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The stranger next to you is crying. The stranger next to you is crying a lot.
Although you suppose he must be doing his best to conceive his pitiful sobs, the fact that the train carriage is so full it resembles a can of tightly packed sardines is not really working in his favour. He isn’t necessarily being loud, per se; it’s just that the two of you are standing too close to each other, and so every time his chest heaves with excessively deep breaths, you feel it brush up and down against your arm.
It’s honestly pushing you a little bit further to the brink of insanity.
To be fair, it isn’t only the crying man who’s pissing you off. Anywhere you look, you can’t avoid the lovestruck couples whispering quietly to each other, or the numerous hands holding either chocolates or flower bouquets, or the people on their own that, judging by the shine in their eyes and the excitement that makes their posture rigid straight in the way that only elation is capable of, are undoubtedly going on a date or meeting up with the ones they love.
You suppose you yourself had been part of the latter merely hours ago. You’d ridden in a carriage much like this one, only going the other way and with a lot fewer people, all sparkly eyes and straight back, daydreaming about how the night would play out.
Three hours later, you are closer to resembling the miserable man next to you than the lovesick couples all around.
You try not to sigh too loud.
(Contrary to somebody who doesn’t even seem to be trying to keep quiet at this point. Ahem ahem.)
You and Haru had been dating for as little as two months, but had been on the talking stage for muuuch longer than that. You’d thought that tonight was going to be your first Valentine’s spent together as a couple, and that this special occasion would finally cement the foundation of your relationship.
Yeah, right.
Haru clearly had other plans in mind, as after waiting for him for an hour in a fancy restaurant he’d insisted on checking out, you received a text from him that read, and you quote: ‘Sorry, but I don’t think this is gonna work. See you ‘round tho.’
‘See you ‘round?’ Oh, he’d definitely be seeing you ‘round as you burned his fucking apartment complex to the ground.
But that’s for later. Because now you have to focus on getting your tipsy ass home to… You don’t even know what exactly you’re going to do, only that it’s most likely going to involve a mental breakdown, something that cannot possibly occur in front of people, least of all while you’re on public transportation.
Take notes, crying man.
The doors to the car open, and although some couples do get out, it makes little to no difference as even more people filter in.
When you’re shoved so hard that you stumble and the lack of space is the only thing keeping you from falling face-first to the floor, you finally snap. Although it wasn’t the crying man who pushed you, he’s the one who receives your wrath.
“Excuse me,” you finally get out from behind clenched teeth. “Could you tone it down a bit, please?”
Surprise fills the stranger’s big, red-rimmed eyes before it morphs into bashfulness, and you watch mortified as his tears increase in amount.
Oh, shit. Your words were supposed to stop his crying, not make it worse!
“I-I’m… e-extremely so-sorry,” he hiccups, and his voice is soft, if barely audible. His chest won’t stop moving up and down against your arm. “I’ll try to be q-quiet, I s-swear.”
Oh, now you feel like the absolute worst.
This man is having a very similar, if not worse, night as you, and instead of being compassionate or understanding because you’re literally standing in his shoes, or, well, in some similar pair of shoes at the very least, you’re being all bitchy for something he seems to not be able to control, if the way his sobbing has increased is to be of any indication.
You can’t make out much of this guy’s features, only that he’s very tall and broad, and he’s got the biggest and greenest pair of eyes you’ve ever seen. Any other characteristics you may have been able to spot are hidden away beneath an Uravity beanie and a black surgical mask. His figure is mostly hidden by a black coat, and even his hands are covered by a pair of Shouto gloves, right hand red, the other white.
Although his appearance would unnerve you were you to meet this man in, say, an alleyway, he doesn’t seem to be a bad person. There’s just something about his eyes and the way he carries himself in this crowded train carriage, trying to occupy as little space as possible, that speaks louder than his image ever could.
Shame curls in your gut, right next to where your smashed ego and your broken heart have taken residence tonight, and you scramble to try to find the right words to amend your mistake.
“No, wait. Listen,” you quickly backtrack. “I’m so sorry. That was way out of place and just… unfair. I’m having a pretty shitty Valentine’s, too, and I guess hearing you cry just made me want to cry as well, and apparently my way of coping with that is to be a total bitch to a complete stranger… which I know doesn’t justify what I said, so, uh…” Oversharing wasn’t really in the plan when you decided to apologise to him, but the words already left your lips and you still feel as though your apology isn’t exactly proportional to your earlier attitude. “I guess I’m just trying to say I’m really, really sorry for what I said to you,” you finally finish, doing your best to bow in the cramped subway car, which just results in you titling your head and part of your upper body a little bit forward.
His eyes seem even bigger as his brows shot up in bewilderment at your abrupt rant.
Poor guy. You’re probably giving him whiplash.
“Uh…” he mumbles as he searches for words, much like you did seconds prior. “It’s… Y-you weren’t being a…” He pauses again, apparently not very keen on swearing. “What I mean to say is that it’s okay. I’m sure I was being annoying.”
