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Of all days, they chose the hottest day to do an outdoor photoshoot on purpose.
It could be for the lighting, Izuku reasoned with himself, as he struggled to handle gallons of golden sunlight pouring down his head. Natural lighting is the best, next to atmospheric outdoor, youthful nostalgia, and, err, three handsome boys in yukata.
The fans of U-Might, Japan’s beloved idol duo-turned-trio , eat that kind of thing up. The Summer Greeting package is always one of the most anticipated fan releases of the year, complete with behind-the-scenes DVDs, polaroids, themed merchandise, and an exclusive mini photobook. There is a lot of hard work, creativity, plus… occasional real blood, sweat, and tears put into it.
As one-third of the group, and also the newest addition, Izuku had to prove he was up for the job. That he’s a consummate professional. Cheerfully accommodating. He would smile brightly under the naked sun, raise his chin to an appropriate angle, and pretend he was having the time of his life even when the sun was actively trying to boil him alive.
The heat somehow had thickened into some sort of syrup when Izuku stepped out of his solo shoot. Sweat sticked to the back of Izuku’s neck, gluing the ends of his hair to his skin. Before him, the sunlight pooled in every crook and cranny of the road, liquid and heavy, turning the pavement into a shimmering mirage.
Wanting to take a breather, he let his feet take him down the road, with no specific location in mind.
His yukata, freshly steamed and light-colored, clung in all the wrong places. The cicadas’ song filled the silent air, warning everyone that they, too, were on the brink of spontaneous combustion.
He tilted his head up toward the sky, squinting against the white-hot light.
Too blue. Too clear. So bright it made his eyes ache. It was the kind of summer sky that hurt to look at, like a blurry photo he couldn’t quite make sense of.
And for a moment, he didn’t feel like he was here — not present Izuku, idol Izuku, performing Izuku. Just a boy again, ten years old, hiding behind a tree with his breath held in his tiny lungs. Waiting for a blonde to find him. Listen to his boisterous laughter rang through the air. The boy always found him. Always in the blink of an eye..
Back then, summer had felt endless.
“Oi, princess,”
A voice cut through. Sharp. Loud. Familiar.
Izuku’s heart skipped a beat. Blinked, and suddenly the sun himself entered his vision, looking angry as expected.
Bakugo Katsuki.
His group mate and childhood friend, Kacchan , stood in front of him, perfect and pristine in his black and orange striped yukata. Of course, the heat didn’t bother him one bit; a thin layer of sweat only highlighted the smoothness of his skin and gave it an extra glow. He had his sleeves artfully rolled up by the staff, showing off his annoyingly toned arms.
And his hair, golden spikes that are softer than they look, the tip flutters whenever a breeze passes by. Like dandelions.
Izuku made a face. Summer sure has her favorite.
“Hey, Kacchan,” His little attitude didn’t escape Kacchan’s crimson eyes. Clicking his tongue, he stepped forward and brushed Izuku’s sweaty bangs off his forehead. His palm was cool, even in this sweltering heat. Probably from hoarding all the portable fans and iced sodas earlier when Izuku was stuck in solo shots.
Izuku nearly flinched at the touch but didn’t.
“Stop pacing out and move your ass. Halfie is done. They’re moving to the group shoot.”
“I’m not pacing out,” Izuku protested weakly, trying his hardest not to lean into the coolness of Kacchan’s palm. “I'm…taking in the scenery. Songs come from moments like this, you know.”
Kacchan stared at him like he’d grown another head.
“Only dumbass would risk a heatstroke for a mere song”
“That’s not very supportive.”
“Our schedule doesn’t have time for your poetic fluff. C’mere . ” He grabbed Izuku’s sleeve and tugged. Izuku stumbled forward, cheeks flushing more from the unexpected tug than the heat.
It wasn’t that Kacchan touched him often, at least out of his will. His fans love their dynamic, love how volatile and loud Kacchan is next to his sweet, smiley self, and Shoto’s natural airheadness. So the agency told them to lean into it. Give them a little service, would ya? Give the bond a “forbidden fruit” touch .
Kacchan, ever the professional, accomplished the task flawlessly at the expense of Izuku’s well-being.
It was mortifying to admit how often Izuku watched those fan videos. For research, obviously, he needs to check what his best angles are to improve his performance. A well-timed grab here. A hand on Izuku’s waist while mic-checking. A head pat that went viral for four straight days. That one time during a prime time interview, Kacchan pulled him close by the nape, nose to nose, their mics tangling, voice-over saying, “We grew up together, didn’t we?” and Izuku’s world was drowned in a collective high-pitched scream.
It’s like a well-oiled choreography that Izuku hasn’t gotten the hang of. Calculated. Safe. Kinda addicting. Only existed when the camera was around.
Off-camera, Kacchan kept his distance. Always a bit on edge, always a bit too cold and snappish. A big red warning sign that screams “NO IZUKU ALLOWED”.
Not that Izuku blamed him, they didn’t have a great send-off. Kacchan passed the audition, and he didn’t, a fact his friend didn’t take well. Kacchan’s accusing "You're holding yourself back" had curdled into a furious "You never wanted it enough," echoed next to his ear like a phantom, and the door slammed between them for good.
