Archive of Our Own

"You fucks all know the plan?"

An exasperated sigh. "For the third time, yes, Bakugou, we all know the plan. The plan that we all helped come up with in the first place."

"Huh. Didn't know you were capable of snark, glasses," he spat out – without venom - with a sidelong glance.

A shuffle of feet. "You're not the only one who's nervous, you know."

"I'm not fucking-" He clicked his tongue. "Fine. Having doubts again?"

"Ha! I have moved passed such things." Blue eyes met green across the room and creased into a smile. "I know better, now."

From the doorway to the waiting room, a voice called out to those gathered within, telling them to move up to the entrance tunnel and prepare for their cue to leave. There was a collective shuffling of fabric and plastic and metal as the occupants all collected themselves together, patting down costumes to make sure they had everything, and started filing out of the room.

No one spoke again until they'd made it to the tunnel.

Hidden in the shadow cast by the bright sunlight outside, and with no Festival staff nearby, they were utterly alone.

Some of them were bouncing in place on the balls of their feet, excess energy bubbling over. Others were deep in concentration, sinking themselves into the mind-set needed for the Festival, or in the middle of light-hearted conversation to try and calm their nerves.

Outside, the echo of cheers and microphone feedback suggested that their moment to emerge onto the field was fast approaching, but it hadn't come yet.

All conversation and movement stopped when one grenade-gauntleted fist rose into the air. In the sudden relative quiet of the tunnel, even the shouts of the crowd seemed to fall into a strange lull.

A flash of teeth. "Let's show those fucks out there what happens when you mess with the wrong group of heroes."

Nineteen more fists raised into the air, knuckles bumping where their owners were standing close together.

"Yeah!"

Six weeks earlier

Izuku instinctively flinched as Katsuki let out an enormous explosion, but couldn’t blame him for the outburst.

He’d been furious too, when he’d heard the news. There were more than a few training dummies now lying in a scrap heap somewhere that could attest to that.

“He heard, then,” came Kirishima’s voice from beside him, resigned and unsurprised.

“Yeah. Miruko-san told him, I think. He’s-“ Another explosion. “-not taking it well,” he finished lamely.

“At least Sensei is letting him get it out. All of us,” Kirishima added, jerking his chin at where Jirou and Kaminari were both using their quirks at full power further down the field, lightning rippling out in great arcs as it collided with the sound waves from Jirou’s speakers.

Everyone else was dotted around the rest of the field, either sparring – hand-to-hand, no quirks allowed – or deep in serious, whispered conversations. Aizawa-sensei was leaning up against a tree, phone pressed to his ear but still clearly keeping a careful eye on his students.

People could say whatever they wanted about heroes, but they couldn’t deny that they were a close knit community and when shit happened, it was all but guaranteed that every hero would know the details within a day or two, and every hero-in-training a few days after that. Even if they’d never worked together before, or had never even heard of each other, they would stand by anyone who needed help; it was their job.

It was just a deeper experience, perhaps, when it came to others who woke up and stared down death every day they walked into work. Closer to an extended family, even.

So when faced the incident they had been, and with the consequences looming all too close, it was difficult to take the news calmly, especially for those heroes on the younger end of the scale.

A few more explosions went off before Kirishima spoke up again, more unsure this time.

“You think he’ll be okay? Bakugou, I mean.”

Izuku snorted, he couldn’t help himself. “Kacchan will be fine. The Commission on the other hand…”

As much as Katsuki tended to come across as nothing more than a particularly powerful volatile bruiser-type hero, he wasn’t stupid. Far, far from it.

Izuku had seen his rage tempered to a fine, vengeful point more than once before and he had a distinct feeling that he would be seeing it again much sooner than he’d been expecting as of a week ago.

“What do you mean?”

Ignoring Kirishima’s confused question, he started jogging towards where Ojirou and Todoroki were sparring.

“Midoriya!”

He shot an enigmatic smile over his shoulder. “You’ll see!”

Of that, if not other things right now, Izuku was absolutely certain.

One day.