You vehemently shake your head. You had been an asshole, and now it was time to own up to it to the fullest extent possible.
“No, no. Please. I don’t think anyone else took notice of it but me. And that was only because I was trying so hard to find something else to focus on rather than the…” How can you explain you’d rather harass a crying stranger than look at the lovesick couples littering the carriage? “I guess I was just trying to take my mind off the whole Valentine’s thing.”
The train comes to another stop, and this time, the number of people who get out is blessedly far larger than the number of people getting in. As the vehicle starts moving again, there is enough space in the carriage that you and the man don’t need to be standing so close to each other. Still, you’re surprised when instead of bolting to the farthest end of the car from you, he just takes a step back.
He sniffles as he looks at you and processes your words. You’re relieved to see that not only did the tears recede, but they stopped altogether.
“Not… Not having a great Valentine’s either, huh?” He asks, hesitant.
For someone who’s towering over you even as you’re wearing heels, he sure sounds small.
“Yeah, you could say that,” you scoff. “I know it doesn’t look like it, but I’m also feeling sort of down. I guess the anger at having dressed up for nothing is currently overshadowing it, though.”
“You got stood up?” he asks, and there’s no mockery or ill-intent behind his voice, but a moment later his words seem to catch up to him and he startles. “I-if you wanna tell me, that is! If you don’t, that’s totally understandable! I shouldn’t have asked, I’m so sorry!”
You sigh internally. This stranger really seemed to be a sweet guy, which only makes you feel worse about your little outburst from before. He definitely didn’t deserve to be on the receiving end of that.
“Yeah, something like that,” you interrupt him, still not inclined to tell him your whole sob story but deciding you can at least tell him this much since he asked politely. “It’s why I’m such a mess in the first place, but it’s still no excuse for how I treated you earlier.”
He briefly lets go of the overhead rail to flail his hands between the two of you.
“It’s okay, really! I… I get it, actually,” he admits, his voice losing the nervousness it carried before. It is replaced by something that sounds like a mix of melancholy and sadness. “I got stood up, too.”
You’d already figured something along those lines had happened to him, too, because as much as being single during Valentine’s Day sucked, you’d never seen somebody cry about it, much less in public.
So, this guy also had his heart broken tonight, and he wasn’t being a complete asshole about it. You could maybe learn a thing or two from him.
“Man, this is definitely not our day,” you sigh dejectedly, managing to keep most of the bitterness in check. “Does anyone else look like Cupid has a personal vendetta against them, or is it just us?
He chuckles quietly as both of you scan the carriage. It’s mostly couples, and although there are a few people on their own, no one is crying or looking like they’re about to.
“It appears it’s just us,” Green Eyes says, and you can’t quite place the emotion in his voice. It seems to be a mixture of gloom and… amusement? It’s surprisingly upbeat for somebody who’s just been crying, but you’ll take that sudden boost in mood rather than the tears anytime.
The two of you lapse into silence, having run out of self-pitying remarks to make. It’s a short time before the train pulls into another station, and you watch people come and go again. Luckily, some seats open up, and you’re quick to snatch the closest one to you. Your heels are gorgeous, but they are killing your feet.
After only a few seconds of hesitation, the stranger quickly occupies the seat next to yours. At the same time, a new couple sits down in front of you, giggling stupidly and holding hands and being completely annoying and disregardful of the social rules of the metro.
Or maybe that’s just you being an envious bitch.
“This sucks,” you sigh, head rolling back and thumping slightly against the window. Outside, the station and all the people milling around disappear as the train moves again.
“Yeah, definitely not how I thought I was going to spend tonight,” the stranger sympathises.
You go silent and focus on the sway of the car, doing your best to avoid thinking about anything at all.
“If you don’t mind me asking…” The stranger tentatively starts, and you turn your head to look at him in the eyes, a signal to keep going. “What are you going to do now?”
You shrug and try to sound disinterested, as though the whole thing doesn’t bother you at all.
“Order some sushi, watch a movie, pretend my social media doesn’t exist so I don’t have to watch all my friends having fun with their partners… And I suppose I may end up crying a little,” you concede, which is an understatement if you’ve ever heard one.
He hums as your words sink in.
“What about you?”
He mulls the question over for a few seconds.
“Probably something similar, but with a lot more crying involved, as you can already imagine.”
You chuckle dryly, and your attention is drawn to the couple in front of you; the girl is laughing at whatever her partner is saying.
You wish you could be her.
That’s when a thought pops into your head. It could either be the most brilliant idea you’ve ever come up with in your life or the stupidest one so far.
You look the stranger over. There isn’t much you can tell about him that you haven’t yet, although now you notice that a few wild green curls are peeking out from under his beanie, and his eyes have lost some of the redness and haziness from before.
That’s all you can tell about his appearance, but he was nice to talk to, and he didn’t immediately run away after you gave him The AttitudeTM.
All in all, you conclude, he’s a better option than going home to an empty apartment and a lonely night.
