Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

You took a drag behind the school, the usual coughing fit finally absent.

You knew it was bad—there had been plenty of lectures about how smoking ruined your lungs. But somehow, it calmed you.

The warning bell rang. You stubbed out the cigarette, flicked it into the trash, and started walking.

Then came a squeal. A thud. Someone doubled over, coughing hard—like they were trying to spit their lungs out.

”Shitty Deku.”

Ah. You knew that voice. Bakugo Katsuki—the loudmouth from the class next door. Blond, pissed off, and a total bitch. He was so easy to ragebait. You’d even shared a smoke with some of his friends.

He passed by without slowing down, hands shoved in his pockets, glaring straight ahead. You didn’t look at him. He didn’t look at you.

But the two behind him—his lackeys—did.

As they walked past, fingers gave you a small nod. The other dude did the same, not saying anything, just that quiet kind of hello people gave when they’d shared a lighter behind the school once or twice.

You gave a nod back.

No one said anything. No one needed to.

Once they were out of sight, something tugged at you—curiosity, maybe. Or boredom.

You turned the corner, slow and casual, like you weren’t checking. Like you didn’t already know.

Someone was on the ground, curled up near the wall where the trash bins were. Thin arms pulled in tight. Shoulders trembling.

Green.

You’d heard about him before—Midoriya Izuku. The kid with no Quirk.

People talked. Middle school was full of talk, most of it useless, some of it cruel. You hadn’t cared enough to pay attention. But now, seeing him like this, coughing into his sleeve and trying to sit up, something settled in your chest.

You expected… more? Less? You weren’t sure. But he looked—

Cute.

Not in the loud, obvious way. Quiet-cute. Soft-cute. Messy hair, wide eyes, face still red from whatever Bakugo had said—or done. And small. Like he didn’t take up any space if he didn’t have to.

He looked up for just a second. Saw you. Froze.

You didn’t say anything. But you didn’t leave, either.

You leaned a shoulder against the wall, pulling your lighter from your pocket and flicking it open. Just something to do with your hands.

“…You want me to go?”

He blinked, confused. “Huh?”

“I can leave. If you want.” You looked away like it didn’t matter. “Figured maybe you didn’t want to be alone right now.” Izuku just stared. Like he was waiting for a punchline. You sighed and tucked the lighter away.

“Hey... you okay?”

He blinked again, slower this time, like his brain was catching up. “Y-yeah,” he stammered, but his voice cracked. “Just… nothing.”

You weren’t buying it. “Looks like you took a hit.”

He swallowed hard, then nodded. “Bakugo’s… not exactly friendly.”

You smirked, a little. “Yeah, he’s got a reputation.” There was a pause, then he glanced away, cheeks flushing.

“You don’t have a Quirk, huh?” He nodded again, quieter this time.

“Must be rough.”

He looked back at you, surprise flickering in his eyes. “Thanks,” he said softly.

You shrugged, trying not to notice how small his voice was. How grateful he sounded, like no one had said something that simple to him in years.

“Well, don’t let them get to you.” You pushed off the wall, starting to walk away.

“Wait—what’s your name?”

You stopped, glanced back.

“[Name].”

He nodded, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Midoriya Izuku.”

You nodded once more, then disappeared around the corner, the bell ringing in the distance.

Izuku couldn’t remember the last time someone was nice to him. Sure, it was just a simple, quick conversation—just a few words. But to him, it felt like everything.

Someone had actually noticed. Someone had actually cared, even if just for a moment.

He swallowed the lump in his throat and wiped at his scraped knees. Maybe… maybe not everyone was against him.

For the first time in a long time, Izuku let himself hope. He just hoped it wouldn't get stomped on.

You slumped into your seat just as the teacher started calling roll, dropping your bag to the floor with a quiet thud. The classroom buzzed around you—pens clicking, whispers floating, chairs creaking—but you didn’t really hear it.

You were still thinking about him. Midoriya Izuku.

You didn’t mean to think about how fitting his name was. But it stuck in your head, stubborn and soft. 

You told yourself it didn’t matter. That you were just being decent. That it was nothing. But something about him stayed with you, like smoke clinging to your school uniform.

You stared out the window, letting the noise fade. You weren’t gonna get involved. Not really.

But if you saw him again… maybe you'd say something. Maybe you'd check.

Just to be sure.

Chapter Text

You weren’t looking for him. Not really.

It was just coincidence, you told yourself, when you saw him again behind the gym three days later—hunched over his notebook, alone, tucked into the shade like he was trying not to exist.

You’d gone back there to kill time before class. Smoke a little. Think a little. Not because you were expecting him. Definitely not because you'd been lowkey watching for him every time you rounded a corner.

…That would’ve been weird. So yeah. Coincidence.

He hadn’t noticed you yet. Just scribbled something furiously into his notebook, muttering to himself. You could hear little fragments of words—“mobility,” “counter,” “if I had—” before he stopped and stared at the page like it had betrayed him.

You watched for a moment, leaning against the wall.

He looked small again. Same uniform, same messy hair, same hunched shoulders like he expected the sky to fall on him any second.

And—shit. There it was again.

That feeling.

Like you wanted to say something. Do something. Protect something. You lit your cigarette instead. He flinched at the sound.

“Oh—!” His head whipped around. He saw you and froze, eyes wide. You took a slow drag.

“Didn’t mean to scare you,” you said, voice low. “You always hang out back here?”

Izuku blinked at you like you’d caught him stealing state secrets. “N-no. I mean—kind of. I just—it’s quiet. Easier to think.”

You glanced down at the notebook still clutched in his hands. It was full of notes—like, full. You caught a glimpse of diagrams, hero stats, rough sketches of moves.

“…You planning to be a hero or something?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

He looked like you’d smacked him.

“I—I mean, yeah. Someday. Maybe. If I can figure it out.” His voice was too soft, too uncertain. Like he already knew the answer and hated it.

You exhaled slowly, smoke curling into the air between you.

“You ever throw a punch before?”

That caught him off guard. “What?”

“A punch,” you repeated. “Like, an actual one. Not in your head.”

He shook his head slowly. “No. I’ve never really… I mean, I don’t think I’d be any good at it.” Figures.

You stared at him for another second. Then flicked the ash from your cigarette, eyes narrowing slightly.

“I could show you.”

Izuku’s eyes widened again. "What?"

You shrugged like it was no big deal. “Not saying I’m a pro or anything. But I’ve been in a few fights. I could teach you the basics. Y’know. So next time Bakugo gets mouthy, you don’t just stand there coughing.”

“I—I—” His mouth opened and closed, clearly short-circuiting. “You’d do that? Why?”

You leaned your head back against the wall and looked at the sky like it had answers. “Bored, I guess.” That was the excuse, anyway. You weren’t doing this because he was cute.