One full 24 hours.

That was how much time Katsuki allowed the rage and frustration to consume his every waking moment and to permeate his sleep with dreams of wildfires echoing with dismissive words repeated over and over again.

Lying awake, digital All Might clock on his desk having just ticked over to 2:44AM, he rolled onto his back and glared holes into the ceiling. Began to forcefully wrangle that anger down from something that made his skin prickle all over and his palms itch with the need to get it out out out, down to something he could work with. Something he could use.

He had to do something. He knew that much.

There was no fucking way he was sitting by idle while shit like that was being passed down from the people in power. This didn’t just affect him, or his class, this affected a whole community of adults, and an entire generation of kids who just wanted to see someone like them.

(something he hadn’t had.)

The clock ticked over another minute.

Wait. Yes, that was it.

Quickly growing from half-baked to a full branching plan, the idea raced through his mind, the consequences of it registering but being ignored. This was the right thing to do, consequences or no.

If he’d learned anything in those fucking therapy sessions – that he’d actually found incredibly helpful, not that he would admit that out loud – it was that you didn’t fucking bully people, especially not for insecurities they might already have. And, yeah, maybe it stopped being called that somewhere between high school and university because it was a childish word or whatever, but this sure looked like bullying to him.

Not on his fucking watch.

Unbidden, his upper lip curled back slightly.

Bakugou Katsuki had made his decision.

Now time to put the thing into action, and reap the havoc it sowed.

Getting everyone on board was surprisingly easy, especially because some already had plenty motivation for wanting to stick it to the Commission:

Tokoyami cited stories from Hawks as reason enough.

Those who'd been on internships and work placements in their first year - the ones stuck dealing with Overhaul - had seen first-hand how fucked up the whole thing was and how messy the clean-up had been afterwards thanks to the poor work on the part of the Commission. Deku, as usual, was the leader of this particular group.

(on top of that, deku had knocked on katsuki’s door later that night, understanding him well enough by now to know that he wouldn’t be sleeping when he had such a huge idea and so little of it planned. the idiot had stared him down like they were going to war and made some declaration about how he was prepared to do whatever it took to get back at the commission for what they’d done, but only if katsuki was willing to hear out suggestions when he had them.

katsuki had waved him off with a vague agreement that he actually intended to keep. he was just glad that he was in charge for fucking once.)

Todoroki and Yaoyorozu had unexpectedly banded together in their agreement, both expressing varying levels of displeasure at how a hero like Endeavour had been allowed to continue in his position for so long and even be rewarded for his violent behaviour.

Iida had initially been on the fence and asked for time to think about it, but then came back the next day with steely eyes and said that he was on board.

When asked why, he revealed that the Commission had been more than inadequate in their treatment of his brother, offering minimal support and advice on what to do now that he was no longer a hero, being slow in releasing his pension money, and generally being incredibly difficult to get a hold of and work with. Some people might have seen these as minor concerns based in bureaucracy more than anything else, but Iida couldn’t forgive the unnecessary stress it piled up on his brother and other heroes in similar situations when they were just trying to get their lives back in order.

The rest - Katsuki's immediate friends notwithstanding, since they helped come up with the idea in the first place - were all convinced by a mix of these arguments (Shouji, Satou, Hagakure, Ojirou and Koda), personal grievances against power in general (Jirou, Shinsou), or their inherent desire for any excuse for some sort of spectacle (Aoyama).

Whether any of them had been as personally bothered by the recent news as Katsuki had been, he didn't know and wasn't fully sure he cared.

All he knew was that he had his team. Looking at all of them gathered in front of him, he couldn't help the thrill that shot up his spine.

The Commission weren't gonna know what fuckin' hit them.

"You what?"

"You're kidding. You have to be."

Deku shook his head. "They want to challenge us differently this year. Give us the chance to show off new skills to the heroes who might hire us later, I'm guessing. So..." He spread his hands in a what can you do gesture.

"No single combat," Katsuki repeated. "Fucking great."

