Chapter Text
“U.A. sparring matches open endless opportunities,” Aizawa explained. “Scouts watch them and try to recruit their favorites.”
The Department of Heroes were known for their legendary sparring matches. In particular, Class A were infamous for being on a whole other scale. Rumors said that their biweekly battles were like duels to the death, ruthless brawls that left both buildings and bones broken.
When the school had first begun sparring matches, they were open exclusively to students and a handful of scouts, but public demand for them grew so high that the teachers had allowed them to be included in the U.A. Sports Festival every few years.
“It’s also important to fight against people you’ve fought before,” Aizawa continues. “Sometimes you might not catch a villain on the first try, or you might encounter someone else with a similar quirk.”
And Aizawa wasn’t lying; there were a few scouts sitting in the bleachers opposite of Class 1-A, and this was a great opportunity for his students to grow and open new doors.
“So why,” Aizawa growled, “do all of you look so damn bored?!”
He scanned the small group of twenty students sitting in front of him, their eyes wandering and unfocused. Their collective answer to his question (that they would never say aloud) was because in short, the sparring matches were boring.
The battles were just as destructive as the rumors said (to be honest, something was bound to be destroyed anytime the students of Class 1-A were altogether anyway), but scouts only came in sporadic bursts, like they were simply dropping by during their lunch breaks. And by now, Class 1-A all knew each other’s Quirks by heart, so battling each other again and again was like watching the same TV show on repeat.
The only person who really enjoyed the matches was Midoriya, who liked watching more than fighting and spent the entire period scribbling furiously into his notebook.
So when they were all sitting in the bleachers of the U.A. Sports Festival Stadium, and Aizawa asked for volunteers, all he heard from his class were long sighs.
And one very enthusiastic Iida, who shouted, “I volunteer, Sensei!”
For the third time in a row, Aizawa noted mentally.
“Whatever,” Aizawa sighed. He silently added creating some type of punishment--the expulsion threat got old after they faced real villians--on his to-do list because he was too tired for this crap today. “Pick your opponent.”
Iida turned to survey his classmates, talking aloud to himself in a Midoriya-like fashion. “Considering my last opponent was Yaoyorozu-san, I should pick someone who relies more on physical strength this time. It shouldn’t be someone who is too weak, or it’ll be too easy, but it shouldn’t be someone who is too powerful, or I’ll be overwhelmed immediately and--”
“PICK.”
“Kirishima-san, please do me the honor of being my opponent,” Iida said.
“Um, I’m okay--”
“You can’t say no,” Aizawa said, before entering into his sleeping bag.
Kirishima sighed before rising to his feet and stretching an arm over his head. “Sure, why not? I actually don’t think I’ve taken you myself on before, Iida.”
Iida grinned widely, “I’m looking forward to this battle!”
The two shook hands and moved to the center of the stadium.
//////////////////////
Kirishima squeezed his eyes shut and braced himself, but he barely had time to will the muscles in his back to harden before he crashed into the bleachers.
“You’re out, Kirishima,” Aizawa called sleepily.
It took a few seconds for the dust to settle, revealing a sour Kirishima sitting in a pile of rubble.
“Watch it, Iida!” Kaminari yelled. “You almost hit us!” Jirou brushed off the dust on her shoulder, and Aoyama shook off the clumps that had landed in his bangs.
“YEAH, FUCKER, I’LL KILL YOU FOR GETTING MY UNIFORM DIRTY!” Bakugou roared, adding a mini-explosion for emphasis.
“My apologies!” Iida called back. “I miscalculated how much force I needed!”
Kirishima chuckled; despite the earnest apology, Iida definitely looked proud of how far he had sent him flying. All it took was one accelerated kick, and in the blink of an eye, Kirishima had soared from the middle of the arena to the bleachers.
“Damn it!” Kirishima yelled. His fist slammed into the rubble, sending dust flying everywhere again. The cloud of debris rose higher and higher, blocking the glaring sun from his vision. Shouts of indignation from Class 1-A started up again, but Kirishima was too annoyed to care.
“I even managed to learn to harden my skin at a faster rate, and I still lost,” he muttered to himself.”
Everyone in Class 1-A had remarkable raw talent, but what was even scarier than their pure strength was their capacity to grow even stronger. Heroes were supposed to learn from their mistakes, but Kirishima felt like everyone was taking leaps and bounds forward while he was struggling with taking even baby steps.
“Kirishima-kun!” a voice called from not too far away, accompanied by the sound of running footsteps.
“What, Midoriya?” Kirishima hadn’t meant to sound so irritated, but it helped mask the slight crack in his voice. He groaned as he rose to his feet and reached down to pat his clothing clean.