Definitely not because you wanted to see what he looked like when he wasn’t afraid.

And it definitely wasn’t because something about him made your chest feel weird and tight.

Just boredom.

“Okay,” he said finally, voice barely audible.

You looked back down at him. He was watching you with that same uncertain hope from the other day—like you were too good to be true, and he wasn’t sure if he should believe it yet.

You rolled your eyes, flicking your cigarette to the ground and crushing it under your heel.

“Come on, then. I’ll show you how to stand.”

“…Right now?”

“No time like the present, Deku.”

He blinked. “You—you know that nickname?”

You smirked. “Of course I do. I just don’t think it suits you.”

He looked stunned again. You didn’t wait for him to respond—just motioned for him to follow and stepped into the shaded space behind the gym wall, where the pavement was cracked and out of sight from most windows.

He followed, notebook tucked awkwardly under his arm.

.

You stepped into the space and turned to face him, pointing to a flat patch of ground.

“Stand there.”

He did, stiff and unsure.

“Feet apart,” you said, gesturing. “Not too wide. Like this.”

You stood opposite him and demonstrated—solid stance, weight distributed evenly. He tried to copy you, but his knees bent too much and his shoulders hunched up like he was expecting you to yell.

You sighed. “Relax, Midoriya. You’re not about to be hit.”

“R-right,” he mumbled, adjusting his stance.

You circled him once, eyeing his form. “You’re too tense. Straighten your back a little. Drop your shoulders. You’re not a turtle.”

He actually laughed at that—quiet and short, but real.

It did something weird to your chest.

You walked up behind him and, before you could overthink it, reached out to gently tap his elbow, nudging it into a better position.

He stiffened immediately.

“Sorry!” he blurted. “I didn’t—uh—I didn’t expect—”

“Relax,” you said again, keeping your voice even. “I’m not gonna bite. Just fixing your form.”

“Oh. O-okay.”

You adjusted his other arm, fingers brushing his sleeve. He was warm. And a little shaky.

“This is your guard,” you said. “One hand up by your cheek, the other near your chin. Tight. Don’t let anyone in.”

Izuku nodded, eyes wide and focused, like he was trying to memorize every word.

“Now throw a punch,” you said. “Straight jab. Nothing fancy.” He hesitated, then threw one—sort of. It was more of a hopeful push than a punch.

You raised an eyebrow. “That was pitiful.”

He flushed. “I—I’ve never—”

“I know. That’s why we’re practicing.”

You took a step forward and reached for his hand.

“This,” you said, gently closing his fingers into a proper fist, “is how you don’t break your thumb.”

He blinked at you, stunned. “You… You’re actually serious about this.”

You gave a crooked grin. “Dead serious.”

You stepped back again. “Now try it again. With some intent.”

Izuku inhaled slowly. Threw the punch again. This time it was better—still a little awkward, but he kept his stance. His eyes lit up like it actually felt good.

“Nice,” you said, nodding. “Now do it again. And again. Until it stops feeling weird.”

“Yes!” he said—then paused, blinking at his own enthusiasm. “I mean… okay.”

You watched him try again. And again. Each time a little cleaner. A little sharper. And each time, that stupid fluttery thing in your chest stirred a little more. You hated how proud you felt. Like you were watching a puppy learn to bark.

.

After about ten minutes, he was red-faced, panting lightly, but smiling. Actually smiling.

You smirked. “That’s enough for now, tough guy. You’ll pull something if you keep swinging like that.”

He nodded, catching his breath. “Thank you. Seriously. I didn’t think… I mean, I didn’t think someone like you would help someone like me.”

You shrugged, stuffing your hands in your pockets. “Don’t read too much into it.” But even as you said it, you knew you’d be back.

You were already thinking about what to show him next.

Chapter Text

You were halfway through a convenience store sandwich, sitting in your usual spot behind the school, when you heard footsteps.

Light ones. Hesitant. You didn’t look up right away. Just took another bite and waited.

Sure enough, a familiar voice followed. “Um. Hi.”

You chewed slowly, then raised your head.

Izuku stood there awkwardly, clutching his notebook like a shield. He looked like he wasn’t sure if he should be here—or if he’d get chewed out for trying.

You swallowed and raised an eyebrow. “Back again?”

He gave a small, sheepish nod. “I—I wasn’t sure if you’d want—if it was okay.”

You scooted your bag off the concrete step beside you and patted the empty space with the back of your hand. “Sit down before you short-circuit.”

His eyes widened slightly like you’d just handed him a seat at a royal banquet, then he shuffled over and sat beside you—leaving a good six inches of space between you like that would somehow make it less weird.

You ignored the awkwardness. Opened the sandwich wrapper back up and took another bite.

“You eat today?”

“Huh? Oh—yeah. Kind of.” He held up a sad excuse for a protein bar. It looked like it had been crushed in his bag at least twice. “Didn’t really feel hungry.”

You rolled your eyes and reached into your own bag, tossing him a packet of onigiri.

He stared at it like you’d just thrown a live grenade at his chest. “I—I can’t—”

“It’s rice,” you deadpanned. “Not gold. Just eat.”

His hands closed around the wrapper slowly. “Thank you.”

You didn’t answer. Just leaned back against the wall, watching him out of the corner of your eye as he unwrapped it and took a bite.

For a while, neither of you said anything. And it wasn’t uncomfortable. That was the weird part.

“You serious about UA?”

He blinked at you. “What?”

“Before. What you said. About being a hero.”

Izuku nodded slowly, swallowing hard. “Yeah. I know it sounds stupid, but... I’ve wanted it since I was a kid.”

You didn’t say anything right away. Just looked at him, this soft, trembling kid in a rumpled uniform, eating like he hadn’t all day and talking like his dreams were already dead.

It would’ve been easy to laugh. Easy to say “good luck with that” or “don’t get your hopes up.”

But you didn’t. Because he meant it. Even if no one else did.

“…It’s not stupid.”

His head jerked toward you, eyes wide.

You clicked your tongue and looked away. “I mean, you’re probably gonna get your ass kicked. But it’s not stupid.”

He actually smiled at that—small and a little sad, but real.

You were used to people talking big. Loud. Fake. But when he said it, he meant it. Even if it was dumb. Even if it was impossible.

You hated how much you respected that.

You were about to change the subject—maybe ask if he wanted to practice again—when someone’s voice rang out from behind the fence.

“Oi, look who it is! Lil’ Deku and his bodyguard.”

You turned your head slowly.

Two second-years you vaguely recognized—one of them had borrowed your lighter once, the other had a reputation for hanging around Bakugo like a lost dog.

They were leaning over the rail, grinning like they thought they were funny.

“Didn’t peg you for the charity type,” one of them called. “Training up the Quirkless wonder, huh?”

