Chapter Text
Winter is the season of grief, death, heartbreak, and rest.
Life can be fickle. Filled with highs and lows and moments that are saturated with lessons transforming into precious memories. Life cannot be defined with just a few simple words. For most people, life may mean what brings them fulfillment. Their purpose. For others, life has no meaning, and it’s an opportunity to create one. For the nerds, the definition comes from a textbook.
For you, life didn’t have meaning until you met him.
Katsuki Bakugo.
It’s corny, and yes, it’s something that die-hard shojo readers would kill for. But, you never expected him to be your definition. Looking back, you wanted nothing to do with fucking love and all the shit that comes with it. Now, you don’t know how to feel about it.
—-
Shit, I’m so fucking screwed, you thought as the dry orange leaves crunched under your feet. Your legs pumped through the brisk air, skirt fluttering haphazardly around your thighs. Your mouth clung to the buttered piece of toast like a chipmunk foraging for hibernation. You were late. Usually, you wouldn’t have cared. You almost always showed up right on time or a few minutes late to class. However, this was one day you could not afford to be late.
Clear droplets of perspiration began to bead slowly at your hairline and forehead. Your breath came out in short white tuffs as you continued barreling down the UA campus. You tore through your butter toast like a runner eating a banana during a 10k.
I really hope that they stalled for a couple of minutes.
You pulled your phone out of your pocket, hopeful that you still had some time to make it. The phone’s screen taunted you, glaring back
‘8:28’.
Life was a cruel mistress.
You were supposed to be there at 8:15 to help set up before the assembly. Yet, your stupid phone decided not to play the 13 alarms you had set up the night beforehand. Gripping your phone in your sweaty palms, you continued to run. Maybe if you had a quirk like Ida, maybe you would have been there by now.
But no.
You see, the universe decided to make you quirkless. The universe decided to favor you for once and granted admission to UA’s management department. You scored an almost perfect score on the practical exam and scored a solid 13 in rescue points. That was enough for UA to offer you the support or business course. You chose the latter. Fast forward three years, and you are now the class president of 3-I.
You bolted past the auditorium doors as Principal Nezu had just begun his opening remarks. No one seemed to notice as you walked down the auditorium's side aisle to join your vice president on the left side wing by the stage. Her mauve-colored hair was pinned back into a balanced ballerina bun, and her uniform looked free of wrinkles. As you made it closer, you could see the scowl on her face as her brown clogs tapped the grey carpet in disapproval.
She’s going to kill me. God, please tell my mother that I love her, and for my brother to rot in a garbage can for eating my snacks, you silently monologued.
You made a beeline to the spot right next to her as she hissed a quiet “You’re late” as you brushed past her. You sighed, smoothing the frizzy hairs that decided to escape its ponytail prison.
“I know,” you muttered and mumbled a half-assed apology.
“And now future heroes, it’s time to explain why you all are here. Your professors and faculty decided it was important that you learned about the hero business. Whether it’s creating your hero agency or creating your brand, our business department has studied the ins and outs of the hero business,” principal Nezu droned on as you tried to dry off your sweat by fanning yourself.
“We decided that students of the hero course will be paired with our business students to learn how to market yourselves as sprouting heroes and sidekicks. You will create your own ‘brand’ with the help of your paired business student”.
The room filled with groans and complaints, students exclaiming that ‘this was stupid’ or ‘why do we have to do this?’.
Principal Nezu cleared his throat and tucked his hands behind his torso. His whole demeanor shifted as his thick eyebrows furrowed. You’ve never seen him upset.
Deafening silence occupied the auditorium as you noticed students shifting in their seats.
“Students. Let me remind you that this partnership will be a significant assignment. If you fail this assignment, you will not graduate,” he condemned.
You could practically hear a feather drop at this point. The tension in the room made you want to itch. Or crawl into a sewer drain.
“-And now, the class president of 3-I will explain how the partnerships will be selected”.
Your body tensed as you felt all the eyes shifting to you. You gulped a quick breath and walked as normally as possible to the podium stand where Principal Nezu was. He shifted out of the way as you moved behind the solid mass of oak that reached your chin. Using the mini step stool that Principal Nezu used, you placed your feet on the first step. The microphone shrieked at you as you adjusted it to level with your mouth.
You licked your suddenly dry lips before they cracked open.
“G-good morning,” you mumbled.
“SPEAK UP, YOU EXTRA!”