“Hey,” you say, the boldness coming from the pitch of your stomach, where all the liquid courage you ingested more than half an hour ago has already started to seep into your bloodstream. “You may think I’m crazy for what I’m gonna say, but… Come have a drink with me. My treat, since I still feel kinda bad for how I spoke to you before.”
His already big eyes widen a bit as he stares at you from under his beanie.
“If this is about that, I swear it’s no problem at all!” he squeaks.
“It’s not really about that, though I still thought I should offer. But this is more about how you and I can either go home alone and cry ourselves to sleep on Valentine’s Day, or we could go out together and try to somewhat salvage this day so it’s not as horrible. It’s okay if you don’t want to,” you would actually completely understand if he rejected you, “but I think it could be fun. And very much needed for both of us.”
He looks at you as your words sink in. He’s probably weighing his options, just like you did moments before. You wonder what he sees. A good companion that could potentially save his night? Or a crazy lady who should go to some anger management classes?
You try not to squirm in your seat.
“Yeah,” he says finally, and you would be lying if you said you weren’t a bit surprised he accepted. “Sounds good. I could really use a drink.”
“You and me both, man.”
You’re completely disoriented when the two of you exit the station; this is not your usual stop and the drinks you’d had beforehand have started to make themselves felt. Luckily, Mr. Green Eyes says he knows of a good place nearby, so you let him lead the way.
The number of lovebirds on the street is still high, but they don’t bother you as much now that your night has been somewhat restored. Or may be, rather. This still has time to turn out awfully.
You feel weirdly excited, though, with the thrill of not knowing how tonight will go and the alcohol in your system making the blood in your veins sing.
As you walk, introductions are made. As soon as he tells you his name, you think it sounds rather familiar, although you can’t pinpoint where exactly you may have heard it before.
“Midoriya Izuku…” You repeat thoughtfully, and although it feels as though the answer is on the tip of your tongue, you can’t figure it out. “Sounds familiar. Are you, like, famous or something?”
“Or something,” he laughs after a moment of stunned silence, and a hand moves up to further secure the beanie in place.
“Neat.”
You introduce yourself and ask that he call you by your given name instead of your last name.
“Are you sure?”
“The situation sort of calls for it, don’t you think? This isn’t exactly your normal outing, so I don’t think the usual rules apply here, either.”
“I guess you’ve got a point,” he concedes with a tilt of his head. “Call me Izuku as well, then.”
You finally arrive at your destination: a Tatami Dining. Damn, this is actually gonna cost you more than you had expected.
Whatever, you think as you mentally say goodbye to the cute sweater you were planning on getting this month, I definitely could use the company.
And the drinks.
Once inside, you’re again surprised when Izuku asks for a private room instead of just a regular table, but one glance at the public seating makes you agree a hundred percent with his reasoning.
Even if your wallet keeps on weeping in your purse.
“Good thinking,” you tell him as the both of you follow the host to your room. “I don’t think being around this many couples will be good for either of our morales.”
“… Right,” he says non-committally.
You’ve got to admit that your room is quite nice, with more than enough space for two people and pretty artwork decorating one of the walls. What’s more, it allows you to finally give your poor feet a break.
You settle into your seats on the floor, and you occupy yourself with shedding your coat and making sure it hangs neatly from the back of your zaisu. Once you’re finished and you turn around, Japan’s current Symbol of Hope is smiling sheepishly at you from the other end of the table.
… the hell?
Your brain is very, very slow to process, maybe because of the fact that you still don’t understand what the hell is happening. You really thought you’d been at least somewhat careful with the amount you drank while you were on your own waiting for Haru, but you’re starting to think you’d actually gone overboard, because if this is not a hallucination, then what the fuck is it?
But then one of your brain cells finally gets moving.
Midoriya Izuku, he’d said when he introduced himself, and you had been sure that you’d heard the name before, you just didn’t know where or in what context.
“Oh,” you mumble stupidly, still in shock. “I think I know why your name sounded familiar.”
Yeah, of course you’d previously heard the name of the saviour of the world. It was kinda hard not to.
Still, how in the world was this happening?
He giggles briefly, and you think it sounds a bit strained. He’s looking at you attentively, as if waiting for you to say something else.
You think it’s sort of mean of him to expect a coherent sentence in the current context.
“Is this, um… okay?” he asks, after the silence and the staring stretch on for too long.
You try to blink yourself out of your stupor when you notice he sounds and looks slightly uncomfortable.
Jesus Christ, a panicked voice squeals inside your head. Do. Not. Make him cry again.
He doesn’t seem to be on the verge of tears at all, just a bit uneasy due to your newfound complete lack of social skills. Nevertheless, the thought of the possibility alone gets your brain moving again, and you laugh, trying to shake the lingering shock and awkwardness off.
“I guess I should be the one asking you that; as you can probably guess, I’ve already got a head start on you.” The fact that you didn’t realise who he was upon hearing his name is a testament to your tipsiness. “Not by much, though. I only had, like, three mojitos before I called it a night.”
“Three?!” he exclaims, his eyes wide with surprise. “You’re remarkably sound for somebody who’s already drank that much.”