You didn’t say anything. Just stared. Izuku shrank in on himself instantly, face flushing red. His hands curled tighter around his half-eaten rice ball.

The second guy smirked. “What, he paying you or something?” Your cigarette case was in your pocket. You could’ve lit one. Ignored them. Let it slide.

But something in your chest twinged—sharp and sudden. You stood up, real slow.

“You bored or just brain-dead?” you asked calmly. That made them pause. You stepped forward just enough to make your point.

“Because if you’ve got nothing better to do than run your mouth, I’ve got time to help you find a new hobby.”

One of them snorted, but it was forced. The other muttered something under his breath and nudged his friend, and the two of them finally backed off, muttering as they walked.

You didn’t turn back around until you heard the gate clang shut.

When you sat down again, Izuku was staring at the ground. “…Sorry,” he mumbled.

You frowned. “What for?”

“I—I didn’t mean to get you in trouble.”

You sighed. “You didn’t.”

“But those guys—”

“They’re idiots.”

Silence again. Then, quieter:

“…Thanks.”

You leaned back against the wall, letting your head rest against the concrete. “I ever say I was doing this for you?”

“No, but—”

“Exactly.” He didn’t argue after that. But he smiled a little again.

You let the quiet sit for a while after that.

Izuku didn’t say much—just picked at the wrapper in his lap and occasionally glanced over at you like he wanted to say something but didn’t quite have the guts. Eventually, you sighed and stood up again.

“Come on.”

He blinked up at you. “Huh?”

“You wanna learn how to stand your ground or not?”

His eyes widened like you’d just offered him a shot at All Might’s autograph. “Y-yeah! I mean—yes. I do!”

You rolled your eyes, already stepping into the flat stretch of concrete a few feet away. “Then get up.”

He scrambled to his feet, brushing crumbs off his pants and hurrying over.

You watched him try to copy the stance you showed him last time—feet shoulder-width apart, hands raised like a boxer. It wasn’t terrible, but it was still stiff.

“Not bad,” you muttered, circling him. “Better than before.”

He looked proud of that—just for a second—before you reached out and nudged his back leg with your foot.

“Keep your weight even. You’re leaning forward too much. Someone pulls you, you’re going face-first into the dirt.”

“O-okay!”

“And stop locking your knees. You’re not a damn scarecrow.”

He adjusted again, lips pressed tight in focus.

You stepped in front of him and tapped your fingers against your own chin. “Alright. Rule number one of not getting knocked on your ass: balance. Stay light. Think like a spring, not a statue.”

He nodded. “Spring. Right.”

You raised your hand like you were about to push him. “Now don’t freak out.”

“Wait—what—”

You gave him a light shove to the shoulder.

He stumbled, but didn’t fall. “Hey,” you said. “Not bad.”

Izuku straightened, breath quick, and gave you this wide-eyed look like he’d just passed a final exam.

“I stayed up!”

“Barely.”

“But I did!”

You shrugged. “Yeah, yeah. Try again.”

You spent the next ten minutes running him through the basics—how to keep his stance, how to pivot his foot if someone came at him from the side, how to drop his center of gravity without crouching like a weirdo. He listened like it was life or death, nodding along, asking questions, trying again every time he messed up.

You didn’t say it, but he was learning faster than you expected. Not because he was a natural. Because he cared. Hard.

He wanted this—badly enough to trip over his own feet three times in a row and still look up, ready to try again. That kind of stubborn wasn’t normal.

And it wasn’t weak, either.

You didn’t mean to enjoy it.

Didn’t mean to keep noticing how close he was. How wide his eyes were when he focused. How he kept brushing his sleeves down like he was worried about looking sloppy.

Didn’t mean to keep staring at the little curl of hair that stuck up in the back of his head, either.

But here you were.

“Okay,” you said after a while, stepping back. “That’s enough for today. Any more and you’re gonna sprain something.”

Izuku straightened, clearly out of breath but still smiling. “That was… really helpful.”

You shrugged. “Try not to forget it all by tomorrow.”

“I won’t,” he said, wiping his hands on his uniform pants. “I—I’ve been taking notes, actually.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Notes?”

He pulled out the notebook he always carried—same one from earlier—and flipped through it until he landed on a new page. Your name—or at least something meant to refer to you—was scrawled at the top with a date. Below it, little scribbles: notes on balance, diagrams of foot placement, a clumsy drawing of a punch.

You stared at the page for a second longer than you meant to.

“…You take notes on me?”

He flushed instantly. “N-not like that! I mean, I just—I take notes on everyone—on fighting styles, and movement, and—uh—form—and you have a very… um. Functional approach.”

You blinked. Then smirked.

“‘Functional,’ huh?” He looked like he wanted to crawl into a hole.

You leaned a little closer, just enough to make him sweat. “You trying to say I fight ugly?”

“N-No! I mean—it’s not ugly! It’s just practical!”

You laughed—actually laughed—and he blinked like he wasn’t sure what he’d said that was funny.

“It’s fine,” you said, still grinning a little. “You’re not wrong.”

He blinked again. “Really?” All messy hair and nervous eyes, still standing like he thought this was a pop quiz he might fail. Cute. Stupidly so.

“Come on,” you muttered, turning to grab your bag. “We’re gonna be late.”

He followed close behind, like a puppy.

“…Hey,” he said, right as you reached the back door to the school.

You glanced at him.

“Thanks again. For everything.”

You rolled your eyes and shoved your hands in your pockets.

“Don’t make it weird, Midoriya.” But you didn’t tell him to stop following you.

Chapter Text

The hallway buzzed with the usual noise — lockers slamming, students laughing and shouting, the occasional sharp whistle cutting through the chaos.

You were leaning against the lockers, one foot propped up, flicking a cigarette butt into the trash can nearby. Izuku was beside you, nervously fiddling with the strap of his backpack.

You had just cracked a joke—something about how he owed you at least one homework pass for putting up with your nonsense—and for once, you caught him laughing. Not the weak, awkward chuckle you’d heard before. A real, full-on laugh.

Then the whispering started.

“Is that… [Name] hanging out with Midoriya? Seriously?”

“No way. They’re so different.”

“Are they… like, dating or something?”

You froze, cigarette halfway to your lips, as a group of third-years passed by, glancing your way with smirks and raised eyebrows.

Izuku’s face flushed a bright shade of red, but he didn’t step away. Instead, he looked at you with something like hope shining in his wide eyes.

You cleared your throat and flicked your cigarette to the ground, grinding it under your shoe.

“Keep your voice down, yeah?” you muttered, voice rough but low. “People are stupid.”

One girl snorted and called out, “Whatever you say, delinquent. Still can’t believe you’re cozying up to the quirkless loser.” You just stared her down, ignoring the rest as they moved on, whispers trailing behind them.

