Work Text:
Izuku didn’t mean to get dragged into the Winter Support Expo.
It just… happened the way most things happened at U.A. someone asked, he said yes before his brain caught up, and then he was standing in the main exhibition hall with a lanyard around his neck, a printed badge that read
MIDORIYA, IZUKU — HERO COURSE (DEMO SUPPORT), and the distinct feeling that he’d somehow walked into a beehive.
The hall was enormous. Festooned with silver garlands and blue-white fairy lights that glittered above the booths like frost. The air smelled like hot cocoa from the vendor stand near the entrance and machine oil from the Support Course section. There were banners hung from the upper walkways
WINTER SUPPORT EXPO: INNOVATION MEETS HEROISM
The sound was a constant, layered roar.
Voices. Laughter. Whirring servos. The occasional bang of a test device being fired off in a designated demo zone.
Izuku clasped his hands behind his back so he wouldn’t fidget too obviously. He was in his hero costume, this wasn’t a combat exercise, but he still felt like he should stand a certain way.
Represent the Hero Course properly.
Look competent.
He scanned the hall, trying to spot the table he’d been told to report to first.
A group of Support Course students were huddled around a sleek black gauntlet, arguing about the torque ratio of the wrist hinge. Somewhere near the center, Present Mic was already hyping the crowd, his voice echoing off the high ceiling like a stadium announcement.
Parents and pro heroes had been invited. Alumni too. A handful of press, controlled, vetted, were dotted among the crowd with cameras slung around their necks.
Izuku swallowed.
It’s okay. You’ve done bigger things than this, he told himself, the same way he always did when the nervousness crawled up his spine like a cold hand.
This is just talking. Standing. Helping.
He adjusted the strap of his bag on his shoulder. Inside were a notebook, a couple of pens, and a few printouts about basic support tech etiquette that he’d read three times last night even though he’d been told he didn’t need to.
He found the booth marked SUPPORT COURSE DEMO PARTNERS and exhaled with relief.
Two tables. A sign-in sheet. A staff member with a clipboard who greeted him with a quick nod.
“Midoriya, right? You’re paired with Hatsume for the first showcase slot.”
Izuku’s brain did that thing where it tried to climb out of his skull.
“H-Hatsume?” he started, and then the staff member was already looking past him.
“Oh, good timing. She’s here.”
Izuku turned.
And there she was.
Mei Hatsume didn’t walk into a room. She arrived in it, like a firework with legs.
Bright pink hair tied up high, goggles pushed up on her head, tool belt jangling, and a grin so wide it bordered on dangerous. She was hauling something the size of a compact motorcycle behind her on a wheeled platform. The device was wrapped in a festive red cloth with little white snowflakes, but the cloth didn’t hide the fact that there were metal joints and thruster vents peeking out from underneath.
She spotted Izuku and lit up like someone had just announced “free parts.”
“MIDORIIIIYA!”
Before he could prepare himself, she was right in his space, grabbing both his hands like she was greeting a long-lost teammate instead of a classmate she’d intermittently used as a crash test dummy for the last year.
“Perfect timing!” she announced. “I need you. Like, immediately.”
Izuku blinked rapidly. “H-Hi, Hatsume-”
“Mei,” she corrected automatically, already tugging him toward her wheeled platform. “Come on, come on, come on, we’ve got a crowd today and I can’t waste good audience time on setup.”
Izuku let himself be guided because, well. Because it was Mei Hatsume, and resisting Mei Hatsume was like trying to stop a river with your hands.
“Um, what is that?” he asked, pointing at the covered contraption as it rolled.
“A baby!” Mei said with reverence.
Izuku’s stomach dropped. “A baby!?”
“My newest, most beautiful baby,” she clarified, as though that cleared everything up. “She’s festive, she’s efficient, she’s going to make half the pro heroes in this room cry tears of joy, and she might make you do a backflip if you don’t listen to me.”
Izuku made a small, involuntary sound
of alarm.
Mei laughed, the sound bright and delighted. “Relax! It’s mostly stable.”
“Mostly?”
She waved a hand. “Technical term.”
They rolled to her booth: HATSUME WORKSHOP — NEXT-GEN MOBILITY & RESCUE in big letters, with smaller text beneath that read Ask about my babies!!