So Izuku is nothing but accommodating. The expanding hole in his chest, though, maybe if he ignored it well enough, it wouldn't ache that much.
Still, sometimes Izuku can’t help but compare to the past.
Back then, Kacchan touched him because he wanted to . He would grab Izuku’s wrist and drag him, and pull him anywhere he wanted. He was always loud, messy, and blinding. Like the sun, Izuku can’t help but chase after till he’s short of breath.
His gaze trailed down to where they were connected. Funny how a simple tug on the sleeve can still make Izuku’s heart leap against the back of his ribs like it still hadn’t grown up.
He bit down on a smile and followed quietly as Kacchan led him back toward the traditional Japanese house they rented for today’s shoot. He hadn’t realized he’d wandered so far. The heat truly messed with his head.
The staff were too busy doing the final check before calling everyone to their position. Izuku spotted their final member, Shoto, idling on the decorated egawa. It was a pretty sight, straight out of a vintage postcard. His sharp profile backlit by the glow of sunlight diffused through sudare blinds, fingers delicately balancing a cold glass of barley tea. His two-toned hair, swept back slightly with sweat, caught the light like lacquered silver and rosewood. Calm, unreadable, and perfectly poised.
Sensing their arrival, Shoto looked up, catching Izuku off guard. A small smile graced his doll-like face as he raised his hand and waved at Izuku. Izuku smiled back, intending to return the greeting–
Thud.
A cold slap of plastic smacked against his right cheek.
Izuku yelped, startled, looking down at the condensation-slick bottle of mineral water now fallen on his hands. Kacchan had let go of his sleeve, his arms crossed unhappily as he pinned Izuku down with his unhappy scowl.
It’s kind of adorable.
“What?” Izuku tilted his head to the side, watching Kacchan cross and uncross his arms, as if he were thinking of wringing Izuku’s neck. His forearms glistened from mist or sweat, or maybe both. Izuku’s tongue brushed the roof of his mouth, the sudden dryness clinging uncomfortably as thirst burned in the back of his throat.
“What?” He asked again.
“Nothing,” Kacchan grunts, glaring at a spot behind him. “Try not to die of thirst. You’re steaming like a boiled tomato.”
“I’m not a boiled tomato,” Izuku muttered, clutching the water bottle like it could anchor him to that strange fluttering sensation. Feeling miffed, he pressed the bottle to his cheek before taking a sip. The condensation shocked his overheated skin and made him flinch, but the cool water tasted like heaven.
He let out a satisfied moan. His lips wobbled, forming a tiny smile pressing against the rim of the bottle. Okay, that feels good. The haze is gone.
Kacchan looked away, his jaw twitching. The heat finally got him, because his ear were flushed red. His hand reached out toward Izuku’s head again, then dropped midway.
“Feel better now, nerd?”
“Yeah,” Izuku answered, almost too softly.
They stood there for a beat too long. Just close enough that Izuku could smell the burned caramel edge from Kacchan under the heat, feel the static in the air between them. Like if he moved, even slightly, it would break something too fragile to name.
Kacchan’s eyes flicked over to him briefly—an unreadable expression flashing across his face, gone before Izuku could decode it.
“Dynamight, Deku—group shot in five!” someone called out to them
And just like that, the air snapped. The stillness was gone.
Izuku blinked, the moment slipping through his fingers before he had a chance to understand it.
He let out a breath that turned into a sigh. “Back to work.”
Kacchan scoffed, already turning on his heel. “Try not to trip on your yukata, boiled Deku.”
***
The veranda creaked softly beneath their feet — old, sun-warmed wood hugging the edge of the traditional house like a lazy cat. The set was picture-perfect: the carved sliding doors open to reveal a softly lit tatami room behind them, wind chimes tinkling overhead, a shallow garden pond shimmering under the afternoon sun. It was idyllic. Too idyllic. Perfectly curated.
The three members of U-Might were seated shoulder to shoulder, legs folded or dangling from the veranda. They were offered a bunch of snacks as props, pretending to be young, carefree men enjoying a sweet treat in this tranquil, sun-soaked space. A nostalgia-fueled fever dream from an era that never existed, basically..
Izuku sat in the middle, awkwardly trying not to stick to the wood while holding a glossy, ridiculously red candy apple he hadn’t been allowed to bite yet. The syrup was starting to melt off, coating his finger with a golden, sticky layer.
Where did Kacchan get this? Izuku didn’t notice it in the fake prop box.
To his left, Shoto was elegantly pressing his mouth against a fake ice cream cone. His yukata—blue with a pattern of faint snowflakes—wasn’t even wrinkled. Shoto’s fanservice direction was "ethereal ice prince," and it worked a little too well. Some of the staff didn’t bother to hide their shameless gawking.
To his right, Kacchan nursed an empty bottle of ramune like it had insulted his mother.
“You’re supposed to look like you’re enjoying it,” Izuku muttered sideways.
“What the hell am I supposed to drink? Air??” Kacchan muttered back, eyes glued to the camera crew as they repositioned reflectors.
