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The dorm common room at U.A. had a particular kind of holiday chaos to it, warm lights strung everywhere they didn’t belong, paper snowflakes taped to the windows, and enough food on the tables to convince you the world outside wasn’t cold.
Izuku Midoriya stood near the edge of it all with a cup of something hot in his hands and tried to tell himself he was relaxed.
He wasn’t.
He’d gotten better at blending in when he needed to. Smiling at the right moments, nodding when someone made a joke, letting the conversation wash over him without it sticking. That was a skill he’d picked up the hard way, first as a quirkless kid who couldn’t afford to take up too much space, then as a hero-in-training who couldn’t afford to be anything less than steady.
Tonight, though, the steadiness felt thin.
The holiday party wasn’t mandatory.
Nothing in the dorms truly was, not if you were willing to look like the kind of person who didn’t like fun. But it had been Mina’s idea, and she’d insisted it would be “good for morale,” and everyone had shown up like they always did when Mina decided something mattered.
Deku watched from his corner while life happened around him.
Kaminari was performing what could only be described as a dramatic retelling of how he’d “saved” a box of ornaments from Sero’s tape dispenser.
Jirou was pretending she wasn’t amused. Tokoyami stood near the snacks with the solemn air of someone guarding sacred offerings. Kirishima and Iida had gotten into a friendly debate about whether “Holiday Spirit” counted as a legitimate motivational tool for training.
A few couples, or almost-couples, had drifted naturally into their own gravity.
Not anything loud, not anything inappropriate. Just… closeness.
Familiarity.
Deku felt something twist in his chest
and immediately tried to name it as something else. Tiredness, maybe.
Residual tension from training.
Seasonal mood swings. Anything but what it was.
Loneliness.
Not the dramatic kind. Not the “no one cares” kind. Just the quiet ache of watching everyone else move like they belonged somewhere, while he kept hovering on the perimeter as if he might get in the way.
He took a sip from his cup. The warmth helped for about three seconds.
A laugh sparked behind him and he turned slightly, just enough to see Uraraka leaning in to say something to Asui. They looked soft in a way that made his chest hurt worse. Not because he wanted it, he’d long since filed away a lot of wants as “not now” or “not allowed” but because part of him still, stupidly, wondered what it would feel like to be looked at without expectation.
To be looked at like a person, not a project. Not a responsibility. Not a symbol.
He lowered his gaze to his hands and tried to breathe.
The moment stretched.
Then the space beside him filled with warmth, literal warmth, like a human space heater had casually wandered over and decided Deku’s corner was a good place to stand.
“Yo,” Kirishima said, voice bright in that easy way he had. “You hiding out?”
Deku blinked, caught off guard by how relieved he felt. “I’m not hiding. I’m… observing.”
Kirishima grinned. “Observation is manly. But you’ve been ‘observing’ from the same spot for like… twenty
minutes.”
Deku’s cheeks warmed. “Have I?”
“Yep.” Kirishima leaned his elbow on the back of the couch without sitting, staying upright like he was ready to move at any second. “Everything okay?”
It was a simple question. Kirishima asked it like it mattered. Like the answer mattered.
Deku tried to make his face do the right thing. “Yeah. Just… enjoying the vibe.”
Kirishima’s grin softened into something quieter. “Uh-huh.”
Deku hated how easily Kirishima saw through him. He hated it and, worse, he loved it, because it meant he didn’t have to work so hard to be understood.
Kirishima nudged him lightly with his shoulder. “Come on. Walk with me.”
“Where?”
“Anywhere.” Kirishima tilted his head toward the hall as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. “You look like you’re thinking too loud. Let’s give your brain a lap around the building.”
Deku let out a small laugh, surprised at it. “That’s… oddly specific.”
Kirishima shrugged. “I’ve got good instincts.”
Before Deku could talk himself out of it, he nodded. “Okay.”
They moved through the common room in a way that didn’t attract attention.
Kirishima wasn’t grabbing him, wasn’t pulling him. He just matched Deku’s pace, always slightly to the side, not crowding him, not leaving him alone.
It was the kind of subtle care that made Deku’s throat tighten.
They reached the doorway that led into the hall.
And there it was.
Mistletoe.
Tied with red ribbon like it was proud of
itself.
Deku stopped so fast he nearly stumbled. His grip tightened on his cup.