The booth was decorated in the most Support Course version of “winter aesthetic” Izuku had ever seen: garlands intertwined with cable ties, tiny ornaments hanging from spare bolts, and a string of lights that were definitely wired to a battery pack and probably also a detonator just because Mei found it funny.
Mei ripped the red cloth away with a flourish.
The device underneath was… Incredible.
A harness system with modular supports. Reinforced straps. A compact back-mounted unit with a set of sleek, retractable stabilizers. The thruster vents were positioned in a way that suggested controlled boosts rather than full flight, something meant for mobility, sudden changes in momentum, emergency carries.
Izuku leaned in, unable to help himself.
Mei watched him with a satisfied look.
“Go on,” she said. “You’re doing the face.”
“The face?” Izuku repeated automatically.
“The ‘I’m about to fall in love with engineering’ face,” Mei said, and
Izuku’s ears went hot so fast it felt like someone had flicked a switch.
“I-I’m not- I just- this is really-” He swallowed, forcing himself to slow down. “This is amazing. The stabilizer placement… it’s like you built it to compensate for uneven terrain and
sudden weight shifts.”
Mei’s grin sharpened. “Correct.”
“And the harness- it’s adjustable for different body types, but it doesn’t look like it would pinch or restrict movement…”
“Correct again.”
“And- wait.” He leaned closer to the thruster vents. “These aren’t just for propulsion. They’re angled for braking and midair correction.”
Mei made a pleased sound. “Midoriya Izuku, you are a joy. Everyone else goes, ‘Wow, cool jets!’ and you’re out here appreciating the math.”
Izuku’s cheeks warmed. Praise from Mei always hit him in a weird way, half flustering, half grounding. Because Mei didn’t praise out of politeness. She praised like a scientist recording data.
If she said something was good, it meant she meant it.
He cleared his throat, trying to remind himself where he was. “So… what do you need me to do?”
Mei clapped her hands once, sharp and decisive. “Great question. You’re the demo partner, so you’re going to wear it.”
Izuku’s eyes widened. “W-Wear?”
“And you’re going to run a short obstacle course through the demo lane,” Mei continued briskly, pointing to a taped path set up nearby. “Three boosts, one controlled stop, one carry test, don’t worry, it’s a dummy, then we finish with the rescue harness release mechanism.”
Izuku glanced at the demo lane.
It included foam barriers, a simulated “collapsed wall” section, and a raised platform with a gentle slope. There were also, he noticed with dread, several Support Course students already hovering nearby with clipboards and eager eyes.
“This is… in front of-” he started.
“People?” Mei finished for him, as though she’d just realized it. Then she smiled like that fact was a feature, not a bug. “Yes! That’s the best part.”
Izuku’s mouth went dry.
Mei slapped him lightly on the shoulder.
“Don’t overthink it, Midoriya. You’re literally a hero. You’ve fought villains. You’ve saved people.”
“That’s… different,” he managed weakly.
Mei tilted her head. “How?”
Izuku opened his mouth and found, annoyingly, that he didn’t have a clean answer.
Villains were terrifying, yes. But they were straightforward in a way. They were a problem that needed solving.
His body knew what to do when it came to protecting someone.
This was… being watched. Being evaluated. Doing something that could go wrong in front of a room full of people who would absolutely remember it.
Mei’s eyes narrowed slightly, not unkindly, more like she was focusing.
“You’re doing it,” she said.
“Doing what?”
“The spiral,” Mei said, tapping two fingers lightly against his forehead.
“You’re going into your brain labyrinth again.”
Izuku flinched, instinctively. “I’m not- I just want to make sure I don’t mess up your-”
“Hey.” Mei’s voice softened in the smallest way, still Mei, still energetic, but pointed. “You’re not going to mess up my baby. And even if you did, that’s data.”
Izuku blinked at her.
Mei leaned in, close enough that he could see the smudge of grease on her cheek and the sparkle in her eyes.
“Besides,” she added, tone sliding back into teasing, “I picked you because you’re careful. And because you’re cute when you panic.”
Izuku’s entire system rebooted.
“H-Hats-Mei-”
Mei straightened as if nothing had happened, already grabbing the harness. “All right! Arms up. Let’s get you strapped in.”