Izuku blinked at you, shy but smiling. “Do you… really think it’s that weird?”

You shrugged, the corner of your mouth twitching into a smirk.

“Yeah. But weird’s not always bad.” He looked up, hope blooming in his eyes again. You shoved your hands in your pockets, heart pounding a little more than you’d like to admit.

“Well,” you said quietly, “don’t expect me to go soft on you just ‘cause I hang around.”

He laughed, a small sound, but it felt like the whole hallway went quiet for just a second.

And maybe, just maybe, you didn’t want it to end. Enough if that though.

“Hey, Deku, you walking funny. You got butterflies or something?” you teased, voice low enough so only he could hear.

His eyes widened, confusion plain on his face. “B-butterflies?” he stammered, cheeks already reddening.

You smirked, shaking your head. “Relax, idiot. I’m messing with you.”

His blush deepened, but he didn’t push you away. Instead, he shuffled his feet and tried to stand straighter, like he was suddenly more aware of your closeness.

“You don’t have to try so hard, you know. You’re not gonna trip over your shoelaces if you just relax,” you added, the teasing lightness in your voice hiding how much you cared.

Izuku blinked, clearly not used to this kind of attention. “I—I’m not trying to impress anyone,” he said quickly, his voice cracking just a little.

You raised an eyebrow, lips twitching into a grin. “Uh-huh. Sure.” Around you, the whispers grew louder.

Two other third-years passed by, loud enough for you to hear every word. “Did you see that? [Name] playing bodyguard and [Boyfriend/Girlfriend] all in one.”

“Yeah, who knew delinquents had a soft spot?” You scoffed but didn’t break stride. 

One of them called back over their shoulder, “Hey, quirkless! Don’t get too comfortable. Delinquents don’t date losers.”

Izuku flinched at the words, his shoulders tensing. Without thinking, you slipped a hand over his shoulders, rough and steady. He went red but you elected to ignore it. “Ignore them,” you said quietly. “They talk shit ’cause they’re jealous.”

He looked up at you with wide eyes, a fragile hope shining there, and for a moment, the noise around you faded. You liked that. Liked how your teasing seemed to make him smile, even if it was shy and uncertain.

Because maybe, just maybe, he was starting to believe you. But then the moment shattered.

You spotted Bakugo before Izuku did — his sharp, stormy eyes scanning the crowd, lips curled into that sneer you hated.

He cut through the hallway like a hurricane, headed straight for you two. “What the hell is this?” Bakugo’s voice rang out, low and dangerous. “You’re actually hanging out with Deku now?”

You went tense, stepping forward just a bit.

“Back off, Bakugo,” you warned, voice cold.

Bakugo laughed, harsh and cruel. “Aw, is the tough guy jealous? Thought you had better things to do.”

Izuku’s eyes flickered between the two of you, heart pounding visibly in his chest.

Without warning, Bakugo shoved Izuku hard against the lockers. The sharp thud echoed through the hallway as Izuku grunted, struggling to catch his balance.

“Look at you,” Bakugo snarled, voice low but burning with rage. “You’re actually smiling these days. Like you forgot you’re nothing. Like you’re someone now.”

Izuku swallowed hard, pressing his back against the cold metal, his fists clenched so tight his knuckles went white. He didn’t fight back. He never did. Not against Bakugo.

You didn’t like watching that. Not one bit.Before Bakugo could shove him again, you stepped forward, blocking Bakugo’s path with your arms crossed, voice dripping with sharp warning.

“Back off, Bakugo. This isn’t your fight anymore.”

Bakugo’s eyes snapped to you, burning with contempt. “Oh? Since when do you care? You’re just a delinquent playing bodyguard. Think you can take me on?” His voice was a sneer, but underneath, there was a flicker of challenge.

You tilted your head, stepping closer, fists clenched at your sides. “I’m not scared of you.”

Bakugo laughed — harsh, short, like a bark of derision.

“Good. Then fight me.” The crowd that had been watching now seemed to hold its breath, the tension thick enough to cut with a knife.

Bakugo lunged first, fists flying with that wild, brutal energy you knew all too well. You dodged, barely, your heart hammering as the first punch slammed against your shoulder with a sickening thud.

You shoved back, blocking the next blow, your breath sharp and ragged.

“Not bad,” Bakugo spat, circling you. “You really think you can protect the weakling from me?”

You squared your shoulders, eyes burning. He threw another punch, and the fight was on.

Fists collided, echoes bouncing off the lockers, the shouts of students falling into the background as your world narrowed to the heat of the battle.

You could feel every hit — every jab and block — burning through your skin, adrenaline and something fiercer fueling you.

Bakugo’s rage was fierce, but you weren’t backing down. Not while Izuku stood there, wide-eyed and trembling, barely able to believe you’d stepped in.

Finally, you caught Bakugo’s fist mid-air, twisting sharply and sending him stumbling back.

“You’re done,” you said, voice low and steady. “Stay away from him.”

Bakugo snarled, wiped blood from his lip, and glared at you like this wasn’t over. But the bell rang then, breaking the moment, scattering the crowd.

Bakugo spat on the floor, then stalked off, eyes burning with a promise of a fight that wasn’t finished.

You turned to Izuku, chest heaving, heart pounding.

He looked at you with wide, awed eyes.

“You… you didn’t have to do that.”

You shrugged, trying to sound casual but failing.

“Yeah, well. Someone’s gotta make sure he knows you’re not alone.”

Izuku smiled, small but real.

For the first time, you thought maybe… maybe this was the start of something more than just protection. The bell’s clang still echoed in the hallway as students scattered, whispers growing louder with every step you and Izuku took away from the scene.

You could feel eyes burning into your back — some shocked, some impressed, others whispering gossip already.

“Did you see that? [Name] actually fought Bakugo!”

“No way. Bakugo getting his ass handed to him by a delinquent?”

“Think [Name] is really gonna protect that quirkless loser? What a joke.”

You ignored it all, keeping your gaze steady on Izuku, who walked beside you with a cautious, almost shy smile.

“You okay?” you asked, voice softer now. He nodded, but didn’t say anything at first. You felt the light brush of Izuku’s shoulder against yours, tentative but deliberate, like he was asking permission without words.

Your heart skipped—unexpected but not unwelcome. You didn’t pull away. Instead, you kept your pace steady, matching his steps. He glanced up at you, eyes wide and searching.

“Hey,” he said quietly, voice a little shaky. “I mean… thanks. For today. For stepping in.”

You shrugged, trying to keep your usual tough-guy act, but it came out softer than intended.

“Don’t make me regret it.” He laughed—a breathy, nervous sound that made something twist inside your chest. For a moment, neither of you spoke.

