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Somewhere, on a platform in Fukui, the 9:50 bullet train to Musutafu had been delayed by an hour and a half.
The few scattered benches along the station have long been occupied by older women or unchivalrous men, leaving all the other annoyed commuters restless.
Togeike, who was part of the unfortunate majority, stood by the edge of the tracks, wondering whether she could fix the audio in her earphones if she just kept fiddling with the cable.
The faint tune of a Japan Hot 100 song she had already forgotten the name of faded in and out of her left ear, whirring suspiciously whenever she twisted the cord in a different direction. She pinched it between her fingers, hand stilling when the song cut off completely, leaving her with only the sound of hurried footsteps and muffled chatter to combat her boredom.
“Stupid piece of junk,” she grumbled, yanking on the cord, and letting one earbud dangle in the air whilst she fought with the other one. “It’s not even been, what? Three months?” She pulled a little harder this time, scrunching up the wire in her hand. “Damnit.”
Aware that she was probably being stared at by disappointed passersby, Togeike took a step back, jamming her earphones deep into her jacket pocket. She glanced up at the board to see if the times had changed at all, but was only met with the same small ninety extra minutes that refused to leave.
In the distance, the long-awaited screech of a train two platforms away echoed across the station, providing temporary solace to everyone but her.
As people began queuing up for this new train headed towards Okayama, Togeike overheard a mother scolding her son for gawking at strangers.
“That couldn’t have been him,” she repeated for the second time as they passed by, placing her hand around her son’s shoulders and steering him to the left. “We do not stare at other people.”
The boy, ever so convinced, jumped up in her grasp. “But it was Dynamight!” he insisted with the type of confidence only a seven year old could muster, turning his head around and pointing at a couple of people standing by the track, a couple of meters behind Togeike. “He was right there!”
Togeike followed his finger, past two schoolgirls and a big, burly father, until her eyes landed on a man standing by himself, phone firmly pressed to his ear. He was saying something into the receiver with a renowned vigour. His hair, which was poorly concealed under a cap, was undeniably blonde and he had a scar creeping up his cheek, which was unmistakably Dynamight’s.
Almost instantly, Togeike stood up a little straighter. It was not uncommon to come across a hero or two in person, but being this close to Japan’s current number 5, the press’ so-called “hot, young, and elusive bachelor”, not that she kept up with everything that has been said about him, was unheard of.
And perhaps she had kept a closer eye on him after the first year school festival, but never in a million years would she admit it. It is not like he remembered her face amongst the sea of many anyway.
“I don’t know,” Dynamight said, glancing up at the board. “I’m pretty fucking sure that this has been moved, too. I don’t know when I’m pulling into the station.”
Somebody must have been waiting for him, Togeike thought to herself. For a moment, she let her mind wander and imagined what it must feel like, waiting for the Dynamight at the train station like it was routine.
Was he coming home to family? She was pretty sure his parents still lived in Musutafu somewhere. Or maybe he was meeting up with his friends. Dynamight was oftentimes spotted in bars with other Yuuei graduates, so it would not have been that big of a stretch to assume that they would pick him up from the station, too.
Togeike could not, however, rule out the possibility of being picked up for an undercover mission. For the past two weeks, newspaper headlines were flooded with names of unruly villains causing havoc all over Japan. She watched Dynamight scratch the back of his neck. It would not be that farfetched to assume that he was not on his way to beat one up now.
Running a hand through his hair, Dynamight glanced back out at the track. “They haven’t given a concrete reason,” he sighed, then fell silent. Togeike could see him fidgeting with something before blurting out, “out of the blue?”
It must have been nice, having someone waiting for you. She looked away, eyes passing the clock ticking on the wall.
“I’m sorry,” Dynamight said finally, shaking his head at the ground. A few people passed by him, giving his direction a belated peek, but to Togeike, only one thing truly mattered in his eyes. “I’ll be home soon, sweetheart.”