Their current plans for what to do during the Sports Festival to show their stance against the new unwritten rule laid down by the Hero Commission were all based in the actual events themselves. With this revelation, all of those plans suddenly seemed to be on very thin ice.

Yaoyorozu attempted to mediate. "This could be an improvement, couldn't it? If it’s a team-based task then more of us will be on the podium if we win."

"That's a good point," Denki agreed.

"Don't make shitty guesses." Turning back to Deku, he scowled. "No idea what the task is gonna be?"

A head shake.

"Fuck." Then, quieter, "fuck."

Meekly raising a hand, Denki piped up again. "Does it matter? If we don't know?"

"Of course it fucking does!"

"What Bakugou is trying to say," Yaoyorozu explained, calmer, "is that if we know what the challenges posed to us are, we can work out who is most likely to succeed and make our plans accordingly. If we don't know-"

"-then we can't have concrete plans, got it."

Katsuki began to pace. “We need as many of us to get to the final round as possible, otherwise it’s just gonna be one poor fuck and a flag. So-“ He cut himself off and whirled on Deku. “-and the fuck are you muttering about?”

Unsurprisingly, Deku jumped about a foot off the ground but quickly recovered.

“Oh! I was just saying that there must be some kind of pattern to these events. In how they’re picked.”

Sometimes, Katsuki admitted to himself, Deku could be a fucking genius.

“Deku, are you saying you think you can predict what the third event is gonna be?”

His jaw set tight, determined. “Yeah. I am.”

Yaoyorozu frowned in concern. “But, the Sports Festival has been running for years, and we’ve only got weeks! How are you going to figure it out by then?”

“Momo-san, what’s our motto?”

“Plus Ultra,” she said slowly.

He directed a winning smile at her. “So trust me, I got this. You guys sort out everything else, and I’ll have an answer for you in time.”

“Don’t give me orders, shithead!”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Kacchan!” And with that he vanished out the door, footsteps trailing in the direction of the stairs.

“Bakugou, really, is this the best-“

“You got any better ideas?”

Silence.

“I don’t like it either,” he admitted, moving on quickly so hopefully no one would pick up on it, “but if this is gonna turn out in a way that’s actually fucking helpful, we need every fucking edge we can get. Got it?”

There was a moment’s pause where Yaoyorozu and Denki looked at each other, evaluating. Then, they both nodded and turned back to him, whatever determination Deku had seemingly infectious judging by their expressions.

“What now, Bakugou?”

He grinned. “You remember the obstacle course from last year, don’t you Pony Tail?”

“Obviously.”

“How do we team up to blast our fucking way through?”

Her eyes it up, the metaphorical cogs springing to life behind them.

“Well,” she began, “I’m glad you asked.”

It was late at night.

The soft glow of lamplight filtered out from around the edges of the doorframe, a narrow torch lighting the hall.

"We've got two weeks to go," came a low, tired-sounding voice from inside the room, "and you're having doubts fucking now?"

"It was fun while we were still planning," came the tense reply, "but this could jeopardise all of our careers, Bakugou! And for what?"

"Oh, fuck you,-"

"Kacchan, wait-" A door slam, followed by a soft sigh. "Iida-kun..."

"I cannot believe you are also going along with this! We have been down this road before, Midoriya, and this would be a much bigger problem than using our quirks for justifiable self-defence." A pause. "You know that. And that what I did was worse – much worse – than that."

A hum. The flexing of a scarred hand. "As heroes, it's our job to save people. And a lot of the time that means stopping the danger from happening in the first place, any way we can. Isn’t that what this is?"

There was a clanking and shifting of metal, as if someone had put something heavy and metallic down on a hard surface.

"No, I know, I just-" He removed his glasses and began compulsively cleaning them. "I'm worried, Midoriya. I want this to go well as much as the rest of you, but I cannot help seeing all the ways it can go wrong. These are dangerous, powerful people we're up against."

"We're all worried, I think. I know I am." A smile, bright even in the dim glow of 1AM lamplight. "But then I remember who we're doing this for, all the good we could do, and I know we have to try."

