Archive of Our Own

The briefcase holding the armored suit gifted by his old classmates sits on Izuku’s desk, a silent weight beside the stack of assignments he is grading. He casts a quick glance toward it, a fond smile tugging at his lips before he returns to his paperwork. It’d been a day like many others, reminiscent of his old times at UA High, filled with lectures on hero dynamics, critical thinking, mid-battle quirk analysis and hero history.

Shortly after their lunch period, Izuku takes his class to Gym Gamma, the hero training gym, in which he is able to analyze how each of his students had further developed their quirks based off their independent training and the cumulative lessons being taught so far. Watching in absolute awe as his students demonstrate how much they have grown through independent training. It still hits him in waves, the profound gratitude that this is his life now. He is teaching. He is making a lasting impact.

Anxious to finish on time, Izuku works tirelessly to ensure to be ready to be picked up by Katsuki for their weekly dinner. A sudden chime breaks the silence, the blue LED light illuminating his face in the dimming class. Hinting that the sun is setting fast and he’s been there for quite a long time.

‘Be there in 5’ the screen reads.

It is a routine they have established shortly after Izuku received the suit and they finally, albeit in secret, started dating. Usually their conflicting schedules force them to settle for FaceTime dinners just to catch a glimpse of each other, but tonight is a rare, special exception. The two are free for the evening to meet.

Izuku lets out a soft huff, leaning back from his hunched position into a deep stretch, interlocking his fingers above his head. As the tension slowly dissipates, he lets go of his hands onto his thighs and looks down at them. The sight always gives him pause. His hands are a map of his past: covered in deep scars, rugged scratches, and heavy callouses. Slowly, he cradles one hand in the other, turning it palm up. He drags his thumb over the rough ridges of the scar tissue, momentarily lost in thought.

He shakes his head furiously, forcing the creeping memories away, and quickly gathers his belongings. Halfway down the corridor when he freezes mid step at the realization. His camera. Photography has become the one hobby that keeps him grounded, offering a pocket of creative freedom entirely separate from the weight of teaching or hero society.

He hurries back to the classroom, slightly out of breath, scanning the desk just as a car horn blares from the street below. A spike of panic hits him with full force, he hates making Katsuki wait, but it vanishes the moment he spots the familiar All Might neck strap peeking out of his desk drawer. Sighing in relief before opening it and pulling it out.

Slinging it around his neck, he does a rapid mental checklist everything was in his possession before leaving as he hurries toward the stairs: wallet, phone, keys, yellow backpack, the suit briefcase, and his camera.

Another sharp blast of the horn echoes through the glass back doors of the building. Izuku rolls his eyes affectionately, spotting the sleek black Porsche idling in the faculty parking lot. His smile widens as he jogs out, arriving a bit out of breath just as the tinted window rolls down.

“Oi. Took you long enough,” Katsuki grumbles, his signature scowl firmly in place.

“Sorry! I was on my way out the door, but I realized I forgot my camera,” Izuku apologies instantly, bringing his hands together in a prayer motion and bowing slightly at the waist. “I couldn’t leave without it since it’s Friday and we have that event tomorrow.”

Katsuki’s sharp gaze softens at the mention of their weekend plans. He clicks his tongue, jerking his chin toward the interior of the car. “Tsk. Get in nerd. We still have time before our reservation.” He looks away quickly, fighting the stubborn urge to not let his lip curl into a smile.

Izuku slowly raises his head catching that subtle, familiar twitch of Katsuki’s mouth, a warm wave of affection washes over him. He chuckles softly, opening the door and settling into the passenger seat. After carefully placing the briefcase and his bag between his legs, he pulls his seatbelt across his chest.

Immediately, the blond throws the Porsche into reverse. He doesn't bother with the backup camera. He’d always claimed a real driver doesn't need to rely on a screen, though Izuku secretly suspects Katsuki just likes the undivided attention from a certain someone.

To which Izuku gives it to him willingly. He leans back, entirely captivated by a sight that, despite becoming routine, never fails to make his chest tight. Katsuki just looks undeniably hot while driving. Izuku watches the effortless way the blond throws his left arm over the passenger headrest, his scowl deepening into pure concentration as he looks over his shoulder.

True to himself, Izuku’s mind begins to overanalyze every single detail: the slight flex of Katsuki’s jaw, the prominent vein in his neck, and the precise, open-palm movement of his right hand steering the wheel. Katsuki is close enough that the faint, sweet scent of burnt caramel drifts off his skin, enveloping the small space of the car. Just before shifting the car into drive, Katsuki’s piercing gaze lingers on Izuku for a fraction of a second, an unspoken acknowledgment that has Izuku’s heart doing flips as they finally pull out onto the road.

It is almost instinctual. Izuku lifts his camera, adjusting his grip and focusing the lens on Katsuki’s profile as he drives. The blond scoffs, letting out a small, amused grunt because he knows exactly what is coming.

CLICK.

Izuku looks down at the digital screen completely enamored, tracing his thumb over the captured image. Wanting more, he brings the viewfinder back to his eye. This time, Katsuki glances over, reaching across the console to intercept him, but another CLICK cuts him off. The small space of the car fills with Izuku’s soft, breathless giggles. Testing his luck, Izuku flips the camera around, throws up a peace sign, and snaps a selfie.

As the laughter dies down, Izuku flips through the three photos, a quiet wave of satisfaction washing over him. These are rare, candid moments shared entirely in private before they have to step out into a public establishment and brave the peering eyes of the world. Facing the public opinion of others no one asked for. Bringing the camera close to his chest, Izuku hugs it tightly before looking at it again.

The first shot magazine worthy: Katsuki looking straight at the road, one hand on the steering wheel and the other on the gearshift. A soft smile graces Izuku’s lips as he clicks to the next one. His stomach fills with warmth at the sight of a blurry, explosive hand reaching out to cover the lens, spiky blond hair framing the edge of the shot. He leans in at the small screen to see the faint, hidden twitch of a smile at the corner of Katsuki’s mouth.

When he clicks to the final picture, his breath catches, and his eyes suddenly grow glassy. It is a deceptively simple photo to say the least; just Izuku grinning widely with his eyes closed and two fingers in the air. But he hadn't realized that mid drive, Katsuki had leaned over, hovering his chin just above his shoulder. Katsuki wasn’t looking at the camera though, his piercing red eyes are fixed entirely on Izuku, softened by a profound, heavy fondness that vanished the moment the flash went off before the greenette could notice.

“You know, you should be careful flashing that thing at me while I’m driving”, Katsuki grumbles throwing a sharp glance across the console. “I could’ve gotten us into an accident just now.”

“I know, Kacchan,” Izuku hums, his eyes still glued to the screen. “But your warnings don’t hold much weight when you're leaning in and looking at me like this.”

They come to a halt at a red light, and Izuku playfully turns the camera screen toward the blond. Katsuki's ears instantly flush red. His grip on the steering wheel hardens, and tiny, involuntary sparks pop around his palms, making the greenette chuckle softly. As the light flips to green, Katsuki accelerates, his left hand shifting off the wheel to rest firmly on Izuku’s thigh, his thumb soothingly rubbing back and forth.

When they approach the restaurant valet, Izuku knows to stay seated. He knows the drill to wait for Katsuki to come around and open the door for him. Something he’s insisted on doing since they started dating and Mitsuki had offhandedly mentioned it was the gentleman thing to do for a partner. They also don’t have to worry about privacy here since this establishment is strictly reserved for pro heroes or people of high-profile clients seeking an escape from the public eye.