The noise of the hallway faded into the background, swallowed by the quiet bubble you’d made. Then, almost imperceptibly, Izuku shifted closer, letting his arm brush lightly against yours.

You felt it—a spark, an electricity that surprised you. You caught yourself smiling, something you didn’t do often.

“You’re getting brave,” you teased, flicking his sleeve with your finger. His cheeks flushed even more, but he didn’t pull away.

“Maybe I am,” he whispered. You wanted to say something else, something that would make it clear you weren’t just ‘playing tough.’

But the words stuck in your throat. So instead, you tightened your grip on your backpack strap and nodded. “Good.”

As the crowd pushed around you, Izuku’s presence next to you felt like a lifeline. And you realized something you hadn’t admitted before: You didn’t want him to leave.

Over the next few days, those small moments multiplied. A brush of hands in the hallway. Shared glances that lingered just a second too long. Quiet conversations behind the gym where you teased him mercilessly, but somehow, it was always gentle underneath.

Izuku still didn’t quite get the hints—didn’t realize that every jab, every smirk, every playful shove was a way of saying I care.

But you didn’t mind. You liked watching him try to figure you out. Because maybe, just maybe, you were starting to feel the same way. Maybe you'd always felt this way.

Then you started to get bolder. Or in other words, you grew some balls.

Hanging out behind the school, you held the cigarette out to him, fingers steady, a faint smirk tugging at your lips.

“Just try it. I seriously doubt you’ll get addicted, but come on—you’ve gotta try it at least once.”

Izuku hesitated, eyes darting from the cigarette to your face like he was calculating the mortality rate of a single drag. His brows furrowed, shoulders tensed—he looked like you’d just asked him to commit a felony.

“I—um… I don’t think that’s a good idea,” he said, voice soft but strained, like he was trying not to offend you. “I mean, it’s not really healthy, and statistically—”

You rolled your eyes, cutting him off with a low chuckle.

“Statistically, everything kills you eventually.”

He blinked at you, visibly flustered. You could practically see the internal war going on behind those wide green eyes: rule-follower versus curious idiot.

“Besides,” you added, stepping just a little closer, holding the cigarette between two fingers like it was nothing, “don’t you ever want to do something reckless? Just once?”

The way he swallowed hard said more than any words ever could.

You didn’t press further. Just watched him squirm, the cigarette still between you like a dare. He didn’t take it, of course. Of course he didn’t. That was what made it fun.

You took a drag instead, exhaling slowly, the smoke curling in the space between you two.

Izuku coughed slightly—not from the smoke, but probably from his own nerves.

“You’re terrible,” he muttered.

You grinned. “And yet, here you are.”

Izuku stared at the cigarette in your hand like it was a bomb with a short fuse.

You didn’t say anything else. You just waited, the silence stretching between you two like a held breath. You took another drag, deliberately slow, eyes never leaving his.

Then—almost imperceptibly—his hand reached out.

He took it.

He looked at it in his fingers like it was foreign, awkward, wrong. But he didn’t give it back.

You raised an eyebrow. “Look at you,” you said softly, a slow smile playing on your lips. “Going bad already.”

“I-I’m not—” he started, flustered as ever, but you were already stepping in closer.

Before he could ask for a lighter—hell, before he even realized he’d need one—you leaned in. Not much. Just enough.

You lowered yourself slightly, bending at the waist to meet his height. Your movements were smooth, deliberate. The end of your cigarette glowed as you brought it close to the one held between his lips. The heat crackled softly when the tips touched.

Izuku didn’t move, frozen in place, wide-eyed as the fire caught.

You were close enough now to feel the nervous energy rolling off him. Close enough to see the faint blush dusting his cheeks. Close enough that he forgot how to breathe.

“There you go,” you murmured, voice low, like a secret. “Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He blinked rapidly. “I—uh—I didn’t think you were going to—do that.”

You grinned, leaning back with a flick of ash. “Clearly. That’s why it worked.”

He looked down at the cigarette now between his lips, like it held all the regret in the world. Then he glanced back at you, helpless.

“I don’t even know how to smoke.”

“You’ll figure it out,” you said, amused. “Or you’ll cough your lungs out. Either way, I win.”

He took the smallest puff imaginable.

And immediately choked.

You burst out laughing.

Chapter Text

Izuku couldn’t stop thinking about the fight.

It had happened fast—too fast to process in the moment. Bakugo’s hand grabbing his collar. The shove. The slam of his back hitting the lockers. And then, before he could even catch his breath, you were there. Stepping between them, fierce and unflinching, like it was just another Tuesday.

You hadn’t hesitated. Not even for a second.

Bakugo had been ready to hit him again—maybe harder this time, like he needed to make a point—but you didn’t let it happen. You pushed back. Threw the first punch. Stood your ground even when it meant getting hit. And Izuku just… watched. Frozen, useless, clutching the edge of the lockers while the world cracked open in front of him.

And then it was over. Bakugo stormed off with blood on his lip and murder in his eyes.

You turned around, breathing hard, one side of your mouth split, and asked if Izuku was okay—like it was the simplest thing in the world.

Izuku had nodded. Because he didn’t know what else to say. Because his chest was too full of something that wasn’t quite shock or fear.

It was something warmer. Sharper. Someone had fought for him. Not because they had to. Because they wanted to. He’d been trying to shake the feeling for days.

It was stupid to get attached. Stupid to think it meant anything.

You were reckless. Tough. The kind of person who laughed at rules and never asked permission. You smoked behind the school, skipped class sometimes, got into fights like it was a sport. You were loud in a way he never could be. Sharp-edged and untouchable.

And yet… when you were around him, you were different. Not soft, exactly. Just… real. Calmer. Like maybe you were letting him see something no one else got to.

Izuku was definitely not over what you did with the whole cigarette thing.

Not even close.

He’d replayed it in his head at least a dozen times—probably more, if he were being honest with himself. Which he wasn’t.

It wasn’t even about the cigarette. Not really.

It was the way you'd looked at him, patient and unbothered, like you already knew how it would go. Like you knew he’d take it eventually.

And he had.

God, he had.

He still remembered how weird it felt, holding the thing between his fingers—light, but suddenly the heaviest object in the world. It wasn’t just a cigarette. It was you, daring him to stop being predictable. Challenging every bit of control he tried so hard to keep in place.

And then, then, before he could even think to ask for a lighter, you stepped closer.

Bent down to his level.

It was subtle. Casual, even. But to him? It might as well have been the most intimate thing in the universe.

The glow of your cigarette lit up your face—soft and sharp at the same time. You brought it to the end of his, slow and precise, like you’d done it a hundred times before. Like you were lighting a fuse.

And maybe you were.

Izuku hadn’t been able to breathe—not because of the smoke, but because of you. The way your voice dropped to a murmur, teasing but gentle: “There you go. Wasn’t so hard, was it?”

