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Izuku’s summer vacation is going great, more than great actually. It’s going so poorly that he can almost ignore the fact his mom left him to man her stall in 90F degree weather. It’s not even his biggest concern, with its corresponding platoon of crocheted creatures from various media he consumed as a kid, got obsessed with, and subsequently subjected his poor mother to help him find videos on the internet, read out lore theories and play heroes with.
He can’t help but admire all the small intricate details of the various Pokemon: Tangela, Charmander, and Pikachu. Some stuff from passing hyper fixations (he’s glad that their market is small enough that he isn’t worried about any copyright takedowns), and most evidently an overwhelming army of superheroes.
Or specifically one: All Might.
It’s evident that he really should not have gotten his mom to help him rewatch one of the darker runs of All Might in the early 2000s.
But feeling guilty that he managed to imprint every single spandex suit into his mom’s mind with glaring accuracy isn’t on his to-worry list just yet. The top spot is currently occupied by the stall owner of booth B24, on his diagonal displaced by 2 other booths.
Just the right amount of distance to drive him beyond insane. At least his booth is downwind.
It’s far enough that if he isn’t paying attention, he can ignore the striking blonde hair growing on top of a larger-than-life personality and well, probably the best-looking face Izuku has ever seen in his life.
He’s lying. He wouldn’t be able to ignore the sun if he tried so he certainly can’t ignore the ticking time bomb he’s thinking about.
—
His sanity is kept together by 2 things: a logical need to have enough executive functions to sell the remainder of these plushies so his mom will have a visible living room again; and paying Uraraka a portion of the revenue for all the items she helps sell. She brought with her the added benefit of having her around to make up for any missing brain functions.
So he decides to make use of paid professional help.
“Uraraka.” She glances up from where she’s poking at the rounded silver age All Might plushie on the edge of the table, close to teetering off. “I have a serious question for you.”
That grabs her full attention and she stands up straight to look him in his eyes. “Absolutely, ask ahead.”
Izuku held her eye contact for another moment to try and convey the seriousness of the matter before taking a deep breath and leaning closer over the retractable plastic table littered with unsold goods, “Do I smell?” He even bares his neck to waft over the potential offending scent in her direction.
In the following seconds, Izuku doesn’t get an answer so he tries to offer more evidence by waving his hands in an attempt to stir up any scents he has. “Please, you’re one of the few people I trust to give me a truthful answer, do I smell bad?!”
Uraraka’s cheeks are red, but they’re usually red. She looks surprised, maybe she’s never noticed. “Umm sure, I can answer that in a second, but why are you asking me this?”
Izuku rests his elbows on the table and puts his head between them in an attempt to cover up any residual shame. “You know the blonde guy running the stand over there with all the soap?”
She looks in the corresponding location of said blonde guy. “The really loud one?”
Unfortunately, “Yeah.”
—
Most of his mental headspace is occupied by one blonde and for once in his life it’s not All Might.
Kacchan. It’s what he only assumes his name is based on his name tag, but nobody seems to call him that or anything resembling a name (probably out of fear because it’s so cute). Izuku isn’t about to be the weirdo at the counter thanking cashiers by using the first names on their nametag.
His main thoughts are consistent: he's really good-looking at first glance then immediately evaporating like the puddles by the roadside into raindrops of pure adrenaline in his bloodstream.
He pokes at one of the All Might dolls on display. What would someone cool do in this case? Perhaps strike up a conversation even with him even with the knowledge that it could end horrendously.
It’s been 2 days since the Stink-incident, as he dubbed it in his mind, and Izuku has probably lost his mind.
It was sweltering (as always). It was a weekday (not a busy time so Uraraka didn’t come to maximize their profits).
Izuku’s facing the more popular iterations of All Might at the front of his display to hopefully draw in strays and then convert them to see the beauty of his 90s versions as well, when Kacchan approaches him. Or rather, he stalks up to him.
“Is that the 2013 reboot? It's the worst one.” He’s close enough that Izuku can read his nametag and accurate enough in his assessment that Izuku feels indignant. The 2013 reboot wasn’t that bad, it actually introduced some of his favorite concepts with David Shield, though the plot and characterization left much to be desired.