The passenger door swings open, and Katsuki extends a warm open hand to help him up. Izuku stares at it. Instantly, his stomach churns. A suffocating, heavy guilt eats at him from the inside out. Desperate to avoid the palm-to-palm contact, Izuku quickly grabs his jacket from his lap and places it into Katsuki’s waiting hand instead, using this moment to pull himself out of the car.

Katsuki doesn't say a word. His fingers tighten around the fabric with enough force to tear it, stepping back to give Izuku room to stand. They have been dating for almost six months now, and the rejection still stings just as badly as it did the first time.

“I’m going to go confirm our reservation. Wait for me here, okay?” Katsuki says, his voice tightly controlled. He doesn't wait for a response before turning on his heel toward the receptionist.

Left standing by the car, Izuku shifts his weight awkwardly from one leg to the other. The heavy silence of the unheld hand hangs thick in the air between them.

As Katsuki approaches the heavy glass doors, his mind spirals into a frustrated loop. I just don’t get it. We’ve been at this for half a year. We share everything, but he can’t hold my fucking hand? He feels his chest tighten with an old, familiar heat. For god's sake, he had no problem making out against his classroom desk during break when I was the guest pro hero, but he draws the line at interlocking fingers? This isn’t even a public restaurant—

“Welcome back, Dynamight,” the receptionist greets him warmly, cutting off his downward spiral.

Katsuki forces his shoulders to drop, clearing his throat. “Reservation for two. Under Bakugo.” She checks her clipboard, offers a polite nod, and Katsuki turns back to retrieve Izuku.

The restaurant, nestled in downtown Musutafu, boasts elegant white and gold accents against clean black lettering for its name, with a plush red carpet guiding guests inward. As they walk through the entrance, Izuku’s eyes trace the walls of the main waiting area. They are adorned with framed portraits of top pro heroes, city officials, and distinguished civilians.

Suddenly, Izuku’s lingering guilt is eclipsed by a surge of excitement. “Look, Kacchan! Shoto, Yaoyorozu, and Iida are up here!” His eyes gleam with absolute pride as he scans the display, completely captivated panning the entire entryway. “Oh wow, Kirishima and Mina are here too! Our friends have really come so far. I'm so incredibly proud of them.”

A soft smile spreads across Izuku’s face. Looking at him from the corner of his eye, Katsuki quickly forgets why he was irritated just moments ago.

“Don’t sell us short yet, nerd. Look up there.”

Following Katsuki's gaze, Izuku lifts his head. His eyes widen in absolute shock. Hanging on the wall beneath dedicated accent lights is his own portrait. The photograph captures him with his fist raised high into the air, the once encompassing grey sky parting as the clouds finally begin to fade away.

At a loss for words, Izuku brings a hand to his mouth in disbelief. “I- Is that me? During the fight with Shigaraki?”

Katsuki ruffles Izuku's green curls, his hand lingering to clasp his shoulder. He points a finger toward the frame immediately to the right. “Yeah. The final war was televised, but you should know that better than anyone. Look over there. I guess you and I did some pretty big things that day, huh?”

Izuku shifts his focus to the adjacent picture. It shows a concaved, ruined crater in the earth, where a figure lies raising a defiant fist to the sky. Smoke curls around the outer edges of the frame, and faint, static sparks dance in the air, hinting at the massive detonations that had just occurred. He knows that image all too well.

“Ka- Kacchan,” Izuku’s voice falters. “It’s you. Right after you defeated All For One. Oh my goodness…they really have both of our pictures under display lights. I can’t believe it.”

“Well, not to sound like Monoma, but we did defeat two of the biggest threats in Japan, hell, in the entire world. With the help of a few extras, of course,” Katsuki adds, prompting a genuine chuckle to escape Izuku's lips. Keeping his hand firmly on Izuku's shoulder, Katsuki guides him forward. “C’mon, let’s get seated and order something to eat.”

Katsuki jerks his chin toward the receptionist, who gathers two menus and leads them into the dining room. They weave through the upscale layout to a quiet area tucked away in the very back, a specific request Katsuki made when calling ahead. Even in a private establishment, he loathes being stared at or interrupted, especially when he finally has Izuku to himself.

They reach a secluded, red velvet, C-shaped booth. Izuku slides himself into the curve of the seat, and Katsuki settles in directly across from him. Without needing to ask, Katsuki orders Izuku’s favorite wine to help him unwind from the long week. The waitress quickly brings it out in an ice bucket alongside two polished glasses and a whiskey for the blond. Katsuki sheds his suit jacket, draping it over the back of his chair as they settle into the space.

Reaching over to pop the cork, Katsuki glances up mid-pour. “So, what’s new with you?”

Izuku avoids his direct gaze, watching the rich red liquid fill his glass as he lets out a deep, tired sigh. “First, I just want to say thank you, Kacchan. For being the guest pro hero earlier this week. I know your schedule is completely packed with trying to increase your rank, helping your mother model for her fashion line, and your regular patrol shifts…” Realizing he is on the verge of rambling, Izuku cuts himself off. “I just wanted to say thank you. That’s all.”

Katsuki tilts the bottle away from the glass, sliding it across the table toward Izuku before dropping it back into the ice bucket. He leans back into his chair, narrowing his crimson eyes at the greenette as he takes a slow swig of his drink. “Hmm. That’s not what I meant when I asked what’s new with you. I already know my own schedule, and I didn’t mind helping out with your brats. Now try again. What’s new with you?”

Izuku finally looks up, fully taking in the sight across from him. The jacket Katsuki wore earlier had hidden his outfit, and Izuku's heart skips a beat. The burnt orange, fitted turtleneck hugs Katsuki's broad chest and shoulders, outlining the defined muscle groups perfectly, an effect heightened by the way the blond is lounging back. Izuku recognizes the piece; it must be from Mitsuki's winter line that released in the fall. Hanging around Katsuki's neck is a simple silver chain with an explosion pendant. It looks normal to any outsider, but etched onto the back side is a private engraving of Izuku's initial; a birthday gift that carries an immense, quiet sentimental weight for them both.

Izuku picks up his wine glass by the stem, swirling the alcohol a few times before taking a tentative sip. “Well, in the little free time I have…thanks again for the suit, by the way.”

Katsuki shoots him a sharp glare.

“I know, I know,” Izuku chuckles defensively. “As I was saying, I take pictures here and there since it’s something I really enjoy. Or I hang out with Ochako, Tsuyu, Shoto, and Iida if our schedules actually align. Besides that, I’m home watching All Might reruns, working out, or just enjoying the downtime.”

Katsuki lets out a soft, satisfied grunt. It is enough of a sign that he approves; he likes knowing the nerd actually has a life outside the crushing demands of hero society and academy teaching at UA High.

Despite dating for nearly six months, their misaligned routines mean their paths rarely cross in a truly intimate setting. Aside from joint agency briefings or Katsuki's guest lectures at UA, one-on-one dates are a luxury for them. In fact, their last proper night out was all the way back in October after Kirishima's birthday, ending with a scoop of ice cream to cap the night. It being already December; the passage of time feels entirely too fast.