“You’re the one who insisted on the ramune ,” Izuku countered. He held the melting candy apple in front of his mouth, pretending to bite into it. “You could have picked something else.”
Kacchan scoffed. “It’s traditional.”
“Then stop scowling.”
Shoto pointed the ice cream at Kacchan. “Do you want to trade? This one does taste fine.”
“Todorok!! Don’t eat the fake ice cream!!”
“It’s fake?”
“I’m not—!” Kacchan snapped, then clamped his mouth shut when the photographer raised a hand. Click.
“Perfect!” the photographer praised. “Nice contrast between you three! Try to keep it up for the rest of the shoot.”
Kacchan’s face twitched. Izuku tried not to laugh vindictively.
The director gestured enthusiastically. “Okay! Dynamight, can you lean just a little toward Deku? Yes—Deku, tilt your head a bit, smile at him—great! Yes, make it playful. Shoto-kun, could you please move closer as well, like you three are besties sharing secrets.
“Okay,” Shoto said calmly.. He moved closer, till his chest pressed on Izuku’s back, almost crowding over him. His breath ghosted over the nape of Izuku’s neck as he leaned in, his face hovering just shy of touching, lips almost grazing the shell of Izuku’s ear.
“Do we look like bestie yet?”
It earned a giggle from Izuku.
Instead of the director responding, it was the vlog recorder, who filmed their bts moments, raising a thumb.
Shoto seems pleased, while Izuku grimaced internally. Another win for Shozuku.
Izuku glanced at Kacchan just as the camera clicked again, spotting that some tension had settled on his jaw. Kacchan must be annoyed at how slowly the shoot progresses, probably combust soon if Izuku didn’t intervene.
“Kacchan, come on.” He gently tapped the back of Kacchan’s hand. “Think happy thought.”
Kacchan grumbled under his breath. “It’s fucking hot here” His fingers raked through his damp hair, pushing back the stubborn strands clinging to his forehead. The loose folds of his yukata slipped further open with the movement, revealing a sliver of sun-kissed collarbone, the sheen of sweat glistening along his chest.
Izuku’s breath caught.
His fingers twitched with the urge to yank the cloth back into place. No one else should see this. Not the cameras, not the fans— his .
Wait. What???
"Remember when we'd steal yakisoba buns during the festival?" Izuku blurted, smiling a little too widely.
Kacchan snorted. "You mean when you got us nearly caught?" He absently adjusted his yukata collar, hiding exactly what Izuku had been staring at.
Shoto blinked at them. “You stole buns?”
“Allegedly,” Izuku said quickly, cheeks coloring. “We were kids!”
“You were ten,” Kacchan snorted, his crimson eyes softening as he recalled the memories. “You cried when we got caught.”
“I did not cry.”
Kacchan’s lips curled into a barely there smirk. “Your nose was running.”
“From the spice!”
“From crying. Those buns weren't that spicy.”
“THEY ARE. An-anyway, I did give that grandpa a song I wrote as payment. So there is no stealing, we’re innocent. The end”
“The song which I sang and performed. You tripped on your feet trying to twirl. By logic, you were still under arrest.”
Izuku turned to the camera and flashed his most charming idol smile while elbowing Kacchan hard in the side.
The photographer whooped, another good shot to go.
Shoto, meanwhile, drifted closer with his hand covering his mouth like a confessional screen. His expression turned solemn. "I once picked a sticker sheet when I was six and forgot to pay." A weighted pause. "The guilt still haunts me."
A beat of silence blanketed the group.
"...Todoroki," Izuku sighed, the corners of his mouth betraying his exasperated affection. He reached up to pat Shoto's shoulder, fingers lingering just a second too long on the crisp fabric of his yukata. "You're too pure for this world."
Shoto ducked his head, bashful. They shared a nice moment right before Kacchan’s palm made contact with the back of Izuku’s head.
"Focus, dumbasses!" His grip tightened in Izuku's hair—just for a second—before pulling Izuku by the collar, away from Shoto. Such a serious guy.
The air between them grew lighter as they cycled through more shots - shoulders bumping during group poses, Kacchan dramatically recoiling from Izuku's attempts to lighten the mood. He could chart the exact distance between himself and Kacchan by the heat radiating through their yukatas.
But, somewhere between the third and fourth take, something shifted. Kacchan’s jabs lost their edge; Izuku’s laughter came easier. The rhythm between them felt familiar again. Every playful shove, every exaggerated eye-roll, every time Kacchan pushed his face away only to linger half a second too long—Izuku catalogued them all, the memories searing brighter than the sun, overlapping with old ones.
Like when they were kids sneaking backstage at local concerts, elbows knocking together as they whispered, someday that’ll be us into the dark.
Shoto watched them now with quiet amusement, the steady counterweight to their chaos. He’d always been good at that—filling spaces without demanding them.
For the final shot, the photographer proposed a toast. They put their snack together. Izuku held up his candy apple. Shoto offered his cone. Kacchan had slammed his ramune bottle against Izuku's treat with enough force to make the syrup tremble, golden droplets splattering across Izuku's fingers.