You flinched. Badly. Oh shit, oh god.
Your hands trembled slightly at your sides as you felt heat crawling up your neck. Damn, these lights are hot. You even felt your armpits starting to sweat.
You closed your eyes and took in a deep breath in an effort to calm your nerves.
‘Just remember honey that even Beyonce gets nervous. Channel your inner Sasha Fierce,’ your mother’s voice echoed through your mind.
Channel my inner Sasha Fierce. Okay. I could do this. They don’t have quirks that could kill me. Just picture them in their underwear, you reasoned as you exhaled.
You opened your eyes and mustered up some courage.
Channel your inner Sasha Fierce…
“My name is (l/n) (f/n), the class president of 3-I. Right over there is Sumimoto Etsuko-san, our vice president. This project will culminate in a rough business proposal and portfolio of work to review to your future PR manager and marketing team. It is something required of all pro heroes to have when applying for an agent. This assignment will be until the last month of the school year, given that your portfolios will expand with your internships and coursework.”
You paused, looking over the audience while keeping on your best presidential face.
“Given there are two hero classes, 3-A and 3-B, they will be assigned respectively to their counterparts 3-I and 3-J. So, in other words, 3-A students will be paired with 3-I and 3-B---”
“JUST HURRY UP AND GET TO THE FUCK---”
“Bakugo-kun!”
“Shut up, Bakugo”
“Ka-chan, that’s not—”
You gripped the sides of your skirt.
Channel your inner Sasha Fierce…
“Are you done interrupting me…Extra?” You sassed.
Sasha Fierce was here.
Your eyes narrowed to the cause of the interruption. The platinum blonde student was sitting at the left wing of the auditorium, towards the middle. You fixed your gaze right into his ruby eyes. His scowl was debilitating. Meant to make others distraught.
Physically, you smirked with mischief.
Internally, you cowered in fear.
The student scoffed and looked away, breaking the staring match. Your inner self did a victory backflip.
“3-B will be assigned to 3-J,” you continued with a strong, clear voice.
“Secondly, the number of students in each hero class is slightly higher than in our business courses. To ameliorate this situation, 3-I and 3-J’s class president and vice president will take two hero students each. Everyone else will be a pair.”
You paused a tiny bit, taking a breath.
“Class 3-I, please come to the stage.”
Your classmates filed up the left wing of stairs, standing in front of the stage in a single filed line. Each holding a white card with a name on it.
“As you can see, each one of my classmates is holding up a white card with someone’s name on it. That will be your partner for the rest of the school year. I will now ask 3-A students to come to the stage and find their respective pair.”
You stood next to one of your classmates at the end of the line, fishing out your folded card from your school jacket pocket.
Opening it, it read two names typed in a neat, easy-to-read font.
Midoriya Izuku
Bakugo Katsuki
For some reason, those two names sounded familiar. Class 3-A filed into the stage, and you recognized the brash student who interrupted you twice.
Fuck, I hope I don’t have this asshole...
Shit, he’s so much taller than me. What is he like 190 cm?
Damn, why are all the assholes so hot?
You looked over at the other students, overhearing conversations and seeing your classmates being matched with other people. Looking towards the middle of the crowd, you saw a group of students talking excitedly to each other.
Oooo, that green-haired guy is hot too. Damn, he’s tall too… Wait, he looks familiar, you shook your head. There was no time for dating while you were in high school.
You had bigger fish to fry.
The blonde menace continued towards you on your right. His frown deepened as he continued to check for his name, with each classmate still holding up their papers. Every time he got near someone from your class, their legs shook.
You looked down at your feet, your mind wandering off into space as you waited for your two students.
“Ka-chan, you got to stop making that face. You’re making them scared.”
“Tsk- Shut up Deku. Get out of my way.”
“Well, I’m looking for my name. So, we’re on the same boat.”
I wonder if I could get some ramen today? Oo, maybe extra spicy ramen with extra mushrooms and eggs, you wondered as you stopped paying attention to your surroundings.
I should head to the supermarket and get some more laundry detergent. Should I switch to that pink-looking one?
“You?!”
“Ah, found my name.”
You flinched. The voices sounded too close to you. You were now rebooting all systems.
Suddenly you were back in the auditorium, holding up a 7 x 10-inch card with names on it.
You blinked and finally saw two torsos belonging to very tall people in front of you. Peering up through your lashes, you saw the blonde drama queen and forest-haired hottie.