And he reiterates it as such. “---It’s still one of his most popular shows, it had the highest average viewership in the last 15 years, and it's well known even among casuals for its new depth into his roots.”
“If you’re looking for something with marketability–you should go with his early bronze age stuff. It’s iconic and still relevant, nerds eat that shit up.” Kacchan points with his free hand to the iconic red and blue All Mights on the side.
“Unfortunately, nerds aren’t coming to farmers markets to appreciate organic butternut squash,” Izuku shoots back.
“Really? I’m looking at one right now.”
Izuku really is one, but something in him wants to prove this irritable stranger wrong.”Oh really? I think there are at least two based on your knowledge of his suit designs. How else would you be able to tell the difference between Silver and Bronze?”
“Wow specific, you really are a fucking nerd.” Izuku opens his mouth for a retort but gets cut off. “Actually shut up for a second, I didn’t come here to listen to your design thesis. I wanted to um, to um.”
At that, Kacchan breaks his aggressive eye contact and Izuku can see his eyes scanning the shelves looking for something, perhaps more ammunition. Finally, he settles on the smaller felt items in the back. Kacchan gestures at the small array of green-brown scrubs. “What are these things?”
“Those are Dekus, they’re from Zelda.” Izuku gestures at the Link plushie next to them.
Kacchan squints at them. “They kinda look like you.”
“Hmmm!”
He gets ignored as Kacchan continues to blaze their conversation. “Anyways, so you like blondes, huh?”
Izuku can feel his cheeks reddening not just from the probable sunburn, but also he can see that this is Kacchan’s attempt at a conversation change but to what? He gets get off again before he can speak, “Wait, fuck. I–, just here.”
The mysterious gift basket under his arm gets shoved into his face and he can see a lot of packaged products. Instinct makes him reach out to block any potential danger from his face, so he’s left awkwardly cradling the basket at eye level.
“These are for you. I thought you could fucking use them or something.” His tone of voice is strained, but that’s the last thing on Izuku’s mind. Does he look like he needs them? He barely catches the corresponding explanation of items, something something lavender bath bombs, soap, and cleaner? Cleanser? What’s he cleansing, his mind?
“I noticed,” Kacchan gestures vaguely in Izuku’s general direction, “this, I just came over here to make sure you didn’t have bad taste.”
Then he whips himself away back to his own booth before Izuku can ask him to elaborate.
—
“—that’s the one. He said I smelled.” Izuku points towards the rather elegant stand a far cry from its operator before burying his head into his hands. “Like my spatial or smell awareness isn’t that bad right?”
Uraraka puffs out her cheeks in righteous anger. “Why would he say that!? That's a terrible thing to say to someone.”
“Well, he didn’t say it exactly like that, he sorta stuck a bunch of soap products at me and told me I should use them.” Izuku lets out a groan at the memory and goes back to looking at his hands, hoping Uraraka won’t catch how red he’s turning. “But like I smelled him, and he smells really good, like inhumanely good. I didn’t take the soap, but I should have, right? If he smells good, that means he knows what he’s doing right?”
“You smelled him?”
“He was really close to me; it was just instinct.”
Uraraka levels him with some eye contact and examines the oddly pastel boxes now with them. “These look really expensive, and I wouldn’t have taken him to be the type to make green tea, pear blossom, vanilla, jasmine hand cream.”
“That’s what I was thinking. Do you think he’s trying to threaten me? or imply something? Like I need this smell or something?”
“Izuku, you might be looking at this from the wrong angle. If I thought you smelled, I wouldn’t be giving you fragrances that probably cost an arm and a leg.”
“Oh ,do you think this is like one of those tourist scams then?”
Uraraka seems to consider it for a moment before deciding to not grace that with a response. ““Right — oh, wait! Over there, I think that’s a lost child over there.”
“Oh, should we help him find his parents?” He gets a smack in the arm for his generosity.
“No, go show him the wonders of retail therapy and merch. Then find his parents so they feel emotionally responsible to help our small business.”
“This is a terrible way to run a business.”
“But effective, aren’t you glad you didn’t ask Iida for help instead? Now go get’em”
Izuku notes that she never really answered his question when he’s showing off a few of his mom’s fluffier yet pointy creations to a potential customer.