The heat of the cigarette was nothing compared to the warmth crawling up his neck.

Even now, just thinking about it, he felt that same flutter in his chest. Like his heart hadn’t quite settled back down since.

He'd told himself it was a one-time thing. An experiment. A mistake, maybe.

But every time he saw you—leaning against a wall, cigarette in hand, eyes finding his across the room like you already knew what he was thinking—

He wondered if you remembered it the same way he did.

Or if, to you, it was just smoke. 

He’d tried to play it cool. Tried not to stare when you sat next to him behind the gym or passed him your lighter with that little smirk. But it was no use. He liked you. Really liked you.

The way your voice dropped when you teased him. The way you’d call him “Deku” and make it sound like something gentle. The way you didn’t flinch from Bakugo, or from him. It was terrifying.

Because the last time he’d hoped for something—anything—it had been stomped out before it could grow. And this felt like hope, all over again.

Like maybe he wasn’t invisible. Like maybe he wasn’t broken. Like maybe someone saw him.

You met again behind the gym that afternoon, same as always. You leaned against the wall like you owned it, cigarette dangling unlit from your fingers. Just a habit now. You hadn’t lit one in days.

Izuku sat beside you, perched awkwardly on the edge of the concrete steps, fingers twisted together in his lap.

Neither of you said much at first. Just silence. But not an uncomfortable one. He liked the quiet when it was with you. It didn’t feel like something that needed filling.

Still, when he glanced at you—face relaxed, eyes half-lidded in the warm orange light of the setting sun—he forgot how to breathe.

He looked away. Then back again.

You were… beautiful, in a way he didn’t know how to describe. Not the kind of beauty people noticed right away. But the kind that snuck up on you, knocked the wind out of your chest when you least expected it. Wild and rough around the edges, but real. Honest. And somehow, soft—just with him.

He was staring. He knew he was. He meant to look away. He really did. But you opened one eye, caught him mid-look, and smirked. “Caught you,” you said, voice low.

His eyes widened. “N-No, I wasn’t—I mean, I didn’t mean to—!”

“You were totally staring.”

He curled in on himself, face hot. “Sorry.” You tilted your head, watching him closely now. “You got a crush on me or something, Deku?”

His breath caught. There it was. Said out loud. A joke, probably. A tease. But the question just sat there, between you guys, heavier than anything he’d expected. He could’ve laughed it off. He should’ve. But he didn’t.

He stared at his hands, fingers twisting tighter in his lap.“…Would it be that weird if I did?” Silence. His chest tightened. Regret already clawing up his throat.

Then he heard movement—footsteps shifting, fabric brushing against concrete—and suddenly you were sitting beside him, just close enough to feel the heat of your arms.

“No,” you said, voice softer than he’d ever heard it. He looked up, slowly. You weren’t smiling. Your expression was serious. Focused. Eyes locked on him like he was something worth studying.

“Wouldn’t be weird,” you said again. “Not even a little.” His heart thudded.

“I don’t know what this is,” you went on. “I don’t do feelings. Not really. Not like this.” He didn’t move. Barely breathed. “But I like you, Deku. You’re not like anyone else.” You scratched the back of your neck. “You don’t pretend. You don’t look at me like I’m messed up.”

Izuku’s voice came out small. “You’re not messed up.”

You smiled a little, tired and crooked. “See? You’d be surprised how rare that is.” A beat passed. Then another. “I don’t want to mess this up,” you said. “So if you want this to just be… whatever it’s been, that’s fine. I’ll back off.” 

Izuku shook his head before he even meant to. “I don’t want it to be nothing,” he said quietly. You blinked.

Then, slowly, you leaned back on your hands, watching the sky shift pink above the school roof. “Well,” you said, exhaling, “guess that makes us something.” He laughed—quiet, surprised, relieved. “I guess it does.”

Your shoulder brushed his, warm and familiar. Neither of you guys moved away. And for the first time in a long time, Izuku let himself hope. He just hoped it wouldn’t get stomped on. But even if it did… this moment was still his.

And that was enough.

Izuku knew that the two of you were... something now. But that didn’t stop him from going home and squealing into his pillow like a lovesick schoolgirl.

His face was as red as a tomato. He figured you’d probably had a “something” with someone before—how could you not, with features like yours?

Still, he couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that you actually liked him. Him. The quirkless loser. And yet, here you were, feeling the same way.

Izuku hoped—no, prayed—that whatever this was, it would last forever.

“Izuku, honey,” Inko murmured gently, poking her head into his room, “you’ve been giggling at the fish bowl for a while now... Are you okay?”

“I also heard some… squealing earlier.”

Izuku peeked up from his pillow, still grinning, still very much flushed. He hadn’t even realized how long he’d been zoning out in front of the fish bowl, watching the lazy movement of the tiny goldfish like it held the answers to the universe.

“Y-yeah! I’m okay, Mom!” he called back, voice a little too high-pitched to be convincing.

Inko stepped inside anyway, hands gently wringing a dish towel. “You sure? You looked like you were in a trance. And then I heard that noise—sounded like someone stepped on a Pomeranian.”

Izuku groaned and rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling like it might rescue him from this moment.

“I wasn’t squealing. That was... the fish.”

“The fish?”

“They were—uh—celebrating.”

Inko raised an eyebrow, but smiled. “Mm-hmm. Celebrating what?”

Izuku hesitated, fingers tightening slightly in the hem of his T-shirt. He debated dodging the question, but then again... he wanted to talk about it. Just a little.

“…I think I might be dating someone,” he mumbled into his sleeve.

Inko blinked. “What was that, sweetie?”

He peeked out again, green eyes wide but glowing. “I… I think I’m dating someone. Or we’re... starting something. And it’s real. They like me.”

There was a pause. A heartbeat of silence.

Then Inko’s eyes welled up almost instantly. “Oh, Izuku...!”

She sniffled, “That’s wonderful!”

She moved to sit at the edge of his bed. He tensed.

“I’m really happy for you,” she continued. “It’s just... well, since you’re starting to get older and, um, forming connections like this... maybe we should have a little chat.”

Izuku sat bolt upright. “What kind of chat?”

Inko tried to play it cool, folding the dish towel neatly in her lap. “You know. The chat.”

His soul visibly left his body.

“…No. Mom. No, no, no.”

“I just think it’s important,” she said, calm and collected, like she hadn’t just dropped a social nuclear bomb. “Even if you’re young! These things sneak up on you, and I want you to be prepared when the time comes—emotionally, mentally—”

“I am thirteen!”

“And thirteen-year-olds can still have feelings! That’s when they start, sweetie.”

Izuku looked like he wanted to melt through the floor. “I’m not—I don’t—we haven’t even held hands!”