The blonde asshole’s face wasn’t bad at all. Sharp ruby eyes are surrounded by long lashes, longer than you could ever have. He adorned high cheekbones, rosy pink kissable lips, and the sharpest jaw known to man. His skin was so clear and almost shimmered.
The forest green hottie was almost the opposite, with large, beautiful pine eyes framed by dark lashes. Bouncy, soft cyprus waves and spirals dusted over his forehead and the top of his head in a tapered haircut. His pink lips were twisted into slightly crooked smile that it felt like only he could pull off. While he had a sharp jawline and evenly sun-kissed skin, the best thing about him was his freckles.
God, his freckles.
It was like you could map out your future spread out all over his cheeks and –
“Oi!”
“Huh?”
Really, (y/n)? That’s all you could fucking come up with, internally cursing yourself.
“Speak up, you fucking extra!”
“Ka-chan, she’s our partner. You can’t speak to her like that.”
“I could do whatever I want. ‘Sides, there is no we. Get a different partner, assface,” the drama queen sneered. They both glared at each other, the energy was shifting.
Why do they look so--
Your eyes widened like dinner plates. Before you realized it, you gasped.
“You’re the guy who won the sports festival when I was a first year! Weren’t you chained up like a wild animal or something?” You burst out the question impulsively.
Vermillion and jade eyes shifted back down to you.
Shit.
Your eyes flicked back freckled face. Double shit. That’s that kid that All Might is mentoring. Didn’t he defeat the league of—
“You’re still speaking out loud, dumbass,” Blondie rasped.
You covered your mouth.
Well, the universe sure loved you, huh?
———
Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep.
Your eyes crack open, they were still bleary from your short rest. It was still dark. Your eyes feel swollen, and your face puffy.
I was probably crying in my sleep, you deduced and slowly sat up. You reached over and fished around the top of your nightstand, trying to find the button to shut off your alarm clock.
The room was silent once you finally slammed your finger on the right button.
Peace.
For now.
You groaned as you removed your thick comforter from your body. Chilly air smacked your skin, leaving goosebumps in their wake.
It was too cold for this—too winter.
You swung your legs, and your feet landed on the plush grey carpeted floor. You thanked yourself every day for deciding to get carpeted floors in your bedroom when you moved. You pushed yourself out of bed, shuffling to your bedroom’s floor-to-ceiling windows. You pressed a button near the wall. The curtains began rolling up, brightening the room with the dim grey-blue light of December mornings. You shuffled back and made your bed, grimacing at the changing light in your room.
‘Sunlight is good for you. It helps regulate your emotions and prevent seasonal depression,’ your psychologist's voice echoed. You muttered a string of curses.
“That dream was a memory from almost ten years ago,” you mumbled as you finished tucking in the last corner.
You squeezed your eyes closed. You could almost hear pots and pans clattering around mixed with hushed cursed words—the tattle tale smell of combining spices to create something delightful. The ghost of his smell slightly radiates from your bedsheets.
Please… you prayed. You prayed for that to happen.
But when you opened your eyes, reality choked you by the throat. The air smelled like December, stark of anything and grey. God, it was silent.
Disappointment soaked into your very bones as you stood up from your crouched position.
Katsuki was dead.
Katsuki was dead.
You pressed the palms of your hands to your eyes, trying to hold back the tears welling up. Maybe if you smashed them so far into your skull, you wouldn’t have to see this. Maybe if you had just been there with him, you wouldn’t have to wake up alone.
Emotions began to creep and stick to the walls of your throat.
Deep breaths (y/n). 1 Mississippi inhale, hold 2-3-4, 1 Mississippi exhale. 1 North Dakota inhale, hold 2-3-4, 1 North Dakota exhale…
After some shaky cycles, you moved your palms from your face.
Another deep breath cycle.
You blearily peered at the time on your nightstand,
‘6:49’
In bold red letters.
Another breath cycle.
You cleared your throat and shuffled to your en-suite bathroom. Flipping the light switch, you looked at the mirror.
You looked like shit.
Your eyebags were the size of Martha Stewart’s pockets. Your lips were pale and cracked. And oh boy, let’s not talk about how crap your skin looked today.
Maybe I should drink more water, you reasoned.
Maybe you should eat more, the dark intrusive thought whispered.
Grabbing the cup on the sink, you filled it with warm tap water. You downed the glass in seconds and got started with your routine.