Kirishima took one more step, then turned back. “Huh? What-”
He followed Deku’s gaze upward.
“Oh.”
The word came out different than Deku expected. Not joking. Not delighted.
Just… a sound of recognition, like Kirishima had stepped into the same silence Deku was feeling.
Behind them, the party noise continued, muffled now by the doorframe. Ahead of them, the hall was quiet, dimmer, calmer.
Deku’s heart started doing something stupid.
He hated mistletoe. Not because of the tradition itself, he didn’t mind traditions, but because it made him visible. It made a moment into a moment. It put a spotlight on whatever you were doing, even if all you wanted was to slip past quietly.
Kaminari had hung them on purpose, of course. There was no chance it had been an accident.
Deku shifted his weight, already preparing to sidestep and pretend this wasn’t happening.
Kirishima didn’t move.
He just stood there, directly beneath it, looking up at the mistletoe like he was trying to decide whether it was funny or dangerous.
Then he looked back at Deku.
“Guess Kaminari’s out for blood,”
Kirishima said.
Deku’s laugh came out a little too sharp.
“Probably.”
Kirishima scratched the back of his
neck. “We can… go around. If you want.”
Something in Deku bristled at that gentle phrasing. Not at
Kirishima, never at Kirishima, but at himself. Because why did he always need an escape route? Why did every possibility have to be filtered through whether he deserved it?
He stared at the mistletoe and felt the familiar spiral start to wind up in his chest.
It’s silly. It’s nothing. Don’t overthink it. People will notice. Kaminari will yell. Mina will tease. You’ll make it weird.
You always make it weird. Just move.
He took a step to the side.
Kirishima’s hand lifted, not to stop him, not to grab him, just… hovering, like an instinct he didn’t fully trust.
“Deku,” Kirishima said, and his voice had shifted. Not heavy. Just real. “Can I ask you something?”
Deku paused. “Yeah.”
Kirishima hesitated. That alone was enough to make Deku’s stomach flip. Kirishima didn’t hesitate often. Kirishima was decisive. Loud. Certain.
Kirishima looked him over, not in a judgmental way, but in the way he always looked at people, like he was genuinely trying to understand.
“When was the last time you let yourself have something?” Kirishima asked.
Deku blinked. “What?”
Kirishima frowned slightly, as if he was choosing words carefully. “Not like… a new notebook or extra mochi or whatever. I mean, when was the last time you let yourself have a moment where you weren’t… bracing for something?”
Deku’s throat tightened. He wanted to deflect. He wanted to joke. He wanted to say he was fine, because that was what he always said.
But Kirishima was watching him with a kind of patience Deku didn’t know how to refuse.
“I don’t know,” Deku admitted quietly.
Kirishima’s eyes softened. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”
Deku’s pulse hammered.
“Why are you saying this?” Deku asked, and it came out sharper than he meant.
“I’m not- I’m not upset. I’m just- ”
“I know.” Kirishima’s voice was steady, not offended. “You’re always ‘just.’ You’re always ‘fine.’ You’re always ‘it’s okay.’”
Deku froze.
Kirishima exhaled through his nose, a slow breath like he was grounding himself too. “Sorry. That sounded like I’m mad. I’m not mad. I just-”
He looked up at the mistletoe again and then back at Deku, and something flickered across his face that Deku couldn’t name.
“I just… want you to know you’re allowed to be here,” Kirishima said.
“Like, fully here. Not half-floating above everyone like you’re waiting for someone to tell you to go.”
Deku’s eyes burned.
He looked away quickly, ashamed of it.
But Kirishima didn’t let the moment slip past. He didn’t push, either.
He just stayed.
“You do that,” Kirishima continued, softer now. “You stand on the edge. You watch. You smile. And I can tell you’re happy for everyone, you really are. But you don’t-”
He cut himself off, swallowing.
Deku looked back at him. Kirishima’s ears were red.
“And you don’t what?” Deku asked, barely audible.
Kirishima’s laugh was short and nervous. “You don’t let anyone be happy for you.”
Silence fell between them.
Deku opened his mouth, closed it again.
He didn’t know what to do with that statement. Because part of him wanted to argue, and part of him wanted to curl around it like it was the warmest thing he’d ever heard.
“I’m not… trying to-” Deku started, voice rough. “I just don’t want to take up too much space.”
Kirishima stared at him.
Then, very quietly, he said, “You already take up space.”
Deku flinched.