Midoriya’s tiny hand suddenly grabbed onto Kirishima’s rubble-covered one, gripping it with enthusiasm. The cloud of dust was still swirling around the two of them, but it had settled enough for the warmth of sunshine to grace his skin again.
“Kirishima-kun, that was so cool!” Midoriya’s emerald eyes were lit up with eagerness, glowing like they always did when he started talking about heroes. Up close though, Kirishima notes, they almost look like real gems, like the pretty jewels that his dad bought for his mom.
“Seriously? I just lost.”
“Yeah, but you’ve been improving your quirk, right? I noticed that you hardened your skin about .05 milliseconds faster than usual! And you’ve been getting more flexible as well.”
Midoriya leaned in closer, long dark eyelashes fluttering and soft pink lips sporting a bright smile.
“You’re amazing, and your quirk is so cool!”
‘Ah,’ Kirishima thought. ‘I died. Iida accidentally killed me, and I’ve gone to heaven.’
Any second now, Midoriya’s wings would materialize, and he could confirm that heaven on Earth was real.
“I’ve actually been meaning to ask you this for a while,” the angel said, and maddeningly enough, his cheeks turned the sweetest shade of pearl pink as he asked, “W-would it be possible to get a cup of coffee together this weekend? ...I’ve always wanted to ask you about your quirk!”
Kirishima didn't even have to glance at Class 1-A’s expressions to feel the animosity radiating from them, but for Midoriya’s radiant smile, Kirishima was ready to offer up his soul.
///////////////////
On Monday, never had everyone been so interested in Kirishima’s weekend plans.
Asui turned around in her seat to ask him if he had any coffee shops to recommend, if there had been any he’d recently visited and liked. Todoroki, who never had a conversation longer than 2 words with him, stopped by his desk to casually ask, “How was your Sunday?’ Even a few people in Class 1-B had taken the time to ask about his weekend, and the others in Class 1-A who hadn’t said anything to him stood curiously close, hovering just within earshot.
The most obvious ones were Bakugou, Uraraka, and Iida, who practically lunged on top of his desk at the same time after they entered the classroom.
“Good morning, Kirishima-kun!” Uraraka said with a sweet smile. “Did you do anything fun this weekend?”
“Nothing too eventful,” he promised all of them.
“Is that so,” she said. Her smile never left her face, but her eyes also never blinked. She slowly peeled herself off his desk and walked away, and Iida greeted him with a delayed “Good morning, Kirishima!” before turning to leave.
Only Bakugou remained, eyes narrowed. “You better not be fucking lying, asshole.”
The corners of Kirishima’s mouth turned up into a playful smile before he asked, “Hm, don’t you think that clock’s a little slow?”
Bakugo’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he asked, “What the shit are you talking about?”
Iida added, “You must be mistaken; U.A. clocks always are in sync with national satellites. Our technology is at the forefront of --”
“Huh,” Kirishima said innocently. “I could’ve sworn it’s about two minutes behind.” His lips turned up into a devilish smirk as he pulled out his phone and said, “Let me check.”
Bakugou’s eyes narrowed even deeper, and Iida and Uraraka didn’t even realize that they were inching closer again.
“Well, how about that.” Kirishima said. “Guess you were right.”
He turned his phone around to show them. Right on top of the picture with an aerial view of Midoriya holding up a peace sign and a coffee cup and Kirishima grinning from ear to ear with an arm around Midoriya’s slender waist, bold black numbers read 7:25.
Kirishima silently congratulated himself for learning how to harden his skin faster as Bakugou lunged for him, spewing curses as his fingers met with stone.
“YOU LITTLE SHIT,” Bakugou shouted. He grabbed at Kirishima again, this time getting a solid grip on the collars of the school uniform. With an explosive blast, Bakugou sent Kirishima flying to the head of the classroom, and a loud crack resounded as the redhead landed on Aizawa’s desk.
“If you want, I can check your phone’s clock for you,” Uraraka said, sickeningly sweet smile still on her lips. “Just give it here.” She approached ominously, aura not unlike those of villains Kirishima encountered before.
Bakugou charged in from behind her, eyes burning and palms facing upwards and ready to pounce--
“Kacchan!” rang out Midoriya’s voice as he slammed Bakugou into the floor. “Why are you fighting Eijiro-kun in the classroom?!”
“Get off me, nerd! I’m gonna fucking end him, here and now!”
“Did you-- Kacchan, Aizawa-sensei’s desk--!”
“Who goddamn cares!”
“Wow,” Kirishima laughed, “Sounds like someone missed their morning cup of coffee today.”
“I’LL KILL YOU, FUCKER! GET OFF ME, DEKU!”
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The next sparring match, everyone but Midoriya volunteered.