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“We’re getting married.”
At first, the statement didn’t even register. After all, Izuku Midoriya was running on less than four hours of sleep, finishing grading his student papers while absent-mindingly doodling sharp spikes onto his notepad between bites of microwaveable ramen. Then he blinked, realizing what she’d just suggested—no, demanded, and set his chopsticks down.
“Really?” He said. His voice held no excitement nor anger. It was almost pleasantly calm, but far too neutral for someone who had just been proposed to. He frowned, wondering why she’d said it now. But then again, he supposed it made sense. They were a picture perfect couple—a handsome man and pretty woman, underdogs who fought in a war together and then became high school sweethearts before getting married and settling down together for a white picket fence and kids. It was bland, it was boring, it was the same old story repeated a thousand times before (besides maybe the war part), and the public ate it up. They’d been Japan’s Best Hero Couple for five years in a row now—ever since they started dating. Media tablets, strangers on the street and their families were always asking when they were finally going to tie the knot. Random grandmothers on the streets gushed about how amazing they looked together. How cute their children would look. How they would have Uraraka's bright warm eyes and Deku’s unwavering kindness.
Izuku looked up to meet Uraraka's eyes. There was no warmth in them.
Although Izuku had always considered her default state to be like his own–optimistic and compassionate, he soon realized that wasn’t the case. There was nothing compassionate in the way she crossed her arms, looking down at him with an unreadable expression, an air about her that could only be described as heavy and overbearing. Maybe she had been like that once–far back before the war, but whatever part of her that was had shattered the moment a certain girl's heart had stopped (he knew the feeling all too well).
“Yes,” she said, setting down her bowl. He remembered, vaguely, back when they first got together, Uraraka and him, after a long day of saving lives and helping elderly mothers cross the street, would go into the kitchen together and make something together. They were both beginners, their work nothing like Kacchan’s carefully crafted, perfectly balanced meals, but they had tried. More often than not it had resulted in burned, mostly inedible slop that they had forced down together, bursting into fits of laughter that had them near tears at the looks on each other's faces.
They didn’t do that anymore. Deku didn’t want to, anyway.
“I was thinking of hosting it this July,” she said stiffly, wiping her face with a napkin before tossing it down haphazardly on the counter. “You know I like warm weather.”
So does Kacchan, his mind unhelpfully supplied.
“I do,” he said, swallowing. Summer? He thought. That was only, what, three months away? Why so soon? He was used to Uraraka's unpredictable moods, her stormy nature that could have her going from who the public saw her has–a woman with unshakable benevolence, good-natured and sweet hero–to angry and bitter, prone to lashing out with her words and striking where she knew it would hurt. He couldn’t say he’d never done the same. “But why?”
She didn’t respond for a long moment, her eyes trailing to the window. Their shared apartment was admittedly gorgeous–a modern luxury condo that gave a stunning view of Tokyo, especially at night. It looked towards the sea, and sometimes, when they got lucky, Deku would get a good view of hero battles. But that didn’t mean he hated it any less. He’d always preferred a more homey atmosphere, like he had at his mother’s house. But Uraraka had insisted they get somewhere together, lest the media catch on to how most days, they could barely stand each other and often chose to sleep as far apart as they possibly could.
“Is it so hard to believe I just want to get married to my boyfriend?” She looked to him with a sweet smile. Well–it would have looked sweet to anyone else, but Deku saw how forced it was. How it didn’t reach her eyes.
Deku didn’t bother to plaster on a smile of his own, although he knew he could fake it better than her. The newspapers were always filled of his smiling face as he saved a kitten that got stuck in a tree or helped out some poor kids or whatever the fuck his manager had made him do. Not even his mother had realized he didn’t give a single crap about any of it. He hardly cared about anything nowadays. Certainly not random people he had never met.
“Yes.”
Much to Deku’s delight, her smile fell.
“Fuck off,” she muttered, turning away. “Do you want to get married or not?”
Izuku rolled his eyes. “Fine, whatever. Not like I’ve got better things to do.”
He saw Uraraka stiffen. He could tell she was glaring at her hands, her fingers probably digging into the calloused skin of her palm. Maybe even drawing blood. Izuku said nothing, feeling a sick sort of satisfaction at getting under her skin. She said nothing for a long moment, which Deku took as a silent victory, before she muttered, “You know most guys would be thrilled to marry me.”
“I’m sure they would, sweetheart,” Izuku said, spitting out the word like it was poison. “I mean, why wouldn’t they? You’re just so thoughtful and kind. You always save people...” His lips turned upward into a smirk. “...Especially the people who needed you the most.”
“ENOUGH!” Uraraka spat, turning around and slamming her fists down on the table. The china near her shattered with a loud crack, pieces falling to the ground. Crimson dripped from her hands, but she didn’t seem to care or even notice. Tears welled up in her eyes. “We are getting married, Deku.” Izuku's smile faltered as he jerked away from her murderous gaze. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself before it fell into an expression he had seen many times before–a look that seemed calm on the surface, but Deku could tell she was just barely holding it together. “We will have a nice wedding in July. I will plan it. We will invite all our friends. And the whole world will see what a happy couple we are. Got it?” Her chest was heaving. With the blood on her shirt, she looked nothing like a hero.
Deku couldn’t meet her eyes. A small wisp of fear twisted in his gut.
“Fine,” he said solemnly, like a man who had just signed his own death warrant. You win.