A long, long pause. Then, quiet, "alright. But if we are doing this, I refuse to do anything less than the absolute maximum possible. I believe that is the best way to have an impact."

That smile, previously warm and comforting, sharpened into something cold and vicious.

"I don't think you need to worry about that, Iida-kun." There was the slightest glimmer of emerald lightning.

"Plus Ultra, right?"

"So we've busted through the skills showcase and the obstacle course, cool. What happens then?"

"Depends what the final challenge is, Sparky." His head tilted over to where the other three occupants in the room were gathered around a laptop. Hunched over behind the screen, the middle of the three was typing furiously. "Any luck, Deku?"

There was nearly a full minute more of typing sounds before he asked again.

"Oi. I asked you a question, Shitty Broccoli."

The typing sounds didn't slow or stop, even as he looked up and met Bakugou's stare with a flat, unimpressed look of his own.

"I can tell you every event for every year group held at the Sports Festival for the last 30 years," he said lowly. "I can tell you the most likely based on the staff that year-" A slam of the spacebar. "-or the types of quirks common that year-" Slam. "-or the fucking weather conditions, if you'd prefer."

As he was speaking he was leaning closer and closer over the lip of the laptop screen, fingers still typing away even as he moved, voice tightening ever further with every word.

"But I cannot-" Slam. "-tell you with absolute certainty what the final event for the Second Years will be because you-" Slam. "-suggested the best way to find out from Principal fucking Nezu's files, which, let me tell you-" Double slam. "-are so well protected that they're practically in the fucking matrix, and just trying put me an afternoon behind."

But for his typing, the room was dead silent. It was unclear whether the other occupants were even still breathing.

"Your best chance is letting me finish this fucking-" Slam. "-write-up on which I think is the most likely, so let me fucking finish it." Slam. A slight pause. "Okay?"

Without waiting for an answer, his attention immediately returned to the laptop screen and it was clear that the conversation was very much over.

A throat clear. "Right. We plan around Deku then."

Something occurred to him. Crossing the room to dig around in one of the cabinets, he made a satisfied noise and pulled out an enormous bag of All Might-branded peanuts.

"Oi, here." He lobbed them across the room.

They sailed cleanly over the laptop and collided with the unsuspecting Deku’s face, briefly moulding to his face and holding there before they fell and clattered onto the keyboard.

The glare he got in response would have been enough to make a lesser man run from the room as if death itself were nipping at his heels. As it was, there was more than one flinch in the room.

"You piece of- Oh!" As if a switch had suddenly flipped, his shadowed expression brightened into a grateful smile. “My favourites! Thanks, Kacchan!”

With renewed vigour, he dived back into his write-up.

“Just make sure you eat, fucking idiot!”

“Sometimes,” came a fearful whisper over Katsuki’s shoulder, “Midoriya scares me, just a bit.”

A dry laugh. “Just be grateful we’re on this side of him, Sparky.”

A gulp.

“Now, about the formation-“

"We can't just not wear our costumes," Hanta pointed out.

Denki shrugged. "What else is there?"

"Ooh!" Mina waved her hands excitedly. "We could wear flags around our shoulders!"

"Not all of us can fight in capes," Katsuki groused.

"Oh." She deflated. "Then what?"

All of them startled as the door was flung open and a very sooty yet smiling Deku stumbled into the room.

"I got it!" He proclaimed. The effect was dampened somewhat by his directing this at the opposing sofa.

A beat.

"Over here, fuckwit."

"Hm?" He squinted, then with a soft oh! turned to the correct sofa. "Sorry, there was all this smoke in the air? And I think it did something to my eyes, they're streaming like mad, and I can't really see-"

"What’ve you got?" Mina interrupted, not unkindly.

"Oh, right!" The smile returned in full force. "So you remember how Hatsume-san isn't competing this year? Just doing an item showcase instead?"

Hanta frowned thoughtfully. "I think she mentioned something like that when I was down there the other week. What about it?"