-Shower in scalding hot water, and finish with a cold rinse. Check
-Brush your teeth. Check.
-Slather yourself in lotions and oils. Check
-Find your outfit for work and put it on. Check.
-Dry your wet hair and style it in a low bun. Check.
-Try to fix your face with a face mask for ten minutes while doing a light crossword. Check.
-Eat breakfast.
-Ice your face, then slather your face in serums and lotions. Check
-Eat breakfast.
-Prepare your work bag while making your cup of green tea. Check.
You were now in your living room. You curled yourself in your grey sectional with your warm green tea in hand. You were facing the TV. You grabbed the remote and flicked through 24 TV channels before you put it back to the weather channel. You did this every single, day.
Today was different.
“As we can see here, the parade is full effect to celebrate the life of –” *flick*
“Remembering the tragic loss of Japan’s number 2 hero-” *flick*
“In breaking news: Can you smell your soulmates? This recent study has found that—” *flick*
“Today on December 4th was when the young twenty-four-year-old hero died in a-” *flick*
“The married hero’s death left his wife widowed at the age of-” *flick*
“And now for the latest update, it will be cloudy skies with a high of 1 C. Chance of precipitation is around 40 percent, so expect to pull out your snow boots and---”
You shut off the TV. You hated the snow.
You looked at the cat clock that Ochako gifted you last Christmas. It was hideous.
‘7:52’
You started work at 9.
You closed your eyes for a few moments, clutching the warm mug.
—-
‘ “Come on princess, let’s get ya to work.”
You pouted, huffing as he wrapped his arms around you. His soft lips pressed a kiss on your left cheek.
“Can I just stay with you instead?”
His arms squeezed around your form, his freshly shaven chin resting on the curve of your neck. His soft blonde hair ticked the right side of your face. It smelled like warmth and caramel.
“You know you can’t. Today you have a presentation, ‘member?”
“Fuck that presentation,” you grumbled. He let out a soft chuckle right by your ear.
His arms released from your form only to grasp the backs of your thighs, spin you around, and lift you. You wrapped your legs around his tapered waist. You could feel his body heat through his well-worn black shirt and your checkered work slacks. Your arms went around his neck. It was muscle memory.
You were now face-to-face with your beautiful husband. You giggled and wiggled your eyebrows, “Oh, Mr. Bakugo, what are you planning here~.”
He frowned, “You’re gonna blow my back out, makin’ me hunch over like that.”
“I didn’t make you do anything,” you smiled.
His eyes narrowed, ruby eyes filled with mirth. “Yes, because who told you to be so goddamn cute all the fuckin’ time?”
You threw your head back and laughed. Your husband was 195 cm, while you were a relatively average-sized woman at 164 cm.
“You should have drank milk or some shit,” he muttered as he rested his forehead on yours. He closed his eyes, soaking in your warmth and scent.
You paused. You closed your eyes with him. You listened for his breathing, feeling the warm tufts on your face. Your nose felt like it was being held by his scent, caramel with a faint mixture of his woodsy cologne and smoke. It smelled nice. Both of you were basking in this intimate moment.
After a few minutes, you broke the bubble.
“Yeah, but now I have you to reach the dishes on the top shelf.”
“You’re lucky I love ya and shit,” he responded gruffly.
“That’s why I took your last name Mr. Bakugo.”
“Because you’re mine,” he deadpanned.
Opening his eyes, he pulled back his head from your forehead. He began walking to the door. His vermillion eyes were determined as he grabbed his keys from the tray just a few feet from where you were standing.
“Nooooooooo-” you protested. Your voice is pitchy and whiny. Katsuki knew you were bratty in the mornings. He was used to it.
You tried wiggling out of his iron grip. He gripped the back of your thighs tighter, ruining your efforts to escape, as he made his way to the door.
“Let’s go, Mrs. Bakugo. You have work.”'
——
Knock Knock Knock
Crap, what time is it, you wondered. Your (e/c) orbs went back to that ugly beady-eyed clock,
‘8:13’
He was two minutes early.
“I’m coming. I’m coming,” as you wiped a stray tear that came down your face. You were careful not to ruin your makeup.
You never put on makeup.
You placed your tea, now tepid, on the glass coffee table. You got up and walked to the door, your black-heeled boots announcing every step you took on the hardwood floors.
You open the stark white door to reveal Japan's favorite green-haired #1 hero, Deku.
To you, he was always going to be Izuku.
