Chapter Text
Izuku Midoriya was used to being invisible.
He was used to the way people looked past him in the halls, the way teachers sighed when he raised his hand, the way Katsuki Bakugou’s voice always found him like a missile—sharp, loud, and impossible to ignore.
But he wasn’t used to this.
It started on a Tuesday. Just after gym class, while he was changing in the locker room, he noticed it—faint black ink curling across his forearm like a whisper.
> *Hi.*
That was it. Just one word. Neat handwriting, slightly slanted. Not his own.
His heart stopped.
He stared at it, wide-eyed, until someone shoved past him and barked, “Move it, nerd.” He yanked down his sleeve and tried not to shake.
Soulmate writing. It was real. It was happening. To him. Shivering, he pulls down his sleeves and hustles to his next class.
By the time he got home, the writing had disappeared. Door locked, lights dimmed, he sits at his desk. Then, with trembling fingers, he picked up a pen and wrote just below where the original message had appeared:
> *Hi. Is this… real?*
The reply came a minute later, his own writing disappearing.
> *Yeah. I guess it is.*
Izuku pressed his hand over the words, heart pounding. He didn’t know who this person was. He didn’t know if they were close, or far, or someone he passed in the hallway every day. But they were kind. They’d said hi.
And that was more than most people ever did.
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Across town, Katsuki Bakugou stared at his arm like it had betrayed him.
He hadn’t meant to write anything. It was just a test. A stupid impulse. He’d heard people talking about soulmates in class, and something in him—something he didn’t want to name—had made him grab a pen and scrawl that single word.
Hi.
Even after the tormenting he was known for, even after his disrespectful comments, and even after telling his ex- best friend to jump off the roof.
Someone had answered.
> *Hi. Is this… real?*
He didn’t know what to do with that. He didn’t know what to do with the warmth blooming in his chest, or the way his fingers hovered over the pen like it was a live wire. Even though he was sitting at his desk, his body still shook.
He should ignore it. He should shut it down.
Instead, he wrote:
> *Yeah. It’s real. I’m not great at this stuff, but… I guess we’re stuck with each other, huh?*
The reply came quickly.
> *I don’t mind. I’ve always wanted to meet you.*
Katsuki stared at the words, then scrubbed a hand over his face.
He didn’t deserve this. Not someone kind. Not someone who wanted him, if they would at all.
But he couldn’t stop himself from writing back.
> *You’re not what I expected. That’s… not a bad thing.*