Kirishima immediately lifted both hands, palms out. “No-no, I mean-”
He stepped forward half a pace, careful, like he was approaching something delicate.
“I mean you take up space in the best way,” Kirishima said. “You take up space in people’s lives. In my life. You’re… everywhere, man. In the way we train. In the way we think. In the way we try harder. And you keep acting like you’re an apology.”
Deku’s breath hitched.
Kirishima’s gaze was unwavering now, intense in that honest way he had when he meant something with his whole chest.
“You’re not an apology,” Kirishima said.
“You’re-”
He stopped. His throat bobbed.
And then, like the words had been waiting behind his ribs for too long,
Kirishima said it:
“You’re my favorite person.”
Deku’s entire body went still.
The world didn’t feel muffled anymore. It felt too loud, too bright, as if the air itself had sharpened.
He searched Kirishima’s face for signs of joking. For bravado. For a punchline.
There wasn’t one.
Kirishima looked terrified.
Deku’s heart thudded, hard.
He realized, with sudden clarity, that Kirishima was risking something here.
Kirishima, who was fearless in battle, who threw himself into danger with a grin, was scared of Deku’s reaction.
And Deku felt something inside him shift. Not panic. Not fear.
Permission.
He stepped closer, slowly.
Kirishima didn’t move away.
“Eijiro,” Deku said, voice trembling, “are you-”
He couldn’t finish the question, because finishing it meant naming it. And naming it meant he could lose it.
Kirishima’s eyes widened. “Deku, I- I don’t know what I’m doing.”
Deku laughed once, breathy and disbelieving. “Me neither.”
They stood beneath the mistletoe, close enough to feel each other’s heat.
Deku’s brain tried to do what it always did, analyze, strategize, minimize risk, but it couldn’t find anything to hold onto.
All he could hold onto was Kirishima’s face. Kirishima’s hands. Kirishima’s honesty.
“Is it okay,” Deku whispered, “if I-”
Kirishima’s reply was immediate, but quiet.
“Yes.”
Deku didn’t rush it.
He tilted his head, careful, and
Kirishima leaned in like he was meeting him halfway, like they were both choosing the same moment at the same time.
The kiss was warm.
Not explosive. Not dramatic.
Just… real.
Kirishima’s hand found Deku’s elbow, steadying him as if he could feel the way Deku’s knees wanted to soften.
Deku’s fingers curled into Kirishima’s shirt, not grabbing, just anchoring himself.
For a few seconds, the world felt simple.
Then a voice from the common room, distant but unmistakable, cut through the air.
“WAIT! ARE THEY!”
Mina.
“DON’T!” someone hissed. Jirou, probably.
Kaminari’s stage-whisper followed:
“BRO THIS IS LIKE SO COOL-”
Another hiss. “Kaminari, I will end you.”
Deku pulled back sharply, face blazing.
Kirishima’s grin flashed, bright, delighted, almost dazed.
“Sorry,” Deku muttered, mortified. “I-”
Kirishima shook his head quickly. “No. No, don’t—don’t apologize.”
His voice cracked slightly on the last word. That startled Deku more than the teasing in the other room.
Kirishima took a breath and then, very carefully, reached out and took Deku’s hand.
Not interlaced fingers. Not possessive.
Just holding.
Deku stared at their hands like he
couldn’t believe he was allowed to do that.
Kirishima squeezed once. “You’re allowed, remember?”
Deku’s throat tightened again.
He nodded because words felt too fragile.
They walked down the hall together, away from the doorway, away from the mistletoe, away from the noise. Not running. Not hiding.
Just… stepping into quiet on purpose.
They stopped near the window at the end of the corridor where snow drifted softly past the glass.
For a while, neither of them spoke.
Deku tried to understand his own heartbeat.
Kirishima leaned his shoulder against the wall and finally exhaled, long and shaky.
“I can’t believe I did that,” Kirishima said, half laughing.
Deku looked at him. “Are you… okay?”
Kirishima rubbed his face with his free hand, the gesture almost disbelieving.
“I’m… yeah. I’m great. I’m terrified.
I’m-”
He glanced at Deku, eyes bright.
“I’m really happy,” Kirishima finished.
Deku’s chest ached.
“I think I am too,” Deku admitted.
Kirishima’s grin softened. “You think?”
Deku huffed a laugh. “I’m still processing.”
“That’s fair.” Kirishima tilted his head.
