Chapter Text
Morning came slowly over the fields outside town, sunlight spilling pale gold across the stretch of pasture behind the trailer. Dew clung to the tall grass and fence post alike, glittering faintly whenever the breeze stirred the weeds along the roadside ditch. Somewhere in the distance, a rooster crowed, its voice echoing across the farmland. Izuku was already awake before the sound started, sitting outside on the small wooden steps with a chipped mug of coffee warming his hands.
The trailer itself leaned just ever so slightly to one side, the way it always had since he could remember. The once-vibrant shade of blue paint had long since faded to a dull, tired blue, and the porch light buzzed faintly even when turned off. His mom swore they’d fix it eventually, though Izuku swore that meant sometime far off when money wasn't such a careful balancing act.
Still, the place felt warm in the way homes were supposed to, especially with the smell of breakfast drifting out through the open screen door.
Behind the trailer, two goats were already pacing along their pen, hooves clopping softly against the packed dirt. There, bleats rose in impatient little bursts, echoing as Izuku stood and stretched the stiffness from his shoulders. He took another sip of his coffee before setting the mug on the railing, rubbing sleep from his eyes as he walked toward the fence.
“Alright, alright,” he murmured, pushing the gate open. “Y’all act like I forgot about’cha.”
One of the goats—Mochi, the stubborn one—bumped his leg immediately, nudging at his knee like she had a personal vendetta against the empty feed buckets. The other, a calmer brown goat named Clover, watched patiently from the shade of the small shed. Izuku reached down to scratch between Mochi’s horns before grabbing the feed scoop from its place on the side of the pen.
“Good mornin’ to you too, sweet girl,” he added quietly.
The goats settled once the grain hit the trough, their chewing loud in the quiet morning air. Izuku leaned against the fence while they ate, breathing in the mix of hay, warm earth, and the faint sweetness that always lingered around the pen. It wasn’t exactly glamorous work, but he didn't mind it much. The routine felt steady in a way the rest of life didn't always manage.
Behind him, the trailer door creaked open.
“Inko Midoriya’s kitchen is officially open,” his mom called cheerfully. “You plannin’ on eatin’ before you run off to chores all day?”
Izuku turned, smiling despite himself as he brushed dirt from his jeans. His mom stood in the doorway with a wooden spoon still in her hand, her apron dusted lightly with flour. A strand of green hair had escaped her loose bun, curling against her cheek in the humidity.
“Smells good, Mama,” he began, heading towards the steps, carefully closing and locking the gate behind him, a gentle smile on his lips. “You makin’ pancakes?”
“‘Course I am,” she replied. “Market day’s no excuse to skip breakfast.”
The inside of the trailer felt warmer than the outside, the small kitchen already filled with the comforting scent of butter and sugar. Sunlight slivered through the thin curtains over the sink, casting soft shadows across the narrow counter. The table only had room for two chairs, but Izuku had never really thought about it much as he got older.
His father’s chair had disappeared years ago.
Izuku slid into his usual spot while his mom set a plate in front of him, pancakes stacked high enough to tilt slightly to one side. Syrup followed a moment later, poured generously despite the way she always pretended groceries had to stretch farther than they really did.
“You milk the goats yet?”
“Just fed ‘em,” Izuku answered, reaching for the fork. “Was fixin’ to do that next.”
Inko nodded thoughtfully, leaning against the counter as she watched him take the first bite. Her eyes softened in that familiar way she had whenever he actually sat down long enough to eat.
“You remember we gotta be at the farmers market early today,” she said, brushing curls from his face. “Mrs. Iida called yesterday, sayin’ folks were askin’ after that goat cheese you made last week.”
Izuku swallowed quickly, surprised.
“They liked it that much?”
“Well, of course they did!” her lips stretched to form a wide grin, “my boy’s got talent!”
Heat crept up the back of his neck, and he ducked his head toward his plate before she could notice. Compliments always felt a little too big for him, like trying to wear boots a few sizes too large. Still, the thought of people enjoying something he made sent a quiet spark of warmth through his chest.
“I’ll make another batch tonight, after their second milkin’,” he chuckled, “we might run out if it sells good.”
“You worry too much,” Inko laughed softly. “But I won't complain about the extra stock.”
Izuku finished breakfast quickly before grabbing his jacket from the hook near the door. The early morning chill still lingered over the fields, thin and crisp against his skin. Outside, the goats had already begun pacing again, clearly aware that milking came next in the routine.
He carried the small metal pail into the pen and crouched beside Clover first, settling into the familiar rhythm almost automatically. The sound of milk hitting the bucket came soft and steady, blending with the distant hum of trucks moving along the highway far beyond the fields.
The world felt quiet out here.
Peaceful, even.
From the back corner of the property, the road curved up a gentle hill before disappearing behind a line of tall oak trees. Beyond that stretch of land sat the biggest property in the country, though you couldn’t see most of it from here unless you climbed the ridge past Papa Torino’s house.
Bakugou ranch.
Izuku hadn’t been up that way in plenty of years.