“And the night has only just begun,” you state solemnly.
Soon enough, a bottle of sake and some pieces of sushi are in front of the two of you. You’d decided to order something to eat, too, because what better way to treat a heartache than food?
You ask him about his work (because, honestly, how could you not? It’s not everyday you get to chat with the Symbol of Hope,) and he asks you about what you do in return. You tell him about your studies, and he shares some of his most mundane stories, like finding a stray cat on patrol that he ended up adopting, or the time Hawks tried to fly in through his window at the same time he was trying to jump out of it and they both collided painfully in a heap of feathers and green lightning.
Quite rapidly, the drinks and the food on the table decrease, and it’s on your second bottle of sake that you both talk about your own fiascos tonight.
“I didn’t actually get stood up,” you confess, playing with your glass as if it were the most interesting object in the world. “Or rather, I did, but that was also his way of telling me that he was dumping me.”
“What?” Izuku asks incredulously. He’s partially leaning over the table, gripping its edge hard. His cheeks have gained a rosy tint, thanks to the alcohol, and he’s looking at you expectantly. “No way.”
“Yeah, look,” you get your phone out of your purse and pull up his chat, whatever ounce of dignity you had left after Haru being now completely torn to shreds by the alcohol in your system. There, on the screen, Haru’s last message lies innocently.
Izuku reads it with an incredulous look in his eyes.
“What a jerk!” He jumps immediately, and he actually sounds offended on your behalf.
“I know!” you wail, glad he sympathises. “I knew Haru wasn’t very fond of commitment from the beginning; that’s why we’d been dancing around the issue of the nature of our relationship for almost a year,” you tell him, figuring some context is necessary for him to really be able to appreciate what an asshole Haru is. “But when he was the one to ask me out unprompted, I figured he’d solved whatever crappy issues he had before. And even if he hadn’t, dumping me through a text? Come on! Have some balls and at least do it in person. Am I asking for too much?” You ask, half rhetorical, half actually wanting the opinion of somebody from the opposite sex.
“No! Not at all!” Izuku cries out, vehemently shaking his head. When he stops, his hair is a green mess. He leans in closer. “Even if he hadn’t been the one to initiate the relationship, you still deserved an explanation, or at least to meet with him in person before he ended things. It’s just basic respect for others.”
“That’s what I’m saying!” Although Izuku taking your side does make you feel slightly better, it’s also partially upsetting. “Men suck,” you declare after taking a shot. “… No offence, though. You’re actually really nice to spend time with.”
“None taken. And thank you. But anyway, if he could not appreciate what a fantastic and wonderful person you are, then he doesn’t deserve you at all. Believe me, it’s his loss, not yours.”
“Stop it, you’re gonna make me cry,” you tell him, running a hand through your face and hoping you don’t smear any of your make-up. “And I think I actually mean it,” you admit. It has been a very eventful day, and you’re not sure how much else you can take before everything inevitably comes crashing down on you. “So, enough about me. How did you end up here?”
“Well…’’ now he’s the one looking at his glass as if it were something he’d never seen before. “One of my co-workers asked me on a date, and I thought, you know, ‘why not?’. Ochako and Shouto are always getting in my hair about how I should focus less on work and see more people, and the guy looked really sweet, so it seemed like a good idea.” In your mind, you stash away all the little details you want to overanalyse later (like the obvious and expected first name basis with heroes Uravity and, well, Shouto, or the fact that apparently Izuku is into guys), and just nod at him to continue. “When I got there, it didn’t take me long to notice that his ex-girlfriend was coincidentally eating at the same restaurant as us with her date. And it could’ve been a coincidence; I’m not completely discarding that. But, even if he hadn’t actually planned to…” He looks for the right words to say what he wants, but when he comes up empty, he changes his train of thought. “I don’t know, they spent the entire time sneaking glances at each other and being completely unsubtle and it was just obvious he wasn’t even really interested in me to begin with,” he says, his resignation and melancholy lacing his words. “So although I didn’t actually get stood up, it sort of feels like I did, because I left 20 minutes into the evening knowing I wasn’t really even supposed to be there.”
You marvel at the nerve of some people. First, at using somebody as cruelly as that, and second, at wasting a perfect chance to spend one evening with the Number One hero and the Symbol of Hope.
But– no. Maybe that’s where you are at fault, too. It’s not about Izuku’s Hero Ranking or his many titles. It’s about Midoriya Izuku; funny, sweet, caring Midoriya Izuku who did not deserve to be treated like that.
“I don’t know who the guy is, but he must be something short of legally blind if he can’t realise what he missed on. But that’s okay; you’re clearly too good for him, and besides, with a personality like that, he definitely did you a favour by crowning himself as the biggest asshole on Earth. He did me a favour, too, because otherwise I wouldn’t have a drinking partner for tonight. So I suggest a toast!” you declare, lifting your glass in the air. The liquid inside sloshes dangerously, but miraculously, none of the precious sake spills. “To the assholes who brought us together tonight! At least they did us one good.”