“So… what does this mean?”
Deku’s stomach flipped again.
That question, normally, would’ve sent him into panic. Into “what if I ruin it” and “what if I’m not enough” and “what if I can’t do this right.”
But Kirishima wasn’t asking like a demand.
He was asking like an invitation.
Deku took a breath.
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “But I want… to find out.”
Kirishima’s eyes widened slightly, like the words mattered more than a confession.
“Yeah?” Kirishima asked.
Deku nodded. “Yeah.”
Kirishima’s laugh came out soft, relieved. “Okay. Okay, we can do that.”
Deku looked down at their joined hands again.
And then, very quietly, he said, “Thank you.”
Kirishima blinked. “For what?”
Deku’s voice wavered. “For… choosing me.”
Kirishima’s expression changed, serious now, deep.
“Deku,” he said, firm, “I didn’t choose you because you’re easy. I chose you because you’re you. Because you’re worth it.”
Deku swallowed hard.
Kirishima leaned closer, forehead almost touching Deku’s. “And because I like you,” he added, softer, almost shy.
“A lot.”
Deku’s laugh was barely a breath. “I like
you too.”
Kirishima smiled like the sun had just come out.
Then, as if remembering something important, Kirishima reached up and gently touched Deku’s cheek with his thumb.
“Can I…?” he asked.
Deku nodded.
This time, Kirishima kissed him again, slower, steadier, like he was making sure Deku knew it wasn’t a fluke. Like he was promising there would be time.
When they pulled apart, Deku’s face was warm, his mind quieter than it had been all night.
They stood there for another moment, watching the snow.
Then Kirishima squeezed his hand again.
“Want to go back in?” Kirishima asked.
“Or do you want to stay out here a little longer?”
Deku looked toward the common room door, hearing the laughter and the music and the life.
He didn’t feel like an outsider looking in anymore.
He felt like someone who could choose.
“Let’s stay a little longer,” Deku said.
Kirishima’s grin returned. “Manly choice.”
Deku rolled his eyes, but he smiled.
They stayed until the cold at the window seeped into their sleeves and their breath fogged the glass.
And when they finally went back to the party, Kirishima didn’t let go of his hand.
Not right away.
Not until they were close enough to the warmth again.
Not until Deku believed, fully, that he didn’t have to earn the right to be held.
Later, after the music faded, after the dishes were stacked, after people drifted toward their rooms, Deku sat at his desk with his notebook open.
He wasn’t writing battle notes.
He was just… staring at the page like it was a new kind of future.
A soft knock sounded at his door.
“Deku?” Kirishima’s voice, quieter now.
Deku stood too fast, nearly knocking his chair back. He caught it before it fell and opened the door.
Kirishima stood there in a hoodie, hair still wild, eyes a little uncertain.
“Hey,” Kirishima said.
“Hey,” Deku replied.
Kirishima scratched his cheek. “I just- I wanted to make sure you were okay. Like… actually okay. Not ‘fine.’”
Deku’s heart warmed.
He stepped aside. “Come in.”
Kirishima entered and looked around like he’d never been in Deku’s room before, which was ridiculous because he had. Plenty of times. It just felt different now, like the air had changed its meaning.
Kirishima glanced at the notebook on the desk. “You were gonna start analyzing this, weren’t you?”
Deku’s cheeks warmed. “Maybe.”
Kirishima walked over and, without touching anything, leaned back against the wall beside the desk. “Don’t.”
Deku blinked. “Don’t?”
Kirishima nodded once, serious. “Just… have the moment. You told me you wanted to find out what this means. We’ll figure it out. You don’t have to solve it tonight.”
Deku’s throat tightened again.
He nodded, slow.
Kirishima’s gaze softened.
Then he stepped forward, carefully closing the space between them, and rested his forehead lightly against
Deku’s.
Deku didn’t flinch.
He leaned in.
“I’m glad it was you,” Deku whispered.
Kirishima’s breath hitched. “Yeah?”
Deku nodded. “Yeah.”
Kirishima smiled, quiet, content.
“Me too,” he said.
And then, just like it was the simplest
thing in the world, Kirishima wrapped his arms around him.
Deku’s hands rose, hesitant for half a second- Then he held on.
Not like someone bracing for impact.
Like someone who finally understood that being held wasn’t a reward.
It was a choice.
And tonight, someone had chosen him.