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Night patrols were supposed to be quiet.
That didn’t mean safe, Izuku had learned that distinction early, but quiet enough that his mind could settle into rhythm. Step, scan, breathe.
Footfalls echoing against concrete. Snow crunching softly beneath his boots. The city wrapped in winter stillness, lights glowing behind frosted windows like distant stars.
He liked this part of patrol. Liked the honesty of it.
No crowds. No expectations. Just him, the cold, and the steady awareness that if something went wrong, it would be on him to stop it.
His breath fogged in front of his mask as he turned down a narrower street, boots leaving shallow prints in fresh snow. Streetlamps cast long shadows across the pavement. Decorations still clung to storefronts, ribbons, tinsel, the occasional wreath, leftovers from a city that refused to fully let go of the season.
Izuku slowed.
Something was off.
Not a sound. Not movement.
Absence.
His instincts tightened. He shifted his weight, one hand lifting slightly as One For All stirred under his skin, not flaring, just ready.
Then a voice cut through the silence.
“Deku.”
His heart slammed once, hard.
He spun, already moving, already bracing-
Too late.
Something cold pressed against his throat. Not sharp, not yet, but
unmistakable.
“Hi,” Toga Himiko said cheerfully, her breath warm against his ear. “You’re getting really good at almost noticing me.”
Izuku froze.
Every muscle screamed move, strike, break contact, but he didn’t. He held still, breath shallow, mind racing through angles and exits and the razor-thin margin between talking and fighting.
“Toga,” he said evenly. “Let go.”
She hummed thoughtfully, blade never quite touching skin. “You’re on patrol. I figured you’d be lonely.”
“I’m not,” Izuku replied.
“Liar.” She leaned closer, eyes bright.
“You always patrol alone when you’re thinking too hard.”
His jaw tightened. “What do you want?”
She finally pulled back, skipping around him in a loose circle, knife twirling between her fingers. Snow crunched beneath her boots as she moved into the glow of a nearby streetlamp.
“I wanted to see you,” she said simply.
Izuku exhaled slowly, careful not to show relief. “That’s not a reason.”
“It is for me.”
She tilted her head, studying him, really studying him, the way she always did, like she was trying to peel him open layer by layer.
“You look tired,” she observed. “Did the heroes give you extra patrols again?”
“Stand down, Toga,” he said, firmer now. “This doesn’t have to escalate.”
She smiled. “You always say that.”
Snow drifted down between them, slow and lazy. Izuku adjusted his stance, careful, deliberate. He needed to keep her talking. Needed to understand why she was here, why now.
His eyes flicked upward without him meaning to.
Mistletoe.
A single sprig hung from a decorative archway spanning the sidewalk, red ribbon faded, leaves dusted with snow. Probably left behind by city workers who hadn’t bothered taking it down yet.
Toga followed his gaze.
“Oh,” she said softly.
Izuku cursed internally.
She laughed, delighted, breathy.
“Human traditions are so funny.”
“It doesn’t mean anything,” Izuku said immediately.
“Of course it does,” she replied, stepping beneath it with deliberate slowness. “People just pretend it doesn’t.”
“Toga,” he warned.
She ignored him, looking up at the leaves, then back at him. “If two people stand under it together…”
“I know,” he said. “And no.”
Her smile sharpened. “You didn’t even let me ask.”
“You don’t get to use that as an excuse,” Izuku said, voice steady despite the spike in his pulse. “You don’t get to force moments like that.”
Her expression flickered, surprise, then something like consideration.
“Force,” she repeated. “Is that what you think I’m doing?”
“Yes,” he said, honest. “If you keep going.”
Toga stepped closer.
Izuku didn’t move.
“You’re shaking,” she said softly.
“I’m not,” he replied, lying.
She leaned in, slowly, giving him time, time to move, to strike, to call for backup.
He stayed.
Not because he wanted to.
Because he needed to know.
“Do you want me to kiss you?” she asked, voice barely above a whisper.
His breath hitched.
“No,” Izuku said immediately. “I don’t.”
Her eyes searched his face.
Not mocking. Not teasing.
Testing.
She leaned in anyway.
Millimetres.
Her breath brushed his lips. His heart thundered so loudly he was sure she could hear it. One For All surged, instinct screaming at him to act.
“Toga. Don’t.”
She stopped.
Her brow furrowed, like she’d hit an invisible wall.
“…No,” she murmured, pulling back.
Izuku sucked in a sharp breath, chest tight.
“You said no,” she continued quietly.
“So I don’t get to.”
Relief hit him so hard it made his knees feel weak.
“That matters,” he said, voice rough.
She blinked. “It does?”
“Yes,” Izuku said. “It really does.”
Snow fell heavier now, the world
narrowing to the space between them.
Toga reached out,slow, deliberate and brushed two fingers against his cheek.
Not a kiss.
Just contact.
Izuku flinched but didn’t pull away.
Her fingers were cold.
“You’re strange,” she said softly. “Even when you’re scared, you choose.”
She stepped back.
“And I chose too.”
Before he could respond, she vaulted backward, landing lightly on a nearby ledge. She paused, looking at him one last time.
“Merry Christmas, Deku.”
Then she was gone, vanishing into shadow as quietly as she’d appeared.
Izuku stood beneath the mistletoe, breath unsteady, heart still racing.
Unclaimed.
It took him several minutes before he trusted his legs to move.
He replayed the moment over and over, the closeness, the restraint, the choice. Not the danger. Not the fear.
The stopping.
She could have crossed that line.
She hadn’t.
And that terrified him more than if she had.