He laughs heartily as his glass clinks against yours, and you both finish what little is left in one gulp.
“Now, onto more serious matters.”
Izuku seems to sober up somewhat as he sits straight and looks you directly in the eyes.
“Yes?”
“In a fight between you and Ladybug and Chat Noir… Who would win?”
He takes in your words for a long time.
“We should order another bottle. This is gonna take a while.”
After your sushi and your third bottle of sake run out, you decide to change settings. Izuku walked you through how he would (or wouldn’t) defeat any superhero (real or fictional) you threw his way, and after an hour or so of talking, you’re both thinking you could use something a little more different.
The streets are full of people trying to catch the last trains of the night, an activity that doesn’t seem to concern either of you but is proving getting to your destination quite difficult. However, as you come to find, there are some perks to walking around with Japan’s Number Two hero in tow, and it is that his body is an excellent shield for the onslaught of people going in the opposite direction.
You wander around for a while with no real direction in mind, until you stumble upon a karaoke place. You share one brief glance with emerald green eyes before the two of you make a beeline for it.
“Come on, pick something to drink,” you urge him once you’re inside your room, still sort of upset he didn’t let you pay for his sake at the restaurant. “It’s on the house!” you point to yourself.
“I don’t think I should keep drinking…” he muses, words slightly blurring together and made only more unintelligible by the surgical mask he’s yet to remove.
Yeah, neither should you, but the fact that you are already highly intoxicated only makes your craving for more alcohol increase. You’re on a roll now, and you won’t stop until you get wasted.
“Not even a Negroni Sbagliato?” You innocently ask.
There’s a pause.
“I mean, I guess I could have one more drink.”
“Ha! I knew it!” You exclaim, victorious, and then you both laugh.
“I take it you’ve seen that interview?”
“I don’t think anyone in Japan hasn’t seen it. I heard they had to increase the amount of the specific liquor with which it’s made that was shipped into the country.”
“I bet that’s not true,” he shakes his head.
“Maybe, but are you sure it’s not?”
He doesn’t meet your eyes, and you order the first round of his favourite drink triumphantly.
You spend the next two hours or so screaming your hearts out with every song. At first, you go for the ones that are about cheaters and traitors and getting revenge. It’s cathartic for the both of you, even if it takes Izuku a song or two to really start singing heartily, thinking about the dickhead who did him wrong tonight. You, on the other hand, have no trouble visualizing Haru’s shitty face in your mind as you tear him to shreds with every lyric.
The drinks come and go as the songs go from depicting heartbreak to talking about sillier things. The two of you decide to sing your favourites first, and after a while, when both of you are so drunk that you can’t remember any of your other favourite songs, you opt to sing duets, just to be able to sing together. At that point, your words slur together so much that you don’t really last long before your singing becomes completely unintelligible.
After deciding to call it quits, the two of you lay on the separate couches in the room, trying to get your bearings. You don’t know how much time you spend like that, but your head is spinning too much to try and keep track of time.
“I’m hungry,” you say in the end, when you don’t feel like throwing up and actually feel the hunger clawing at your stomach.
“Me too.”
“Konbini?” You garble, already thinking of onigiris and instant ramen.
“Can’t,” he mumbles, and when you turn your head to look at him, he’s sprawled out on the couch with his eyes closed and one leg falling off. “Too risky to risk the risk of getting exposed like this.”
You hum in acknowledgment, still trying to process the many uses of the word “risk” and its word family in that one sentence.
“We can go to mine,” you finally come up with. “I don’t think we’re that far away and I’m sure there must be a Konbini on the way.
He accepts, and after paying, the two of you drag yourselves down the quiet streets of Tokyo. The number of people out has decreased significantly, which is a blessing because neither you nor Izuku seem to be able to walk in a straight line. You yourself have an excuse: walking when you’re drunk is really hard. Now, walking when you’re drunk and wearing heels? Extremely arduous. As for Izuku, well, you were expecting one of the top heroes in the country to be a little more graceful, even when intoxicated. You’re proven one hundred percent wrong when Izuku walks into a lamp post and you almost piss yourself laughing.
“It’s because I’m wearing these annoying sunglasses,” he excuses himself as he tries to haul himself up.
“You’re not wearing any, though.”
He brings a hand to his face.
“Oh.”
Once you secure the goods (an onigiri for you, a stick of cheese for him, and two instant ramens), you manage to find your way back to your apartment without any more accidents, and although you have to fight a little war with the lock on the main door, you get in without much fanfare.
Your small studio seems even smaller with the huge shape of Japan’s Number One hero politely and drunkenly rocking back and forth on the tips of his feet in the middle of it. The bed is a mess, your table is so tiny it can only fit two people without obstructing the rest of your kitchen, and your little closet is open and showing the array of clothes you threw in there in a haste while you were getting ready and couldn’t decide on what to wear. Izuku, ever the sweet and polite guy even when he’s absolutely wasted, compliments it on its cosiness.