Even thinking about it made his chest tighten a little.
When they were kids, the place had felt almost magical to him. Endless fields stretched behind the big red barn, horses grazing lazily along the fences that seemed to run forever into the horizon. Katsuki used to ride out across those pastures like he owned the world itself, wind whipping through his ash blonde hair while he shouted for Izuku to keep up.
Back then, Izuku always tried.
He just never quite managed it.
The memory slipped away when Mochi bleats loudly beside him, bumping his shoulder again, like she was demanding he hurry his chore up so she could be reunited with her litter. Izuku shook himself from the thought, focusing instead on finishing the chore.
By the time he carried the full pail back toward the trailer, the sun had climbed higher over the fields. Morning light spilled warm across the dirt road leading toward town, illuminating the long stretch of farmland that surrounded their property.
Papa Torino’s old farmhouse stood a little ways down the road, half-hidden behind the crooked fencing and overgrown weeds. The roof sagged in the middle as if it too had grown tired with old age, though the old man inside would probably argue it still had another hundred years left in it.
Izuku chuckled at the thought as he spotted his papa out front immediately.
Papa Torino sat in a rocking chair on the porch, boots propped against the railing while he sipped from a battered tin mug. His narrow eyes tracked Izuku's approach with sharp awareness that didn’t match his age at all.
“Boy,” he called gruffly. “You movin’ slower every year.”
Izuku laughed softly as he set the milk pail down near the fence.
“Mornin’ to you too, Gramps.”
Papa Torino snorted.
“You headin’ to the market?”
“Yes, sir,” Izuku wiped his hands on his jeans. “Mama’s got the table set up today.”
The old man nodded once, studying him for a long moment before speaking again.
“You been ridin’ lately?”
Izuku hesitated slightly. “Not much.”
Torino clicked his tongue in an obvious show of disapproval.
“Ain’t no reason a boy raised ‘round horses should forget how to sit a sattle,” he muttered. “Your balance used to be decent when you were a small thing.”
“I remember.”
What he didn’t say was that most of those memories involved another ride beside him.
Torino watched him carefully for another second before leaning back in his chair.
“Well, son,” he grumbled, “you’re welcome to borrow my mare anytime you feel like rememberin’.”
To that, Izuku smiled.
“I appreciate it.”
The conversation drifted into comfortable silence after that, broken only by the creak of the rocking chair and the distant hum of a truck somewhere down the road. Izuku gathered the milk pail again after a moment, giving the old man a small wave before heading back to the trailer.
By the time Izuku and his mom reached the town square, it was around 8:20 a.m., and the farmers' market was already waking up. Pickup trucks lined the gravel lot in crooked rows, their beds loaded with crates of vegetables, jars of honey, and handmade crafts that would soon cover every table in sight. The air smelled faintly of fried dough from the bakery stand on the corner, mixing with the earthy scent of fresh soil clinging to baskets of potatoes and carrots. People moved through the square in slow clusters, greeting one another as if they hadn't all seen each other yesterday.
Izuku carried two wooden crates across the lot while his mom followed with a folding table balanced against her hip. The familiar rhythm of market mornings settled around him almost instantly, comforting in its predictability. Vendors called greetings back and forth across the stalls, while a group of older men gathered near the coffee stand to argue loudly about last night's baseball game.
“Morning, Midoriya’s!” someone called.
Izuku turned slightly and spotted Mrs. Iida waving from behind a table stacked with jars of homemade jam. Her wide straw hat dipped forward when she leaned across the display, bright fabric ribbons fluttering in the breeze.
“Mornin’, Mrs. Iida,” Inko replied warmly. “Market looks awfully busy already.”
“It will be,” the woman said knowingly. “County fair’s next weekend, and folks are startin’ to get excited.”
Izuku set the crates down in their usual spot beneath the shade of a tall maple tree near the edge of the square. Their stand wasn’t the biggest at the market, but it had a comfortable spot where customers could wander past without feeling crowded, and it damn sure gave him something to do during the weekends.
He lifted the lid from the first crate and began arranging small wrapped wheels of goat cheese across the table. Each one had a little paper label tied around it with twine. His handwriting wasn’t the prettiest, but it was neat enough to read.
“Those the new batches?” Mrs. Iida asked curiously from a few tables over.
“Yes, ma’am,” Izuku answered. “Made ‘em yesterday afternoon!”
She gave an approving hum.
“Well, I’ll be buyin’ one before the day’s done. My husband has done near cleaned out the last one!” She threw her hands up, an agitated huff of breath visible in the air from the still chilly spring weather.
The compliment made Izuku duck his head slightly, though he couldn't stop the small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. He kept arranging the cheeses carefully across the table while his mom began setting out jars of honey and small woven baskets she’d finished during the week.
Their stand always seemed to look a little different each Saturday, with Inko having a liking for rearranging things until everything felt right.
“Don’t forget the milk bottles, dear,” she reminded gently.