Izuku steadied it and laughed. “Someone’s in a mood.”
“Someone’s sticky,” Kacchan shot back, eyes following the syrup sliding down Izuku’s wrist.”You still have this? Thought you had finished the whole thing by now.”
“You pushed this to me, Kacchan. And we weren’t allowed to eat the prop, that’s why fake props happened, which you already know.”
“Don’t sass me, princess,” Kacchan sassed back, somehow his hair poofed up like a spooked cat being cornered. “The manager happened to buy us too much on the way here, and you were knocked out in the car. I don’t waste food, stupid.”
Izuku stared at him blankly. “I’m…thank you, but you could have eaten it yourself, Kacchan”.
Next to him, Shoto raised his hand, probably offering to eat the blasted candy.
“Right, I ain’t a sweet tooth like someone.”
The words should have been mocking, but there was something dark and gravel beneath Kacchan’s lowered voice, making the fine hairs on Izuku's arms stand at attention.
He didn’t notice Kacchan's hand closed around his wrist.
The world narrowed to that single point of contact. Kacchan's palm was furnace-hot against his skin, calluses rough from years of instrument strings catching against Izuku's pulse points. The crowd's chatter faded into white noise as Kacchan leaned in, his breath ghosting over Izuku's knuckles.
Izuku barely had time to process what was happening before Kacchan's tongue—pink and wicked—dragged a slow, deliberate stripe up the length of his index finger. Kacchan's lips closed around the tip of his finger for one devastating second, sucking lightly to catch every last trace of sweetness.
A strangled noise escaped Izuku's throat. His heart flung straight down to his stomach and melted into a puddle of mess.
At the same time, the vlog recorder squealed in delight.
Kacchan dropped his wrist, the sudden absence of contact leaving Izuku's skin tingling. He didn't bother to meet Izuku's gaze before turning away, shoulders hunched defensively near his ears like a spooked animal. "Clean yourself up, you messy eater," he muttered, voice rough but lacking its usual bite..
Ah yes. Fanservice.
Kacchan is always a competitive one, after all. He wouldn't let Shoto and his Shozuku take all the glory, and Izuku is just his unwilling prop.
A bitter taste settled on Izuku's tongue. He just wanted his friend back. Is it too much to ask for? Not this polished idol version. Not the Kacchan who left Izuku in the dust and never looked back, who performed affection for cameras and kept real words locked behind his teeth.
Izuku’s fingers curled, sticky with sugar and something bitter. He wanted to—
"Good job, everyone!!! Let’s wrap it up for now. Time Lunch break!" a staffer called, shattering the moment.
Around them, the crew burst into motion. Shoto appeared at Izuku’s side, wordlessly offering a napkin. Kacchan was already halfway to the catering table, back rigid, not looking back.
Izuku took the napkin. Smiled. Let the anger simmer beneath it.
Even heartbreak couldn’t stop him from enjoying his lunch to the fullest.
Kacchan be damned.
—-
Lunch was served on low tables under the shade of a big paper umbrella in the courtyard. Bento boxes arranged with aesthetic precision, iced barley tea sweating in bamboo tumblers, hand towels folded in neat rolls. The staff buzzed around, half-eating, half-directing the next outfit change.
Izuku joined Shoto and a few other staff members, but he didn’t have any spirit to eat. He just played with the food and sighed. Quite gloomy for an idol who is known for his positive attitude.
"This is nice," Shoto spoke up, startling Izuku. He gestured around them with his chopsticks. "The yukata, the fake food props earlier, now real food. It's... normal."
Izuku blinked. "Normal?"
"I didn't know normal growing up." Shoto spoke matter-of-factly, as if discussing the weather. He tapped his bento lid. "I like this.."
The admission hung between them, raw and unexpected. Izuku's fingers stilled. "Me Kacchan and used to—" The words caught in his throat. He tried again. "We'd share our bentos when we were on a school trip. Funny enough, he always had my favorite food in his lunch, but he would complain it was terrible after one bite, so that I'd eat the rest."
Shoto listened, his mismatched eyes intent. "So he’s…different with you."
Izuku barked a dry laugh. "Yeah. Snappier. Grumpier"
“No, I mean, more indulging.. Or is it gentler?” Shoto tilted his head. "With everyone else, he's Perfect Terror Idol Bakugo. With you? He's just... Kacchan, Izuku’s grumpy friend"
The nickname sounded foreign in Shoto's mouth, and Izuku's chest ached with something he couldn't name. "That Kacchan's gone. Has been since-" He swallowed hard. "Since he debuted."
"Has he?" Shoto pointed his spoon toward the veranda, where Kacchan sat alone, phone in hand. Or pretending to be. Even from this distance, Izuku could see the way his thumb hadn't moved in minutes, how his gaze kept flicking up toward them, toward Izuku, before darting away.
Izuku's breath hitched. Old habits die hard. He used to recognize that look—Kacchan stealing glances when he thought Izuku wasn't looking, back when they were kids practicing dances in his bedroom.