You send him off to sit at the table while you start boiling the water and then disappear briefly in the bathroom to take off your beautiful but uncomfortable clothes. While you’re changing, you lose your balance and only barely avoid falling face first onto your bathroom floor. The commotion is such that Izuku asks if you’re okay from your living room, which you answer with a series of garbled murmurs you hope he takes as a yes.
Somehow, five minutes later, you find yourself completely plastered, dressed in an old set of pajamas, and eating instant ramen with the current Symbol of Hope, who’s also absolutely wrecked, in your itty-bitty apartment while SZA’s Kill Bill plays in the background, the only noise present apart from your collective munching and slurping.
I should kill my ex, not the best idea…
“I should totally kill Haru,” you declare, barely having swallowed the noodles in your mouth.
“I really hope you don’t,” Izuku says, the first he’s spoken in the last few minutes. His eyes are bloodshot red thanks to the alcohol in his system, and his whole figure is slumped forward onto your table, as if he were about to fall asleep. “I’d have to turn you in if you did.”
“What, you wouldn’t make an exception this once?”
He answers so quickly it isn’t even funny: “No.”
“You’re no fun,” you sigh. Although, what did you really expect from Japan’s Number Two?
As you’re staring at the empty ramen cup longingly, a loud thud resonates next to you. When you turn to look, Izuku is fast asleep with his head precariously close to whatever is left of his ramen. You decide to follow in his footsteps now that your stomach is full, although you get up and head toward your bed instead of just setting for the table.
Before that, though, you think to yourself as you watch the mass of fluffy green hair resting on your table, I should at least get him a blanket, right? Hospitality and all that.
Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump!
You wake with a start and immediately wish whoever is banging on your door like they’re trying to take it out of its hinges a very painful and slow death. You ache all over, all the way from your feet up to your head, which is pounding rhythmically to the pattern being knocked upon your door.
You try to pretend none of this is happening so you can go back to sleep and postpone dealing with your pulverizing hangover, but whoever is on the other side of the door seems to be relentless, and you’re not sure how much more of these sounds your head can take before it honest to god just ups and explodes.
You laboriously get out of bed and stumble to the front door, decided on telling whoever is outside to fuck the fuck off. In your hangover haze you fail to take notice of the big figure curled up on your floor right next to the table, and so when you open the door and are greeted by a man and a woman with baseball hats and black sunglasses, you don’t have a clue what they may be there for.
“Yes?” You curtly ask, voice rough like gravel.
God, you need water; you can even feel the dryness in your skin. This need strikingly clashes against the feeling of your stomach rolling around inside of your body, which is making you feel nauseous.
Jesus Christ, how much did you have to drink last night?
Nobody speaks as the strangers look intently at you from under their glasses and you try to remember just what you did last night to wake up like this.
A night out with the girls? Somebody’s birthday? Even so, why the hell did you get so shit-faced drunk that you can’t even remember the beginning of last night?
It occurs to you suddenly that maybe you should be a bit more wary of the two shady strangers standing in your doorway, but there’s something about their suspicious appearance that scratches a part of your brain. A part of your brain that thinks that, right now, remembering the events of last night is more important than figuring out how the fuck they got into your building in the first place.
“We were wondering whether you have seen a friend of ours last night… or this morning,” the girl finally spoke, her tone rather clipped.
Were they some kind of detectives? Jeez, are you going to get arrested? And for what, exactly? What did you even do last night?
“Your friend?” You muse out loud, still trying to piece back together a sequence of last night’s happenings. It’s kinda hard because, you know, your head feels as though it’s about to split in two, and your stomach is moving as though it wants to eject itself out of your body, but you’re pretty sure you didn’t kill anyone… But maybe the same can’t be said about your friends? Rika-chan can get a bit vicious sometimes.
“Yes. Green curls, green eyes…” The man adds, voice deeper than you expected.
Were they hungover, too? How the hell did they expect you to remember somebody just by the colour of their hair and eye–
“Holy shit”, you whisper, most of last night coming back to your mind in another nasty pulse of your temple, and you turn your neck around so fast it actually gives you a cramp. There, somehow managing to squeeze in the space between one of your chairs and the wall despite his considerable size and muscle, lies Midoriya Izuku, curled up and fast asleep.
Holy shit, you repeat internally as you turn around again and finally see right through the short blob of brown hair that is partially covered by a hat and the pair of expensive sunglasses that do not quite manage to conceal the edges of an angry-looking scar.
You blink several times as you stare at heores Uravity and Shouto standing in your doorway, and they stare back.
“So? Have you seen him?” she presses.
“Um…” you dumbly look at Izuku sleeping in your living room before looking back at them. It seems like your brain cells have gone back to sleep. You want to do the same. “I… Uh…”
The more you struggle to come up with an answer, the more the heroes’ brows furrow— or, well, at least you assume Shouto’s do too, since his are hidden away beneath his dual-coloured bangs.
You run a hand down your face and will your brain into action.
“Yeah, I… Why don’t you come in?”
You move out of the door so that they can enter and walk towards Izuku so that he can deal with whatever this is and allow you to rot in bed in peace.
