Chapter Text
Izuku checked his phone for the third time in as many minutes. Tsuyu’s text was clear: Ochako Uraraka had just left work. Fifteen minutes, maybe twenty if she stopped anywhere.
The last text from her still displayed,
Tsuyu: She just left. Should be there soon. Good luck! ribbit
He shifted the bag of groceries in his other hand, moving them back behind the back of his shoulder for support. He glanced at her apartment door, then back toward the street, watching for any sign of her.
His mind drifted back to a week ago. Waking up to the savory smell of soup. Her soft hand wrapped in his scarred one. The care and support she gave him that day.
His eyes softened at the memory. It was one he would treasure.
His grip tightened around the bag’s handle as he felt his eyebrows furrow with determination. That’s why he had to do this right.
After he felt like he recovered from being sick, he contacted his mom, Inko—letting her know he was feeling better, and that he had a request.
She was cry-smiling when he visited her at her apartment, with a similar bag of groceries. “My baby’s all grown up, cooking for his girlfriend!”
He’d thought about correcting her—they hadn’t put a label on things yet. But standing in his mother’s kitchen, learning to cook a new dish? This was intimate. He wanted her to be his girlfriend. He wanted more.
Inko helped teach him how to chop the vegetables correctly—‘smaller pieces, Izuku, they cook more evenly’—and he practiced with absolute dedication, notebook open beside the cutting board. She watched him work with that knowing smile, adding her own touches to the recipe. ‘A little more mirin here, and don’t be shy with the ginger.’
He had to do this right.
Later he had texted Tsuyu privately, asking her when she thought Ochako would be home the evening of his planned event. She thankfully didn’t ask for details, and shared she could text him that day to let him know when Ochako had left their hero agency.
Izuku pocketed his phone and took a steadying breath. Any minute now—
That’s when he saw her. His heart instantly warmed.
Ochako walked into view, wearing her black sleeveless top and khaki skirt he lovingly remembered she wore the night he ran after her. Her canvas bag hung from her shoulder—probably carrying her hero costume from the day. Her brown hair was still neatly styled, as if she hadn’t spent the entire day helping people.
She looked deep in thought, probably recalling the events from her day. As she got closer, she blinked, suddenly realizing he was there.
“Deku?”
She stopped, blinking at him like he might be a fever dream of her own. Her gaze traveled from his face to the grocery bag and back again.
“Hi.” His voice came out steadier than he felt as he lifted his hand to wave to her. “I, uh… I brought ingredients. For dinner. If that’s okay.”
“You…” Her expression softened, warmth flooding her brown eyes. “You came over to cook?”
“My mom’s nikujaga,” he said quickly as he lowered his hand. “I practiced with her this week. Well, I might have practiced three times to make sure I got it right, and I know I should have texted first, but I wanted to surprise you, and—” He stopped himself before the rambling got worse. “I wanted to do something for you. The way you did for me.”
Warmth bloomed in her eyes, spreading to that sweet smile he loved. “You didn’t have to do this.”
“I wanted to.” He echoed the words she spoke to him a week ago.
She walked closer as she studied his face. “Are you feeling better?”
He smiled, his confidence growing as he nodded his head. “Yeah. Thanks to you, I was able to rest and had food to eat so my body could recover. I returned to work yesterday. Mr.—I mean, Aizawa gave me a lecture about prioritizing recovery over keeping up with lesson plans.”
She reached out, hand taking his, her fingers gently brushing his. “Good.” She gave his hand a gentle squeeze, and he worked to memorize how it felt. As she held his hand, she worked to unlock her front door and opened it. She started walking in, taking his hand with hers.
“Come in.”
His heartbeat sped up, as he realized she was inviting him inside.
His feet followed her instinctively. He stepped across the threshold. His first time inside Ochako’s apartment.
She let go of his hand for a moment so she could work on removing her shoes. He did the same, diligently placing his shoes next to hers.
She took his hand again as she led him inside her apartment.
The door closed softly behind them.
A week ago, she’d crossed the threshold into his home—carrying soup, medicine, care wrapped up in a canvas bag. He’d been sick, exhausted, barely holding it together. And she’d stayed.
Now he stood in her hallway, groceries in hand, as she led him inside after her long day of helping others.
Her apartment was warm and welcoming, just like her. Photos, soft lighting, the kind of space that felt like home.
“Make yourself comfortable,” she said, then laughed softly, shaking her head. “Listen to me—you came here to cook. I should be the one getting comfortable.” She gestured toward the kitchen. “Go ahead. I’ll just… try not to hover.”
He laughed, something in his chest loosening. “Yes ma’am.”
As he followed her into the kitchen, their hands still loosely linked, Izuku understood something he’d been circling around all week.
This wasn’t about repaying her kindness. It wasn’t about balancing some scale.
It was about showing up. Being there. Taking care of each other.
It was about wanting this—her, them, these quiet moments—more than anything.
“Ready?” Ochako asked, finally releasing his hand to lean against her counter, watching him with those warm eyes.
Izuku set down the grocery bag and smiled.
“Ready.”