The waitress returns to formally introduce herself, rattling off a selection of appetizers, chef recommendations that pair with their drinks, and dessert options. They start their meal with classic miso soup, followed by tonkatsu for Izuku and a plate of yakitori brushed with a heavy, spicy glaze for Katsuki.

When the waitress asks for their dessert choice to log everything into the system at once, the two heroes glance at each other and immediately look away, a prominent flush rising on Izuku’s cheeks.

“Caramel pudding, please,” Izuku says softly, hiding his face behind another sip of wine. The waitress smiles knowingly to herself, tucking her notepad away as she leaves them to the comfortable intimacy of their corner booth and makes her way to her workstation.

“Now it’s your turn. What’s new with you Kacchan?”

“Ah?”

“Oh, come on, don’t be coy,” Izuku teases, leaning his chin into his palm. “Tell me what you’ve been up to besides hero work.”

A moment passes as the blond gathers his thoughts, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. “Well, not much. Yeah, I see Shitty Hair and Dunce Face on my time off, but that’s only for training, so it’s not really anything fun or enjoyable. Besides that, I’m at home trying out new recipes or reading. Tried picking up TV, but I didn't care for it. Even tried picking up drumming again in my spare time, but I'm not doing much with that either.” Katsuki pauses, his crimson eyes locking onto Izuku’s with unfiltered honesty. “If I’m being completely honest, I’ve just been thinking about you nonstop since we don’t get to see each other much.”

Katsuki has always been known for his brash nature, completely incapable of holding back his attacks or his words, and it is no surprise that the same rule applies to their relationship. Still, no matter how many years pass, Izuku will never fully get used to Katsuki dropping such vulnerable confessions out in the open as if they are nothing. Izuku parts his lips to respond, but he is promptly cut off by the waitress returning with their entrees. He closes his mouth again, secretly relieved by the distraction because he has no idea how to process the warmth blooming in his chest.

The two enjoy their meal in peace. It is a quiet comfort they both cherish, the ability to let the stillness settle between them without needing to fill it with forced questions. A luxury that comes with a lifetime of history and a deep, unspoken understanding of one another. After finishing his meal, Izuku exhales a contented sigh and sets his chopsticks across his plate, Katsuki following suit a moment later.

The waitress clears their table and returns shortly after with the caramel pudding. They both look down at the silky baked custard, topped with a glossy layer of dark, liquid caramel that sends a rich aroma drifting into the air.

“You know,” Izuku trails off, a soft smile curling the corners of his lips. “When she asked what we wanted for dessert, this was the first thing that came to mind.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because it smells exactly like you.”

A proud grin spreads across the blond’s face. “Well, aren’t we in a flirtatious mood? Do you think I taste the same?”

“Kacchan! People can hear you!” Izuku hisses, his face turning bright red instantly as he glances around the secluded booth.

“I’m not hearing a 'no',” Katsuki says smoothly. He scoops up a small spoonful of the custard, reaching across the table to bring it directly to Izuku’s lips. “Tell me, how do I taste?” His voice drops, eyes darkening with sudden, intense heat behind them.

Parting his lips slightly, Izuku welcomes the spoon into his mouth, letting out an involuntary quiet hum of enjoyment as the flavors melt across his tongue. “Heavenly,” he admits breathlessly.

They continue exchanging bites of the sweet treat, the conversation flowing effortlessly between light banter and shared laughs. When the waitress returns with the check, Katsuki slides his credit card over without giving Izuku a single chance to glimpse the total.

As they wait for the transaction to finish, a natural silence settles over them. They simply stare at one another with such profound endearment, neither wanting the night to end, yet both fiercely looking forward to their plans the next morning.

Testing the lingering warmth of the moment, Katsuki reaches across the table, his open palm sliding forward to take hold of Izuku’s hand.

Instinctually, Izuku recoils. Pulling his arm back, his movements sharp and panicked. Desperate to play it off, he laughs nervously, rubbing his arms. “Oh my, haha! It suddenly got very chilly in here, right?” He scratches the back of his neck, quickly grabbing his jacket to pull it over his shoulders. “I guess when you sit for too long, you just get cold. Right?”

Katsuki stares at his now-empty, open hand hovering over the white tablecloth. Slowly, he closes it into a tight, strained fist. He draws his arm back beneath the table, pressing his knuckles hard against his thigh to steady his spiking temper.

“Right,” Katsuki forces out, his voice suddenly hollow.

The same heavy, suffocating frustration from the valet parking lot swells right back up in his chest. But Katsuki knows better than to cause a scene here, and more importantly, he refuses to pressure Izuku into something that makes him uncomfortable. Even if it makes no logical sense given how close they are in private. He desperately wants to demand an answer, to ask if this rejection is because of something he did or if it is entirely personal. But the atmosphere is ruined, and the environment is wrong, so he forces himself to mentally drop it.

“Let me take you home,” Katsuki says dryly, his gaze fixed on the wall rather than the greenette. “We’ve got an early day tomorrow, and it takes your ass forever to get out of bed. I don’t want to hear you complaining when I pick you up.”

Recognizing the sharp, sudden shift in energy, a wave of profound guilt washes over Izuku. He ruined it. He ruined the one perfect, peaceful moment they had managed to carve out of their chaotic schedules. Nodding quietly, he stands and offers a soft thank you to the waitress as they depart.

The ride back to the apartment is dead silent. But it isn't the comfortable, understanding stillness they shared over dinner; it is a heavy, seething quiet, thick with an unbridled tension that neither of them is brave enough to address.

When the Porsche pulls to a stop in front of Izuku’s building, neither of them moves. They sit in the idling car, letting the suffocating silence consume them for a long, agonizing minute. Finally, Izuku clicks his seatbelt open. He bends down to gather his backpack and the suit briefcase, turning reaching for the door handle.

Before he can push it open, a firm grip latches onto his wrist.

It is the exact same warm hand that has tried to reach out to him twice tonight. The exact same warm hand Izuku desperately, painfully wants to hold but simply cannot deem himself worthy of touching. Izuku stares down at the fingers anchoring his wrist before slowly lifting his head to meet Katsuki's piercing gaze.

The grip on his wrist tightens just a fraction before Katsuki abruptly lets go. The blond inhales deeply, running a frustrated hand down his face.

“Look. You don’t have to say anything right now,” Katsuki mutters, turning his head to look fully at him. “But just know…I’m here if you ever want to talk. About whatever the hell is bothering you. No pressure, nerd.”

Izuku’s throat feels incredibly tight. He manages a small, grateful nod. Leaning across the console, he wraps his arms around Katsuki’s neck, pulling him into a tight, lingering hug before pressing a soft kiss to his lips. Without a word, he slips out of the Porsche and heads up the stairs, leaving the quiet night behind them.

The Next Day

Izuku drags himself out of bed, despite every fiber of his being wanting to stay within the safe, warm confines of his blanket cocoon. He needs to start getting ready for his Hero Museum date with Katsuki. More importantly, he has to prove the blond wrong; he wants to show he doesn't complain in the morning, even if he secretly dreads waking up early every single day.

Rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he sits up and blinks against the morning light. He swings his legs over the edge of the mattress, letting them dangle as the lingering drowsiness wears off in slow waves. With one last hard blink, he thrusts himself forward into a standing position, executing a few light side stretches to wring out the dull aches from his back; a consequence of being someone who constantly stirs and tosses in his sleep. Dragging one foot in front of the other, yawning into his palm while scratching his lower back, he finally reaches the bathroom mirror. He takes one look at the catastrophic state of his bedhead and lets out a soft, lazy chuckle.