“Got ‘em,” Izuku crouched to lift the cooler lid. Glass bottles clinked softly as he lined them beside the cheese display. The milk had been chilled carefully overnight, and a thin layer of frost still clung to the inside of the cooler. By the time the sun climbed even higher, it would melt away into cold condensation that dampened the wooden table.
Izuku wiped his hands on his jeans before straightening again.
More people were arriving now.
The low rumble of truck engines echoed through the square while new vendors backed into open spaces along the gravel lot. Someone nearby, a country song crackled faintly from an old radio perched atop the edge of someone’s stall.
The music drifted through the air with an easy twang.
Someone laughed loudly near the bakery stand while the song carried across the square, its upbeat rhythm already making a few kids dance in the dirt beside their parents’ table.
Izuku couldn't help but smile fondly at the scene; market mornings always felt a little like festivals. He liked that.
He leaned against the table for a moment, scanning the growing crowd with quiet curiosity. Familiar faces moved through the square in slow waves, most of them people he’d known his entire life. Farmers with sun-worn skin and dusty boots stopped to greet one another while families wandered between stands with small children trailing behind them. Some people waved when they spotted him.
Others didn't.
Izuku had learned not to take it personally. Small towns had long memories, and not all of them were kind.
“Midoriya boy!”
The voice came from his left, rough and unmistakable.
Izuku turned slightly and spotted Mr.Uraraka approaching with a slow, deliberate stride. The older man owned a cattle farm on the other side of town, and his heavy boots always seemed to thud against the ground with an extra weight. Izuku had known his daughter from school, a lovely girl she was, though the two didn’t share too much resemblance. Izuku figured the girl looked more like her mom than anything else.
“Mornin’, sir,” Izuku greeted politely.
Mr.Uraraka eyed the cheese display thoughtfully.
“You the one makin’ these now?”
“Yes, sir.”
The brunette man picked one up, turning it over in his calloused hands as if inspecting it for flaws. His thick brows furrowed slightly before he nodded once.
“My wife’ll like this,” he stated simply.
Izuku accepted the few folded bills the man offered, wrapping the cheese in a cloth before handing it over. The transaction felt small, but the quiet approval in Mr.Uraraka's voice settled warmly in Izuku’s chest.
Moments like this were what made the work worth it, even if the rest of the town wasn't always so friendly.
For a while, Izuku relied on muscle memory whenever others came to his stand. Short, polite conversations and a few laughs were shared before customers bought a bottle or two of milk or a few wheels of cheese.
A pair of teenagers passed by the stand not long after his last customer had left, their voices dropping to whispers as they noticed him standing there. Izuku didn't need to hear the exact words to understand the tone. Their sideways glances were familiar enough on their own.
One of the boys looked him up and down, making eye contact before he snickered under his breath. Izuku focused on straightening the display jars instead, while his mom pretended not to notice. That was usually how these things went.
“Mornin’, Midoriya!”
The voice came brighter and louder than the others, cutting through the quiet tension with easy enthusiasm. Izuku looked up just in time to see Eijiro Kirishima jogging across the square, a wide grin already spreading across his face.
The red-haired boy skidded to a stop beside the table, hands shoved in the pockets of his worn denim jacket. His boots were dusted with damp dirt like he’d been working already that morning.
“You guys got the good stuff today?” he asked eagerly.
Izuku couldn't help smiling widely in return.
“Depends what you’re lookin’ for.”
Kirishima leaned over the table to inspect the cheese display with exaggerated seriousness.
“Man, this looks fancy,” he dragged out the ‘man’. “Didn't know goat cheese could look so fancy.”
“Everything looks fancy if you wrap it nice, Darlin’,” Inko chimed in with a laugh from behind the stand.
Kirishima scratched the back of his neck sheepishly.
“Well, I’ll take one, my ma’s been waitin’ to try it!”
Izuku wrapped the cheese while Kirishima dug a few crumpled bills from his pocket. The exchange felt normal in a way that eased plenty of the tension lingering from earlier.
Kirishima had always been friendly, even back in middle school.
“Baseball practice later?” Izuku asked casually as he handed over the packaged cheese, not wanting the delightful presence of the other to leave so soon.
“Yeah,’ Kirishima muttered. “Coach has us runnin’ drills all afternoon.”
Izuku nodded.
The conversation might have ended there if the redhead hadn't glanced over his shoulder toward the gravel lot just then.
A low whistle slipped from his mouth.
“Speak of the devil,” he sighed. “Here comes coach’s son.”
Izuku followed his gaze before he could stop himself, the smile he previously wore slowly fading from his face.
A black pickup truck had just rolled into the market lot, its engine rumbling deep enough to vibrate faintly through the gravel. Dust kicked up behind the tires as it pulled into an open space near the far edge of the lot.
Even from this distance, Izuku recognized it. Hell, everyone in town did.
Bakugou’s truck
The driver’s door opened a moment later, and Katsuki Bakugou swung down from the truck the same way he’d done it a thousand times before, boots hitting the gravel with a dull crunch that carried far much further than it should’ve. The door slammed behind him with a solid metal thud, loud enough to turn a few more heads scattered around the square. Dust from the road still clung faintly to the tires of the truck, swirling lazily through the air in the wake of the drive to town. For a moment, Katsuki just stood there beside the vehicle, one hand dragging through his messy blond hair, shaking out the dust from the drive.