“Izu— Deku— Midor—” The words mix together as soon as they touch your tongue, so you opt to just give him light kicks instead. “Wake up. Your friends are here.”
“Oh my god! What did you give him?!” Uravity asks from behind you, and she sounds awfully worried.
“Huh… Instant ramen?”
You kick him some more until he finally stirs.
As soon as he opens his eyes, you tell him, “Uravity and Shouto are here. I’ll give you guys some privacy,” and then you promptly walk to your bed and throw yourself under the covers. Or rather, the cover, because you’d been using a single blanket to sleep, which wasn’t even supposed to be on the bed to begin with.
Huh?
Whatever, that’s for later. Now, you focus on shamelessly listening to the heroes’ conversation. Uravity is currently giving Izuku an earful about how worried all of his friends had been when he stopped answering their messages and calls after 7 p.m., with Shouto making occasional remarks and backing her up. From that conversation, you learn that it’s currently 12 PM, and that’s the reason why, after so many hours of silence, the heroes decided to track his phone down and find Izuku themselves.
And that’s how they ended up in your apartment.
Izuku quickly tells them about his night, particularly about what happened with his prior Valentine’s date.
“I’m really sorry I stopped answering your texts. I was just feeling really, really down and I knew that if I talked to you guys I would just break down right there and then, and… well, I guess I didn’t want to ruin your night, too.”
“Oh, Deku-kun…” Uravity says, and mercifully for Izuku, the anger lacing her voice has lessened.
“Of course you wouldn’t have ruined our night,” Shouto says, and he sounds equal parts offended and reassuring. “We would’ve been more than glad to hear you out and support you, you know that.”
“Of course I know it, Shouto-kun. I promise. But, well, I just… At the time, it felt as if I were just burdening you, and anyway, I soon found somebody else to talk to.”
Izuku introduces you to his friends, and you try to find your hand a way out of your blanket nest to wave at them.
“So… You decided to confide in a total stranger rather than in us?” Uravity asks, confused. Maybe even a little bit hurt, too.
Shouto doesn’t say anything, and you wish you could take a look at their faces.
“No, no, it’s not like that!” Izuku urgently tries to backtrack. “I mean, it is, but… See, she’d just been dumped when I met her, so her night was already ruined to begin with!”
“Hey!” you cry out from under your blanket, and the wave quickly disappears to give way to your middle finger. His reminder of your own disaster actually stung.
“Sorry. I meant to say that we’d both been feeling downcast, so we decided to try and make the best out of it ourselves, without needing to bother anyone else.”
“… I see,” comes Shouto’s response after a bit.
“So, you just… what? Hang out together?”
“Yeah, basically. We may have drunk a little over the limit, too… That’s why I ended up sleeping here.”
“Okay, here’s what I want to know,” you say, finally peeking out from under your blanket. “Why were you sleeping on the floor?”
“Huh…” Izuku muses while staring at the ceiling and running a hand through his already tousled mass of hair. “I think I woke up in the middle of the night because my lower back hurt from being hunched over… And then I just… I think I kinda decided I’d rather sleep on the floor than leave. So. That’s what I did, apparently.”
“Just how much did you drink last night?” Uravity asks, bewildered, and the sole thought of alcohol makes you groan.
“God, I need some water,” you croak.
Still wrapped in your blanket, you get up and walk past the group of heroes to the kitchen.
“Uh, sorry…” Izuku calls your name while you’re pouring water into a glass. “May I use your bathroom, please?”
“Go ahead.”
“Right. Thanks. Give me five minutes and then we leave, I promise.”
You’re not sure whether he’s talking to you or his friends, but nevertheless, you take a seat by the table and take slow and measured sips of your glass; you can’t afford to throw up, not when the bathroom is currently occupied.
No one in the room says anything as you continue drinking your water and staring at a point in the distance, lost in thought. You try not to think too much about the beginning of last night, because now, hungover and in a room full of some of the most famous people in Japan, is definitely not the time to have a mental breakdown. Instead, you try to piece back together the culmination of the night, which is the most fuzzy part in your brain. It is then that you remember that the blanket you’re currently covered with and that you used to sleep last night was meant for Izuku. You’d gotten it out of the closet, planned on draping it over his sleeping form, and then just… Forgot about it and went to sleep. Hospitality at its peak.
Ugh, talking about hospitality…
You look at the two heroes in your living room and you find that Uravity is already staring at you while Shouto is attentively looking at your apartment.
“Um… I know it’s not everyday you have three Pro Heroes at home, and I’d really like to offer you something, but I’m afraid I’ve got nothing. You can have some water, though,” you add as an afterthought.
“Oh, no, no! It’s alright!” Uravity says, moving her hands up and down and smiling at you.
“Actually, I could use some water,” Shouto pipes in.
“Help yourself,” you nod your head towards your refrigerator.
You’re not sure if this actually qualifies as hospitality, but you’re too busy trying not to fall apart to try and do anything else. Shouto, however, seemingly sees no issue with your words and heads towards where you indicated. Once he’s got his glass of water, he looks thoughtfully at your refrigerator.