“God, Izuku,” he mutters to his reflection, lazily fluffing his wild green curls and pulling at a sleepy eyelid. “How did you ever bag Katsuki?”

His gaze drifts to the bathroom clock. It reads 9:17 AM.

Instantly, a wave of pure panic settles in. Katsuki is going to be here at 9:30 AM sharp; the man is practically a human stopwatch. Izuku rips off his shirt and boxers, leaping into the shower without even waiting for the water to heat up. An ice-cold stream hits his face and chest, causing his teeth to chatter violently, but he is simultaneously grateful for the shock because it snaps him completely awake. He gathers his All Might themed loofah, squeezes a few dabs of sandalwood body wash onto it (noting fondly that it is one of the few scents Katsuki actually tolerates) and vigorously scrubs his skin to wash away the last remnants of exhaustion.

Poking his head out from behind the curtain, he squints at the clock with one eye open, the other stinging from a stray bit of soap. 9:22 AM.

A collective shiver runs down his spine, and this time it has absolutely nothing to do with the water, which is finally starting to warm up. Time is slipping away, and he absolutely refuses to endure a smug lecture from Katsuki so early in the morning. He turns the water off, dries his body in record speed, and books it back to his bedroom, sliding across the hardwood floor to a dead stop in front of his closet.

Thankfully, as a chronic overthinker, he already mapped out his outfit the night before. He pulls his choices from their respective hangers: a forest-green cardigan that matches his eyes, an oversized, slightly faded black graphic tee, a pair of relaxed dark-wash jeans, and his signature red sneakers.

Throwing the layers on in a hurry, he checks the mirror one last time. Running a hand through his damp curls, shaking them out to achieve that intentionally unkempt, perfectly adjusted look he always wears. He glances down at the watch he was fastening around his wrist.

9:29 AM. A second later, the digital display flips to 9:30 AM.

Right on cue, a firm knock echoes through the apartment, as if Katsuki had been standing there deliberately waiting for the timestamp. Izuku shakes his head as he lightly jogs over, unlocking the door to reveal a blond leaning casually against the doorframe with a bundle of fresh roses in his hand.

“Morning,” a smirk appearing on Katsuki’s face as he brought up the flowers into view.

“Kacchan, you didn’t have to,” Izuku breathes, a bright smile breaking across his face as he accepts the bouquet. “Thank you. And good morning to you, too. How long were you standing out there to knock at exactly 9:30?”

Izuku turns back into the apartment to place the roses in water for the time being, leaving Katsuki to close the door behind them and follow him inside.

“Since about 9:15,” Katsuki states casually. “Right when your alarm went off. I heard you trudging to the bathroom and jumping into a freezing shower. My favorite part was hearing you sprint like a maniac back to your room around 9:22 to get ready in a frantic rush.” He can’t help but let out a rough laugh, thoroughly amused by the memory of Izuku’s chaotic footsteps echoing through the walls. He laughs even harder at the deadpan look Izuku shoots him over his shoulder.

“Well, I’m glad my morning panic brings you so much joy, Kacchan,” Izuku says dryly, though there is no real heat behind it. He bends down to retrieve a glass vase from beneath the kitchen sink. “But I think you have to take back what you said yesterday. I’m ready by 9:30, and I'm not complaining.”

“Ah? I’m not taking back shit,” Katsuki counters smoothly, his shit eating grin remaining firmly intact. He leans against the counter, his eyes tracking Izuku's movements. “Yeah, you might be upright and dressed by 9:30, but what time did you actually fall asleep last night? We still have a long day ahead of us, nerd.”

“Two can play that game, Kacchan. And stop staring,” Izuku huffs, back still turned to fill the vase with cold water from the tap.

“I can stare all I want,” Katsuki mutters under his breath.

He assumed it was too quiet to hear, but years of honed instincts from teaching and active pro hero duties have given Izuku expert hearing. A quiet, private smile tugs at Izuku's lips. He sets the roses on the counter, grabs his camera strap, and heads for the front door with the scowling blond trailing right behind him.

A short while later, they make a quick pit stop at a local coffee shop for their morning caffeine fix and a bite to eat. Katsuki decides to stay behind to queue up a playlist for the rest of the drive to the museum, leaving Izuku to head inside and order. It is a charming little café that Ochako and Tsuyu frequently recommend, so they figured today is the perfect opportunity to give it a try. The interior is decorated in warm, welcoming earth tones, featuring an adorable little coffee bean character as a mascot.

Stepping into the queue, Izuku glances up at the menu board. He tries to settle on an order, but his mind immediately begins to spiral from the sheer multitude of options laid out before him. He finds himself entirely stuck between two drinks, weighing the flavor profiles in his head, when he is suddenly called up to the register.

The barista offers a warm smile, asking for his name. Izuku smiles back as he gives it, feeling a quiet sense of relief. Because he has spent some time out of the immediate media spotlight to focus on teaching, the public is no longer hyper-aware of his face. He can comfortably walk into a local shop without drawing a massive, overwhelming crowd; a rare and welcome slice of normal life.

While his signature green hair initially made him highly recognizable during his early days as a hero, his long hiatus from active duty significantly cools down that celebrity status. He can now navigate civilian spaces freely, only recently gaining the kind of renown fame due to the high-tech armored suit required for his re-entry into hero work.

“Izuku,” he says after a brief hesitation. “Izuku Midoriya.”

The barista stares at him blankly, types the name onto the screen, and asks for the order. Izuku requests a regular black spiced coffee for Katsuki, and a French vanilla latte with oat milk for himself; adding an extra shot of espresso for good measure so he won't risk yawning in front of the blond.

The barista reads out the total. Izuku reaches into his back pocket, pulls out his credit card, and passes it forward. But as the man reaches out to take it, he abruptly recoils, drawing his hand back slightly. For a split second, the barista winces, his lips curling in involuntary disgust at the sight of Izuku’s heavily scarred hand.

Izuku catches the entire gesture. He is not new to this feeling.

It is a reaction he has grown used to over his years of teaching. It didn’t bother him at first, but the more frequently it happens, the more he begins to question himself. Are these hands, the ones that shattered themselves to save countless lives, ever capable of being anything more than a tragic spectacle? Can they actually be held with compassion, with care, with love? Or will they always be viewed merely as the broken instruments of a final victory against Shigaraki? Over time, he has grown to deeply resent his hands, the very same hands he used to proudly raise while shouting One For All attacks.

Saying nothing, Izuku takes his receipt and moves to the end of the counter to wait for the drinks. He loses himself in thought, a painful mental reel playing back every negative interaction he has endured. Grocery clerks dropping change to avoid touching him; toddlers running away when he passes them a dropped toy; passersby staring so intently at his disfigured skin that they completely miss the directions he is pointing out for them. He finds a strange solace in the fact that only the elderly and infants don’t seem to mind his hands. The elderly because they recognize the weight of his sacrifice and the babies because they are too young to know any difference and simply like his gentle presence.

His throat starts to constrict. He swallows hard against the lump forming in his chest, fighting back sudden tears, until a loud voice snaps him back to reality.

“Izuzu Midorika? Order for two! Black spiced coffee and a triple-shot French vanilla latte with oat milk.”