Izuku hadn’t realized he was holding his breath until Kirishima shifted awkwardly beside him.
From across the market lot, Katsuki looked almost exactly how Izuku remembered him from school halls and baseball games. Taller than most of the boys in their grade, shoulders broad beneath a dark jacket that had probably seen its fair share of ranch work. His sleeves were rolled to his elbows, exposing strong forearms kissed by the sun, faint dust marking the fabric as he’d also come straight from chores before heading into town.
Though that wasn’t very surprising. The Bakugou ranch ran sunup to sundown most days.
Katsuki glanced briefly around the square, red eyes sweeping across the rows of vendor stalls in a way that felt quick but observant. A few adults offered him nods in greeting as they passed, the kind of acknowledgment reserved only for those whose families had been part of the town longer than anyone else could remember. Katsuki returned most of them with short, downward tilts of his head, polite enough without slowing his stride.
He had always been like that, even as a small boy. No challenge ever seemed too great, and his confidence had always been there. It was a strength that drew everyone in, while his attitude drew everyone away, two sides of the same coin. Izuku watched him, admiration swirling in his chest despite the unwavering years of hurt swelling up at the sight of him.
“Man,” Kirishima muttered under his breath beside Izuku, scratching the back of his neck. “He said he was just gon’ grab somethin’ quick in town.”
Izuku blinked, confused.
“Huh?”
Kirishima nodded vaguely toward the truck, clearly meaning Katsuki.
“Didn’t think he'd follow me out here,” he added with a small shrug. “Guess he’d figured he’d see what the fuss about your cheese was,” a soft chuckle rang through the air as Izuku felt Kirishima nudge him jokingly. Izuku huffed out a quiet laugh in correspondence before he could stop himself.
“Well,” he started, glancing down at the neatly wrapped wheels arranged across the table, “I’d say that’s a pretty good reason.”
Kirishima grinned cheekily at that.
Across the lot, the passenger door of the truck opened next. This time, Denki Kaminari hopped down from the seat with the energy of someone who had been sitting far too long, stretching his arms over his head with a loud groan. Sero followed after him from the back, slamming the door with less enthusiasm. The three boys gathered briefly beside the truck, their voices drifting faintly through the open air as they talked.
Izuku couldn’t hear the words, but he recognized the facial expressions Katsuki was making, even from as far away as he was.
They looked like they belonged there, standing together in the sunlight like any other group of friends killing time on a Saturday morning. Kaminari laughed at something Sero said, leaning against the hood of the truck while Katsuki shoved his hands into his pockets and rolled his eyes.
Kirishima nudged Izuku lightly with his elbow.
“Everythin’ alright?” he asked softly.
Izuku looked away from the parking lot quickly, focusing instead on the table in front of him. His fingers adjusted one of the cheese labels even though it didn’t need fixing.
“Yeah,” he said after a short moment. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
Kirishima hesitated, a clear look of discomfort and pity crossing his eyes.
“Well…y’know,” he whispered vaguely.
Izuku did know.
Everyone did.
Small towns didn't exactly keep secrets well, and middle school had been loud enough that most—all—folks still remembered it. Katsuki yelling across classrooms, pushing Izuku into lockers, that sharp edge in his voice whenever someone mentioned the word ‘Gay’ in the same sentence as ‘Midoriya.’ The piercing disdain in his voice had left no doubt; to him, the very idea of Izuku being anything but ‘normal’ was an offense that deserved punishment.
Of course, it had been years. But some things just stuck as stubbornly as a sandspur.
Izuku straightened slightly, brushing his hands against the front of his flannel shirt before offering Kirishima a reassuring smile.
“It’s fine, Ei,” he said softly. “Really.”
Kirishima studied him for another second before nodding.
“Alright,” he muttered.
Across the lot, the group by the truck had started walking.
Kaminari and Sero headed toward the bakery stall first, drawn by the smell of fresh pastries drifting through the air. Katsuki lingered a moment longer beside the truck, glancing briefly back toward the road as if checking for traffic before finally turning toward the market itself.
Izuku told himself not to look, but would he really be Izuku if he didn't fail almost immediately?
Katsuki's stride was steady as he crossed the gravel lot, boots crunching underfoot with every step. The sunlight caught along the sharp angles of his jaw when he tilted his head slightly, eyes scanning the rows of stalls like he was searching for something specific. Or someone.
Izuku’s stomach twisted faintly at the thought.
The distance between them wasn’t large, but the flow of people between stands created enough movement to keep their paths from crossing just yet. Families wandered through the market with baskets in hand, pausing to inspect jars of honey or bundles of fresh herbs while children tugged impatiently at their sleeves.
It gave Izuku time to breathe again.
“Hey,” Kirishima spoke up again, suddenly.
Izuku looked up, a small “hm?” sound coming from his throat, as Kirishima leaned casually against the edge of the table, lowering his voice slightly so it wouldn't carry.