"So, when I saw her today she was complaining about how none of her babies- sorry, items were going to get any actual live combat use outside of the controlled tests." Eyes sparkling with more than just tears, he continued. "I mentioned our problem - just for conversation, y'know - and she offered to make small queer-themed items for each of us!"

All of them except Katsuki gaped.

"Wow, really?"

"That's awesome, dude!"

"That would fix the problem!

Deku scratched his head awkwardly. "Yeah. I mean, it was more like she insisted, really, but-"

"She's really gonna do all that extra work right before the Festival?" Katsuki cut in. "Not that I care or anything, but I don't want some shitty item cos she took on more work than she could handle."

"Bakubro," Mina said flatly, "have you ever seen that girl work?"

There was a round of matching grimaces.

"Good point," he conceded. "But, what, we have to come up with a fucking item design now? For what, exactly?"

Deku shook his head. "No, no! She said she'd design them all based on our costumes or give us variants of things we already have, like your grenades or something. She just wants a colour scheme."

"Hold up." This was Denki. "So you're telling me, all we have to do is give Hatsume-san a Pride flag, and she'll just make us a thing?"

"Yeah, pretty much."

"Fuck yeah." Kicking Mina's legs off of him, he was already out of his seat before he'd even finished speaking. "I have got to tell everyone about this shit. This is gonna be fucking hype!"

"I'll go with him," Hanta sighed. "Make sure he doesn't get us into any trouble."

Mina laughed, jumping up to join him. "We're already in trouble!"

"You sound way too happy about that-"

The door closed behind them, sending the room into silence.

As if suddenly realising they were alone, Deku shuffled in place. Rubbed at his eyes, hissed in pain as something irritated them even further, and eventually gave up.

"Is that- okay?"

"Unh?"

More shuffling. "With Hatsume-san and everything. I know it's maybe not what you wanted-"

"Do you?"

He blinked. "What?"

"The only fucking thing I want," Katsuki explained, low and all-too-casual, "is to show those pricks in suits that we exist and that we're not taking their bullshit lying down. If it helps me get that, then I don't fucking care."

There was a short pause. Then, "fair enough."

Watching him carefully, Deku wobbled his way over to the other sofa and flopped down on it, a small cloud of soot shaking free of his hair in the process. His face was smushed into the cushions, but when he spoke it was still just about audible.

"We can continue your great world domination explode-y plan later," he mumbled. "I just need a freaking nap."

Comfortable in the knowledge that Deku couldn't see him, Katsuki allowed himself a smile.

Sure, he hadn't come into this plan with the idea that it would fun or anything, but he had to admit it was, well, nice to find himself enjoying it along the way.

No matter how it turned out, at least he would always have this.

“Go get a fucking eyebath first, fuckwit.”

“Kacchan-”

"Are you ready?"

Out in the stadium, the crowd at the Sports Festival roared.

Hizashi raised his voice even louder. "I said are you ready?"

Somehow, the crowd managed to roar even louder. Shouta sank lower in his chair.

Why he'd been dragged into this for a second year running was beyond him, though he suspected Hizashi had been more than a little responsible for that.

"Alright! That's what we like to hear!" He was practically out of his seat and the Festival proper hadn't even started yet. "As nice as that little display was, I bet you've all been waiting for the action to begin, right? Well, let me introduce one real action-packed group! Give it up for Class 2-A!"

The stadium exploded into applause and cheering, the odd trumpet and drum sound joining the cacophony, as Class 2-A emerged onto the field, smiling and waving at the audience.

Shouta, however, was watching them intently.

As much as they'd started stepping out from under his guiding wing in the past year, what with more independent assignments and internships to deal with, they still spent enough time around him in practical classes for Shouta to know that something was up.

What, precisely, he wasn't sure. But the uptick in not-so-subtle whispers and note-passing since the announcement of the Sports Festival was enough to set his alarm bells ringing.

Not because he was worried about any potential villainous activity, oh no. From these kids? The world would have to genuinely be ending for that to happen.