Letting out an audible sigh, Izuku walks over to retrieve the two beverages and a few napkins. He uses his back to push through the glass door, stepping back out into the chilly morning air.

Tucking one of the cups securely against his chest with his elbow, he leans down to open the passenger door and slides into the Porsche. Katsuki immediately notes the drastic shift in his demeanor compared to fifteen minutes ago. Attempting to gauge the situation, he throws out a lighthearted jab.

“What the hell happened to you? Someone take a piss in your coffee?” Katsuki asks, an eyebrow raised as he cocks his head to the side.

Izuku doesn't look at him. He simply places Katsuki’s coffee into the center cup holder, clicks his seatbelt into place, and turns his head to stare out the passenger window. “Just drop it, Kacchan. Please. Let’s just go so we make it on time.”

Not having seen Izuku look this entirely checked out in a long time, Katsuki decides to give him space. But as he pulls out of the lot, he offers a quiet rope of support. “You know,” he begins softly, “my offer from last night still stands. I’m here when something is bothering you. Just don’t shut me out, Izu…I know you want space right now, but when you’re ready, let me in.”

A silence stretches between them that feels like an eternity, lasting for blocks as Katsuki navigates past downtown buildings, street signs, and pedestrians. By the time they pull into the museum parking lot and come to a stop, Izuku finally turns to face the blond. The heavy cloud over him seems to fracture, allowing a sudden warmth to flood back into his expression. His cheeks flush slightly, his long eyelashes flutter, and his green eyes take on a brighter hue as they lock onto Katsuki's crimson ones with an intense, vulnerable depth.

“Thank you, Kacchan,” Izuku whispers, a genuine grin breaking through as tears well in his eyes. “Genuinely. Thank you.”

For the first time, Katsuki is caught entirely off guard, his sharp wit failing him. He had honestly assumed his earlier comment had only irritated the nerd further. He hadn't even bothered to turn on the music, despite spending an hour curating a playlist specifically to show off a new indie artist he figured Izuku would love. Reaching across the console, Katsuki places a large, warm palm against the back of Izuku’s head, pulling him forward into his shoulder while snaking his other arm securely around his waist.

Izuku not expecting the sudden close proximity, but sinks into Katsuki’s chest willingly. The comforting, familiar scent of burnt caramel and smoke wraps around him, topped with the subtle cedarwood cologne he bought for the blond a few weeks ago. Inhaling deeply, letting the layers of scent ground him, Izuku completely melts into the embrace, wrapping his own arms around Katsuki’s broad shoulders and lower back.

“I love you, Izuku.”

“I love you too, Kacchan.”

The hug is a bit awkward and cramped given the bucket seats and the tight interior of the sports car, but neither of them cares. They hold onto each other for a few seconds longer before naturally pulling apart.

In a much lighter mood, Izuku grabs his camera, waving it playfully from side to side while raising a teasing eyebrow. “One for the road before we go in?”

Katsuki rolls his eyes dramatically, but it is entirely for show; he is completely whipped, and he knows it. The ease with which they fall into an affectionate rhythm is uncanny. Izuku flips the camera around to selfie style, holding it steady with both hands as he rests his temple against Katsuki's shoulder.

CLICK.

As Izuku brings the camera down to review the shot, Katsuki suddenly snatches it away with his left hand, prompting a playful whine from the greenette. Ignoring the protest, Katsuki turns the lens back on them. He tilts his head firmly against Izuku's, using his thumb and index finger to playfully pinch his boyfriend's cheek.

CLICK.

Staring at the digital screen, Katsuki smirk widens. “Wait, I got one more idea.”

Angling the camera at the same distance, Katsuki squeezes Izuku’s cheeks just a fraction harder, forcing his lips to part. Glaring at the lens from the corner of his eyes, he turns his head towards the other and confidently begins to stick his tongue into Izuku’s mouth as Izuku instinctively closes his eyes.

CLICK.

Without even reviewing the final chaotic photo, Katsuki hands the camera back to his boyfriend, kills the ignition, and steps out of the car. As he walks around to the passenger side and swings the door open, the lingering memories of last night’s rejection flash through his mind.

Refusing to ruin the beautiful moment they just rebuilt, Katsuki doesn't extend his hand. Instead, he reaches down into the footwell, grabs Izuku’s yellow backpack, and steps backward to give him plenty of room to stand up on his own. Izuku tracks the movement, staring up at the blond with a quiet, complex look in his eyes, but he doesn't press the matter. He rises to meet him, and the two heroes walk side-by-side toward the grand entrance of the museum.

They scan their QR codes at the digital kiosk and head directly into the main hero exhibit, an outing Izuku has been looking forward to all week. He hasn’t had a proper day off in months. Between his teaching position and his recent re-entry into active pro hero work, every spare sliver of his time is consumed by grading papers, analyzing data, or building tailored lesson plans. Katsuki, on the other hand, doesn't particularly care about the museum displays; he simply wanted a foolproof excuse to spend a quiet day with his boyfriend, though learning there is an All Might retrospective did pique his interest.

They wander through the grand halls, passing portraits and combat gear of heroes who have defined the last several decades, each accompanied by a sleek plaque highlighting their greatest feats. Legendary names like Gran Torino, Mt. Lady, Endeavor, Mirko, Fat Gum, Present Mic, and Eraser Head decorate the corridor. They visit each podium, pausing to watch the high-definition archival snippets playing on loop.

Turning a wide corner, they find themselves beneath an archway that reads, The Next Generation. They exchange a knowing glance, already fully aware of who they are about to see. The faces of their former UA classmates, alongside familiar heroes from Shiketsu and Ketsubutsu High who fought on the front lines of the final war eight years ago, fill the space, each honored with a dedicated display.

They stop first at Shoto’s podium, quietly watching the intense footage of his battle against Touya, before moving on to stop at each of the displays for Ingenium, Red Riot, Pinky, Chargebolt, Phantom Thief, Creati, Tsukuyomi, and Gale Force. Finally, they pause in front of Uravity’s exhibit. Izuku’s chest tightens slightly at the realization that the archival clips can never truly capture the profound weight of Ochako’s quirk awakening during Toga’s chaotic Sad Man’s Parade. He shakes the heavy thought away, focusing instead on how incredible she is today, completely transforming society through her nationwide quirk counseling initiative.

They collectively agree to bypass their own dedicated podiums, having seen more than enough footage of themselves over the years. But just as they prepare to exit the hall, a loud, painfully familiar voice echoes from a nearby multimedia screen.

“Whoa, big yikes! Like, that was for realzies too close!” a televised Camie yells from the screen, sitting atop one of her glamour illusions while pointing dramatically at All For One. “Hawks is a total rizz-cake, you can't unalive that snack! I'd enter my grief era!”

Both heroes burst into immediate, breathless laughter, the absolute absurdity of the clip completely shattering the formal museum atmosphere as they make their way toward the next wing.

As they round the next bend, the mood drops instantly. The plate above the heavy archway reads, Fallen Heroes.

Despite his deep discomfort with interlocking fingers, Izuku reaches out and loops his entire arm securely through Katsuki's, anchoring himself against the blond who keeps his hands tucked deep inside his jacket pockets. The sudden, unprompted physical closeness catches Katsuki by surprise, but he doesn't pull away.