Izuku raised his arms like a person surrendering.
He told himself he was doing this because he’d agreed. Because it was the right thing. Because Mei had worked hard.
But as Mei moved around him, tightening straps, checking buckles, adjusting the fit with practiced efficiency, Izuku couldn’t ignore the strange, steady feeling underneath his nerves.
Mei wasn’t treating him like a prop.
She wasn’t treating him like a toy.
She was treating him like someone she trusted.
Like someone who belonged here.
“You’re tensing,” Mei observed, tugging a strap snug at his waist.
“I’m sorry,” Izuku said reflexively.
Mei snorted. “Don’t apologize. Just breathe.”
He inhaled slowly, then exhaled.
The harness settled against him, supportive without feeling restrictive. He could feel the weight of the unit on his back, but it was balanced well.
Mei stepped in front of him and placed her hands on his shoulders, gaze sharp and direct. “Okay,” she said, suddenly businesslike. “Listen to me. When I say ‘boost,’ you boost. When I say ‘stop,’ you stop. Don’t improvise, don’t hero it up, don’t try to save the obstacle course.”
Izuku nodded quickly. “Got it.”
“And one more thing,” Mei said, and her grin returned, wicked and bright.
Izuku braced instinctively.
Mei poked his chest lightly with one finger. “If you do really well, I might kiss you under the mistletoe.”
Izuku stopped breathing.
“…What?”
Mei’s eyes glittered. “What? It’s a Winter Expo. There’s mistletoe everywhere. It’s practically a scientific constant.”
Izuku’s face went so red it felt like his ears were emitting steam. “Th-That’s not- I-”
Mei hummed thoughtfully, as if testing his reaction was part of the demo.
“Okay, noted. Strong fluster response. Cute.”
Izuku tried to speak again, but the words jammed somewhere between his heart and his mouth.
Mei stepped back and threw one arm up like she was presenting him to an invisible audience.
“All right!” she called.
“Gather round, gather round! I’ve got my favorite demo partner and my newest baby ready to go!”
People did gather. Quickly. A small semicircle formed around the taped lane, cameras lifting, murmurs rippling through the crowd.
Izuku felt his pulse in his throat.
Mei leaned close again, voice low enough that only he could hear.
“You’re gonna do great, Midoriya,” she said, no teasing this time, just matter-of-fact certainty. “And if you don’t, we’ll just tweak it and run it again.”
Izuku stared at her for half a second.
Then he nodded, the knot in his chest loosening just a little.
“Okay,” he whispered.
Mei’s grin returned, softer around the
edges. “Good.”
She stepped to the side, raised her hand, and snapped her fingers.
“Demo begins in three… two… one-”
Izuku took his first step onto the lane.
And somewhere behind the noise, behind the lights, behind the pounding in his chest, he realized something with startling clarity:
He was still nervous.
Still overwhelmed.
But for the first time since he’d walked into the hall…
He wasn’t doing it alone.
The first boost hit smoother than Izuku expected.
There was a brief, heart-skipping whine from the unit on his back, then a controlled surge of force that nudged him forward, not a blast, not a launch, just enough to carry him cleanly over the first foam barrier. His boots touched down with a light skid, stabilizers flaring automatically to keep him upright.
A murmur rippled through the crowd.
Izuku barely had time to register it before Mei’s voice cut through the noise, bright and thrilled.
“YES! That’s it! Perfect weight distribution, look at that posture!”
Izuku’s shoulders tensed instinctively at being praised publicly, but his body kept moving, following the lane exactly as she’d instructed. He vaulted the second obstacle, angled his torso just enough to compensate for the slope
“Boost two!” Mei called.
He triggered it.
The harness responded instantly, thrusters firing in a tight, controlled burst that carried him up and onto the raised platform. The stabilizers adjusted mid-motion, compensating for the shift in momentum with a soft mechanical click.
Izuku landed cleanly.
His heart slammed against his ribs.
This is working, his mind supplied, stunned. This is actually working.
“Okay, now stop!” Mei called.
Izuku braced and engaged the braking vents.
The unit hummed, then slowed him to a precise halt, boots skidding no more than a few centimeters.