The wind felt rather cold on Togeike’s arms. She pulled down on her sleeves, eyes darting to the back of Dynamight’s head. But he stood unwavering, awaiting an answer she couldn’t even begin to piece together. Sweetheart?
Togeike did not know why it had not crossed her mind before - perhaps it was not her place to speculate the love lives of strangers she had merely idolised on the internet, perhaps it was not her place to listen in on this conversation either.
She took a step back and wondered, even if just fleetingly, what his girlfriend must be like. Was she loudmouthed and buoyant like him? Or was she meeker, quieter, the complete opposite of his deafening presence? Togeike wondered whether she was short like herself, whether she had a noble profession.
Dynamight was strong, Togeike thought, so it would make sense if his girlfriend was a fellow hero herself. However, he had kept it hidden so well from the press, from the adoring fans, from the entirety of Japan. She watched as Dynamight shifted his weight, muttering something else to the receiver before letting out a quiet snort. She could not even begin to imagine what it must have felt like.
“I know,” he said, ducking his head down. “Oh yeah?” From this angle, the scary, monumental Dynamight looked… soft. Doting almost. “I’ll pick up pork on the way and make it for you.”
Suddenly, Togeike had the urge to step away. Listening in on this conversation felt intimate, intruding, an inside joke only Dynamight and his girlfriend deserved to be let in on. There must have been a reason he had kept it under the wraps for this long, and to Togeike, it only seemed fair to let them be until they were ready to share it with the world.
She dug her hands into her pockets and glanced over at the schedule board, shuffling back behind a few people.
Whoever Dynamight was seeing must have been one special girl, though. And from the way she had caught him smiling just before she had stepped away, he must have thought so, too.
Whenever a new picture of Bakugou got spread across the internet, it instantly took up every corner and crevice of each social media site like it was everyone’s business. Certainly it was Denki’s business, as Bakugou’s self-proclaimed fourth best friend and professional dater, seeing him stand on the sidelines gave him more than enough reason to help him out.
At first it was Yaomomo who fell victim to the incessant paparazzi, poor sweet Yaomomo, but after posting a picture of an engagement ring on her Instagram, the press began searching for another target.
Hagakure laughed it off on national television, Utsushimi, on the other hand, thoroughly enjoyed her boost in popularity and social media followers. Time and time again, Bakugou had to keep making it painstakingly clear that it was just that - poorly thought out speculation.
Perhaps his lack of romantic action was due to his natural secrecy, although Denki liked to think that at heart, Bakugou was a bit of a prude. What kind of teenage boy refused to show anyone his room until a few months in, and even then it was only ever to a select group of very male people? A boy very afraid of girls, that’s who.
“That’s not fair,” Kyouka interjected, waving her cigarette in the air, “or true either. Mina and I frequented Bakugou’s room whenever we wanted to talk about girls.”
Denki snapped his head around, nearly choking on smoke. “What?” he cried, attempting to make sense of Kyouka’s solemn expression. “How come Kacchan was privy to all the hot gossip?”
“Well, for one, he wasn’t going to spread any of it,” she said, then looked at him pointedly. Denki blushed. “He wasn’t that bad of a listener actually, and he only ever interrupted if we got too hung up on someone.”
The mere thought of a seventeen year old Bakugou not only listening, but actively engaging in “crush talk” with Mina and Kyouka made Denki’s head spin. But then again, if he was taking part in the conversation, it meant that his initial hypothesis was somewhat correct - the poor, lovestruck boy was just emotionally stunted!
“Has he ever brought up any girls?” Denki asked innocuously, as if he had finally caught the bug in Bakugou’s indecipherable lines of code.
Kyouka merely smiled. “Not really,” she said, drawing the cigarette back to her lips. “You know, you didn’t have much luck with girls back in high school either.”
“Hey, at least I tried!” Denki sputtered, puffing out his reddening cheeks. His face only grew hotter at the onslaught of laughter that followed right after.