Stepping inside the quiet, dimly lit room, they are surrounded by the solemn monuments of Midnight, Sir Nighteye, Crust, Majestic, X-Less, Snatch and many other heroes. While Izuku is capable of maintaining a perfectly composed, professional face when teaching his students about the history of the war, he doesn't have to wear that armor here. He isn't a faculty member right now. He doesn't have a classroom watching his every move. He doesn't have to hold back his emotions.

So, he doesn't.

Quiet tears slip down his cheeks as he watches a short montage of Sir Nighteye’s legendary operations alongside All Might. They move slowly to Midnight’s podium, which highlights her brilliant career as an educator and her final, heroic stand during the Liberation Army invasion. Passing the other fallen pros, Izuku’s eyes land on an honorary monument dedicated to a non-Japanese hero: Stars and Stripes. The woman who made the first decisive, critical strike against Shigaraki at the cost of her own life.

Izuku never had the honor of meeting her in person, but her loyal military pilots had paid him a personal visit at the hospital after the war, sharing stories about how remarkably similar the two of them were in their ideals and core values. She was the absolute embodiment of a true hero. Sensing the heavy, overwhelming grief threatening to pull Izuku under, Katsuki gently nudges his arm, quietly guiding him out of the somber exhibit.

After spending a few more hours exploring the rest of the museum's lighter galleries, they decide to call it a day and head back. The drive to Izuku's apartment is peaceful, filled entirely by the indie playlist Katsuki spent the previous night curating. Both of them nod their heads rhythmically to the steady beat, Izuku lightly tapping his fingers against his thighs. As the tempo of a particular song picks up, Katsuki accelerates slightly to match the energy of the music. His eyes flick downward for a fraction of a second, staring intently at Izuku's scarred hands, wanting nothing more than to reach over and interlock their fingers but he restrains himself. Simply sharing a beautiful, uninterrupted day together has to be enough for now. Right?

Back at UA High

A week and a half passes in a blur. They fall right back into their standard, demanding routines consisting of weekly FaceTime dinners, constant text updates, and brief professional crossings during hero agency briefings but another proper date remains out of reach.

Izuku stands with his back braced against the concrete wall of Gym Gamma, keeping a watchful eye over his students as they run through their quirk training exercises. Seeing them actively apply the detailed analytical notes he provided earlier in the week causes his heart to swell with immense pride. Wanting to check the time, he reaches into his back pocket, only to find it completely empty. He taps his other pocket, meeting the exact same result.

Dragging a hand down his face, he realizes he must have left his device upstairs. Spotting Kota, who has just wrapped up his independent training session early, walking toward him, Izuku sees his chance.

“Kota! Perfect timing, actually,” Izuku pleads, bringing his hands together in a dramatic prayer motion. “Can you do me a massive favor? I seem to have left my phone up in the classroom, and I can't leave the rest of the class unsupervised. Can you go grab it for me, please?”

Unmoved by the dramatic display, Kota simply shrugs his shoulders. “Sure, Izuku-sensei. Be right back.”

Kota exits Gym Gamma, making his way through the familiar hallways toward the main building. Along the way, he spots two friends from the business course. After a quick chat to catch up on their respective weeks, the students decides to tag along to keep him company.

Stepping inside the quiet, vacant classroom, Kota approaches his teacher’s desk and begins searching the surface for the missing phone. Finding nothing on top of the wood, he begins sliding the desk drawers open one by one. With every empty compartment he checks, his frustration grows, thoroughly annoyed that a top hero could manage to misplace such a basic device.

One of his friends gestures toward the worn yellow backpack resting at the foot of the desk. Kota stares down at it, a sudden wave of guilt washing over him at the mere thought of snooping through his teacher’s personal belongings, even with their long history. But he reasons with himself; Izuku did entrust him with this task.

Kneeling in front of the battered bag, he pulls open the front zipper, instantly finding the missing phone. He quickly zips the compartment back up. As he lifts the device, the lock screen wakes up, displaying a wallpaper of a quiet, candlelit dinner featuring a faceless man in a sharp turtleneck, his arm resting casually across the table.

Curious as to why Kota is staring so intently at the screen, the two business course students peer over his shoulder and gasp in absolute unison.

“THAT HAS TO BE DYNAMIGHT!” one squeals.

“YES! IT ABSOLUTELY IS! THEY’RE PRACTICALLY DATING!” the other echoes.

“We don’t know that,” Kota whispers, his eyes still glued to the screen. “And who are we to assume and invade his privacy? Let’s go. I need to take this back to Izuku-sensei.”

“Wait! You don’t want more evidence? There has to be more in his bag. Come on, it’s practically begging us to take a peek! We’ll never get an opportunity like this again!” the first student insists, her friend nodding in eager agreement.

Refusing to have any part in it, Kota simply turns away. He doesn't leave the room, but he crosses his arms defiantly. “Whatever,” he mutters.

Taking his silence as permission, the two girls quickly unzip the main compartment of the yellow backpack. They pull out Izuku’s camera, squealing as if they just struck gold. Carefully powering it on, they click the playback button and are instantly met with a massive gallery of photos featuring Katsuki and Izuku.

The two begin jumping up and down, spinning around and whispering frantically. “I TOLD YOU! LOOK!”

They shove the camera screen toward Kota. He can't help but look, catching glimpses of the couple posing affectionately in the mirror of Izuku’s apartment, Katsuki cooking dinner, candid shots of the blond driving, and quiet moments of them cuddling in bed that the girls rapidly skip past. But they freeze on one picture in particular.

It is the photo taken a couple of weeks ago outside the Hero Museum. The frame captures Katsuki holding the camera up at a high angle, staring intensely into the lens while playfully squeezing Izuku’s cheeks as he leans in for a deeply intimate kiss. It is a private moment, obviously intended for their eyes only.

“This is the one,” one of the girls whispers.

“What do you mean by that?” A sudden spike of panic punctures Kota’s voice. “What do you mean?!”

Before he can step forward to wrench the camera from her hands, the girl moves with terrifying speed. Her thumb clicks for her phone camera, capturing a crystal-clear digital copy of the display screen. Within seconds, her fingers blur across her screen, uploading the image directly to her social media platform with the tags #prohero, #DynamightxDeku, and #notsosecret for her thousands of followers to see. Given her specialized marketing track in the business course, she knows exactly how to maximize engagement. Almost instantly, her phone begins to violently vibrate with an influx of likes, comments, and immediate reposts.

Kota glares at her, his shoulders rising as pure anger radiates off his frame. The two girls suddenly freeze, the intoxicating rush of celebrity gossip evaporating as they realize they have severely crossed a line with two real people. Walking over with a terrifying, calculated calmness, Kota firmly takes the camera from her hand and places it securely back into Izuku’s backpack. Without uttering a single word, he turns on his heel and exits the classroom, leaving them standing in the heavy silence of their own actions.

His pace quickens from a fast walk to a jog, and finally into a full sprint as he tears down the corridor toward Gym Gamma. Izuku’s phone begins to buzz relentlessly in his palm. He ignores the vibrations at first, assuming it’s just his teacher’s usual circle, but despair sinks in when he glances down. The top three missed calls are from Uraraka, Inko, and Mitsuki.

His stomach churns and his throat tightens as he pushes his body to run faster, desperate to get back to Izuku's side. When he finally bursts back into Gym Gamma, he is so entirely out of breath that he can't formulate a coherent sentence. He heaves in deep, jagged breaths, trying to steady himself before extending the vibrating phone to his teacher.

