be low profile. Villains tend to aim for these type of support items, historically. Durable enough to survive field conditions but discreet enough not to draw attention.”
Another grunt, with a nod this time.
“…And I’d need to get your measurements again,” Izuku added cautiously. “If you’re okay with that.”
“Yeah. Fine.”
Izuku let out a small sigh as he moved quietly through the space, retrieving his tape measure and clipboard.
He liked to think he was a professional.
He was a professional.
He’d taken measurements for dozens of pros before—some of them undeniably attractive—and he’d never once made it weird. But given his years-old confession to the blond alpha, Izuku knew he’d need to act especially professional. Dynamight deserved respect. He deserved to feel safe in any space, especially this one.
Even if his sweat-slick pecs were just inches from Izuku’s face.
He cleared his throat quietly and got to work.
* Biceps: 16 inches (flexed)
* Shoulders (circumference): 49 inches
* Waist: 32 inches
Which, for Dynamight’s 6'1", 200-pound frame, was damn impressive.
Izuku kept his expression carefully neutral as he jotted down the numbers in shorthand, holding back a flood of comments and questions. He’d check the fan blogs later—see if any of their diet and training plans might get him anywhere close to those results. Probably not.
But a guy could dream.
For now, he flipped to a clean page and started sketching out the design. The real challenge wouldn’t be the cooling system itself—it would be making something Dynamight would actually wear. Functional and unobtrusive. Comfortable enough to forget about, but effective enough to keep up with his Quirk’s brutal demands.
And, ideally, not something he’d get publicly roasted for.
That part… might be the trickiest.
“So,” Izuku started, as he tapped the pen once against the blank page. “any requests for the design? If you’ve got restrictions on size, weight, tech load—or if there’s a price range you want to stay inside?”
No answer.
Izuku frowned slightly and looked up properly. Just in time to see the alpha sway on his feet. “Dyna—!”
Katsuki dropped to one knee, a hand bracing against the wall for balance as his head dipped forward, shoulders tensing like he was fighting gravity. And losing.
Oh.
Shit.
“Kacchan?” The nickname slipped out before Izuku could stop it, voice laced with panic. He was moving before it fully left his mouth, notebook and pen abandoned on the table behind him. He crouched beside him, one hand hovering near his back, hesitant to touch. “Are you okay?”
Katsuki didn’t respond right away, breathing through his nose, jaw clenched so tightly Izuku could see the muscle twitched just beneath his ear. Sweat darkened the collar of his shirt, trailing down the side of his throat, and even from a distance, Izuku could feel the heat radiating off him.
Way too much heat.
Izuku shifted closer and rested a tentative hand against his elbow. “Hey. Let’s get you sitting down, alright?”
Katsuki muttered something that might’ve been 'I’m fine', but didn’t argue as Izuku carefully guided him toward one of the reinforced benches, the kind built to support full armor fittings. He felt like a furnace. Theheat soaked through the air around him, damp and suffocating.
And the fact that he hadn’t snapped at Izuku to back off?
That was a red flag all on its own.
“I’m going to grab you something from the fridge,” Izuku said, scurrying to the small unit he and Mei kept tucked into the corner of the workshop. He yanked it open, muttering a quiet curse when he remembered Mei mostly lived off energy drinks and canned caffeine.
Definitely not what the hero needed right now.
He popped open the top compartment and spotted the half-forgotten box of popsicles he’d bought last week—cheap ones, mostly fruit flavors, shoved in between a long-expired pint of sorbet and a pack of frozen dumplings.
He grabbed two.
One he peeled open and gently slid into Dynamight’s gloved hand. The other, he pressed carefully to the back of the alpha’s neck.
Katsuki’s breath hitched at the sudden chill, a low grunt escaping as his shoulders tensed—then eased, just barely. His jaw loosened, and his eyes flicked up to meet Izuku’s.
Oh, how he wished he could decipher what those red eyes were saying. Not just read them—but understand. Really know what was behind that look.
‘Should I call an ambulance?’
The thought pushed at him , but the stubborn alpha’s likely reaction made him hesitate. Not only that—what would it even look like? Dynamight collapsing in a support lab?
Definitely blog-worthy.
But, if it got worse—if Katsuki’s condition declined even a little—Izuku knew he’d do it. No hesitation. He’d call. He’d deal with the fallout, the headlines, Katsuki’s temper, the scrutiny aimed at Mei’s agency.
All of it.
For now, he kept the popsicle steady at his nape, willing the cold to chase away the heat.
Katsuki bit into his popsicle, the muted crunch of ice echoing in the otherwise quiet workshop.
Izuku’s own shoulders lowered as he watched the motion. Some tension in his chest ebbed when Katsuki shifted, his arm bumping into Izuku’s in a not-so-subtle nudge. Izuku took the hint and dropped his hand, scooting awkwardly toward the edge of the bench—almost slipping off in the process.
He caught himself with one foot planted against the floor, cheeks warm.
Soon, the popsicle was gone—nothing left but the chewed-down wooden stick. Katsuki twirled it between two fingers before flicking it toward the waste bin.
It landed with a perfect clink.
“Just make the damn thing as light as you can.” It took Izuku a beat to realize he was finally answering the question from earlier. “Don’t care how much it costs, just make it worth every cent.”
Izuku nodded, quietly taking in the words. He hesitated, then offered the second popsicle.
“You eat it,” Katsuki grumbled, eyes narrowing. “Shitty thing’s so damn sweet, I’ll get a cavity.”
The hero brushed his hand against his thigh, like the whole interaction had been mildly offensive.
“Just make sure it blends with my current loadout,” he said gruffly. Then, with a grunt, he leaned forward, bracing both hands on his knees before pushing himself up from the bench. His voice was steadier now, but still carried that rasp. “I’m not wearin’ anything that looks like it came outta your high school days.”
Izuku nodded once, reaching for his notebook. He kept his tone clipped, professional, even with that pit gnawing in his stomach. “ Stealth-integrated, color-matched, minimal bulk. Got it.”
That seemed to satisfy him. Katsuki gave a grunt that might’ve been 'thanks' before turning toward the door. His movements a little stiff, a little slow but determined.
“I’ll be back when you’ve got a prototype.”
And just like that, Katsuki was out the door. Steady stride, chin up, that don’t-look-at-me posture he carried whenever he didn’t want anyone noticing he was slightly off. Boots crunching over sunbaked gravel, one hand raised instinctively to block the harsh afternoon sun.
Izuku didn’t sit back down.
He brought the popsicle to his lip as he watched the door swung shut, still worried. 'At least he made it out.'
The thought barely had time to settle when a dull thud echoed from outside. Izuku’s heart dropped.
No.
No, no—impossible.
It was nothing. It had to be nothing. A trash can. A loose box from the loading dock. A pigeon with terrible judgment.
He turned back toward the work station, willing the sound into something mundane.
“Dynamight's down!!”