The crowd audibly reacted this time.
“That braking response-” “Did you see the correction speed?” “Is that calibrated to his Quirk output?”
Izuku’s ears burned, but he forced himself to focus on the lane ahead. There was one more section before the carry test: a narrow pass meant to simulate unstable ground.
He moved carefully.
Too carefully.
The harness compensated, but Izuku felt his balance waver for half a second.
Before panic could set in, Mei’s voice snapped sharp and clear.
“Midoriya. Trust it.”
The words hit harder than they should have.
He inhaled once, deeply, and adjusted his stride.
The unit responded like it had been waiting for him to stop fighting it.
Izuku cleared the section smoothly.
“Yes!” Mei crowed. “Okay, carry test! Dummy incoming!”
A Support Course student rolled a weighted rescue dummy into place.
Izuku crouched, secured the harness straps exactly as he’d practiced, and lifted.
The additional weight tugged at him immediately.
His muscles engaged instinctively, but this wasn’t brute strength, it was balance. He could feel the harness redistributing the load, stabilizers flexing to support his center of gravity.
“Three steps, pivot, release!” Mei instructed.
Izuku followed through.
The dummy lowered gently to the mat.
Release mechanism disengaged with a clean click.
For half a second, there was silence.
Then the crowd broke into applause.
Izuku froze.
Actual applause.
Not polite clapping. Not a few scattered reactions. Real, impressed, sustained applause.
His chest tightened, something warm and unsteady blooming behind his ribs.
Mei was already there, bouncing on the balls of her feet like she might vibrate straight out of existence.
“DID YOU SEE THAT?” she shouted, grabbing his wrist and holding it up like they’d just won something.
“FLAWLESS! ABSOLUTELY FLAWLESS!”
Izuku laughed, actually laughed, before he could stop himself, breathless and disbelieving.
“I-I just followed what you said!”
“Exactly!” Mei grinned. “You listened!
You trusted the tech! You trusted me!”
Her goggles had slipped down her forehead at some point, and she shoved them back up with her free hand, eyes sparkling.
Izuku felt dizzy, not from the harness, but from her.
The staff member with the clipboard approached, smiling broadly. “That was one of the cleanest live demos we’ve seen today. Excellent work, both of you.”
Mei beamed. Izuku bowed so quickly he nearly knocked heads with her.
“Th-thank you!”
As the crowd began to disperse, drawn toward the next loud thing, Mei finally released his wrist and started unbuckling the harness with deft, practiced movements.
“See?” she said, tone lighter now but still warm. “Told you it’d be fine.”
Izuku swallowed. “You… you really did.”
She glanced up at him, something unreadable flickering behind her grin.
“Yeah. I usually do.”
She finished detaching the unit and stepped back, hands on her hips, surveying him like he was part of the success metrics.
Then her eyes flicked upward.
Izuku followed her gaze.
Directly above the edge of the booth, tangled among fairy lights and a suspicious number of cable ties, hung a sprig of mistletoe.
Izuku’s heart stopped.
Mei’s grin went slow and deliberate.
“Well,” she said. “Look at that.”
“I- I thought you were joking,” Izuku blurted.
Mei tilted her head. “About what?”
“The mistletoe,” he said, far too fast.
“The- the kissing thing.”
“Oh.” Mei tapped her chin thoughtfully.
“No, that part wasn’t a joke.”
Izuku’s face heated instantly. “M-Mei-”
She stepped closer, close enough that he could hear the faint whir of tools still cooling behind them, close enough that the noise of the Expo faded into something distant and unimportant.
“You don’t have to,” she added, suddenly more serious. “I’m not, this isn’t pressure. I just… like you. And I figured I’d say it out loud.”
Izuku’s brain tried to reboot again.
“You… like me?”
Mei nodded, completely unapologetic.
“Yeah. You’re smart. You care. You listen. You don’t look at me like I’m ‘too much.’” Her smile softened. “You look like you see me.”
Izuku’s chest felt tight in a different way now.
“I- I see you,” he said, voice barely above a whisper. “And I like you too. I just… I didn’t think-”
Mei laughed quietly. “You never do.”
She rose onto her toes, not to kiss him.
Just to stop a breath away.
Izuku’s heart hammered.