He remembered, belatedly, his two week back and forth with Uraraka in the beginning of first year, and wondered whether that actually did not make him look as cool as he thought it did. “I was unafraid of rejection!” he said, shaking his head, “Bakugou on the other hand… I’m worried about him.”
“He’s only twenty-five.” Kyouka hid a grin behind her fingers, though it did not make Denki feel any better. If anything, it only looked like she was getting started. “Maybe he’s not interested in dating.”
Before Denki could answer, the doors next to Kyouka opened wide, and out walked Uraraka, Bakugou, and Midoriya, who was carrying a stack of folders. Kyouka lowered her cigarette whilst Denki put it out completely, stomping on it with the sole of his shoe.
“Thanks for stepping in,” Kyouka piped up, flipping through one of the folders Midoriya handed her. “How’s the situation?”
“Tsukauchi-san says we’re in the clear,” Midoriya replied easily, giving Denki a nod. “Honestly, it’s pretty early to jump to conclusions, but if Ishikawa wasn’t lying and there really weren’t more people working with them, then that should be it.”
“I don’t know about you guys, but I’m beat.” Uraraka yawned from beside Bakugou, stretching her arms above her head. “I don’t think I want to see that much paperwork ever again.”
“Uraraka-san…” Midoriya said in a small voice, “but have you forgotten—”
“What?” She smiled up at him, pressing her palm against the curve of his back. Denki winced when her smile grew bigger. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Sparky here will step in for you if you ask nicely,” Bakugou quipped, raising both eyebrows as if he were posing a challenge, and well, Denki was never one to back down.
“You don’t even need to ask,” he fired back. He went to reach for the folder, but Uraraka was quicker, taking the papers from Kyouka and hiding them behind her back. Very inconspicuously, though, Denki saw her handing them to an unsuspecting Bakugou.
Uraraka laughed and waved her hand at him. “It’s not something I’d wish on my worst enemy,” she said, rocking on the balls of her heels. She suddenly shot up and clasped both hands together, as if something had just clicked into place. “Actually, we were just thinking of grabbing a quick bite by that mall down in Ginza-dori. Want to join us?”
Denki’s tongue darted to the side of his cheek, the taste of tobacco still heavily evident in his mouth. He had already made bar plans with Kyouka and Hanta the week before. “Sorry, Uraraka-san. Maybe another time.”
“Do send pictures, though,” Kyouka said, giving them a placating smile as they hastily said their goodbyes, before slowly walking towards Bakugou’s car.
When the three of them disappeared across the road, Denki pressed his back against the wall. “Man, I feel bad for him.”
“Who?” Kyouka asked, eyes still trained on their fleeting figures.
“Bakugou, that’s who.” His hands flew to his front pockets, rummaging around for another stray cigarette. “Thirdwheeling for a whole evening? I mean, I’m happy for Midoriya, I really am, but this is just cruel.”
Kyouka paused for a moment before looking back at Denki. “Midoriya and Uraraka?” she asked after a beat.
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Having given up on turning his pockets upside down, he extended his hand awkwardly, ducking his head when Kyouka handed him her pack with an eyeroll. “Thanks. It’s not like they’re being discreet about it.”
“In high school, maybe.” Placing the cigarette in between her lips, she took a long drag, blowing the smoke to the side. “Do you really think they’re seeing each other?”
Snapping open the lighter, Denki held the flame to the tip of the cigarette before putting it in his mouth. “They've been inseparable ever since the reunion,” he said like he was confirming that the sky was, in fact, blue. “Whenever you see Midoriya, you see Uraraka - they come as a set.”
“Whenever you see Midoriya, you see Bakugou,” Kyouka said pointedly, raising her eyebrow. “They’ve been attached by the hip since second year, doesn’t mean they’re dating though. And besides, I thought that Uraraka…”
Her voice trailed off into a silence that toed the line between uncomfortable and revealing. She looked away, taking another long drag. “I thought that she was too focused on other things to even consider dating,” she said finally, concentrating on a couple of cars parked a block away.