"I am not exactly observant," Shoto continued. " But I notice he seeks you out when you are not here. And he looked at you a lot, which reminds me of either a romantic lead or a serial killer. Could be both"
Izuku tightened his grip on his chopsticks. "Kacchan doesn’t mean it. That’s just.."
"Fanservice?" Shoto arched an eyebrow. "Is that what you tell yourself?"
Izuku opened his mouth, then closed it. What could he say? That he'd memorized the exact shade of Kacchan's flush ears during their first fan meet-and-greet? That he know the difference between Kacchan's stage smile and his real one? That sometimes, in rare unguarded moments, Kacchan still looked at him like—
"I think," Izuku said slowly, "I miss who we were before all this. Before U-Might. Before... everything."
Shoto considered this, swirling his tea. "You joined late."
It wasn't a question, but Izuku answered anyway. "By 2 years. Just long enough for you two to..." He gestured vaguely. "Become you. The iconic duo. And I was just his childhood friend who failed his expectations."
"You didn’t”. Shoto's voice was surprisingly gentle. "Achieving success later doesn’t mean failure. And Bakugo wanted you here. ”
Izuku nodded, letting himself enjoy the warmth of Shoto’s comfort, yet his throat remained tight. "More like obligations."
For a long moment, Shoto was silent. Then, with characteristic bluntness: "I didn’t take you for an idiot, Midoriya."
Izuku froze. "What?"
Shoto stood, brushing imaginary crumbs from his yukata. "He stormed into the CEO’s office and threatened to burn U-Might to the ground if they didn’t finalize your spot." A pause. "Personally, I considered sending him a fruit basket for making my father choke on his whiskey."
Izuku’s mouth fell open. His chest constricted, not with bitterness this time, but something terrifyingly close to hope.
Shoto’s hand settled on his shoulder, warm and steady. "I think you matter to him. Quite a lot." His gaze flicked toward the veranda, where Kacchan was now openly scowling in their direction. " For your consideration, right now, he looks ready to murder me for touching you. You should go talk to him before he does."
Izuku turned to the veranda, where Kacchan chose to eat his lunch alone.
The blond was already looking away, jaw clenched, fingers tight around his phone. But not fast enough.
Not fast enough to hide the way his ears had gone pink.
Izuku suddenly didn’t know how to breathe.
“Deku-kun, " A staff member's voice sliced through the moment, making Izuku gasp in surprise. "We need some behind-the-scenes Polaroids for the package for the new gacha idea." They pressed the vintage instant camera into Izuku's suddenly sweaty palms. "Could you take some casual shots around here?. Maybe with Shoto-kun since you're already-"
The staff member's sentence trailed off as they registered the fact that Shoto has wandered off to gods-know-where.. Their eyes darted from Izuku's to the blond idol hunched on the veranda.
"—or just a selfie is fine too!" they amended hastily, already backing away.
The camera weighed heavily in Izuku's hands. He stared at the vintage device, its plastic casing warm from sitting in the sun. The perfect excuse.
Inhale. Exhale. Here goes nothing..
Then he crossed the courtyard in five strides, stopping just shy of Kacchan’s personal space but close enough that Kacchan had to tilt his head up to glare at him, the veranda’s shadow cutting sharp lines across his face.
“Hey.” Izuku held up the camera, grinning despite the way his pulse rabbited in his throat. “They want some‘casual bts shots. Take a walk with me?”
A beat. Two. Three.
Kacchan’s eyes flicked to the camera, then back to Izuku’s face. Something unreadable passed behind his glare.
“Tch.” He shoved his phone in his pocket and stood, brushing past Izuku so their sleeves caught for half a second. “Make it quick.”
He didn’t wait for Izuku, already striding toward the gate. But he slowed just enough at the gate for Izuku to fall into step beside him.
Hope bloomed inside Izuku.
—
They found their way back to the sun-soaked road again, and Kacchan took the lead as always. They didn’t speak a word to each other since they stepped out of the rented house; the tension hung between them, thickening like a suffocating blanket.
Izuku trailed half a step behind, watching the way the fabric of Kacchan’s yukata shifted with each stride—the dip of his shoulders, the sharp line of his spine, the way his hair caught the light like spun gold. It was a back he knew as well as his own.
For a dizzying moment, the image overlapped with memory— Kacchan, smaller but no less fierce, stomping ahead through festival crowds, his tiny hand clenched around a half-melted popsicle, his shoulders squared like he was ready to take on the world. "Hurry up, Deku!" he’d snap, but he’d always glance back to make sure Izuku was still there.
The Polaroid weighed heavily in Izuku’s hands.
“Kacchan,” He called.
Kacchan turned around. Brilliant red eyes stared straight ahead, pure and bright like precious gems.
He couldn’t help it. The camera lifted, framing Kacchan in the viewfinder—just a boy haloed in sunlight, always three steps ahead, always just out of reach. His Kacchan
Clicked.
The photo slid out. He watched the image slowly emerge, all hazy and gold, his Kacchan made soft by the sun.
“The hell?” Kacchan’s voice was rough, but he closed the gap between them. The smell of burned caramel lingered, reaching out to Izuku, soothing his fraying nerves.