And then, remembering his words, remembering his boundaries, she pulled back.
Just enough.
The space between them hummed.
Izuku stared at her, pulse roaring in his ears, and something clicked into place.
He leaned forward.
Carefully. Deliberately.
He closed the distance.
The kiss was brief, soft, experimental, barely more than a promise, but it sent a jolt straight through him anyway.
Mei froze for exactly half a second.
Then she smiled into it.
When they parted, the Expo noise rushed back in, louder than before.
Mei’s cheeks were pink.
“So,” she said lightly. “Guess the demo was a success.”
Izuku nodded, dazed and smiling in a way he couldn’t stop.
“Y-Yeah,” he agreed. “I think it really was.”
Above them, the mistletoe swayed gently.
The Winter Support Expo ended without incident.
Which, frankly, felt suspicious.
Izuku spent the rest of the afternoon moving on instinct alone, helping Mei pack equipment, answering questions, nodding along while she talked excitedly about improvements she wanted to test later. She leaned against him at one point while recalibrating a prototype, completely at ease, like nothing about the day had been unusual.
No one stopped him.
No teachers pulled him aside.
No alarms. No consequences.
Mei didn’t mention it either.
She just hummed while she worked, goggles pushed into her hair, hands moving with practiced confidence.
When they finally stepped outside, snow drifting lazily across the campus grounds, Izuku felt like his thoughts were lagging several seconds behind
reality.
“Midoriya.”
He startled.
Mei stood beside him, hands in her pockets.
“You good?”
“Yes!” he said immediately. “…I mean, I think so.”
She tilted her head, studying him. Then she nodded, satisfied.
“Cool. If you freak out later, come find me. I’ll still be me.”
And then she waved and headed off toward the Support Course wing like she hadn’t just completely rearranged his internal operating system.
Izuku stood there a moment longer, snow settling on his shoulders.
The ambush happened the next evening.
He’d barely made it two steps into the common room when a voice rang out.
“MIDORIYA!”
Hagakure popped into existence directly in front of him, hands on her hips.
Kirishima stood behind her, grinning in that this-is-totally-manly way of his.
Mina was already perched on the couch, eyes sparkling.
Izuku froze. “…Yes?”
“So,” Mina said brightly, “we heard a thing.”
His stomach dropped.
“A… thing?”
Kirishima rubbed the back of his neck.
“Uh, yeah. Word kinda… spread.”
Hagakure leaned in conspiratorially.
“Support Course gossip travels fast.”
Izuku opened his mouth. Closed it.
Tried again.
“I- um-”
Mina gasped. “That hesitation was LOUD.”
Iida cleared his throat, adjusting his glasses. “Midoriya, we are not here to pry unnecessarily. We simply wish to clarify certain… reports.”
“Reports?” Izuku echoed weakly.
Uraraka watched him carefully from the armchair, expression soft, unreadable.
Kirishima smiled. “Dude. Did you kiss Hatsume?”
The room went quiet.
Izuku felt heat rush to his face.
“I- it was- there was mistletoe-”
Hagakure squealed. “IT WAS UNDER
MISTLETOE.”
“That’s confirmation,” Mina declared happily.
“I didn’t say!”
“You didn’t say no,” Kirishima pointed out, still smiling.
Izuku scrubbed his hands over his face.
“It just… happened.”
Uraraka smiled then. Not teasing. Just warm. “Mei doesn’t really do things halfway.”
Izuku nodded, heart still racing. “…No.
She doesn’t.”
The tension broke after that, light teasing, Kaminari promising he wanted “the full story later,” Mina already brainstorming ship names, until one by one they drifted off.
Izuku sat there a moment longer, staring at the coffee table.
The story had spread.
And somehow… that didn’t scare him as much as he’d expected.
Mei Hatsume pushed open the door to her classroom and was immediately met with silence.
Every head turned toward her.
Someone dropped a screwdriver.
“…So,” one student finally said, eyes wide, “is it true?”
Mei blinked. “Is what true?”
“That you kissed Midoriya Izuku.”
Mei grinned.
“Oh. That.”
The room exploded.
“You WHAT?”
“AT THE EXPO?”
“UNDER MISTLETOE?!”