No, Shouta was worried about what could possibly have happened that meant his class - possibly the most competitive group of teenagers he'd ever had the misfortune of teaching - were working together as a group in a competition that had a winner.

It could never end well.

He was brought out of his thoughts by Hizashi's foot bumping into his under the table.

About to write it off as accidental - Present Mic was hardly the most self-contained of heroes - only the way he was watching him behind his sunglasses gave Shouta enough reason to think otherwise.

With one last rousing announcement, Hizashi temporarily turned the microphones off.

"It'll be fine," he said surprisingly gently. He was one of the few people Shouta had gone to with his concerns.

(all might had been laughably useless in the face of actually controlling a group of teenagers, while nezu had almost seemed intrigued by what the class could come up with.

he'd given up asking after that.)

When Shouta didn't respond, he nudged his foot again. "You'll see."

Flicking the microphones back on, Hizashi all but disappeared under his Present Mic persona with the exception of the hand on Shouta's knee, hidden under the desk.

"Now, let's get this party started!"

"If I may direct our lovely listeners' attention to the screens," Hizashi was saying, one hand flung out as if anyone other than Shouta could see him, "our cameras will follow the little listeners as they race their way through our obstacle course!"

Each of the four enormous screens set up around the stadium lit up with the same view of the centre of the stadium and the three classes of students grouped there. Realising they were on camera, several of them waved and pandered to the crowd, just as they'd been taught to in their Heroes and the Public Eye classes.

(shouta huffed into his capture weapon; he'd failed that particular class.)

In the background, the gaping shadow of the tunnel entrance - the start line - that led out to the obstacle course proper was visible looming over the students.

Though many of the audience-goers at this Festival probably hadn't realised, this tunnel was actually wider than the one from the previous year after several health and safety complaints had flooded in, concerned about potential crushing and suffocation.

This was perhaps a fair observation, but almost zero complaints had come in about the landmines or hundred foot deep gorge which had also been present that year. Apparently heroes-in-training had nothing to worry about when it came to explosives or falls from great heights, but slightly too narrow doorways were enough to get the pearls a-clutching.

Sometimes the hyper-fixations of the general public could be utterly bizarre.

"Are you ready out there, heroes?" Hizashi's voice boomed.

Despite the fact that he couldn't hear them over the distance and under the crowd, Shouta knew that they were all yelling their affirmative.

However, he couldn't help but notice the way his class were clumping into three distinct groups, one of which included both Todoroki and Bakugou. The fuck were they even planning?

"Ready.....start!"

An official down on the field fired their starting pistol in unison with Hizashi's shout.

Shouta watched carefully. Whatever his class were up to, he didn’t dare take his eyes away for a second.

Whether it happened in the obstacle course or the following event, he didn’t plan on missing it for the world.

Ultimately, the obstacle course was uneventful.

His entire class - through a mixture of personal skill, some convenient moments of teamwork, and no small amount of luck - qualified for the next round, with a few stragglers from Class 2-B and the Support Classes making up the numbers.

But rather than relax, Shouta couldn’t help but be even more on edge.

He didn’t like this. Not one bit.

This, working together just to win one round, couldn’t be all they’d planned. Could it?

"And here they come! Class 2-A, who blasted through to steal the- Oh?" Hizashi cut off, leaning forward in his seat, intrigued. Beside him, Shouta was deliberating between joining him to get a closer look or finding someone whose quirk could make him one with the chair.

Those fucking kids-

Hizashi seemed to shake off his delighted surprise - his jaw had actually dropped open - and grabbed his microphone again.

"Oh ho! As you can see for this event there's been a costume change! How exciting!"

Emerging onto the field, holding hands in groups of two and three that mostly corresponded to their matchups for this rescue event, Class 2-A were still wearing their base hero costumes; this hadn't changed.

What had changed was the myriad of additions they'd tacked onto their costumes, hair, apparently anywhere they’d had room. Belts, headpieces, ribbons, anything. All, with no exception, Pride themed.

Finally, the pieces slotted into place for Shouta; this was about that fucking press conference, the one from nearly two months ago now.