“Izuku-sensei,” he gasps, catching his breath. “I’m so sorry. I truly am…I tried to stop them.”

Confused by the boy's distress, Izuku glances down at the screen. He is instantly bombarded by a relentless stream of messages from his old high school group chat, filled with shocked congratulations on his relationship with Katsuki. Some classmates tease him for hiding it, upset they had to find out through a viral public post rather than from him directly. Others are just completely stunned that the two are even on speaking terms, let alone dating.

Izuku's eyes widen as the realization hits him: his relationship status has been completely stripped from his control and blasted to the public without his consent.

Acting on pure instinct, he quickly dials Aizawa. The underground hero answers, clearly about to offer a rare word of congratulations, but Izuku abruptly cuts him off, urgently requesting his former mentor to take over the remainder of his lecture block.

After hurrying back to the empty classroom to catch his breath, Izuku activates his armored support suit. The high-tech metal plates click and morph around his body, encasing him in security. He has to get out of here. Away from prying eyes. Away from observers demanding answers. He thrusts the classroom window open, flings a glowing strand of Blackwhip into the sky, and launches himself onto a lamppost at the outer edge of the UA grounds.

He swings from building to building, desperate to get closer to the only person who can truly understand the suffocating weight of this moment. But as he flies through downtown, his eyes catch a massive electronic billboard that cycles through breaking news.

There it is. The private photo Katsuki took outside the museum being plastered across the massive display, beneath a flashy tagline: ARE PRO HEROES DYNAMIGHT AND DEKU IN A RELATIONSHIP?

Above him, the heavy thrum of a news helicopter cuts through the air. The billboard instantly switches to a live aerial feed, forcing Izuku to watch his own armored form swinging across the skyline. Overwhelmed by sudden fury, Izuku pauses on a rooftop and throws a lethal, terrifying death glare directly up at the helicopter’s camera lens. The sheer intensity of his gaze sends a visible shiver down the spine of the on-air news anchor. Panicking, she abruptly cuts the live broadcast, stammering an excuse to her audience about sudden technical camera difficulties.

Resuming his path, Izuku pushes his suit to its limits until he finally reaches Katsuki’s high-rise apartment complex. The rooftop is equipped with a private hero landing strip, the very path the explosive blond uses after wrapping up his aerial patrols.

Izuku doesn't even make it halfway down the asphalt before the heavy penthouse door flies open. Katsuki stands in the doorway.

With hot tears finally spilling over his eyelids, Izuku sprints down the lane and throws himself deeply into the blond's chest. Katsuki locks his arms around him, his sharp crimson eyes immediately scanning the open sky and surrounding high-rises for any hovering news choppers or nosy onlookers, before swiftly pulling them both inside and shutting out the world.

“Breathe, Izuku,” Katsuki instructs, mimicking a slow, deep breath for the greenette to follow. “Now tell me what happened. How did that picture get out there?”

“I- I- I don’t know what happened!” Izuku shouts in desperation. He reaches out and tightly grips the front of Katsuki’s shirt, entirely ignoring the breathing instructions. “I was in Gym Gamma with my kids, and I realized I didn’t have my phone. I ask Kota to grab it for me since he finished his training early.”

“Mhmm,” Katsuki replies softly, keeping his voice level to not interrupt Izuku’s frantic flow.

“I trusted him. I do trust him, but I don’t know how he got that picture. He said he tried to stop them but I didn’t even get the chance to ask what he meant because the second I look at my screen, everyone was calling me. Ochako, my mom, your mom. I couldn’t take it, Kacchan. I needed to get away from the eyes, so I left and called Aizawa to take over the class.”

“Damn old hag,” Katsuki mutters under his breath, already imagining his mother’s relentless text stream.

“Kota couldn’t have done this. He couldn’t have,” Izuku insists, his voice cracking. “There has to be another explanation for this. There simply has to be.”

Katsuki goes quiet for a moment, carefully measuring the weight of his next words. “I mean…now that our relationship is out there…is it really the end of the world, nerd? We can just be how we normally are, but in public now. We can stand closer. We can hug. We can even kiss without anyone batting an eye.”

Izuku stares at him, entirely unsure of how to respond. It isn't that he is completely upset about the public finding out. They both know they would have gone public eventually, but they wanted to do it on their own terms, at their own pace.

“I can even hold your hand, Izuku.” Katsuki reaches up, his large palms moving to gently grasp the trembling fingers still clutching his shirt.

But the second Katsuki makes contact, Izuku recoils. He rips his hands back as if burned, taking several hasty steps backward turning toward the landing strip exit.

Izuku looks over his shoulder, and the expression on Katsuki's face hits him like a physical blow. The blond's eyes begin to redden as they sink back, his pupils shrinking and his eyebrows furrowing into a tight scowl. To an outsider, Katsuki looks furious. But Izuku knows him too well. This isn't a look of anger; it is an expression of profound, devastating hurt. It is the look of a man attempting to be completely emotionally vulnerable, only to have a door slammed directly in his face.

“I’m sorry, Kacchan,” Izuku whispers, turning his head completely toward the outside door. “Really, I am…but I have to go.”

Before Katsuki can respond, the glass door slides open. A vibrant green line of Blackwhip snaps through the air, and Izuku flings himself out into the skyline, swinging rapidly between the high-rises toward his own apartment.

Katsuki stares at the empty space where his boyfriend just stood. The heavy glass door slowly clicks shut, encasing him in a suffocatingly quiet penthouse. His phone buzzes aggressively on the counter. Flicking the screen on, he catches a text from Kirishima: Congrats on you getting together with Midoriya, Baku-bro! So manly!

Gritting his teeth, Katsuki holds down the power button, forcing the device to completely shut down. He is in absolutely no emotional state to receive a barrage of celebratory messages when the person he loves looks utterly miserable. Not when that same person refuses to do something as simple as hold his hand.

He drags his feet over to the couch and throws himself onto the cushions, letting his head fall back against the headrest. He stares blankly up at the ceiling, his mind racing as dark thoughts begin to spiral.

“Maybe he hated PDA this whole time,” he mutters to himself into the empty room. “I get worked up when I see him. Ever since my quirk awakening, I get those sudden sparks whenever my emotions spike. Am I hurting his skin? Am I burning him because of my quirk?”

His eyes widen as the painful possibility takes root in his chest. What if he is the root cause of every single problem in their relationship?

“Is he embarrassed to be dating me? Is he ashamed of being in a relationship with me? Is that why his first instinct is to run away instead of making a statement with me?”

Sitting up abruptly, Katsuki runs both palms roughly across his face, aggressively wiping away the single, stray tear forming in the corner of his eye. “Nah. There’s no way. I know Izuku,” he says aloud, his eyes drifting absentmindedly back to the dark screen of his turned off phone. “Or maybe I just don’t deserve him.”

Winter Break

The academic term draws to a close, and the UA students are officially sent on winter break to spend the holidays with their families. Two weeks pass since the private relationship became a public spectacle. Oddly enough, the general public has largely respected their privacy, and neither hero has felt pressured to issue a formal press statement.

Following a strict internal investigation by UA staff, the truth finally comes to light. Two students from the business course, one who secretly operates a prominent campus gossip blog under an alias and the other an accomplice, are the ones responsible for publishing the photo. Kota immediately comes clean to faculty, desperate to clear his name and remain in good standing with his mentor. He explains that he ran into his two friends in the hallway while heading up to fetch the phone, and they accompanied him to the classroom. While his back was turned, they snooped through Izuku’s bag, found the digital camera, snapped a picture of the display screen, and uploaded it to the internet. As a consequence, both business students receive a strict one-month suspension for breaching the academy's privacy regulations.