—
So Izuku’s summer was going pretty well in all honesty, except for his newfound awareness that he may stink. That may have left him with some crippling additions to his already socially awkward personality.
It didn’t help that he was outside in the summer heat for 6 to 8 hours a day, just marinating in his stink. He wasn’t aware of it, but that’s because you can’t smell yourself, you get used to it and all. At least according to his research. So he has been using the donated gifts and praying he smells better.
There's some part of him that says he might come off as a little too desperate but a larger part craves some sort of approval from it.
—
“You know it might not be personal, he seems to do that to everyone,” Uraraka says, observing Kacchan at work.
They both watch his usual selling scheme which consists of staring at passersby very loudly (Izuku doesn’t know how someone can stare loudly, but they always know they’re being watched) and loudly exclaiming that they need a bath, should wear deodorant, or just straight up flags them to come over because they need some soap.
It works surprisingly well. Izuku has lost count of the number of customers who have bought something, whether out of fear, anger, or that one time it’s in respect of manliness. His favorite so far was a grandma Kacchan accidentally called over who wouldn’t stop talking to him and tried giving him candy.
He’s a good salesman, but Uraraka doesn’t share his sentiments. “Either way, the only way he’s getting away with this without getting the police called on him for street harassment is because he’s conventionally attractive.”
She has a point.
“He didn’t ask me for money. Am I a charity case that he’s pitying? Am I just that pitiful?”
“Well, I don't think you smell, or at least I don’t notice it, if that’s what you’re asking,” Uraraka reassures him.
—
Luckily, he doesn’t need to make the first move because the first move comes to him with another armful of human cleaning products while Uraraka’s on break.
In a similar manner as before, he stomps up to his stall and deposits them onto the table.
On the one hand, Izuku thinks this might be a gesture of business partners or undue kindness, but a larger part of him is screaming. “Thank you so much, Kacchan, but I can't accept this.”
“Just take it.” He seems a bit red. It might be embarrassment from having to try this tactic again. At least there is no adverse response to the use of his name.
Izuku’s at a loss. “I don't think this is a good business model. Just giving out your products like this?”
“No shit. I’m trying to lose profits here.”
That sends him for a bit of a loop. “Why?”
Kacchan looks like a mix of anguished and defeated cat. “My parents' idea. They run this boutique design thing and decided that expanding into a knock-off bath and body works would be a great fucking idea. Those geriatric seniors forced me here. I thought if I did bad enough they'd tell me to scram. But all these asses around here keep buying products.”
Izuku cringes at the cursing, but the attitude makes sense at least. The fact that they’re in similar situations is a little heart-touching. “I mean these specifically aren't for that goal,” Kacchan dumps the cleaning supplies onto Izuku’s table, “but whatever. So are you gonna help me out or what?” He seems a bit more pissed off than before and Izuku wants to undo that.
“N-no problem at all, thanks for the freebies, I’ll use them, and I’ll help you with your inventory shrinkage.” Izuku tries to decode if that helps the conversation but he gets no response. “I didn’t expect it, you’re a really nice person. I mean you could have just left your parents' stall at any time but you did a really good job. You’re pretty amazing actually.”
“What do you mean! I’m always nice! 110% of the time, especially to my customers.”
It’s nice to actually be able to tease him for a change in pace.
Izuku takes a look at the new supplies on his table, shea butter something, a mask for hair? A hair cream, gel? He can’t help but ask, “What’s a hair mask? What’s that for?”
Kacchan stares at him for that. “It’s for the rat’s nest you call a hairdo.”
“My mom cuts it,” Izuku says defensively.
“Yeah, I can tell.” Kacchan freezes. “No, like it’s like for your curls, you put it in your hair and it helps moisturize and rejuvenate hair and reduce split ends. Raccoon eyes suggested it.”
“That sounds amazing! I didn’t know that was a thing. How does it happen? Does it hurt?”
Kacchan levels him another stare for that and says evenly, “It’s vegan, cruelty-free, and ethically sourced?” He doesn’t get a response back and the test is over it seems.
“Do you even own a diffuser? No, do you know what a diffuser is?” He gets another blank. “Why am I asking you that, you clearly don’t.”
Izuku offers a weak defense. “I’m not the best at this stuff. Do you have a favorite product? Maybe I can start from there. I mean you smell really good. Do you wear perfume? Is it caramel or,” he glances at the bottles in front of him, “Cocoa? Shea butter?”