Denki watched the smoke waft past his face, disappearing into the darkness. Rather than chasing the now fading stench of tobacco and charcoal and an earthy sweetness that clawed at his chest like nothing else, he let it get swept up by the cool evening wind, carried away until there was not a trace left.
“Bakugou’s not as lonely as you seem to make out,” Kyouka said all of a sudden, brushing a stray strand of hair out of her eyes. “He has us, he has Eijirou and Mina and Hanta.” The look on her face was undecipherable. “He has Midoriya.”
Because at the end of the day, Bakugou chased the hero rankings like they were potential suitors. It was the half-assed answer he told every interviewer that managed to get but a second of his time, it was the dismissive excuse he gave his friends every few months when Mina grilled him on his personal life, it was the silence that followed whenever someone looked at Uraraka and Midoriya and asked him whether he was truly happy.
“I’ve got everything I need right here,” he had said, wrapping an arm around Midoriya’s waist and bringing him closer. “This idiot that I have to overtake in the rankings always comes up with new ways of keeping me busy.”
“Well, maybe if you were a little nicer,” Midoriya chided, but his smile was radiant. “Might I remind you of how jarring your jump was when you actually started trying to be nice on live television?”
“Well,” Bakugou began, and the hand that had once made its home on his hip was now being used to push Midoriya away, “I guess you could say that before you debuted, I didn’t feel like competing with any of the other B-grade heroes.”
“Not even Todoroki?” Denki asked innocently, recalling how easily the boy decimated the competition the year he began doing hero work. He would know - Denki had watched Todoroki skyrocket into second place whilst he was left behind in the dust, desperately fending off number forty-four from his old English teacher.
He had scowled and Midoriya had changed the subject before Denki was reminded of exactly how Bakugou had earned his hero name, and the only conclusion left for him to draw was that perhaps ranking high as a hero did not mean he would rank high with women.
However, in hangouts when Dynamight became Bakugou and Chargebolt turned to Denki, Bakugou seemed… happier. Perhaps ranking high as a hero did not mean he would rank high with women, but perhaps Bakugou did not feel the need to.
He looked content chasing after Midoriya like he had in high school, like he had in first year, and Denki realised that maybe, just maybe, he did not need much else.
“He has Midoriya,” Denki repeated with a sort of finality, a truth that was not going to change, a truth that did not need to. Something warm crept up in his chest. “He’s going to be alright.”
In the distance, he saw a car turning off the main road, slowly driving up towards them. “It’s Bakugou,” Kyouka told him, putting out her cigarette and tossing it in the bin by the entrance. “He always finds a way, doesn’t he?”
Setting out at a brisk pace, she began walking straight towards the car. She was right, Bakugou did always find a way. They had nothing to worry about.
Denki smiled, looked up at the sky, and followed.
In truth, Ochako did not understand why the people online cared so much about the people she met up with on weekends.
She learned the hard way that she had to come to terms with at least three unflattering pictures of herself circulating the internet every time she set foot outside. Over the years, however, she had rather perfected the art of retaliation.
In preparation for her thirty minute venture, she had put on the ugliest hat and biggest, most obnoxious sunglasses in hopes of deterring the entire populace of Japan, including the pesky paparazzi sneaking around on the busy streets of Musutafu, hoping to catch a glimpse of a pro hero on their day off. Internally, though, she prayed that Bakugou would not mind her eccentric change of wardrobe.
Slipping past a woman on the way in, Ochako had a quick look around the cafe before realising that it was way too dark to see anything. She stepped aside as she lifted her sunglasses up, squinting at the busy tables. Her face lit up when she reached the very back and noticed a flurry of blond slouched over in the corner, fingers drumming mindlessly on the counter.
“Bakugou-kun,” Ochako greeted as she walked up to his table. She sat down across from him, her smile faltering when she fully took in his aghast expression. “What is it?”
He pointed to the black facemask hanging off one ear and snorted. “Trying out a new look?”
Ochako puffed out her cheeks. “So what if I am?” she asked, reaching over for the menu tucked away in the corner. “Beanies are in this year.”