“Good morning (y/n). I see that you’re ready,” he started scanning your outfit. then his jade eyes peer down at your shoes. His dark eyebrow quipped up, ready to question you about your footwear.
He is the last person that should be judging what’s on your feet right now.
“I don’t like the snow Midoriya-san.”
He sighs, “It might snow, and it would be terrible if you slipped and fell-”
You flinch.
Izuku pauses. His eyes widen, and he looks away, clenching his scarred fists. Internally, he was cursing himself for uttering those words on this day.
“I’m not going today,” you say with finality.
Izuku narrow his eyes at you; you feel a cold chill down your spine. Anger bubbles up in your stomach, sloshing with your stomach acids.
It was strange that Izuku, Japan’s sweetheart, brought out all of your ugly. Little did you know, you did the same for Izuku.
“I don’t feel like it.”
That wasn’t true.
Izuku knew you were lying straight through your teeth. When you lied, your eyes shifted downwards, and your feet always shifted a bit closer together.
You didn’t want Katsuki to see you like this. A poor replacement of what you used to be, the intrusive thought whispered to you.
“(y/n), you’re not going to work today.” You knew that tone. He used his pro-hero voice.
Fuck you, you thought sardonically.
“You said that out loud.”
You suck in a breath. The tips of your ears feel hot.
Fuck it. You decide that you were going to slam the door in his face.
No, you aren’t, the voice cackled.
Watch me bitch.
You grip the door and muster the strength to slam the door in his face.
The tall bastard held the door from closing with his finger. His fucking pinky.
“You wanna try that again? Maybe with a little more strength to it?” His tone is mocking, almost the saccharine voice he used with strangers or the public. It only fuels your anger.
“Fuck off, Midoriya!” you yell as you walk away, your heels noisily giving away the direction you are walking to.
Izuku opens the door and slams it behind him, hinges loosening significantly. One of the top grey hinges falls off the door. The door is left askew, only partially fitting into the space it was designed for.
Shit, he quickly thought. He recovers his anger.
“Oh? What happened to the honorific? Too respectful for you?” he sneers as he walks in the same direction you are heading.
“Eat a dick!” was heard, and the slam of a door.
Bathroom.
Izuku rolls his eyes, and he walks briskly towards the bathroom.
You made Izuku’s blood boil. Izuku never thought in a million years, you would make him want to punch several walls.
Bakugo has never mentioned you arguing with him, ever. In fact, it was always like the love dial was turned on to 11 when you were around each other. It was almost gross. None of your friends thought you had an aggressive bone in your body. You never cursed at anyone. Even now, your friends think Izuku is lying about your anger.
Izuku seemed to be the exception.
Don’t get him wrong, before Bakugo died, you were the sun. You made your friends laugh, sang, and had late-night eating competitions with Izuku until Bakugo rolled you out of whatever restaurant. You danced. You were filled with life.
Even before you dated Bakugo, you were carefree and vibrant.
Now… Well, now he wanted to strangle your neck. Maybe fuck the anger out of you until you’re pliant and screaming his- NO.
Nope.
He buried those feelings.
He was standing right in front of your bathroom door. The stark white bathroom door feels clinical, stripped from any life that the old you would have given it.
You probably would have painted it a greyed-out navy color with gold around the trims. Near the top, the imaginary door would have had a sign with the word ‘bathroom’ in cursive lettering.
But this is you now.
“(y/n), you have five seconds before I break this fucking door down,” he grits out. The curse word felt like sandpaper on his tongue.
Izuku doesn’t curse often.
Sometimes it would slip out plastered at 2 in the morning while singing karaoke with everyone. But you make him insane.
Seconds ticked by, and Izuku felt the thick band of his patience snap in two.
Before he knew it, he rips the door off its hinges to find you sitting in the furthest corner, shoes off and mascara smudgy. He sets the broken door by the adjacent wall, silently promising to fix it later.
Izuku inhales and exhales. He wants to yell a storm at you. He wants to also grab your cheeks and ----
No.
He steps inside the stark white bathroom, opening a drawer that he knew contained your makeup remover wipes and where you kept your hair ties.
He sits before you and begins wiping the makeup off your face. It felt like a father rubbing off the flour from their child’s face. It was strangely comforting. You both were silent.
You could hear the muffled sounds of distant car alarms, the noise of Musutafu traffic, and birds chirping.
“Turn around,” he mumbles. You don’t protest.
