Chapter Text
DEKU
It’s drizzling and gloomy the last three days of summer break, which would have been disappointing if I wasn’t so pumped for the second semester to begin.
We move back into the dorms, and I get back into the usual routine—early morning workouts, classes and combat exercises, lunch with Uraraka and Iida, training with All Might, and then hanging out with Class 2-A in the dorm’s common room in the evenings.
Actually, one change in the routine is that there’s a lot more Kacchan in it. Extra sparing sessions, meals after a late-night workout, chatting after class or while walking back to the dorms.
And then it’s December and I’m home again, bundled up and grinding through my homework when there’s a knock on the door. I open it to Kacchan, hands in his pockets, a scarf around his neck, parka zippered all the way up to his chin.
I raise an eyebrow at him. “What are you doing here?” Our work studies told us to take off and spend time with our families over the holidays. And after pulling my shoulder during a rescue exercise near the end of the semester, Mr. Aizawa ordered me to rest—on threat of expulsion for disobedience. I wasn’t planning on much sparring or training over this break.
“Ice cream,” he says—breath puffing over the collar of his coat.
“What?”
“Loser buys ice cream. On the next sunny day.” He takes a gloved hand out of his pocket and points up at the sky. I look up. It’s bright blue.
I feel a crease form in my forehead. “That was in the summer.”
“You said ‘during break’. It rained. Break ended. It’s break again.” He points at the sky again. “Sun.”
“It’s freezing.”
“That was the deal.”
***
We take our time walking down the mostly deserted street. The neighbors have probably decided (wisely) to shut themselves in against the cold and bitter wind despite the deceptive blue sky.
I think back to last April—the breeze just hinting at spring—when walking like this was so new. It feels familiar and easy now.
“Are you sure you don’t want a meat bun or something instead?” I ask, as Kacchan chatters his teeth alongside me.
“Those weren’t the terms.”
I don’t understand why he’s insisting on this. “Forget the bet. I’ll buy you your ice cream another time.” I shiver against a sudden gust of wind. “We’re getting something warm,” I decide. “It can still be my treat.”
“Why.”
“Because you hate the cold. And because we’re already out here. And you were expecting me to buy you something today.”
“No. Then we have to come up with a new competition, to decide who pays”
I roll my eyes. I could tell him we can each just buy our own then, but instead I say, “Just let me buy you a meat bun. Not everything has to be about a fight.”
“It does.”
“Or what?”
“Or it’s like a date.” He falls silent. Then he stops walking.
I pause and turn to look at him.
“Would that be weird?" He asks, quieter than usual. “If this was a date?”
I watch him carefully, waiting for him to sneer or scoff or joke. But he doesn’t. He has that same almost-shy expression he had in my bedroom, when he was holding up an old trading card and talking about how he missed us.
“Yeah,” I say finally, turning to continue walking. “It would.” Out of the corner of my eye, I see Kacchan hesitate for a moment, then follow. I’m still looking ahead when I say, “A date would hold my hand.”
Kacchan doesn’t say anything.
Then I feel his gloved hand slip softly into mine.