“For what it's worth,” he said, “Katsuki ain’t really… like that no more.”
Izuku tilted his head, fidgeting with his fingers.
“Like what?”
Kirishima frowned a little, clearly struggling to find the right words.
“You know,” he whispered. “Back then?”
Izuku considered that quietly, a bitter feeling crawling up the back of his neck.
From across the square, he could see Katsuki stopping briefly near the vegetable stand, exchanging a few words with the older couple running it. The interaction was normal enough from a distance, polite even.
People changed, Izuku had heard that enough from his mom growing up. After him and Katsuki had their.. Falling out.
Of course, high school had a way of doing that, but he couldn’t help but feel bitter. Even if Katsuki had changed, it had only been four years since middle school. The physical bullying and the lot of harmful words wouldn’t just erase themselves overnight, all because Katsuki seemed as if he had improved.
Regardless, Katsuki was never even the problem. He was just a child who had fallen for the idealizations of this small town; just because one person changed, doesn’t mean the whole town will. No matter how influential the family is.
“I’m glad,” Izuku finally spoke after a moment, shoving the negative thoughts down,
Kirishima’s shoulders relaxed a little at the answer, and Izuku could tell it was the response he was hoping for.
“Yeah.”
A breeze drifted through the square then, stirring the ribbons hanging on Mrs.Iida’s jam stand and carrying the faint smell of cinnamon from the nearby bakery stall. Somewhere behind them, the country song on the old radio shifted to a new one, the twang of a guitar sliding easily into the background noise of the market.
Izuku reached for one of the milk bottles in the cooler, setting it carefully beside the display. When he looked up again, Katsuki had moved closer. Not directly toward the stand, just closer.
Close enough now that Izuku could see the familiar intensity in his eyes when he glanced around the square again. The movement was quick, distracted, almost like he wasn’t paying much attention to where he looked.
Until he did and their eyes met across the market, Scarlett and Emerald locked on to each other.
For a second, Katsuki didn’t look away. The noise of the market continued around them as if nothing had happened. Someone nearby laughed loudly while a vendor called out the price of fresh tomatoes. The music from the old radio crackled through another verse of the song playing in the background.
All the sounds, yet none of them seemed to reach Izuku.
Katsuki’s gaze held steady across the stretch of gravel and vendor tables, sharp red eyes narrowing slightly in the bright sunlight. There was a flicker of something there Izuku couldn’t quite place, something that made his stomach lurch in a way that had little to nothing to do with fear.
Then Katsuki’s attention shifted. His head tilted slightly toward Kaminari and Sero near the bakery stand, like someone had said something that pulled him back into the moment. The break in eye contact came abruptly, the invisible thread between them snapping before he even had the chance to decide what it could mean.
The redhead beside him had gone still. He leaned one elbow against the edge of the table, gaze drifted causally toward the square like he wasn't paying much attention to anything in particular. The act might have worked on someone who didn't know him well, but Izuku had known this boy for years and could see the clear way his shoulders had stiffened ever so slightly.
Kirishima had definitely noticed.
“Well,” he muttered after a moment, rubbing the light sweat beading at the back of his neck away, “that ain’t awkward at all.”
Izuku huffed softly under his breath, the corner of his mouth twitching with the effort of creating an excuse.
“I’m sure he’s just lookin’ for breakfast.” Izuku nudged a cheese wheel back into place with careful fingers.
“Yeah,” Kirishima replied slowly. “Sure.”
Across the market, Kaminari waved something wrapped in paper toward Katsuki while talking animatedly. Sero had already taken a hefty bite from his pastry, powdered sugar dusting the front of his jacket while he laughed at whatever Kaminari was saying. Katsuki didn’t laugh; instead, he glanced briefly toward Inko’s stand again.
Izuku immediately found himself studying the table.
“Wow! This sure is a nice wood,” he chuckled awkwardly, “ain’t it, Ei?”
The labels on the cheese were already straight. The milk bottles were lined neatly along the edge beside the cooler. Even the little woven baskets his mom had made were sitting perfectly centered where she’d placed them earlier.
There was nothing left to fix.
“That one’s upside down,” Kirishima whispered.
Izuku blinked, his racing thoughts pausing.
“What?”
The redhead tilted his chin toward one of the labels Izuku had just adjusted.
“Just givin’ you somethin’ to do,” he added with a crooked grin.
Izuku let out a quiet laugh before flipping the tag over anyway. “Appreciate it.”
A moment later, boots crunched across the gravel nearby. The sound approached at an unhurried pace, steady and deliberate in a way that made Izuku’s shoulders straighten instinctively. It was absolutely ridiculous how recognizable the rhythm of someone's footsteps could become over time, even years after the last time you'd walked beside them.
Of course, Kirishima noticed it too.
The redhead straightened up from where he leaned against the table, his eyes flicking briefly toward the approaching sound. One hand rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck like he wished he could suddenly remember he’d left an oven on somewhere.
“Christ,” he muttered under his breath.