He smells of sunshine, comfort, and woody forests. It’s heady and makes you well up with conflicting emotions that you mildly recognize. You briefly wonder what cologne he uses.
He begins removing the bobby pins and hair ties from your hair. Finally, he releases the soft, healthy strands from their trapped position and decides to leave your hair down. He put them back into their designated containers and discarded the used mascara wipes in a nearby trash bin.
You feel callous thick fingers worm their way through your hair and press on your scalp with light pressure. You sigh contently as his fingers massage your scalp, the tension on your scalp melting away.
“I’m sorry,” your voice, throaty and hoarse with emotion, breaks the silence.
You felt his fingers pause; you could feel the cool metal on one of his fingers like a hot iron.
“I made a promise to Ka-chan that I would take care of you. You could try beating me to a bloody pulp, and I will still try and take care of you,” he says softly.
“That’s not-”
“Don’t try to start something again (y/n).” He resumes messaging your scalp.
You pout.
You know you want to say it, do it… Do it…
You bite your lip. Your hands curl into your lap as you tremble. You didn’t want to self-sabotage. But the dark thought in your head was clawing beneath your skin, urging to be spoken and revealed into the light. You knew this was a touchy topic. Yet, it was like you were begging for pain. You want to hurt and for him to get away from you. To hate you.
“I know you made a promise. I get that. I -- I don’t want Ochako-san to hate me because you spend a lot of time with me.”
Izuku flinches back while taking a sharp inhale. He pulls his fingers away from your scalp at the reminder of his marriage.
“Ochako does not hate you.” The words feel like nails on a chalkboard as you hear them.
He’s lying.
“Look at me in my eyes and tell me she doesn’t hate me for spending so much time with her ‘Zuzu,’” you spat out. For a second, it almost sounds like you were jealous.
You spin around to face him. You notice the slight dark circles under his jade eyes. The whisper of smile lines framing his nose and mouth. From this close, you could see those damn freckles.
He pinches the space between his eyes and sighs. Izuku squeezes his eyelids shut.
“We are not doing this.”
You get closer, entering his personal space as you poke and prod the bear.
“Doing what, Midoriya-san?”
He smells the mint from your toothpaste and the grassy notes of some tea you probably just drank. More importantly, he could smell you.
The intoxicating scent that makes you, you. You smell like orange blossoms and something else that he can’t quite figure out. But it drives him up the wall like a cat in heat but comforts him simultaneously.
It’s so strange. You are quirk less.
Yet the smell of you made him feral. He’s tried looking for it at a department store, going to perfume boutiques with Ochako with the pretense of getting her something, yet he can’t find it. He’s asked the recovery girl, who just responded with a smirk. He asked All Might, who rubbed the top of his head and told him he was too young to know. All Might did mention that with his quirk, smells are a lot stronger, and the effect is amplified.
It’s why he sits at least a foot away from you at any given moment. Holds his breath if he hugs you at any given point. He opens up all of the windows when you’re sitting in the passenger seat of his car, even if it’s the middle of winter.
It’s why he asked Kirishima, Kaminari, and Bakugo the odd question they still reminisce about.
--------
‘“Hey guys, I have a question.”
The boys perked up while Izuku fiddled with the sleeves of his school uniform.
“Have you ever smelled someone, and they smelled like home but made you…um… h-h-horny?”
Izuku was beet red.
Kirishima’s mouth dropped as his half-chewed hot pot fell out of his mouth and dropped to the table.
“HOLY SHIT, YES!”
“Bro, I was telling Kirishima this shit the other day. I don’t know what it is, but smelling Jirou makes me want to cuddle her and fuck her all day long. Like all day. Why do you think I skip class so much?”
Bakugo looked at them as if they had grown five heads.
“What are you dunce heads talking about?”
Kaminari raises his drink, “There’s this saying that soulmates recognize each other by their smell. When you smell them, it makes you wild. Jirou loves smelling me. Maybe that’s why the armpit-smelling fetish is a thing?”
Bakugou looks at Kaminari like he just said the dumbest thing on earth.
“It’s true! Mina doesn’t wear perfume because of it. Her natural scent gets me going in the most manliest way.”
“That’s fuckin’ gross shitty hair,” Bakugo said disgustingly.
“Bakugo, you don’t have to believe it, but once you experience it… Oh, man... You never want to let that shit go.”
Bakugo swore they were all on drugs that day.’