Because it meant she was learning.
Because it meant she was choosing.
Izuku rubbed his face, grounding himself, then resumed patrol, slower now, heavier, carrying the weight of something unresolved.
Toga crouched on a rooftop, snow collecting in her hair as she stared down at the street below.
Her lips still tingled.
Not because she’d kissed him.
Because she hadn’t.
She laughed quietly.
“He said no,” she whispered to herself. “And I listened.”
That felt… new.
Exciting.
Dangerous in a way she liked.
“Next time,” she murmured, eyes bright.
“We’ll see what he chooses again.”
She disappeared into the night, smiling.
Above the empty street, mistletoe swayed in the winter air.
Unclaimed.
And for once, that felt intentional.
The patrol office was warmer than the street.
Too warm.
Izuku shrugged his jacket off as he stepped inside, steam rising faintly from his shoulders as the door closed behind him. The familiar hum of heaters and low conversation wrapped around him, grounding in a way he hadn’t realised he needed.
“Hey, Deku.”
He turned.
Uraraka stood near the desk, hands wrapped around a paper cup, cheeks flushed from the cold. She looked relieved the second she saw him—then her brow furrowed.
“You okay?” she asked immediately.
“I’m fine,” Izuku replied out of habit.
She tilted her head. “That wasn’t the question.”
He hesitated.
Then he nodded once. “I ran into someone.”
Her eyes sharpened. “Villain?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Dangerous?”
Izuku paused again.
“…Potentially.”
That answer made her inhale slowly through her nose, like she was bracing herself. She didn’t push, though. Didn’t crowd him with questions.
“That explains the look,” she said quietly.
Before Izuku could respond, a familiar presence filled the room, tall, broad, unmistakable.
“All Might.”
The former Symbol of Peace stepped forward, wrapped in his winter coat, posture relaxed but eyes alert. He took one look at Izuku’s face and his smile softened into something more serious.
“You’ve returned safely,” All Might said.
“Good.”
“Yes, sir,” Izuku replied.
All Might gestured toward the side office. “Let’s debrief.”
Izuku followed, heart picking up again.
Izuku stood straight, hands clasped behind his back as he delivered his report. His voice was calm, precise, professional.
Encounter time. Location. Initial contact.
No injuries. Villain disengaged voluntarily.
All Might listened.
And read what wasn’t said.
“You mentioned restraint,” All Might noted gently. “On both sides.”
“Yes,” Izuku confirmed.
“And you believe the villain chose not to escalate?”
“Yes.”
All Might folded his arms, thoughtful.
“That is… unusual.”
Izuku swallowed. “I don’t think it was accidental.”
Silence settled between them.
All Might studied the young hero in front of him, not the boy who once rushed headlong into danger without thinking, but the young man who now carried complexity like a weight he refused to put down.
“You did well,” All Might said finally. “Not because there was no fight, but because you recognised when one wasn’t the answer.”
Izuku looked up, surprised. “You’re not… disappointed?”
All Might smiled, small but sincere. “True strength isn’t measured only by what we stop, but by what we prevent.”
Izuku nodded slowly, letting that settle.
“Get some rest,” All Might added.
“You’ve earned it.”
Izuku didn’t say much on the walk back to the dorms.
That wasn’t unusual.
But tonight, it felt… heavier.
Ochako walked beside him, hands shoved into her pockets, watching his breath fog in the air. He looked fine. No injuries. No limp.
But he kept rubbing his thumb against his palm like he was grounding himself.
“She scare you?” she asked quietly.
He considered lying.
Instead, he said, “She made me think.”
Ochako glanced at him. “That might be worse.”
A corner of his mouth twitched. “Yeah.”
They stopped at the entrance.
Ochako hesitated, then spoke again.
“You don’t have to carry everything alone, you know.”
Izuku met her gaze. “I know. Thank
you.”
She smiled, satisfied, and waved him off.
He watched her go, then headed inside.
The city was quieter the second time.
Later patrols always were.
Izuku moved more slowly now, not because he was tired, but because he was listening. To his surroundings. To himself.
He finished his route near the same district.
And felt it again.
That prickle at the base of his neck.
“Took you long enough.”
He turned.
Toga stood perched on a low wall, legs swinging idly, snow dusting her boots. No knives visible. Hood down.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Izuku said.
“Neither should you,” she replied lightly.
“Yet here we are again.”
He didn’t advance. Didn’t retreat.
“Why did you come back?” he asked.
She shrugged. “Curiosity.”
“That’s not a reason.”
“It is for me.”
She hopped down, stopping well outside arm’s reach this time.
“I wanted to see if you’d be different,” she said.
“And?” Izuku asked.
She smiled. “You’re not.”
He exhaled. “Good.”
Toga tilted her head. “You didn’t stop patrolling. You didn’t freeze. You didn’t pretend I didn’t happen.”
“No,” Izuku said. “I didn’t.”
Snow fell between them again.
She rocked back on her heels. “You still
don’t want me to kiss you.”
“No,” he said without hesitation.
She grinned. “I like that you’re sure.”
Silence stretched, not tense, not friendly. Just present.
“Next time,” Toga said softly, stepping
backward toward the alley shadows, “I might test something else.”
Izuku’s jaw tightened. “Don’t.”
She paused.
Then nodded once. “We’ll see.”
And she was gone.
Izuku stood there a moment longer than necessary, then turned and continued his patrol.
Not unchanged.
But not broken either.
Above the empty street, far behind him now, mistletoe swayed unseen in the winter air.
Still unclaimed.
Still waiting.