Chapter Text
I’ll have to change.
His apartment is drafty, and the mere thought of his bare feet touching the frigid floor makes Izuku shudder. Thank Kami for slippers.
A black v-neck is hung up to dry, back drenched from the dripping of wet hair. Izuku leans over the sink, twisting and shaking out his curls in an attempt to keep his next shirt from being soaked. He doesn’t exactly have any more clean.
Should I wear something nicer? He resolves to text Hitoshi, his fashion sense is shit anyways, and he doesn’t know how formal the event is.
_
> what should i wear ?
> ughhhh help me please !!
> you have read receipts on i kknow you see these.
> *know
> stop ignoring meeeee
< y do u always spam
> maybe if you responded i wouldn't have to.
< …
> yeah, now answer the question !
< idk something nice
< not 2 nice tho
> wow. big help.
< send me a pic dw im sure u look great
> if you say so.
_
As usual, Hitoshi is a huge help. Izuku’s not sure why he thought his fellow disaster would have any actual advice. They both have absolutely no sense of style. Hitoshi’s closet is ninety percent hoodies and sweatpants, and ten percent trendy things that Mic picks out for him.
They both prioritise comfort over looks, and that’s really coming back to bite Izuku in the ass because for once he’s got to dress up and he has nothing to wear .
After spending the better part of the morning deliberating, Izuku has decided on an old white button down. Upon trying it on, though, he feels like screaming.
The sleeves aren’t long enough.
They’re just short enough for it to be noticeable, and Izuku can’t . Why does he always procrastinate?
It’s fine, this is fine, don’t panic. You’ll figure it out. Just wear the sleeves rolled up or something!
Izuku tries just that and… nope, he does not want the first thing his boyfriend’s parents see to be his heavily scarred forearms.
He has a sweater too. What if I wear it on top? He thinks he remembers a YouTube video saying that layering is in fact A Thing That People Do™.
The outfit is somehow not a complete disaster. The sweater is brown, and the collared shirt miraculously unblemished. His pants are beige, and for once Izuku doesn’t entirely hate how he looks.
A selfie is quickly taken, an awkward peace sign making a guest appearance.
Sent.
_
“Who’s that you’re texting?”
“No one,” Hitoshi answers too quickly, “Just a friend,” Shouta eyes Hitoshi suspiciously from the other side of the table, and oh shit, now he’s interested .
“…Really.” It should be a question, but with the man’s monotone drawl, it comes out as a statement.
Hitoshi gives a nervous ‘yeah’, which is definitely not convincing because Shouta continues to study him. He shifts in his seat, slightly uncomfortable with the prolonged eye contact.
“Do I know them?”
Aizawa is too observant , which might be the mark of a great underground hero, but add on top of that the fact that he’s a nosy little shit, and Hitoshi cannot do anything without his dad asking about a million questions.
“No,” Hitoshi elaborates in hope of getting the interrogation to end, “He- uh, he doesn’t go to UA.”
Aizawa hums at that, finally looking away to raise his mug of coffee to his lips, “So, how’d you meet, then?”
“A McDonalds, strangely enough,” A soft chuckle escapes Hitoshi’s throat, a faint grin etching across his face at the memory, “Tenya spilled juice all over his shirt.”
Eyebrow raised, Aizawa takes another sip of his drink, “And when was that?”
“It was a few weeks after the sports festival… hmm, so it’d have to be almost a year ago. Ten months?”
“And how old is he?”
“Can we be done with the questions already? It’s too early for this.” Shouta glares at him, clearly unimpressed, “Fine, fine, he’s the same as me. His birthday’s only two weeks from mine. Happy ?”
“Extremely,” The man deadpans, downing the last of his coffee before standing and pushing his chair in, “This conversation isn’t over.”
Hitoshi sighs in response, and together the two place their mugs in the sink and shuffle out to the car, pulling on shoes and grabbing keys on the way.
_
Of course . Izuku knew he’d forgotten something. He’d paired his outfit with a wool jacket for the crisp march air, but he hadn’t even considered footwear.
It’s not like he has any options, though. The only brand of shoes made to fit quirkless people’s feet only carries sneakers.
Bright red sneakers.
His only pair may be ratty as hell and clash immensely with his outfit, but it’s fine. Not as if Izuku can do anything about it.
It’s fine.
He’s definitely not stressed out about it.
_
“Hello, how can I help you?”
“We have a reservation for Aizawa-Yamada. Half of the party should already be here.”
“Aizawa-Yamada… ah, here you are. This way, please.”
_
“‘Toshi!!” Eri greets her brother with a hug as he slides into the booth beside her, “Are you excited for later?”
“Yeah, I am,” Hitoshi grins in response, unfolding the menu, “What’re you getting?”
“The blueberry pancakes!”
“Sounds good.”
“I hope the traffic was okay?” Hizashi questions, moving so that his husband can fit beside him.
“Yes, it was fine.”
“Great! Eri and I had a very fun time shopping together this morning, right sweetie?”
“Uh-huh! I got to get cookies!”
“She was a great helper.”
“I helped push the cart, too!”
“Wow, that’s great!” Hitoshi ruffles his sister’s hair with a soft curve of his lips. Sue him, while Eri can definitely be annoying at times (as is typical for younger siblings), she’s also undeniably adorable and her hair is super soft. She also squirms whenever he messes it up, and it may or may not be the cutest thing ever.
“Alright, so we have…” Mic trails off, double checking his phone, “about an hour and a half before we need to get going.”
“Does everyone know what they want?” Shouta questions, and the rest of the table replies with affirmatives. “Good. I’ll see if we can go ahead and order.”
_
As Hitoshi stands on the pavement before that big glass building for what may be the last time, he feels a bittersweet sort of lump in his throat.
It’s almost as if he’s in a daze. The day’s moved so fast, one second he was in the cafe with his family, the next he was sitting in the gym, listening to one of Nedzu’s infamously long speeches. It feels like it was just yesterday he was the scrawny kid clawing his way through the first year sports festival, spite coursing through his veins like a drug, and now he’s here. Graduation.
He tries to memorize the way the sun reflects off the windows, the brick pathway with that one loose brick Ochako always trips over, the tree he and his friends would eat under when it was warm, the students milling around campus, all of them smiling and laughing and crying.
This marks the end of one of the best chapters of his life, and all he can hope is that the next will be just as great.
“Come on Hitoshi, we don’t want to be late for the party!” Eyes the color of cinnamon gaze at him expectantly, and Hitoshi allows his friends to whisk him away.
Here's to new beginnings.