Work Text:
It started with chaos.
The dorm kitchen was a battlefield of flour, frosting, and fiery determination. Ochako had flour on her nose. Todoroki was calmly stirring something that looked suspiciously like it came from a cooking tutorial Momo had pulled up. Iida was organising plates by colour and size. Tsuyu was supervising the cake decorations with a steady eye. Momo herself was multitasking like a queen: wrapping Midoriya’s gifts, checking oven timers, and subtly elbowing Todoroki when he tried to taste-test the icing for the fourth time.
“I said no more, Shoto.”
“I was just making sure it hadn’t changed flavour.”
“That’s not a thing.”
Meanwhile, Midoriya was upstairs, dutifully pretending he didn’t hear the clamour below. He wasn’t technically supposed to know they were throwing him a surprise party, but between Iida’s increasingly suspiciously formal schedule reminders and Todoroki asking him if he liked ‘balloons or streamers better,’ he’d pieced it together.
Still, he played along. That was part of the fun.
When the call came to come down—“MIDORIYAAA! COME DOWNSTAIRS FOR NO REASON AT ALL!” courtesy of Sero (who wasn’t even invited to the surprise portion)—Midoriya put on his best surprised face.
“Oh my gosh! What is all this?!”
Ochako bounced up to him, eyes bright and hands clutched behind her back. “Happy Birthday, Deku-Kun!”
They all shouted it at once straight after as confetti poppers exploded overhead in bursts of green and gold. Balloons in every shade of Midoriya’s colour palette—emerald, silver, and bright yellow—bounced off the ceiling and walls, some with doodles of All Might, others shaped like little stars. Streamers hung crookedly in the corners, clearly the work of Iida and Sero's "efficient" decorating. At the centre of the table sat a rich, two-layer chocolate cake, glossy with ganache and ringed with whipped cream puffs. Atop it, six tiny candles flickered gently, each perched above a piped green letter, spelling out D-E-K-U in careful, frosted loops. A fondant figure of All Might giving a thumbs up stood in the center , slightly leaning to one side, clearly hand-made, and all the more charming for it.
It was perfect.
They ate, played card games, gave silly toasts (Iida’s was five minutes long and referenced “the shining spirit of youth”), and opened presents. Tsuyu gave him a sleek new notebook with waterproof pages. Iida and Sero had teamed up on a pair of gauntlet gloves with reinforced knuckles and built-in pencil holsters ("Efficiency is important in heroism!"). Momo gave him a custom case for his hero costume gadgets, complete with secret compartments (he didn't even wanna try and guess how much it all cost). Todoroki, ever the minimalist, had bought him a rare All Might collectable Midoriya nearly passed out over (which they all guessed was spent from Endeavour's credit card). Ochako's gift was small, but personal—a pressed flower encased in resin that she’d carried during their first sports festival.
“That was the day I knew you’d be a great hero,” she whispered, cheeks pink.
Midoriya blinked hard, then beamed, turning even redder than her.
The sun dipped low. People started drifting away, Tsuyu sitting by the window and quietly texting Tokoyami, but deleting every message before she could send one. Todoroki lingered beside Momo as they washed dishes together—an unspoken closeness settling between them like warm steam.
Ochako helped Midoriya clean up the wrapping paper, their hands brushing as they both reached for the same scrap. She looked up at him with a shy smile, and he laughed quietly , rubbing the back of his neck.
“Did you have a good birthday?” she asked, her voice soft and sincere.
Midoriya glanced around the room—at the decorations still dangling from the ceiling, the empty cake plates, the thoughtful gifts. But then his eyes settled on her, and he smiled warmly.
“The best,” he said. “Because of all of you.”
She tilted her head, still smiling, but her eyes searched his face more closely.
“And... was there a favourite part?”
Midoriya hesitated, then his cheeks went pink. “Yeah,” he said. “Right now might be it.”
Her breath caught just slightly, and she looked down, her fingers fidgeting with the ribbon from one of the presents. “Really?”
He nodded, stepping just a little closer. “You’ve been by my side since the beginning. I—uh—I don’t think I’d be who I am without you, Uraraka-San.”
Her eyes widened, then softened. “Deku-Kun... that means a lot.”
There was a pause. The air between them felt a little warmer.
“I—I’m really glad I get to be with you on your birthday,” she said, her voice nearly a whisper.
“Me too,” he replied, a little breathless.
Their hands brushed again, and this time, they didn’t pull away.
--------------------------------
The party had ended hours ago. Plates were stacked, lights were out, and the quiet hum of the dormitory settled over everything like a thick blanket. Midoriya sat on the edge of his bed, the afterglow of celebration lingering in the scattered wrapping paper and the faint scent of frosting still in the air.
He ran his fingers over the gifts again, smiling. Everyone had been so kind. So thoughtful. His heart was full.
His room was nearly pitch-black now, save for the soft glow from the hallway seeping in under the crack of his door. Just enough light to cast long shadows over the floor.
A thud.
Midoriya looked up, brows furrowing.
Another noise—closer now. Then, the creak of his door easing open just an inch. A silhouette appeared in the light, just a flash of messy ash-blond hair and a familiar scowl.
“Kacchan?”
Bakugo didn’t answer. He didn’t even look directly at him. From the hallway, still half-hidden in shadow, he raised his arm—
Thunk.
Something small flew through the narrow opening, landing with a soft pap on Midoriya’s blanket.
Then the door started to shut.
“Wait—Kacchan—”
But it was too late. The light disappeared with the click of the latch, and Bakugo was gone again—silent as he'd come.
Midoriya blinked, his heart thudding. Slowly, he picked up the object.
Wrapped in plain brown paper was a bracelet—woven tightly with green and orange paracord, colours intertwined like flames and foliage. It was rough but beautifully made. Precise. Practical. Bakugo.
Attached with a bit of tape was a small note.
In tight, all-caps handwriting, it read:
Happy Birthday, Izuku.
No explosions. No yelling. No smug insults or backhanded compliments.
Just that.
Midoriya held it in his palm for a long moment before slipping it on, the click of the clasp oddly satisfying. It fit perfectly.
He looked toward the door.
Even when Kacchan didn’t say it, he meant it.
And tonight, that meant more than anything.