Izuku looked up and saw Katsuki stopped a few feet from the table. Up close, he looked even more like the version of himself Izuku remembered from childhood, just older and sharper around the edges. Sunlight caught around the sun-induced faint freckles scattered across his nose, something Izuku hadn't had the privilege of seeing in years. The breeze stirred the loose strands of blond hair near his temple while he glanced briefly over the display of cheese and milk bottles.
Izuku’s stomach twisted; it might have been nerves.
Or the way those red eyes landed on him like they had every right to after everything.
Katsuki's gaze slid across the table first, taking in the neat rows of cheese and glass bottles before drifting up again. One eyebrow lifted slightly, the movement slow and skeptical.
“This what you’ve been goin’ on about?” he asked, glancing toward Kirishima without turning his head.
“Hey, I wasn’t going on,” he perked up, protesting as he pushed himself fully upright. “I just said it was good.”
Katsuki didn’t respond; he just shifted his attention back toward the display.
Izuku became painfully aware of his hands.
They were resting on the edge of the table, fingers curled slightly against the wood. For a second, he considered moving them somewhere else, maybe folding them in front of him or shoving them in his pockets, but every option felt wrong.
The blond reached out and picked up one of the wrapped wheels of cheese. The twine around the label brushed against his knuckles as he turned it slowly in his hand. His expression didn’t change much while he read the tag, though Izuku noticed the slight narrowing of his eyes, as if he was concentrating harder than necessary.
“You made it?” Katsuki asked, eyeing Izuku.
The question landed squarely in his chest.
“Yeah.”
His voice came out steady enough, though he could feel the faint burn of nerves rising along the back of his throat. The smell of leather and dust clung faintly to Katsuki’s jacket, familiar enough to make Izuku's stomach flip.
Katsuki set the cheese down carefully. Not tossed, nor dismissed. Just gently placed back where it had been.
Kirishima leaned forward suddenly, elbows landing on the table.
“Dude, you should try the milk,” he said, nodding toward the cooler. “It’s actually real good.”
Katsuki shot him a flat look.
“The hell kinda pitch is that?”
“I ain’t the salesman here.” Kirishima lifted both hands in surrender.
Izuku forced himself to move, crouching slightly and reaching into the cooler. The cold air brushed his fingers while he grabbed one of the bottles; the glass clinked softly against the others when he pulled it free.
“You can taste it if ya want,” Izuku offered, setting it near the edge of the table.
Katsuki looked at the bottle, then at him. The pause stretched long enough that Izuku felt heat creeping up the back of his neck. His stomach twisted again, nerves rolling through him in a way that had him wishing he’d eaten less breakfast earlier.
Finally, Katsuki picked it up.
The cap twisted loose with a soft pop before he took a short drink. His expression stayed frustratingly neutral while he swallowed, though his posture shifted slightly as though he hadn’t expected the taste.
Kirishima watched him like a judge on a cooking show.
“Well?”
Katsuki wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.
“It’s milk,” he shrugged.
Kirishima groaned, dragging his hands down his face.
“That ain’t helpful, man!”
Izuku let out a quiet breath that might’ve been a laugh. For a second, the tension eased just enough that his shoulders relaxed.
Katsuki noticed instantly, his sharp gaze lingering a fraction longer this time, something thoughtful flickering behind the usual sharp edge of his expression.
He set the bottle back on the table. “Give me one of those,” he nodded toward the cheese.
For a second, Izuku just blinked at him. The request was simple enough, but something about hearing it, so casually, like the years between them hadn't happened, made his brain stall for half a beat. His stomach remained unsettled, nerves sitting heavy in his chest, but his hands moved before he could overthink it any longer.
He reached for one of the wrapped wheels, careful not to disturb the rest of the neat row as he gently lifted it. The familiar motions helped settle him a little. He’d done this a hundred times already, selling to neighbors and tourists alike.
None of them had been Katsuki Bakugou.
“This one’s the plain,” Izuku set it gently on the table between them. “There’s another batch with herbs if you’d prefer that.”
Katsuki picked it up, his thumb pressed lightly against the wax paper as he examined the label, turning it slightly as if trying to memorize something about it.
“This one’ll do.”
Izuku nodded once.
“Alright.”
An uncomfortable silence settled over the stand again. The kind that made Izuku painfully aware of the heat of the sun on the back of his neck and the faint buzzing of cicadas somewhere beyond the square. He wiped his palms against his jeans before reaching for the small wooden cash box his mom kept tucked beneath the table.
Behind Katsuki, Kirishima shifted his weight from one foot to the other.
“So uh—” he started, clearly trying to fill the silence.
The rest of the sentence never made it out.
“Ei!” A loud voice cut across the market.
All three boys turned to the sound instinctively.
The voice belonged to a girl weaving through the rows of vendor stands with confidence that screamed: “I don’t care what anyone has to say about me.” She moved quickly, the crowd parting without much resistance as she approached.
Izuku recognized her immediately.
Mina Ashido had been hard to miss ever since she moved to their little rural town six months ago.