“It’s fifteen degrees out.” Bakugou raised both his eyebrows. “At this point, you’re better off just ditching the disguises altogether.”
“Rude,” said Ochako, flipping a page. A waiter walked by their table, the hot smell of chocolate and pancakes drifting languidly behind him, and she had to fight off every urge to float out of her seat and follow the plate. She stared at Bakugou intently, stomach grumbling in protest. “Have you ordered anything yet?”
“An espresso for me,” he said, glancing up when a woman appeared behind them, holding out a tray. Ochako smiled at her politely, watching as she placed a steaming hot mug in front of her, “and a mocha for the lady.”
“Thank you, kind sir.” She brought it up to her lips, blowing the steam across the table. Then, in a quieter voice, she added, “You sure you want to be seen with me in public?”
The smile that had previously been lazing on Bakugou’s face faltered ever so slightly, the corners of his lips falling imperceptibly. “I couldn’t care less about what anyone thinks,” he said, waving his hand around. “Buncha nosy fucks, they can all go to hell.”
“It must be taxing,” Ochako sighed, taking a sip of her coffee. “I can hardly stomach the news reporters after a long shift, but this- this is ridiculous. I mean,” she put her mug down suddenly, nearly spilling it onto the table, “we’re heroes! We save people, we catch criminals, why do you care about who’s fucking who?”
“Ochako,” Bakugou interrupted in a tone that rivalled Midoriya’s stern teacher voice, even if the growing curve of his smile said otherwise, “think they’re gonna have the same kind of enthusiasm when they find out that the number five hero is boning number four?”
Ochako pressed her lips together. As progressive as Japan made itself out to be, queer and visibly out heroes were still zero to none. She could not pretend that the quiet, judgmental stares were not drilling into the back of her head, that the backlash online did not deter her from finding the courage to hold a partner’s hand in public.
She was a hero, for crying out loud. Her whole schtick was being courageous. She had faced villains twice her size at the cusp of sixteen, and yet the idea of walking down the street with someone she was more than friends with made her stomach drop.
“They are not entitled to your private life,” she said with a sigh. She nudged Bakugou’s foot with her own. “They are not entitled to your happiness.”
Truthfully, not a lot of people knew about Bakugou and Izuku. She had only found out recently, when in a burst of sweat and adrenaline, Izuku had chased her down halfway across Musutafu, and confessed the truth with both his hands planted firmly on his shaking knees.
“Please don’t tell anyone,” he had begged her, and suddenly they were back in first year, nervous and coltish, so new to and so full of love, it practically seeped out of them. Izuku looked boyish, with a face too red and palms too clammy, and a heart that was beating too hard against his ribcage, so hard that it might have burst out for anyone to see.
Ochako had embraced him, pressing her face into the crook of Izuku’s neck. “It will be alright, Deku-kun,” she had told him over and over, something she wished she could have done when they were both fifteen.
She held on tight, tighter when she felt his hands wrap around her waist, tighter when she realised the damp feeling against her shoulder was more than just sweat.
“I hope it wasn’t obvious,” Izuku had muffled into her hair. He laughed quietly and it was a warbled, choked thing. “I was worried that you might have known.”
And although she might have not fully realised it leading up to this moment, she wondered whether deep down, she might have always had an inkling. She wondered whether now that she had been let in on this big secret, she would begin to catch all the infinitesimal signs she had previously missed.
The more she thought about it, the more she realised that Izuku and Bakugou loved each other loudly.
Every snide remark on the training grounds felt like a love confession, a declaration to keep chasing after the other, to keep growing stronger by each other’s side. Fleeting glances in the common room, late nights huddled in the kitchen, hoping to get paired up in team tasks, and waiting for the other after ending up on different teams anyway.
She was one of the chosen few who knew about their secret relationship, but even now Ochako had to ask herself how more people did not see just how deeply they cared about each other. Perhaps they just did not know where to look, if tabloid magazines were still grasping at straws whenever Bakugou was caught outside with another female celebrity.