But even though the administrative side of the matter is officially handled, it does absolutely nothing to fix the agonizing rift between the couple.

They continue to maintain their baseline routine: sending texts, answering calls, and logging onto their weekly FaceTime dinners because their hectic schedules prevent them from meeting in person. But whenever they do cross paths during mandatory joint patrol shifts, the tension in the air is thick enough to cut with a knife. On the days their patrols include their former high school classmates, the atmosphere is even more suffocating. Their friends don't dare bring up the viral post or the current state of their relationship. Instead, they overcompensate, tossing out forced, lighthearted jokes and scrambling for any random topic just to avoid addressing the obvious elephant in the room.

This tense cycle continues until Izuku finally has enough of it.

One evening after a long patrol, they head back toward the agency to change out of their hero costumes. It is an especially breezy night, the winter wind whipping sharply in every direction. Izuku glances over at the blond, who is wearing the winter variation of his pro hero suit, his shoulders raised high as he tries to mask as much of his face from the cold as possible. Katsuki pulls his phone out to check the time before turning to slip it back into his pocket.

Seizing the moment, Izuku reaches over and firmly takes Katsuki's hand.

Caught completely off guard, the blond flinches and instinctively pulls back.

“What’s wrong, Kacchan?” Izuku asks, his hand lingering empty in the air.

“I thought you didn’t want this,” Katsuki says, his voice rough. “That you didn't like holding my hand. Every single time I tried to touch yours, you always pulled away. I’m sorry I yanked mine back just now…it just surprised me. But you don’t have to force yourself or make yourself uncomfortable for my sake.”

“Make myself uncomfortable?” Izuku lowers his hand slowly, staring down at his own palm in confusion. “Wait…you thought I didn’t want to hold your hand?”

The blond simply raises an eyebrow, looking entirely unamused.

“Okay, look.” Izuku pauses, finally practicing the deep breathing exercises Katsuki taught him weeks ago. “It’s not that I don’t want to, or that I dislike the idea of holding your hand, Kacchan. It’s that I am entirely self-conscious of my hands. Mine are covered in thick scars, scratches, and have been broken and bruised time and time again. I just…I genuinely thought it wouldn't be a pleasant experience for you.” He opens and closes his fingers, grimacing at them. “Holding such a disfigured hand, when so many strangers have literally recoiled at the sight of it.”

Katsuki’s eyes widen. He takes a decisive step forward, closing the distance between them. With a heavy clatter, his support gauntlets drop to the pavement, steam hissing into the cold air as he aggressively rips his own gloves off his hands.

“Izuku…hey, look at me,” Katsuki commands, gently hooking a bare finger under Izuku’s chin to force their eyes to lock. “Your hands are not disgusting. Whoever put that bullshit into your head is a fucking jackass and deserves to have their ass thoroughly beat.”

Izuku shakes his head in defeat, looking down. “You don’t get it, Kacchan! The way people look at me with pity when they notice the skin. The way they treat me as if I’m lesser, or like I shouldn’t be touched. So many day-to-day interactions that I should just brush off end up completely consuming me. Handing change back to a grocery clerk, giving a toddler a toy they dropped, or even having the coffee I ordered handed to me!”

Hearing this, the pieces instantly click in Katsuki's mind, finally understanding the sudden, crushing shift in Izuku's mood back at the café before heading to the museum.

“I try to move past it,” Izuku continues, tears building in his eyes. “I try to be the bigger person and not let it affect me, but it seeps into my daily life so deeply that I start to believe those reactions actually have merit. So when we started dating, I feared holding your hand. I was terrified you would recoil at the texture of them.”

“You think so little of me that you actually thought I would push you away over some scars?” Katsuki’s patience wears thin, but his touch is remarkably gentle as he reaches down, pulling Izuku's gloves off in one smooth motion. He clasps both of Izuku’s bare, scarred hands securely inside his own bare palms. “Do you feel my hands? My palms are constantly sweaty because of my quirk. You don't think people recoil at that? These are the exact same hands that saved the damn world eight years ago, Izuku. The same ones that continue saving people to this damn day. Are you really going to let some passing glances from a bunch of nobodies belittle you?”

Green eyes never stray from crimson ones.

“You shouldn’t be ashamed of your scars, Deku. If anything, they are a testament to what you’ve survived and how far you’ve come. Fuck what anyone else thinks.” Katsuki lets out a soft, self-deprecating scoff. “I admit…I assumed the worst, too. I thought you didn’t want to hold my hand because of my quirk, or that you were embarrassed to be in a relationship with me because of how I used to treat you back then. I thought I didn’t deserve to stand by you. To be with you.”

“Kacchan”

“We need to be completely honest with each other from now on, okay? No more shutting each other out.”

“Yeah,” Izuku whispers, a tearful smile breaking through. “I agree.”

“I love your hands, by the way,” Katsuki adds, turning Izuku’s palms over and bringing them up toward his face. “They’re badass.” Planting a kiss on them.

Izuku’s face turns a deeper, more vibrant shade of red than ever before, the flush spreading all the way to the tips of his ears. Katsuki leans down, placing a soft, lingering kiss against his flushed cheek. He interlocks his fingers firmly with the greenette’s, letting them settle together so Izuku can fully adjust to the sensation.

Izuku squeezes back making Katsuki let out a breathless laugh. “Fuck, Izuku…I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Side by side, they walk hand-in-hand back to the agency to change out of their gear.

Freshly showered and dressed in comfortable civilian clothes, Katsuki drives them back to his penthouse for a quiet night in, eager to celebrate this massive step in their relationship. He connects his phone to the dashboard, queuing up the exact same playlist from their museum date, featuring the indie artist Izuku has grown to absolutely love. Both of them nod their heads to the steady rhythm of the latest album, Katsuki tapping his fingers against the steering wheel like a drumbeat while Izuku mimics the motion against his own thighs.

Out of nowhere, while keeping his eyes on the road, Katsuki reaches across the center console. He catches Izuku's hand mid-air, bringing it to his lips for a tender kiss, his spike in affection causing a few involuntary, harmless sparks to crackle harmlessly against Izuku's skin.

Coming to a smooth stop at a red light, Katsuki turns fully in his seat, taking both of Izuku's scarred hands into his own wide palms.

“Your hands aren’t disgusting, Izuku. They are nothing to recoil from, no matter what some ignorant extra says. I will continue to remind you of that every single day if I have to.”

Letting his grip loosen just a fraction, Katsuki intentionally triggers his quirk, sending a cascade of miniature, beautiful fireworks dancing across his palms. The warm, glittering gold light illuminates both of their faces in the dark interior of the car.

“Thank you, Kacchan,” Izuku whispers, entirely overwhelmed with emotion and light display in front of him. He leans across the console, closing the distance to press a deep, loving kiss against the blond's lips. “You mean everything to me. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Katsuki replies with a soft, rare smile.

As the traffic light shifts back to green, Katsuki slides his fingers securely into Izuku's, interlocking them tightly. He presses down on the gas pedal, driving them home into the night, their hands remaining inseparable the entire way.

The End.