“These are really nice pictures,” he finally says, pointing to—
Ah, of course he’s pointing at the photo booth pictures Haru and you had taken two weeks prior.
“Todoroki-kun!” Uravity hisses under her breath, which makes Shouto look at her, then back at the pictures, then at you with understanding in his eyes.
No one utters a word as the two Pros cautiously look at you, and after staring at the pictures for a while, you let your head thump against your arms loudly.
“God, I’m gonna kill myself,” you deadpan, trying to keep your emotions at bay for just a little bit longer.
The collective discomfort is made obvious by the way the silence reigns in the room, until, after a while, sounding completely serious, Shouto asks, “Do you want me to burn them for you?”
“… What?”
“The pictures. Do you want me to burn them for you? With my Quirk, I mean.”
“Oh, are you sure that’s actually necessary?” Uravity inquires, giggling uneasily.
“… Yes, please.”
Shouto nods and grabs the pictures off of the heart magnet that was pinning them to your refrigerator. A small fire starts in the palm of his hand and slowly starts to make its way up the photo booth strip, and the three of you watch the situation unfold attentively, all with varying degrees of emotions: Uravity looks a bit uncomfortable, Shouto just stares at them blankly, and you’ve got a vindictive look in your eyes as you bathe in this unexpected form of catharsis.
“Thank you,” you say, when only ashes are left.
“Okay, guys, I’m done— why does it smell like something’s burning?”
“So, you’re ready to go?” Uravity asks Izuku, bringing the palms of her hands together, while the latter is still looking around, trying to pinpoint where the smell is coming from. She probably wants to get out of this bizarre situation as soon as possible, and you’re actually eager for them to leave, too. They may be some of Japan’s top Pro Heroes, but you need some solitude and you need it as soon as possible.
You get up to see them out of your apartment, and once you’re at the door, you look at Izuku.
“You know how to open the main door, right?”
It doesn’t require a key if you do it from the inside, but it can still be tricky due to the damaged lock, so you decide to ask to be sure.
“Uh…” he looks at you, puzzled. “Why would I know how to open it?”
“Because you opened it last night, didn’t you?”
“… I don’t really remember doing that.”
“… I don’t remember doing it either.”
The both of you just stare at each other with looks of confusion on your faces before you turn to the other people in the room.
“How did you get in?” You ask them.
“A neighbour let us in,” Shouto tells you.
You sigh.
“Okay, come on.”
You grab your keys and discard the blanket before leading the way down, three Pro Heroes in tow.
Jesus Christ, how had the two of you even managed to survive the flight of stairs up to your apartment last night?
You fight with the door for only a little bit and then finally the heroes are exiting your building, Izuku hanging back a bit. You stare at each other for a second, both way too hungover for this.
“Thanks for keeping me company last night,” he’s the one to speak first. “I’m pretty sure I had a great time, from what I can remember.”
“Yeah, me too. It was nice meeting you. I guess I’ll see you around when you’re out saving all of Japan and stuff.”
He chuckles.
“Yeah, I guess…”
It feels like a very underwhelming ending considering how the previous night had gone, but you honestly don’t really have the mental energy to think of anything else to say to him. Besides, the sun is only making your headache worse, which doesn’t help either.
He doesn’t say anything else, but he doesn’t catch up with his friends, either.
“So… Uh… Bye?” You finally prompt him.
“Yeah, yeah,” he blinks himself out of his stupor. “Bye.”
By the way the corners of his eyes crinkle, you assume he’s smiling at you from under his mask. You try to do the same before turning around to enter your building.
“Wait!”
You turn around just in time to catch your door before it slams closed.
“Could I have your phone number?”
You blink at him several times, trying to process. One, because the Number Two Pro in Japan is asking for your number, and two, because, what the hell is your number? You can barely remember it at the moment.
“It’s okay if you don’t want to give it to me!” He quickly tells you, sounding mildly panicked. “Also, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way; I just thought being around you was really fun and nice even in spite of the circumstances, and, well… I figured we’d be of great company to one another in the near future, considering that our love lives definitely suck and we’ll probably spend a lot of time eating ice cream and watching crappy love films, you know? Which we can do on our own perfectly, of course! But, well, maybe it’d be a bit better if—”
“Oh, I’m totally in,” you interrupt him. “I’m definitely gonna need it. And… I really enjoyed last night, too, even if I had to get dumped for it to happen.”
You both chuckle slightly, and you give him your number plus your Twitter, as you’re not really sure if the number you're giving him is the correct one.
“All done,” he says, tapping the save button on his contacts.
“Great.”
“Okay, I gotta go now, but talk to you later?”
“Sure,” you smile at him and wave him off as he goes to meet his friends.
The door closes heavily behind you and you sluggishly start the trek back up to your apartment. Now that you’re alone, you can finally unleash your tears and text your friends so all of you can plan Haru’s demise together.
And maybe you’d get a text from Izuku, too.