His voice sounded distant to his ear, drowned out by the rumble of his pulse. “They want natural shots.” He raised the photo up. “Does it look okay?”
Kacchan stared at the photo, brow furrowed. Izuku laughed awkwardly, preparing for another scathing jab. Instead, Kacchan snatched the camera from Izuku’s grip.
“My turn.” He said, clipped.
The lens pointed at him like an accusation. Izuku barely had time to register the heat climbing his neck before the shutter clicked again.
Click.
He knew what Kacchan saw. Knew the way his smile wobbled at the edges, the way his fingers made a crooked, stiff V-sign, the way his freckles made his face busy and distracted. Not a natural at all.
The second photo slid into Kacchan’s palm. He stared at it a second too long.
“Knew it.” Kacchan pushes the slip against his chest. “Still looks like Deku.”
For some strange reason, Izuku was happy.
The camera passed between them like a game of catch as they dutifully worked on the assigned tasks. Click. Kacchan leaned on an abandoned vending machine. Click. Izuku's nervous laugh caught mid-breath, sunlight caught in his eyelashes as he pointed at a passing frog. Click. Kacchan scrunched his nose and snarled, and made an ugly gesture. Click. Izuku's palms were squishing his cheek, his lips puckered like a duck.”
With each photo, Izuku’s heart grew heavier. He stared at the growing stack of photos in his hands, their edges still warm from development. They’re all nice shots, obviously, when the subject is Kacchan, the marketing will love it. These images would be packaged, shipped off to strangers who didn't know how Kacchan's nose scrunched when he was genuinely amused, or how his shoulders relaxed when he thought no one was watching.
He didn't want to share this. Not this quiet, unguarded Kacchan caught between flashes. The Kacchan without a script, just a boy taking a walk with him.
"I miss you," he murmured, before he could stop himself.
Kacchan stilled, camera lowering. "Hah?"
In the silence, Izuku could hear the distant hum of cicadas.
"I miss...you." The words tasted like ashes in his mouth. Izuku laughs wetly, without knowing why. “It is so stupid. You’re already here, and I still miss you so much.
The camera hung heavy between them, suddenly feeling like the dumbest fucking metaphor.
His voice cracked, his eyes stung, warning signs of a flood. “We used to be able to talk without needing a damn script. You used to drag me around all the time, and it’s crazy to miss that, but I do. I know I failed you back then. I wasn't talented enough or good enough to pass the audition with you. But I'm here now, I've caught up, and somehow I still lose you along the way.
Kacchan didn’t speak a word. He’s letting Izuku embarrass himself with his stupid, dramatic breakdown. The thought tore the hole inside his heart bigger, all the pain and longing spilled out. Tears slipped free before Izuku could stop them, streaking down his face.
"I know I'm not—not enough like this," Izuku continued, voice thick but steady, "and I still have so far to go, but—" His fingers twitched toward Kacchan's sleeve. "Can we just...be us again? Not to show off, or to fill quotas.."
Kacchan's jaw worked.
"Just...whatever you'll give me," Izuku whispered. "Friends. Partners. Anything."
The silence between them grew teeth, except for the pitiful hiccup from Izuku.
Warm palm touch Izuku’s cheek.
-Still a fucking crybaby
Kacchan muttered, but his voice had gone low, almost tender. His other hand came up, boxing Izuku in, thumbs tracing the damp trails under his eyes. Izuku, instinctively, leans into the familiar warmth. His cheek fits perfectly against Kacchan's palm as it was meant to rest there.
Crimson eyes followed his movement. "You really think I’d do this if I didn’t want to? That I’d put up with your snotty face for just sales ?"
“You..can be a very dedicated worker.”
“But I’m not a fucking asshole,” Kacchan spat, offended. His breath came hot against Izuku's lips as he added, quieter. And Izuku has a terrifying realization that somehow they have forgone personal space and hid themselves under the shade. “Not with you, Izuku.”
Izuku froze, dizzy by the blond’s rawness. The sound of his given name - rare and sacred - sent a shiver down Izuku's spine.
“Then why..”
Kacchan pursed his lips, glancing away. He was fighting an inner battle and whichever side wins, the result is the same disaster. Izuku stared at him, nuzzling his palm for encouragement.
“ Cause I’m stupid,” Kacchan glared at Izuku’s choked laugh. His finger twitched, pressing lightly into Izuku’s cheeks, and slid down. “Because I don't know how to fucking act around you. I was angry. You are damn good at the thing you did, even better than I. You should’ve passed that audition. Should’ve been right there beside me from the goddamn beginning. And when you weren’t…"
His grip tightened infinitesimally, the barest suggestion of all that old frustration. Izuku ached for him "I thought you’d given up. On me. On whatever the hell we were supposed to be."
The confession hung between them, vulnerable in its honesty. A breeze stirred the leaves above them, dappling Kacchan’s face in shifting patterns of light and shadow that made him look young and uncertain in a way Izuku hadn’t seen in years.
"But you didn’t " Kacchan continued, softer now. “I had you right beside me, and it is everything I wanted. Then I had to watch you smile at cameras and fans and-" A sharp inhale. "And Half n Half. Like it didn't gut me every time. Fucking fanservice”
Izuku bites his lip. “You’re jealous?...”