----------
Suddenly, he feels as though he’s too close to you. Maybe his quirk heightens all of his senses too much. Perhaps you had a quirk all along, and you never recognized it.
He abruptly stands and begins to walk away, determined to get the troublesome fragrance you emit off his skin.
“Midoriya-san, I asked you a question.”
He’s more concerned about washing whatever scent of yours off his fingertips with bleach and dish soap.
You hear the kitchen sink faucet running. He’s probably washing the makeup residue off his hands, you pondered. You hear the sink going for at least two minutes before you stand up and peer at yourself in the mirror.
You look terrible but better than this morning.
You decide to trudge to the kitchen, your bare feet hitting the different textures of your floors. You wanted to check on Izuku. He was still scrubbing his hands vehemently, muttering in a way that he often did in high school.
“Midoriya-san?”
You blink. Waiting for him to get out of his hand-washing trance. Is he okay?
“Midoriya-san?” You say just a bit louder.
No response.
“Izuku!”
He suddenly spins around, water flying from his hands. The soapy mixture flies in fat drops over the counter space and floors. Some are getting on the waves and curls that rested on his forehead. Jade orbs were wide in surprise.
“What did you just call me?”
Oh shit.
Your heart plummeted like an anvil to the pits of your intestines. You don’t know how you are going to get out of this one. You never call him by his name. After almost ten years, you say his name. Not his hero name either. His name.
~*Grrrrowwwwlllll*~
You feel heat crawl up your neck, and the tips of your ears are now flaming. That is beyond embarrassing.
He shakes his head, “Nevermind, I’m just hearing things.”
He purses his lips, almost as if he doesn’t want to ask the question.
“Did you eat breakfast this morning?”
And so, before you knew it, you were in a powder white turtleneck and off-white slacks, inside your favorite ramen shop. The food was on the house because the owner was glad you made it out of your cave for this time of year.
“Eat up (y/n)-chan, yer lookin’ skinner than ever,” the owner says as he sets your bowl of ramen down in front of you. The smell of miso and mushroom assaults your senses.
The seductive voice whispers in your ear, you don’t deserve to eat and be alive while Katsuki is dead.
You freeze.
Izuku notices that you hesitate and places his hand over yours on the table. The skin is warm, brimming with electricity. The feeling radiates throughout your arm. Probably from his quirk, you waved off.
“It’s okay (y/n). Try taking a bite,” he says encouragingly.
Over the past three years, you’ve felt guilty for being alive. The guilt was being channeled to your eating. Some days would be better than others. Today wasn’t a good day for you.
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‘“Deku-san, the most important thing for (y/n)-san is gentle support when it comes to eating. Encouraging them to try something but not forcing it, maybe offer something like a salad or something small, so they don’t feel guilty about eating.”
Izuku felt like the brown leather of the oversized couch was swallowing him.
The psychologist sighed and put his glasses on the brown wooden coffee table.
“I am not diagnosing her with an eating disorder just yet, because I pray that this is connected to her grief only. If improvement does not happen within the following two months, I will need to send her to a clinic.”
Izuku felt as though he couldn’t speak. If he did, his voice would sound wobbly and not hero-like. That’s what he’s supposed to be.
A hero.
He was supposed to act like it. But right now, he felt like he was failing the one thing he was tasked to do—the one thing he was supposed to protect. Well, that’s not true. Or was it?
God, not even he knew the answer anymore.
Izuku grips the fabric of his pants on his lap. He could only hope he didn’t look like he was about to burst into tears. He was terrified for you. Hell, you lost the love of your life, and society expected you to be okay after six months. Now it’s been almost three years.
“You’re a good friend Deku-san. You are not obligated to be there for her as much as you are, but you do. Please call me if you feel like nothing is changing.”
The psychologist licked his lips, “I know you are Japan’s #1 hero, but you matter too. Please take care of yourself as well. You are also still grieving the loss of your friend too.”’
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An idea pops into Izuku’s mind. He was researching and deep-diving widow’s forums and saw something that might work. He went to the library and even popped up at a few widow support groups to get advice from some people there. It could be a long shot, but it may work for you.
Izuku clears his throat and shifts in his seat across from you, and he thinks, here goes nothing.
You peer up mid-bite of your ramen, blinking. There were thick bands of noodles hanging from your mouth and broth slathered all over your face. His heart felt warm.
I could do this.
He steels his nerves. His jade eyes hold your gaze steady.
“Have you ever heard of a bucket list?”