“It’s not them I care about.” Bakugou placed his chin into the palm of his hand, sighing. “I don’t give a damn about what anyone thinks, I just… what about Izuku?”
Something warm unfurled in the space between Ochako’s sternum and her spine. “What about Deku-kun?” she asked gently, tilting her head to the side.
“I think.” Bakugou looked around, chewing on the inside of his cheek. He furrowed his eyebrows. “I think that he’s the type of person who would want people to know. To be official without just subliminally hinting to the press.”
“You have not exactly been subtle, you know, Bakugou-kun,” Ochako mused out loud. “You would have thought that news outlets would have picked up on something by now.”
Bakugou snickered. “What, am I supposed to kiss him in front of a gaggle of reporters? Is that what it takes for them to finally leave me alone?”
“If you want to trend for another month and a half straight.” She shrugged her shoulders. “Might be good publicity.”
“My PR agent would kill me,” Bakugou said wistfully, “then kill Izuku for agreeing to it, and you for endorsing the idea, of course.”
Ochako smiled. “Of course, of course,” she repeated amusedly, fully aware that she would go out happy knowing that her best friend was able to finally be himself. “And what about you, Bakugou-kun?”
This seemed to catch Bakugou off guard. “Me?” he snorted, but his tone fell flat. “I don’t know, Uraraka, I don’t currently have the insurmountable urge to suck my boyfriend’s face in public.”
But always having the option open sounded reassuring, Ochako thought. “You don’t have to come out officially,” she opted for saying instead, “or kiss Deku-kun in the middle of Musutafu. For one, the press wouldn’t take it well.”
“They’d be pretty devastated to find out that I’m cheating on all my girlfriends,” said Bakugou, scratching the back of his head. “What else will they write about now?”
“All the girls I’m not sleeping with,” Ochako quipped with a raised eyebrow. She basked in the small grin that tugged on Bakugou’s lips. “But Bakugou-kun, nothing should matter more than your and Deku-kun’s happiness. So what if the press hates you? What if, hypothetically speaking, your hero rank drops by twenty places?”
Bakugou frowned. “You just want to overtake me in the rankings,” he grumbled, crossing his arms. “Don’t think I haven’t gotten you all figured out.”
“This is not about the rankings,” Ochako lied, swatting her hand at him. Her gaze softened when she lowered her arm, “but hiding this integral part of yourself to appease, well, everyone, it… it must be exhausting.”
Bakugou’s lips pressed together as his eyes swept across the table. His fingers resting on his arms curled around his biceps a little tighter. “Shall we order our mains?” he asked eventually, reaching for the menu.
Ochako looked down at her hands resting in her lap. “I’m starving,” she replied, and pretended not to see Bakugou’s lip twitch. She picked up the menu and busied herself once more.
When Katsuki stepped into his apartment, the lights in the hallway were already turned on.
He took his shoes off by the entrance, immediately hit by the familiar smell of lemongrass when he entered the room. He smiled as he locked the door, headed straight towards their bedroom.
The door had been left ajar, only enough to see the corner of the desk through the crack. Katsuki creaked it open ever so slightly, fully expecting to see Izuku slumped over the table. It was exam season, meaning it was becoming increasingly more common for Katsuki to come across a passed out Izuku with his laptop still open, hanging on for dear life on five percent.
His smile only grew when instead he was met with two big green eyes staring back at him, soft curls framing his tired face.
“Kacchan,” Izuku murmured, fingers stilling on the keyboard, and in that moment, Katsuki had no place he would rather be.
Setting his bag by the doorframe, he walked towards Izuku, cupping his face with his hands and pressing a gentle kiss onto the top of his head. “I’m home,” he whispered into his hair, breathing in the faint scent of his shampoo. “Uraraka sends her regards by the way.”
“Hope you told her that next Friday’s lunch was still on,” Izuku replied, closing his laptop before raising an eyebrow. “So.”