Movement out of the corner of his eye distracted him.

When he glanced over, he spotted Hizashi’s knee bouncing nervously under the desk. So he’d worked it out too then.

This put a slight spanner in Nezu’s plans, well didn’t it.

Unfortunately, as much as he wanted to go down there and rip them all a new one and yell that you don’t know what you’re doing! you haven’t thought this through! there wasn’t much Shouta could do right now. The Festival couldn’t be stopped now that it was in full swing.

But as soon as it was over…

Well, it all depended what the wider reaching consequences of their actions were, didn’t it?

If this went as badly as he feared it would, he probably wouldn’t need to tell them anything at all.

The event – rescue-themed, just as Deku had predicted, the little shit – had gone off without a hitch.

Covered in queer paraphernalia, Katsuki and company had successfully made a clean sweep of the podium, while other teams had stayed back to set up a medical tent with a converted rainbow flag as the roof.

And that was just the warm-up.

But, even though he was standing tall atop the podium with Asui and Satou behind him as joint winners of the Festival overall, Katsuki couldn't help but feel on edge. The other winners - Tokoyami, Koda and Todoroki in third place and Deku, Hagakure and Uraraka in second - seemed similarly on edge.

This, this was the moment all their plans had been leading up to.

Their remaining classmates, from all classes including their own, were gathered at the base of the podium and dutifully applauding now that the medals had been distributed. In the background, Present Mic was going off about something or other over the loudspeakers, while the audience cheered at all the appropriate moments.

The Festival proper was over.

Except for one, small, very important thing left. The capstone to their entire endeavour in making their position against the Hero Commission as clear as possible.

In the crowd in front of the podium there was a ripple of movement as someone pushed their way through, still clapping.

Meeting his eyes, Katsuki felt a strange mixture of fear, tension, joy and that hop-skip feeling that always seemed to come with seeing him these days.

Whether he noticed what Katsuki was feeling or not, Kirishima Eijirou continued his amble forwards, eyes never once straying from him.

"Ready?" He mouthed.

Yes.

No.

Always

In lieu of a verbal response, he simply spread his hands as if saying come on then.

His amble turned to a jog to a run to an all-out sprint as Eijirou leapt in one smooth movement from a barely-there mound in the grass up, up until he landed squarely in Katsuki's arms, hands coming together to loop around behind his neck.

Thanks to the momentum they almost fell backwards off the podium if not for Satou acting as a human wall behind them. As it was they just none-too-gently bumped foreheads.

"Oi-"

Eijirou didn't move away. From this angle, foreheads still touching, he actually seemed taller than Katsuki.

If he was willing to think about the literally thousands of people watching them right now, he might notice that a hush seemed to have fallen over the crowd.

"Whatever happens," Eijirou whispered, breath warm against Katsuki's lips. It was something of a promise between them, had been since the middle of their first year.

"Don't get all sappy on me now."

A breathy laugh. "Sure, sure." He shifted, noses brushing together. "Aren't you going to revenge-kiss me then? Like you said you would?"

A beat.

Katsuki's throat bobbed.

Shooting a quick glance up into the crowd, where the representatives from the Hero Commission were almost certainly sitting, he searched within himself for that rage which had so consumed him all those weeks earlier. It wasn't hard, not really. Not when the thing they were denying him to openly have was right here, filling his field of view the same way he always did even when he wasn't this close.

Gently, more gently than either of them had been expecting, Katsuki cupped a hand behind Eijirou's head and tilted it just enough that he could finally bring their lips together.

Whoops and cheers from his classmates raised loud enough that they weren't even nearly drowned out by the sudden increase in volume from the crowd - never mind whatever Present Mic was doing - but he found it difficult to care.

Eijirou, Eijirou, Eijirou.

That was all that mattered right now. Everything else could fucking wait.

Eventually, of course, they had to pull apart for air.

When they did, Eijirou surprised him by laughing, bold but breathy with nerves, as he brought a hand between them to fiddle with something on his utility belt.