Kacchan made a face. It’s all Izuku needs to know. The hole in his chest shrunk.
Slowly, deliberately, Izuku reached up to cradle Kacchan's face between his palms, thumbs smoothing over the tension in his jaw. "Kacchan," he murmured, “You took photos of me, surely you must know. Do you think I look.. I look at Todoroki like I look at you?”
Kacchan clicked his tongue. His eyes searched Izuku's with rare fragility, a sight only Izuku knew. "... Still fucking hated it." A pause. Then, quieter: "Sorry. For being... shitty about it. We can be friend, partners, or whatever as you said”
"The admission hung between them, fragile and blazing as a sparkler held too close to skin. Izuku could feel Kacchan's pulse hammering against his fingertips where they'd somehow tangled in the front of his yukata. The summer heat must be messing with his head, because suddenly all he could think about was how Kacchan's lower lip looked slightly chapped from biting.
Something wild and bright fizzed through Izuku's veins, effervescent as soda pop. He couldn't help it, the laugh escaped his chest before Izuku could prevent it.
Kacchan wanted him here. They were on the same page, just too damn thick-headed to talk it out. Gods, he laughed and laughed. Things could have been so simple.
“What’s so damn funny?” Kacchan barked, ears pink. He stared at Deku in disbelief.
“We are..” Izuku blurted, grinning so wide his cheeks ached. "Why did I think you had changed? Kacchan is still so mean." The words came out giddier than intended, colored by sheer disbelief. "You are an actual “tsund— mmph!"
Kacchan kissed him. Or maybe he kissed Kacchan. It was hard to tell when every neuron in his brain had short-circuited the moment their lips met - warm and slightly off-center and perfect. Izuku made a noise embarrassingly close to a squeak, fingers tightening in Kacchan's yukata as he belatedly realized: Oh. This is happening. We're doing this.
Kacchan’s tongue found its way into Izuku’s mouth, and all his thoughts evaporated. They’re messy. No coordination. Izuku's fingers tangled in blond spikes while Kacchan's palms scorched paths up his back beneath the yukata fabric. Kacchan drinks in every single moans he made with the desperation of a man wandering aimlessly around the dessert.
Izuku’s knees wobbled. His pulse roared in his ears. He could have fallen if not for Kacchan’s arms around his waist, propping him up. Their noses bumped at odd angles. Kacchan tasted like the sugar from their snacks and something darker, addictive. Izuku chased the flavor instinctively, hands fisting in Kacchan's yukata as the world narrowed to this: the heat between them, the way Kacchan's fingers dug into his hips, the embarrassing little noises neither could seem to stop making.
The realization hit him like a well-aimed right hook:
He liked Kacchan.
Not just as his childhood friend. Not just a shallow nostalgic infatuation.
He liked the way Kacchan’s hands were calloused, but still so careful when they cupped his face. He liked the way Kacchan tasted like caramel and spite. He liked— loved —how Kacchan kissed him like he was trying to win something, like Izuku was something precious.
When they finally pulled apart, Kacchan was scowling again—but softer now, lips kissed-red, eyes burning.
"I like you," Izuku blurted, still dazed. "Like. A lot. Since forever probably—"
"Dipshit," Katsuki panted, thumb swiping Izuku's spit-slick lower lip. "You are doing all of this backward."
“And you like me too”
Kacchan didn’t answer. He pecks him in the lips instead. Kacchan didn’t answer. He just pecked him on the lips instead—quick, chaste, and so stupidly fond it made Izuku so light he could float.
“We’re still late for outfit three,” he grumbled.
“I don’t mind,” Izuku said, breathless.
“Of course you don’t.”
“ “I want you for myself a little long.” Boldened by his new found feelings, Izuku yanks Kacchan down by the nape. Green eyes are blazing with wants. Kiss me again.”
But Kacchan didn’t let go of his hand. He leans closer, trapping Izuku in his molten crimson eyes. His lips formed an easy, infuriating attractive smirk. Tasted like honey, Izuku licks his hips, unable to wait any longer.
“Alright, princess.”
Their lips met. And the sun shallowed them whole.
.
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.
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The photo went viral at 4:05 PM on a Wednesday, July 15th— 2 hours after their Summer Greeting package teaser appeared on U-Might's official page.
The posted photo was deceptively simple: Kacchan standing behind Izuku, calloused fingers tying the emerald sash of his yukata with unexpected delicacy. Sunlight gilded the gold threads in the fabric, caught the crinkles at the corners of Izuku’s eyes as he laughed toward the camera. Kacchan’s face was twisted mid-scream, but his hands were surprisingly gentle. At the corner, a blurry neutral face of Shoto with his V-sign to complete the shot, trace of ice cream all over his mouth.
Beneath it, the caption:
"Kacchan always knew how to hold us together."
The internet, as expected, imploded. The digital landscape has become a fierce battle royale. Celebration, delusion, cursing and yelling all happened across every social media.
All the unnecessary background noise was temporarily forgotten, pushed outside of Kacchan’s mind the moment Izuku had a hold of him. His crooked smile, paired with his stupidly big bug eyes, and Kacchan already knew he was done for.