“So…?” Katsuki repeated, reaching for the collar of his sweater and dragging it over his head. When he looked back and realised Izuku was still staring at him, he mirrored his sceptical expression, knitting his eyebrows together and sticking out his lower lip until he was quite certain Izuku couldn’t hold in it anymore.
“Heard you were dating Uraraka-san,” he replied evenly, pulling down the corners of his lips despite the quite evident smile that has been itching its way onto his face. “Were you planning on telling me anytime soon?”
Katsuki laughed. Fucking of course he was dating Uraraka now, it was quite foolish to think that the paparazzi were not going to get to him eventually. Hell, he had not checked his phone since he left the restaurant, how had they gotten to him so fast?
Underneath all the thick layers of annoyance, however, he managed to find a malicious sort of mirth in the fact that Uraraka’s hideous outfit was now circulating every social media platform, much to her utter dismay.
“I like to keep you on your toes.” Katsuki sat down on the bed, mattress dipping under his weight. He patted the duvet next to his thigh, hoping that his face did not betray him when Izuku finally got up, walking over to him. “Uraraka and I have been talking.”
“Oh yeah?” he asked, reaching over and brushing Katsuki’s sweaty bangs out of his face. “What about?”
“Love,” Katsuki said, frowning. The idea of being able to exist outside without having every miniscule move dissected on the internet seemed almost too good to be true. “You know, I’m getting really sick of people speculating.”
The expression on Izuku’s face did not carry the spark it usually did. He felt a palm press against the small of his back, touch feather-light. Izuku moved down his spine, stopping just above his tailbone.
“People will always talk,” he said after a moment, bringing his hand back up. “Can’t stop that.”
Katsuki’s face fell. “People have constantly talked about you and Uraraka. Before we even ended high school,” he mumbled, reaching out for Izuku’s hand and squeezing it once. “Aren’t you tired?”
Izuku watched him intently before looking away. “You know I am,” he said, then stopped himself, “but Kacchan, it doesn’t matter as long as we’re happy.”
Happy. Katsuki looked up at his partner of nearly a decade - his boyfriend, his hero partner, his best friend, his Izuku, and wondered whether this was happiness, true happiness. It was true, Katsuki was the happiest he has ever been, coming home after a grueling day of work to the love of his life, but still, he felt like there might have been something missing, despite it all.
Because there was a small, selfish part of him that desperately wished that people knew that Izuku was dating him, that Izuku was his, only his. His neck went pink at the mere thought of it.
“Maybe,” Katsuki said, looking at him. “Maybe we should get married.”
“Would you like to?” Izuku asked, voice growing quiet. “I mean… publicly?”
Katsuki shrugged. “If it worked for Yaomomo, then it ought to work for us. Because, if I’m being honest, I feel like the media would still find a way to twist the fact that we were boyfriends.”
Izuku let out a quiet laugh. “They’re just best friends who happen to be boys,” he said, but his smile quickly fell when he locked eyes with Katsuki. “Don’t tell me that this is your proposal, though. I will be very disappointed, mister ‘I have to be the best in everything’.”
“This was a pretty good proposal, I’d like to think,” Katsuki teased, skin heating up when Izuku cupped his face and brought him in for a chaste kiss. He blushed when he pulled away, eyes nervously darting to the floor. “No, this isn’t a proper proposal, you idiot.”
“Good, because you have to be better than that,” Izuku said, letting go. “And faster, too. I’ll beat you to it, you know. I won’t go easy on you.”
Katsuki’s heart leapt up into his throat. “I wouldn’t want you to,” he bit back, unable to contain the fondness from blooming in his chest. If this was the person he was spending the rest of his life with, he was quite satisfied, actually. “Oh, you’re going down, number four.”
Hands raking through his hair, Izuku pulled Katsuki down onto the mattress with him, giggling. “I’d like to see you try, number five,” he choked out before he was smothered by an onslaught of kisses. Laughter, bright boisterous laughter, followed shortly after.