Even in a town where most people dressed for practicality—faded denim, boots, and thin flannel work shirts—Mina stood out like a neon sign in the middle of a wheat field. Her dark caramel skin glowed warmly in the sunlight, and the tight curls of her hair had been dyed a light shade of pink that bounced with every step she took.
Today she wore low-waisted jean shorts and a cropped tank tucked beneath an oversized flannel tied loosely around her waist. Thick gold hoops caught the light when she moved, and the glossy pink nails tapping against her phone screen were long enough to make Izuku nervous just looking at them.
At first glance, most folks assumed she was trouble.
The truth was, she might have been the sweetest girl in town.
“Mornin’, baby!” She called, her voice thick with a country drawl that stretched the words out slow and warm.
Kirishima lit up instantly.
“Mina!”
She stepped up beside him without hesitation, leaning in to plant a quick kiss to his cheek before looping one arm around his waist. The move looked effortless, like she’d done it a thousand times, and Izuku had to swallow down the feeling of jealousy before it grew into a strong bitterness.
‘“Lord have mercy,” a dramatic sigh fell from her lips, and she fanned herself with one hand, glancing toward the cheese display. “It smells heavenly over here!”
Izuku felt some of the tension drain from his shoulders.
Her eyes landed on him next.
“Well hey there, sugar,” she said brightly. “You must be Midoriya!”
“Uh—yeah,” he blinked, taken aback.
She extended a hand across the table, long pink nails catching the sunlight.
“Mina Ashido,” she introduced. “Eijiro’s better half!”
“That’s debatable.” Kirishima laughed quietly beside her.
Mina shot him a look.
“Boy, don’t you get to startin’ with me.”
Izuku shook her hand carefully, mindful of the nails so as not to bend them unnaturally.
“Nice to meet you.”
She smiled at him then, wild and genuine in a way that made Izuku wonder if she hadn’t heard what all the town had to say about him yet.
While the couple argued jokingly, Katsuki had gone quiet. Izuku could feel his presence at the edge of the moment without directly looking at him. The air around his stand still held that same strange tension, like the other had something unfinished to say.
When Izuku finally glanced up, Katsuki was watching Mina with a fairly annoyed expression.
“What?” Mina said, immediately catching the look.
“You’re loud,” Katsuki scoffed.
She gasped dramatically, bringing a hand up to clutch her heart.
“Well excuse me for bein’ friendly,” she shot back.
Kirishima snorted, and Izuku found himself smiling again.
For the first time since Katsuki had approached the stand, the moment didn't feel quite so heavy.
Mina leaned forward, inspecting the display with an exaggerated seriousness.
“Now, which one of these is the best one?”
Izuku gestured toward the row Katsuki had taken from earlier. “That’s the plain,” he explained. “It’s the one most people start with.”
Mina nodded, picking up a different wheel.
“Ooh, what about this one?”
“That one’s got herbs in it.”
“Well,” she said thoughtfully, “I reckon I’ll take both.”
“Of course you will.” Kirishima laughed.
Izuku wrapped the cheese carefully in brown paper, folding the corners with ease before tying the bundle closed with a short piece of twine. The routine was familiar enough that his hands moved automatically while the market carried on around them, the steady hum of voices and music drifted through the warm air. Even so, he remained aware of the quiet man standing across the table from him, like a storm cloud hovering just outside the edge of town.
Mina had already leaned comfortably against Kirishima’s side, one hip resting against the table while she studied the rows of cheese with open curiosity. Her bracelets chimed softly whenever she moved her hands, and the soft pink curls around her face caught the sunlight every time she tilted her head. Against the soft browns and dusty blues of the market stalls, she looked almost impossibly bright.
“Now hold on,” she said, lifting one of the herb-coated wheels and bringing it closer to inspect the label. The scent of rosemary drifted faintly into the air as she turned it between her fingers. “This one smells real good.”
Izuku glanced up from the bag he was finishing, offering a small smile.
“That one’s rosemary,” he explained. “My mama helped me mix the herbs in for that batch.”
“Well tell your mama she did a fine job,” Mina replied warmly, lowering the cheese back onto the table. “I ain’t even tasted it yet, and I already know I’m gonna like it.”
Kirishima chuckled beside her, bumping his shoulder lightly against hers.
Izuku finished typing the bag and slid it gently across the table toward her. The paper crinkled softly beneath her hand as she picked it up, tucking it under her arm as if she’d just purchased something far more exciting than a couple of wheels of goat cheese.
“Much obliged, darlin’,” she thanked him before passing a few bills across the table. Izuku slipped them into the wooden cash box, the small action giving him something to focus on besides the lingering tension still coiling in his stomach.
Because Katsuki still hadn’t left.
Izuku became aware of that fact again the moment he stood straight, his eyes drifting almost unwillingly toward the other side of the table. Katsuki still stood there with the same casual posture as before, one hand resting against the edge of the stand while the other held the paper-wrapped cheese Izuku had given him earlier. The sunlight had shifted slightly since he’d first arrived, casting a narrow line of gold across the sharp angle of his jaw.