“Let’s elope.” He said, excitement threatened to burst out of his body. Before Kacchan remembered the word no , he was already being dragged out the agency door, sprinting toward the park like two kids ditching school.
This nerd has found for themselves a pretty secluded corner, tucked between two tall trees near the pond. Of fucking course, there is a pond. Fuck, Izuku even put out a whole picnic set up - yellow checkered blanket, an actual woven picnic basket, and lunch ( “ Curry riceball?? What the fuck Izuku how do you even have time??” )
Kacchan’s eye twitches. His heart probably melted into a puddle of goo as Izuku beamed at him, looking for compliments. He would never let the nerd have that satisfaction, the nerve of him to pull this..this incredible corny sappy cliche shit before Kacchan had a chance to do it for him. His ego, flattered but bruised.
However, he did indulge himself a little by threading his finger through Izuku’s wavy locks and giving them a good ruffle.
They settled nicely in the bubble, far away from the world.
"Disgusting," Kacchan grumbled, sprawled across Izuku’s lap during their impromptu picnic lunch. His phone screen flashed with another round of #KatZukuWeddingWhen tweets, his thumb absently liking each one. A particularly dramatic post from a rival ship made him snort. Take that, Shozuku, Katzuku is here to win. "Look at these extras crying. Pathetic."
Click . The sound of the picture being taken pulled Kacchan out of his triumph
“Oi”
Izuku lowered the phone, drops of sunlight filtering through the leaves fell on his hair, sticky and golden like honey. He grinned, paying no mind to Kacchan’s glare. "Your fans are going to love these shots. I’m doing my job very diligently."
"Tch. Like you’re not one." Kacchan pursed his lips, then smirked. Another click. "Admit it, princess, you are dying to show me off."
"Maybe. Or maybe I will keep these to myself." The cheeky drawl lingered in the air. Izuku’s fingers carded through Kacchan’s hair, scratching lightly at his scalp the way he liked. It’s nice, Kacchan felt his body loosen, a bit weightless. "But i mean it, you know?"
Kacchan huffed.
"Damn right." He reached up, flicking Izuku’s forehead. "Next time, we’re doing this summer shit without cameras. I can’t let you one-up me like this."
Izuku blinked, then burst into laughter, the sound echoing through the quiet park. "Kacchan, this is not a competition.”
“Hell yeah, it is”.
“I just want to do something nice with you. After the shoot, I realized I don’t want to miss you any longer. But…” Izuku managed between giggles, holding up his phone with their packed itinerary glowing on the screen.” Our schedule is set for the next 3 years. And let me remind you, Shoto would feel left out; it isn’t good for team morale. I think a group vacation would be more possible, the marketing team did propose a variety–”
The rambling sets Kacchan off.
“Fuck Marketing!! Fuck that Strawberry Shortcake! This is our thing.” Kacchan growled, snatching the phone and tossing it into the grass, much to Izuku’s exasperated whine. It wasn’t enough; his heart ached, threatening to crack and spill all of his emotions to the grass if he didn’t do anything about it.
His body moved on its own. His sweaty palm made contact with Izuku’s chest and pushed hard. The nerd landed on his back with a soft “oof”, wide green eyes locked in molten caramel ones. His fluffy green hair stood out on the crumpled picnic mat. More sunlight poured on him, a sticky layer of gold and amber. It caught on his lashes, on his flushed cheeks, dripping into his parted lip.
Izuku looked like dessert, prepared just for him. Sweet and too good to touch.
Kacchan felt hot; the sunlight must have seeped into his bloodstream. Gods, even his breath tasted like burned sugar, and he desperately wanted to share it with Izuku. His finger twitched at the urge.
Mine , Kacchan thought, dizzy with it. Mine like the sun is mine, like the air is mine - like I've been starving for this without knowing.
"We’ll do everything. We’ll elope again. I will take you anywhere you want, do anything you like," he vowed against Izuku's mouth, drinking in the small, breathless gasp escaping Izuku’s pink lips. "We stick together till the end of time- that's non-negotiable."
Izuku grinned, eyes hooded. his voice lowered, laced with more sweetness "Even if I didn't want to do anything but stay with you in a hotel room for a week straight?"
Damn him, Kacchan makes a pleased groan. Izuku will be the end of him.
"Baby, you’re talking my type of vacation."
"But I still think we should take Sho—"
The cheeky remark died on Izuku's tongue as Kacchan sealed the promise with a kiss, slow and sweet. Izuku melted against him, his hands fisting in Kacchan's shirt like he was afraid he'd disappear. Kacchan could feel the way Izuku's heart raced—could taste the laughter still lingering on his lips. It was infuriating how easily Izuku could unravel him with just a smile.
Somewhere in the grass, Izuku's phone buzzed incessantly with notifications—their manager's frantic calls about rescheduling, fan reactions to the viral post, the endless cycle of their idol's lives.
But here, in their bubble of time and space, sticky with promise and the lingering touches Kacchan left on Izuku’s skin, time stretched endlessly.
Just like they would.