"Wait, wait-"

"The fuck are you-"

"Hold on" got it!-

From one of the pouches he drew a neatly folded square of multi-coloured fabric and held it up between them.

"Really wanna hammer it home?"

Katsuki all of sudden realised three things:

1. His boyfriend was holding the Pride flag from the medicine tent from the rescue event.

2. He owed Hatsume Mei a fucking year's worth of dinners for this.

3. He was fucking in love. Of all the times to have that particular revelation this wasn't one he would have picked but that's fine, he could table this until later, yeah, no problems there.

(Fuck.)

Still tangled in him, Eijirou raised an eyebrow, still awaiting an answer.

"Fuck yeah."

Between them they unfolded the square until it spread into a wide rectangle, easily big enough for two.

Eijirou finally let go of Katsuki only to duck around under his arm and throw the flag over both of their shoulders, grinning like a maniac the whole time.

Vaguely, he was aware of various other flags and glitter displays – that one was Aoyama and Hagakure - going on around him, but his eye was drawn instead up to the Hero Commission seats.

They'd made their point. We're here, and we're not going any-fucking-where.

What happened next once the Festival was over was out of their hands, but damn did it feel good to finally stick it to the bastards.

Later, he would put it down to an adrenaline high that made him kiss Eijirou's temple as hard as he did, but really, it wasn't. The love inside of him was still new in its skin, a duvet not fully reaching the corners of its sheet, and it couldn't help but burst out of him in sudden, solar flares of vibrance.

Raising one triumphant fist skyward, Katsuki's voice joined the roars of his classmates.

The news hadn't been made public when it had broken two months earlier. If it had, maybe there would have been an outcry, maybe not.

The story, as told in tense whispers from hero to hero, was that a young hero had attempted to come out during a closed press conference in support of LGBTQ rights and immediately been shut down by the Hero Commission.

They weren't in opposition of the LGBTQ community, came the condescending statement, of course they weren't. A life to save was a life to save, regardless of who they were before or they would become after.

But, well, a gay hero? Wasn't that too far? The public weren't ready, they needed more time, yaddah yaddah.

They'd heard it all before.

Shouta and Hizashi were lucky, being out to close friends and no further, that even with such a hard-line ruling they could continue essentially as they always had. Yuuei would help conceal any missteps too, they'd said as much in a preliminary meeting on what to do with this new announcement.

We need to wait and plan, Nezu had decided. Approach this with clear evidence and show them how they're harming more lives than they are saving.

But now, watching his idiotic, wonderful class so clearly and succinctly make their statement and draw their own line, with no outside input from any adult as far as he knew, Shouta couldn't help but wonder if Nezu had had the right idea after all.

"You've got one crazy class, Eraser," Hizashi joked, though meaning it more than not.

He huffed a laugh. "You don't say."

They fell into relative silence for a minute or two, letting the ambient noise of the crowd wash into the booth and fill some of the empty spaces that yawned with discomfort and possibility.

"There'll be fallout from this," Hizashi eventually said. "Could be bad, y'know."

"Yeah." He swallowed. Turned to face him. "I know."

"Are you ready for that?"

There was a bigger question there, one that they'd been dancing around as heroes and a couple for more years than his class had even been alive.

It was too big to answer, really. Not so suddenly, so carelessly.

Still.

"Ready? No." Before Hizashi's face could fall, he held up a finger to show he wasn't done. "But what kind of hero am I if I can't roll with a few punches, hm?"

He laughed, rocking back into his chair. His sunglasses slipped down with the movement, so when his eyes focused once again on the students below and the riot of colour they’d produced, the gleam there was unmistakeable.

“There’s the Shouta I fell in love with,” he murmured. Then, reaching for the microphone he put his Present Mic persona on one last time. “Let’s hear it again for Class 2-A and their phenomenal victory this year!”

The noise the crowd made at that was enough to make the very stadium quake.

Maybe, Shouta thought, casting a surreptitious glance at where the Hero Commission representatives were none-too-subtly sulking in their seats, just maybe, he’d been wrong this time.