Mei hopped up onto a workbench, unfazed. “Yep.”
Someone spluttered. “Just- like- casually?”
She shrugged. “Seemed right.”
“…Are you dating?” another asked.
Mei paused. Just for a second.
Then she smiled, bright and
unapologetic.
“Dunno yet.”
That only made the reactions louder.
Mei laughed, hopped back down, and grabbed her tools. The world could speculate all it wanted. She had work to do.
And somewhere across campus, a green-haired hero was probably still trying to process the same thing.
She found that… kind of adorable.
Izuku doesn’t mean to freak out.
It just… happens.
He paces his room once.
Twice.
Sits on his bed. Stands again.
Every time he closes his eyes, he sees the same thing: snow drifting down, mistletoe overhead, Mei’s goggles pushed up into her hair, the way she leaned in without hesitation.
If you freak out later, come find me.
She’d said it so casually. Like it was inevitable.
By the time Izuku realizes he’s already pulled on his hoodie and shoes, his feet are carrying him across campus on autopilot.
The Support Course building is quieter at night, but never silent. There’s always a hum of electricity, the faint clatter of tools, the glow of lights from at least one lab that never sleeps.
Hers.
Izuku hesitates at the door, heart
pounding, before knocking.
“Come in!” Mei calls immediately.
“Unless you’re on fire, then knock harder!”
He pushes the door open.
Mei is bent over a workbench, sparks flickering harmlessly as she adjusts something with a wrench. She glances up, goggles still on her forehead, and grins.
“Oh hey. You did freak out later.”
Izuku laughs weakly. “I- I’m sorry, I just-”
She shuts off the machine and hops down from the bench. “You don’t have to apologize. You look like your brain’s running at max capacity again.”
“…It kind of is.”
She tilts her head. “Wanna sit or pace?
Either works.”
He sits. On the edge of a stool, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles ache.
“I just, everyone knows now,” he says.
“Class 1-A. The Support Course. I didn’t think it would spread that fast.”
Mei shrugs. “Yeah. That’s school for you.”
“That doesn’t bother you?” he asks, incredulous.
She blinks. “Why would it?”
Izuku searches for the right words.
“Because it was… public. And sudden. And I didn’t know if you- if you meant it, or if it was just-”
“Mistletoe?” she finishes.
“…Yes.”
Mei steps closer, stopping just in front of him. Not crowding. Just close enough that he can smell oil and winter air.
“I don’t do things I don’t mean,” she says simply. “If I wanted it to be nothing, I wouldn’t have kissed you.”
His breath stutters.
“Oh,” he manages.
She smiles, softer than usual. Less manic. More real.
“You don’t have to have everything figured out,” she adds. “I don’t. I just knew I wanted to kiss you.”
Izuku nods slowly, chest tight in a way that feels frightening and warm all at once.
“I think,” he says carefully, “I wanted that too.”
Mei’s eyes brighten.
“Cool,” she says. “Wanna try again sometime?”
His heart nearly stops.
“Y-yes.”
She beams. “Awesome.”
It happens three nights later.
No mistletoe.
No crowd.
No rumors waiting to spread.
Just snow falling quietly outside the lab windows and the low hum of a machine winding down.
Izuku is standing beside Mei’s workbench, watching her solder with intense focus, when she suddenly straightens and stretches.
“Okay,” she says. “Brain fried. Need a break.”
She turns toward him, and pauses.
They’re close. Close enough that he can see the freckles across her nose, the way her hair curls slightly at the ends.
Mei studies him for a second.
Then she smiles.
“So,” she says, casual as ever. “Can I kiss you again?”
Izuku doesn’t hesitate this time.
“Yes.”
She leans in, slower than before, giving him time, space, choice. When their lips meet, it’s gentle. Careful. Nothing like the impulsive spark from the expo.
And somehow… it means more.
Izuku’s hands hover uselessly for half a second before settling lightly at her sides. Mei makes a pleased sound against his mouth and deepens the kiss just a little.
When they part, both of them are smiling.
Mei rests her forehead against his.
“See? Way better without the excuse.”
Izuku lets out a breathy laugh. “Yeah. It is.”
Outside, snow continues to fall.
Inside, nothing explodes.
Nothing goes wrong.