Inko nodded sympathetically, clearly not deterred. “That’s perfectly fine. It’s not about rushing anything. It’s just good to know how to be respectful, and thoughtful, and—”

“Mom please stop talking.”

She reached out and patted his knee gently. “Okay, okay. We can pause the talk for now.”

Izuku let out a sigh of relief—

“—but we will finish it later. Maybe I’ll make a little handout.”

“Please don’t make a handout.”

She stood up with a knowing smile. “There’s no shame in being informed. Relationships are a big responsibility. And one day, when you do have your first kiss—”

“I’m begging you to leave the room.”

“Alright, alright,” she said with a chuckle, backing toward the door. “But just know I’m proud of you, and I’ll always be here if you have any questions. About... anything.”

The door clicked shut as she left.

Izuku let out a long, tortured groan and flopped face-down onto his bed again.

Why did this have to be part of growing up?

Even villains were less terrifying than that.

Chapter Text

It was a week after the fight.

Three days since you’d officially said “I guess we’re something.” Izuku still wasn’t sure what that something was.

You guys weren’t dating—not officially. But you were walking to school together every morning now. You leaned against his desk during breaks like you owned the spot. You shared snacks. Shared looks. Sometimes, you would flick his ear or ruffle his hair and then smirk like you were getting away with something.

And Izuku? He was dying. Not in a bad way. In the heart-exploding, brain-short-circuiting, ‘oh my god their shoulder just touched mine again’ kind of way.

Every time you got too close, he forgot how to use words. Or breathe. Or function as a normal human being. And now, here they were—sitting side by side behind the gym again, knees brushing lightly, the sun dipping low and warm behind the buildings. It felt like something out of a movie. One of those cheesy romantic ones where everything sparkled a little too much.

Except there were cigarette butts on the ground. And gum stuck to the concrete. And you were trying to see how many times you could make him stutter in a row.

So, maybe not exactly a movie. But to Izuku, it was close enough. He shifted awkwardly, trying to work up the courage to say something. His heart had been hammering against his ribs for a solid ten minutes now. He was pretty sure you could hear it.

Plus, his mom talking about kissing had kind of gotten him wondering when you two might kiss. He hoped it would be soon. Or… maybe in like, a year. Yeah. That sounded safer.

You’d both been quiet for a while—comfortable, but charged. Like the air was thick with something unsaid.

You turned slightly toward him, propping one leg up and resting your elbow on your knee. “You okay, Deku? You’ve been fidgeting like you’re about to explode.”

Izuku startled. “N-No! I mean—yes! I mean—I’m fine!” …Nailed it. 

You raised an eyebrow, amused. “You’re terrible at lying.”

“I’m not lying,” he muttered, hugging his knees to his chest. “I just… have a lot on my mind.”

“Mhm.” You leaned closer, eyes sharp but playful. “What kind of things?” He swallowed. Now or never.

It wasn’t even that big a deal. It was just a kiss. Normal couples did it all the time. And they were… sort of a couple. Or maybe almost. Half-couple? Future-couple? His brain was spiraling again. He pressed his palms to his cheeks and mumbled, “I’ve never kissed anyone before.”

There was a pause.

Then—

“Deku,” you said slowly, “are you trying to ask me to kiss you?”

Izuku let out a sound that might’ve been a squeak. “N-No! I mean—yes! I mean—!” He buried his face in his arms. “Kind of!” He heard you laugh—a short, warm, genuine sound. Not mocking. Just amused. And something about that made it a little easier to lift his head again.

You were smiling at him, but not in the way that made him feel small. It was the kind of smile that said me too.

“Okay,” you said.

His heart stopped. “Okay…?” 

“Okay, I’ll kiss you.”

“…Wait, really?”

You leaned in just slightly. “Unless you changed your mind.”

Izuku’s throat went dry. He shook his head. “N-No. I mean. No, I didn’t.”

Your grin softened. “Then close your eyes, idiot.” So he did. His heart was pounding so hard now it felt like his entire body was shaking. He half-expected to faint before it even happened. And then—warmth.

A light, soft pressure. Not pushy. Not rushed. Just… gentle. Your lips barely brushed his, like they were testing the moment. It was over before he could even register it fully. He opened his eyes, blinking. The red was already starting to creep up his neck and spread.

You were looking at him, a little pink in the cheeks. Your grin had faded into something quieter. “You good?”

Izuku nodded slowly, stunned. Then, almost in disbelief, “That was my first kiss.”

“I know,” you said. “You taste like nervous energy and soda.”

He groaned and hid his face again, burning. “That’s so embarrassing.”

You laughed and nudged his shoulder. “You’ll survive.”

He peeked out. “Maybe we could… try again?” 

Your expression softened completely. “Yeah, Deku. We can try again.” And this time, when you leaned in, he didn’t close his eyes because he was scared. He closed them because he trusted you.

Because hope didn’t feel so dangerous anymore.

.

Izuku walked home like he was in a dream.

Feet on autopilot, brain somewhere in orbit, heart still flailing like it hadn’t gotten the memo that the moment was over. People passed him on the street. Cars honked. Someone walked their dog directly in front of him and he barely noticed.

Because you had kissed him.

You kissed him.

He’d kissed someone. You. And it wasn’t a joke or an accident or a dare. It was real. Soft. Warm. A little shy. Kind.

He couldn’t stop replaying it—your voice, your smile right before, the way you leaned in just enough, like you were giving him a chance to pull away. He hadn’t. He couldn’t. He didn’t want to.

By the time he reached his front door, his face was already heating up again. His fingers twitched at his sides.

He stepped inside, quietly shutting the door behind him, still in a haze.

Inko peeked her head out from the kitchen. “Sweetie?”

Izuku turned to her slowly, like a haunted man. “Hi, Mom.”

She blinked. “…Are you okay?”

“Yep,” he said, voice too high and too soft and way too weird.

She stepped out fully now, drying her hands on a towel, brows furrowing as she studied him. “You look… flushed. Did you run home?”

Izuku opened his mouth. Closed it. Rubbed the back of his neck.

“No,” he said, still dazed. “Just... walking.”

Inko tilted her head. “Are you sure you’re not coming down with something?”

“I—” he paused. The memory hit again, clear and vivid and impossible to ignore. Your lips. The tiny smirk. The quiet, almost shy way you said “Yeah, Deku. We can try again.”

And you two had tried again. He was definitely less nervous but at the same time more nervous?

His face exploded into color.

“Oh my god,” he mumbled, throwing his hands over his face. “I kissed someone.”

Inko froze. “...You what?”

Izuku dropped his backpack in the hallway and sank to his knees like he was experiencing a spiritual event. “I kissed someone.”

“You kissed—wait—today?!”

He nodded, hands still covering his face. “It was my first kiss.”

