Chapter Text
“Uraraka’s gonna freak,” Kirishima noted, staring wide-eyed at the tabloid before them.
A groan of affirmation rumbled deep in Izuku’s throat. He didn’t really hear what Kirishima had said, but hecouldn’t pry his eyes away from the picture plastered all over the front of the newsstand. His jaw hung open, green eyes wide, as he reread the headline forthe fourteenth time.
Holy stinkin’ super crap.
Best Friends for Never: Could Pro Hero Deku’s Harsh Words About Fellow Hero Uravity Foreshadowthe End of Their Partnership?
Beside him, Kirishima frowned. “I mean, they weren’t exactly harsh words,” he said. “All you said was that she was slower than you are, right? Which really doesn’t make a difference when you can make yourself weightless.”
Izuku nodded numbly, flipping through the cheap magazine. And then he took another. And another. All of entertainment publications covered one single thing: how he allegedly insulted his best friend (and frequent partner, for crying out loud!) in cold blood.
“This really does read worse than how you said it.” Kirishima pointed to one of the columns. “You should read this.”
Izuku took it in his shaky hands.
“’She’s slower than the rest of us,’ he said with a smile. ‘But maybe one day she’ll be better.’”
His arm dropped and the magazine flopped against his leg, a series of incomprehensible protesting noises falling from his mouth. He gestured wildly at the paper. A look of pity shined in Kirishima’s eyes, and he turned away. “You’re right, buddy,” he said, “taking your words out of context is so unmanly! Making you of all people look like a jerk? Also unmanly! And lame titles, too. Sounds like a bad romcom.”
“I look like a jerk,” Izuku finally managed to choke out. His voice hadn’t sounded this high-pitched and indignant since Kacchan challenged him to the public boxing match a few months ago. It was for charity, but still. How was he supposed to be the Symbol of Peace someday if the public thought he was a jerk!
But, even more importantly—
“Uraraka’s gonna freak!” Izuku yelped.
“Ah, yeah, I just said that?”
“Kirishima, um, I know we were supposed to hang out today, but—”
His friend flashed an impish grin, giving Izuku a thumbs-up. “Eh, it was last-minute plans, anyway! We patrolled together, that was fine. Go patch things up with Uraraka, and then maybe we all can hang out next week sometime! We can invite Bakugo and Iida, too!”
“Yeah, sounds great, I’ll keep in touch—”
He was so focused on not internally combusting that he accidentally tripped over a trash can as he walked backwards away from Kirishima.
A good metaphor for his life, admittedly.
*l~
Please answer, please answer…
Izuku’s knuckles were sore, his eyes staring dazedly at the place where he’d knocked. He knew he was overdoing it and a couple of her closest neighbors had poked their heads out to see what was going on—he was sure some frantic twenty-two-year-old in sweatpants banging on her door at sundown looked pretty sketchy. No one recognized him though, even with his freckles and big green eyes. One of the only plus sides of being “plain-looking”he guessed.
But that still didn’t explain why she wasn’t opening the door.
She’d seen the news. She had to. Kacchan had already texted him a video of one of the gossip news shows covering it, and Izuku knew he was just laughing his ass off at his expense. Kacchan still had a bit of a sadistic side, even all these years later. So she had seen it, and now she wasn’t opening the door, because she knew it was him, and she hated him—
“Deku?” a weak, tired voice said, so lowly that Izuku almost missed it over his knocks.
“Uraraka—”
Before he had a chance to say anything,the door whooshed open.
Uraraka stood there, wrapped in a blanket, the back end of it trailing behind her from where she’d walked to the door. Her stance wasn’t as vibrant as it usually was, and though it was dim in her apartment—the only light coming from her flickering TV—Izuku saw it.
How her eyes were rimmed red with tears.
Izuku’s heart ached, a sharp pain shooting right into his throat. “U-Uraraka, I’m so sorry—"
“Don’t be.”
She smiled gently and stepped away from the entrance, giving him room to shuffle inside. He did so, shoulders stiff with tension, and followed her to the couch. She plopped down and buried herself in the blanket.
He sat on the floor at the opposite end, glancing to the television.
Yep. Sure enough, one of their previous glamor shots was on the TV, transposed over a woman in nice clothes making exaggerated faces as she talked to the camera. The volume was all the way down so he couldn’t hear. However, that awesome fashion photo of them contrasted deeply with the headline under it—one of the same trite ones he had seen at the newsstand.
“I-It isn’t what it sounds like,” he murmured, making himself small. This must have hurt her so much. “I was talking to a reporter and he was asking how I thought our techniques could be better. Not just you, but everyone! Todoroki and Iida, too! But—But they twisted my words all around, and—” His face scrunched up, lip trembling. “I’m just looking out for you, or that’s what I thought, but they’re so—”
”Mean?” Uraraka whispered from her blanket cocoon.
“Mean!” Izuku cried, voice shrill again. “I can’t believe they’d try to pit friends against each other for just a story!” He knew that fighting villains would be tough, but no one had ever explained how hard it would be to win over the public. That was arguably the tougher battle. All Might had appeared on the scene and was almost instantly adored but since Izuku was barely even established… they had to be so careful. One week he was the media’s darling, and the next he was cluelessness incarnate wrapped up in a pure green package. It was so not fair.
This generation had it tougher than most, with the rise of villain activity lately. One misstep could shake trust in hero society for good. It seemed like the media searched for a reason to distrust them. They couldn’t afford petty missteps like this.
After a while, Uraraka sighed. From the corner of his eye, he could see her wipe away her tears. She’d probably quit crying as soon as he walked in.
“I’m gonna show you something,okay?” she murmured, reaching for the remote.
She flipped a few channels, and to Izuku’s surprise, started up a recording. It was a good ways in, but Uraraka seemed to have this moment saved specifically. It was another news report, this time with a mother holding a little girl in her arms. They both smiled enthusiastically.
She pressed play, and the broadcast resumed.
“So who’s your favorite hero?” The young reporter asked, leaning in towards the girl.
She threw her hands up, smiling widely. “Deku! The Smiling Hero!”
Uraraka paused it, and Izuku’s eyes filled with tears.
“It hurt, at first, seeing that story,” she said, emerging from her blanket. She still looked sad, but he could see the softness there. “But then I remembered that this is you they’re talking about. They don’t know you. And they don’t know me. They don’t know us. And I know you’d never hurt anybody on purpose, so I figured they’d misreported whatever you said.”
That made sense, but something still bothered him. “So why were you crying, Uraraka?”
“They tried to use me to ruin your reputation,” she said with a shrug. “I, uh… I’m not really okay with that? But I guess that’s what having a relationship in the spotlight is like. I’ll get used to it eventually—after all, it was only last week they asked if Kirishima and I were dating.”
Izuku chuckled. “Yeah, Kacchan was pretty unhappy.”
“And you weren’t?”
He sputtered, making up excuses. They still hadn’t really addressed what was obviously there between them, but they were okay with being best friends. She threw one of her decorative pillows at him, and he picked it up from the floor, hugging it tightly. “S-So we’re good, then?”
“Yes, Deku, of course we are,” she said. “Some dumb tabloid won’t change that.”
“Good,” he said, squeezing the pillow tighter. He only just realized it was a vibrant emerald green. “’Cause I wouldn’t let it change me, either.”