Izuku’s stomach turned again with an uncomfortable feeling. Being this close to Katsuki after so many years stirred up too many memories at once—old arguments echoing through the school hallways, harsh words thrown carelessly across the playground asphalt, the lingering ache of things neither had apologized for.
“You gonna pay for that,” Mina asked suddenly, tilting her head toward the cheese in Katsuki’s hand, “or are you just plannin’ on admirin’ it all day?”
Katsuki shot her an unimpressed look, the corner of her mouth twitching with amusement, clearly satisfied with the reaction she’d gotten.
“Lord,” she added with a dramatic sigh, “you look like you swallowed a hornet.”
Kirishima barked out a surprised laugh beside her.
Katsuki scoffed under his breath, already digging into his pocket before he dropped them onto the table with a loud slap.
“Here, nerd,” he said before turning to face the woman. “Happy now?”
“Ecstatic,” Mina replied sweetly, enunciating each syllable.
Izuku reached forward and gathered the money before sliding it into the cash box. The simple motion helped ground him again, though the faint nausea still lingered stubbornly.
“Thanks.”
Katsuki didn’t respond; instead, he lingered there for a moment longer, his gaze drifting across the display of bottles like he was looking for something specific. Izuku had the uncomfortable feeling that he was being studied, though when he glanced up, their eyes met only briefly before Katsuki looked away again.
“You still livin’ out by the old highway?” Katsuki asked after a moment.
The question caught Izuku off guard.
For a second, he simply blinked at him, surprised enough that the answer took a moment to reach his tongue.
During the time it took Izuku to answer, Kirishima had grabbed a bottle of milk and placed a few crumpled bills into the money box himself. He twisted the lid with a soft popping sound.
“Yeah,” Izuku said finally.
Katsuki gave a small nod, almost to himself.
“Thought so.”
Izuku wasn’t sure how he would’ve known that.
Before he could ask, Mina leaned forward again, resting both elbows on the table while she looked between them with an expression far too entertained for the situation.
“Well, ain’t this cozy,” she said lightly. “Y’all look like two cats tryin’ to decide if you’re gonna fight or kiss.”
Kirishima nearly spat milk out of his nose as he choked.
“Mina!”
“What?” she replied innocently, though the grin spreading through her face ruined the act completely.
Heat rushed up the back of Izuku’s neck so quickly he felt his ears begin to burn as a wave of lightheadedness flowed through him. Across the table, Katsuki looked like he might spontaneously combust.
“Shut up,” he snapped quickly.
Mina only laughed as Kirishima grabbed her wrist with a gentle tug, deciding retreat was the safest option.
“C’mon, darlin’,” he said, steering her away from the stand. “Let’s go before he murders somebody.”
She allowed herself to be pulled along, still smiling as she glanced back over her shoulder.
“See you ‘round, sugar!”
“See you,” Izuku replied softly.
Kirishima offered him an apologetic look while backing away as he mouthed, “I’m sorry.”
Izuku shook his head reassuringly.
Within moments, the two of them had disappeared back into the flow of the market crowd, their voices fading beneath the music and chatter drifting through the square.
That left Katsuki and Izuku standing there alone, the quiet between them feeling heavier without the others around. Izuku found himself focusing on the small things again—the faint hum of the radio nearby, the smell of fried dough, the uneven rhythm of his own breathing.
Katsuki picked up the milk bottle from earlier and took another short drink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before setting it down again.
“You always sell here on Saturdays?” he asked.
“Most weekends.” Izuku nodded shyly.
Katsuki shifted his weight slightly, glancing briefly toward the truck parked across the gravel lot. For a moment, it looked like he might say something else, but whatever thought had crossed his mind seemed to fade before it reached his mouth.
“You should bring some to the game next week,” he said instead.
“The baseball game?” Izuku huffed.
“What other game d’you know of goin’ on?” Katsuki shrugged lightly. “Guys’ll probably buy some.”
The suggestion lingered between them, the familiar aching feeling returning to Izuku’s chest.
“Maybe,” he replied hesitantly.
Katsuki studied him for another second before giving him a short nod, emotions unable to be placed swirled behind his eyes. Without another word, he turned and started walking back across the gravel lot, boots crunching softly beneath each step as he headed toward the truck.
Izuku watched him go and continued to watch as Kaminari and Sero lightly jogged over to him in a hurried manner, not wanting to be left behind without a ride.
Across the lot, Katsuki climbed into the driver’s seat and started the engine, the other two climbing in one after the other before Kaminari slammed the door shut quickly. Dust kicked up behind the tires as the truck pulled onto the road leading out of town, disappearing slowly along the stretch of highway beyond the market.
Izuku stood staring for a long moment after he was gone.
The breeze shifted fentlt through the square again, carrying the smell of summer grass through the warm air.
For reasons he couldn't quite explain, the uneasy feeling in his stomach still seemed to refuse to leave him alone.
And somehow, Izuku had the sense that this morning wouldn't be the last time Katsuki Bakugou showed up at his stand.