Inko made a noise somewhere between a gasp and a squeal. “Oh my baby’s growing up—!”

“Mooom, please not right now—”

“Was it who I think it was?” she asked, eyes sparkling with pure mom energy.

He groaned into his hands. “I’m not telling you.”

“You don’t have to!” she said cheerfully. “You’re glowing.”

“I think I might be dying,” Izuku muttered.

Inko walked over and gently ruffled his curls, grinning. “You’ll live.”

He groaned again and melted further into the floor.

But deep down, under the flustered panic and embarrassment, Izuku smiled.

Because it happened. And it was perfect.

Izuku was still on the floor when Inko returned from the kitchen, this time with a glass of water and a look that could only mean one thing.

He sat up slowly, suspicious. “What’s that face?”

“Nothing,” she said innocently, handing him the water. “You just seemed… emotionally dehydrated.”

He narrowed his eyes. “...You’re going to try to talk about kissing again, aren’t you?”

“I would never force a conversation you’re not ready for,” she said sweetly.

He raised an eyebrow. She smiled wider.

He sighed. “Mom…”

“I just think,” she began delicately, sitting down beside him on the floor like this was a normal thing to do after your son’s first kiss, “that now might be a good time to talk about next steps.”

Izuku choked on his water. “Next steps? I barely survived step one!”

Inko patted his back gently. “Sweetie, I’m not saying you need to rush anything. But feelings grow, and it’s important to understand what that can mean—physically, emotionally…”

He was already flushing again. “Can we not do this right now?”

“You’re not in trouble,” she assured him, like he was being arrested instead of emotionally grilled. “I just want to make sure you feel safe talking to me about anything that comes up.”

Izuku groaned. “The only thing that’s coming up is my entire soul leaving my body.”

“Izuku,” she said gently, tucking a bit of his hair behind his ear, “your heart is so big. You love with everything you have. That’s beautiful—but it also means things might get intense, and confusing, and scary. And if they do, you can always talk to me. About anything.”

He looked down, hands twisting in his hoodie sleeves.

“…Even if I don’t know what I’m feeling?”

“Especially then,” she said softly.

They sat there for a quiet moment. The water glass rested between them on the floor. The hallway light buzzed faintly overhead.

Then—

Izuku mumbled, “I think I’m gonna go write in my journal now.”

Inko smiled. “Good idea.”

He stood up, still pink from his ears to his collarbones, grabbed his bag, and shuffled off toward his room.

As soon as the door clicked shut behind him, he flopped onto the bed and pulled his phone out of his pocket. His hands hovered over the screen for a second, unsure what to say.

Then, finally:

Izuku: um
Izuku: is it weird if I say I’m still thinking about that kiss
Izuku: bc I am
Izuku: a lot

He stared at the message for five full seconds before typing again.

Izuku: but like in a normal way
Izuku: like in a totally calm, cool, not-at-all-panicking kind of way

He hit send. Immediately regretted everything. Rolled onto his back and covered his face with a groan.

Three seconds later, his phone buzzed.

[Name] <3: lol
[Name] <3: I was thinking about it too
[Name] <3: you looked like you were gonna explode

Izuku: I was
[Name] <3: it was cute
Izuku: 🧍‍♂️

[Name] <3: :3

Izuku stared at the screen for a moment, the beginnings of a goofy smile tugging at his lips. Yeah. He was doomed.

But like… in a really nice way.

.

Izuku was convinced that every single person at school knew.

Which was ridiculous. But also… what if they did? What if it was written all over his face? What if someone could just see that he had kissed someone—that you had kissed him—and they started pointing and whispering and—

He walked straight into a locker.

“Deku,” came a voice behind him. Amused. Familiar.

He froze. Slowly turned.

You were standing there, backpack slung over one shoulder, one brow raised like you were already enjoying whatever reaction he was about to have.

“You good?” you asked, tone casual.

Izuku tried to smile like a normal person. “Yep! Totally fine! I just didn’t see the locker. Or the wall. Or where I was walking.”

You gave him that look. The one that was somewhere between fond and entertained. “You always this jumpy after making out?”

“It wasn’t making out!” he hissed, face going red immediately. “It was barely a kiss!”

“Still counts,” you said, grinning.

He looked around wildly. “Can you not say that so loud?”

“Why? You think people are gonna riot because you finally got kissed?” You smirked, “Watch the news cover it. ‘Hopeless romantic finally gets kissed.’”

Izuku looked like he might pass out. “Please stop talking.”

You didn’t. Of course you didn’t.

Instead, you leaned in a little closer—just close enough for his brain to short-circuit again—and said, voice quieter now, “You’re cute when you panic.”

His mouth opened. Nothing came out.

Then, as if nothing happened, you turned and started walking toward the classroom.

“Come on, Deku. You’re gonna make us late.”

He stood there for a second, genuinely wondering how it was legal for someone to be that smooth in middle school. Then he hurried after you, still flustered but now smiling so hard his cheeks hurt.

Later, during break, you stole a bite of his snack and leaned against his desk like usual. He was writing something in his notebook—probably something totally unrelated to hero studies and absolutely related to the fact that your shoulder was touching his again.

You glanced over. “You gonna ask me to kiss you again or just stare at your math homework like it’s alive?”

He looked up, heart immediately pounding. “…Maybe.”

You tilted your head. “Maybe?”

Izuku swallowed, then said—so quiet only you could hear—“I wouldn’t mind if it happened again.”

You blinked once. Then smiled. “Good.”

And just like that, you bumped your shoulder into his, real gentle, before returning your attention to the class notes you were definitely not taking seriously.

Izuku looked down at his paper. It still didn’t make sense. None of it. His brain was mush.

But somehow, he didn’t really mind.

.

Izuku was totally focused on the homework spread out in front of him, pencil scratching across the page as he tried to ignore the fluttering in his chest.

You had been sitting next to him for the last hour, quietly doodling in your notebook, and every so often your elbow bumped his arm. Innocent enough, but Izuku’s mind was definitely not innocent.

He glanced up, catching your mischievous grin just before—

SMACK!

A quick, light kiss right on his cheek. Izuku jumped so hard his pencil nearly flew out of his hand.

He blinked, wide-eyed, heart hammering like a drum.

You just sat there, looking pleased as punch.

“I-I didn’t mean to startle you!” you said, barely able to keep from laughing.

“I—It just… it caught me completely off guard!” Izuku stammered, cheeks blazing bright red. “Y-You can’t just—just kiss me like that!”

You smiled softly, reaching over to squeeze his hand. “I can if I want to.”

He swallowed hard, trying to regain his composure but failing spectacularly.

“You’re impossible,” he muttered, but his smile betrayed him.

“Maybe,” you teased, “but you love it.”

Izuku groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “I’m doomed.”

But really, he wasn’t complaining.