“No, I don't use any of them.” Okay fuck, he’s definitely a freak now who smells other people. “If you need help, I can help you out when you use them, for efficiency and learning, if you needed help, which you desperately do.” Oh yeah, Izuku smells, he needs help. But before he can formulate any kind of response, Kacchan already up and going back to his booth.
Uraraka has great timing for coming back from breaks. “Wow, if that was his sales pitch, I’m glad he sticks to insulting his customers.”
“I don’t think he was trying to sell me anything?”
Silence. “Are you sure, I thought for sure I was hearing some sort of potential activity happening in the future that you would benefit from.” Did she mean bathing? He’s pretty sure that’s a solo type of thing.
First, he didn’t understand that conversation, and secondly, still doesn't know his name. And third, he at least thinks they might be on a first name basis now but Izuku doesn’t wear a nametag, or Uraraka, so half-name basis. He really is using their products wrong.
—
Uraraka starts their conversation with a boom this time, “You know, he asked me if I was your girlfriend the other day, when you were in the car.”
“Oohoh what—I mean, what’d you say?”
“What do you mean, what did I say? As if I would date anybody with such a bad hairstyle. I said no.”
Izuku feels relieved at the blunt confirmation of his very not in a romantic status currently. “Yeah, that makes sense, I’m just a bit distracted right now.”
“Okay, with what?” Uraraka asks like she already knows the answer
“Do you know what a diffuser is?”
Uraraka takes the curveball of the conversation with ease and thinks for a second, “Yeah, my friend Mina uses one I think.”
Izuku tries to look as humble as he can, “...Do you think I could…”
He gets rejected. “No, absolutely not, hers is like 700 dollars. I have a regular hairdryer and a pasta strainer, do you think that’d work?”
—
Izuku’s really not feeling the heat when he has to pick up more bottled water from the stash they have in the car to avoid the upcharge of water in the summer. He’s glad it’s the last day he has to stay out in this weather and glad his mom can see the living room floor again. He and Uraraka have made okay profit margins this summer. But he’s definitely stressed when he sees Kacchan at the stall talking to Uraraka.
He decides to hang back a few steps away from the booth, close enough to hear but also far enough he can say he was just walking over. He’s also not proud that he decides to eavesdrop instead of something respectable, especially when he can trust Uraraka in giving him a full summary of events later. He just really wants to learn if he’s an outlier in conversational habits.
“She said the crepes here were good, but I didn’t get a chance yet.” Kacchan looks a lot less intimidating when he’s talking to someone else and calmly.
“Oh I just talked to her the other day, I told her I substituted a diffuser for a pasta strainer.”
Uraraka uses her hands to motion the movement, “She wasn’t impressed,she’s probably wondering why everyone’s asking her about hair care now.”
“Mina? She’s probably glad that the general public is more concerned about proper hair care now then anything. By the way have you seen,” Katsuki takes a pause, “that um Deku looking guy? He’s usually here at this time. I need to tell him something.”
Uraraka thinks for a moment and stares at the sad remaining figurine on the table, squints at it, and comes to the same conclusion. Izuku takes it as his cue to walk up.
“Hi Ochaco! Hi, uhh–again too, what are you guys talking about.” Smooth.
“Welcome back! Me and Katsuki were actually just talking about you, you know Mina right? We both actually know her,” Uraraka exclaims excitedly, no doubt happy that she won’t have to hear an agonizing recalling of this specific conversation he’s having with Katsuki.
First thought, “Wow, that’s amazing! And wait what, Katsuki?”
Katsuki crosses his arms under his nametag. “Yeah?”
Izuku feels a bit stupid that that’s how he’s learning Katsuki’s name. “Wow, it’s great to know your name now. I just realized I didn’t know it before.” That’s a lie; he’s been agonizing over it. “I’ve just been referring to you as Kacchan this whole time. I didn’t realize it wasn’t your real name.” Which was the truth.
“It’s my stupid parent’s fault. They did this to my nametag because they thought it’d make me more approachable or something, which definitely didn’t.” He looks pretty upset at that, which is surprising considering his track record. “This whole stall thing was their idea, something about branding for their business. It’s stupid, but I also don’t think I got your name so it’s all fair game in the end.”
“Oh it’s Izuku.”
“Okay, Izuku then.” Katsuki sounds pretty happy at such a dull piece of information.
“Then I guess I’ll call you Katsuki now that I know it.”
“It’s fine to stick to the other one; most people already call me Katsuki.”
“Because it’s your name?”
“No, because you aren’t like other people—annoying assholes.”
“Ohh, thank you then. You really aren’t like other people either,”
Katsuki looks pleased at that. “Your hair has really improved too.”
Izuku’s beyond relieved at that. “Oh god, thank you. I thought I must have smelled so bad in the beginning that you had to give me all that soap. It must have been really embarrassing, but I’m glad you let me know. I can’t imagine just taking the metro again the same way. I probably would look like a monster.”
Katsuki doesn’t look pleased anymore. In fact he looks like he’s probably smelling whatever Izuku smelled like before they met, “Is that what you thought? No. Fucking oh holy shit, no, that’s not what I thought or smelled.”
“OhhhHh?”
“I mean you smelled okay, fine! You smelled fine. You looked good, or normal or whatever, fuck, the soap was just an excuse and that’s all.”
Izuku can finally let out any tension in his lungs about him smelling but confusion replaces it. “Thanks, that’s good to hear–”
“---That’s settled it was a misunderstanding, good luck for the last day, I heard them say something about closing later today or something so be warned, not that I’m gonna stay for the assholes, but be careful.” Katsuki throws before stomping back to his booth.
“What was that?” He says to no one out loud. Luckily, someone is there.
Uraraka responds, “Thanks for the telenova. I never could watch one because we couldn’t afford cable.” Oh god, he forgot she was there for the conversation. He truly might be lacking in spatial awareness despite whatever positive reinforcement he just got. “That was a conversation, he said he wanted to tell you something, but I don’t think that was it.”
He almost forgot about that part. “What do you think he wanted to tell me? I guess it wasn’t that I really did smell.”
“Are you still hung up on that?!” Uraraka thankfully doesn’t throw any of the new freebies that Katsuki dropped off. “Actually, I’ll help you out, because we exceeded my expectations for sales. Do you like him?”
“No comment, I don—I don’t want to answer that.”
“Oh god, you like him. No, don’t start hiding, that’s good! Okay you like him, it’s settled.” Uraraka says it like that somehow solves everything. “Go and ask him out right now while emotions haven’t settled.”
“Out on what?”
“To the moon. A date, Izuku. Or probably anything at this point, he seems desperate. ”
“What??”
“Do you like him?!”
“Yes!!! All this yelling seems unnecessary!” Izuku’s still yelling, though. It’s nice to finally have his emotions out in the open for once.
“Then go ask him right now, I’ll cover the booth myself, I’ll have these as compensation.” Uraraka taps the newest human cleaning supplies. “If I’m right, you’ll definitely be able to get more of this stuff. Now go!” She literally pushes him out.
Izuku’s left with no choice but to grab the closest box of whatever Katsuki gave them and goes to his booth. On second thought, he grabs one of the remaining All Might marketable plushes as a shield and then goes to Katsuki’s booth.
He hasn’t been able to think of anything close to a pick-up line so he stumbles into the thing that’s been bothering him all summer.
Katsuki has his back turned to the front, packing the rest of his supplies into containers but turns when he approaches and is met with a fancy box of no doubt really nice cleaning agents thrust in front of his face and a request. “Hi Kacchan, I don’t think I know how to use this, could you help me out when you have time? You can have this as a thank you.” The All Might gets shoved into his face too.
Then Izuku’s left with nothing to shield him from any potential rejection.
He’s met with a rough laugh, a bit unhinged, but definitely organic. “Handsoap? You need help with hand soap?! You really aren’t helping with stereotypes against nerds. But Bronze Age, I guess fine I can help you out there. When do you have time?”
“How about right now? Wait, I need to pick up some oranges for my mom.”
“No. The oranges from here are overpriced as fuck even for a farmers market. You would be better off going to an actual store.”
“Oh,” Izuku wracks his brain for literally anything else to do, “How about a crepe? I heard those were good here?”
“That sounds perfect actually.”