Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Several shingles tumble from the roof, each one hitting the ground with a sharp crack. Izuku freezes, breath snagging in his throat as he strains to hear movement from inside the house.

The silence is deafening, every creak and rustle magnified, as if the very air is holding its breath in anticipation.

Izuku’s throat tightens, His muscles coil. Adrenaline sparks beneath his skin. He needs to move.

Inch by inch, he slides his foot along the ledge, searching for a more secure hold. His fingers, grip the rough edge of the windowsill, the only anchor between him and a drop below.

Then he stretches his arm toward a nearby tree branch. It grazes the tips of his fingers. It’s just out of reach. A shaky breath escapes Izuku’s lips. His heart slams against his ribs as he tries not to let the panic in.

This is it. It’s now or never. He needs to prove to himself he can do this.

Finally he crouches on the edge of the roof, and with a deep breath, he pushes off with his legs, launching himself into the air. The wind rushes past his ears as he stretches his arms forward.

And then—

He latches onto the branch. It bows beneath him, creaking with the threat of collapse.

Izuku freezes, every muscle tight his breath caught in his throat, anticipating the sharp crack of wood giving way.

But the branch remains steady.

He exhales slowly, his body relaxing just enough to allow him to swing forward with newfound determination.

Swiftly scraping against the rough bark, he inches toward the trunk, clinging to it as he climbs down. Hands stinging against the splintered wood.

As soon as Izuku’s feet hit the ground, relief surges through him. And for a moment he thinks about kissing the dirt.

Instead he continues on with wobbly legs. Keeping his body low to the ground, he inches along the side of the house, his movement swallowed by the shadows. Each footstep feels like an eternity, his muscles straining with tension. His pulse thunders in his ears as he edges toward the street.

A porch light blinks on, casting a harsh glow over the lawn, and Izuku freezes, his breath caught in his throat. Headlights from a passing car sweep across the street, and Izuku shrinks back, a cold sweat breaking out on his skin. He’s convinced that at any moment, someone will spot him.

Finally, he catches sight of Mina's familiar silver sedan parked under the flickering street lamp. His chest pounding with adrenaline, he takes off at full speed.

Izuku’s feet pummel the pavement, his breath coming in ragged gasps. With a final sprint, He lunges into the back seat, hands trembling, chest heaving, yet a grin spreads across his face, wide and victorious

As soon as the car door shuts, Ochako calls from the passenger seat, turning to look at him, amusement written all over her face. "Jeez, Zuku, what took you so long?"

She knew very well why it took Izuku so long.

"Can we go now? My heart feels like it's going to pop out of my chest," he mutters.

“First time?” Teases Mina, “Damn Ocha, we might be a bad influence on him.” She catches Izuku's eye in the rearview mirror and her lips curl into a playful, teasing grin.

Izuku rolled his eyes, crossing his arms defensively. A slight flush crept up his cheeks as he choses to stay silent, hoping to mask the embarrassment churning within him.

The girls exchanged knowing glances, their eyes sparkling with mischief before they burst into a chorus of laughter. Mina shifts the gear into drive, and the car rumbles forward, the air electric with their excitement and eagerness for the adventure ahead.

Izuku slumps against the door, trying to tune out their playful teasing. He knows their jabs are friendly, meant to lift his spirits, but a knot of unease tightens in his stomach.

They seem so at ease with this kind of thing, whereas he feels like he is watching from a distance, struggling to keep up with what was considered typical teenage mischief.

But as he looked out the window at the darkened streets, whisking by it dawned on Izuku that this wasn’t exactly just teenage mischief anymore.

They were all in their twenties now, attending college lectures, juggling part-time jobs, and savoring newfound freedoms. For his friends, this was just another late-night hangout, a chance to escape the mundane.

But to Izuku, it was more than that.

He didn’t have the freedom of dorm life, the luxury of coming and going as he pleased, or even a car to take him wherever he wanted. He was still living at home, under his mother’s ever-watchful eye, trapped in a routine that never changed.

For once, he wanted something different. Something reckless. Something that was entirely his choice.

Yet, as the car sped away, he couldn't help but wonder if he was ready to embrace that change or if he was simply pretending, playing a role in a story that wasn't his.

Izuku's eyes drift to the rearview mirror, catching his reflection. He was a stranger in his own life, a spectator in this moment of rebellion. His fingers drum nervously on his knee as he takes a deep breath.

"Is that the spot?" Ochako gestures out the window toward the crowd of people and cars gathered at the hilltop as they drive by.

"That’s the one!" Mina replies.

The bright beams from the parked cars illuminat the entire street, casting long shadows that dance on the pavement. Izuku feels his heart plummet into the pit of his stomach, "This is illegal," he murmurs to himself, eyes wide as he takes in the bustling crowd. "Why are there so many people here?"

"Izuku, babe, it's only illegal if we get caught," Mina winks at him from the rearview mirror.

The sheer volume of people is overwhelming, their bodies pressing close in a sea of unfamiliar faces and loud voices. This was uncharted territory for Izuku, an ocean away from the quiet solitude he was accustomed to. His mind spins with a whirlwind of thoughts and doubts.

Was this really a good idea?

Mina sighs, "Izu, relax. Out of all the times I've done this with Kiri, the cops have only ever shown up like, twice. Trust me, you'll be fine."

Izuku swallows hard, the reality of the situation sinking in. He glances at Mina, her confidence a stark contrast to his apprehension.

"Okay," he stammers, trying to sound more assured than he felt. As they climb out of the car, the noise grows louder, the lights brighter, and Izuku's anxiety rises with it.

Mina leads the way, her stride sure and confident, while the other two follow in her wake. The closer they get, the more the sound of laughter and music fills the air slowly bleeding into an entirely different atmosphere.

The street is a blur of vibrant colors and intricate designs, a wild array of cars line up in a dazzling display. From bright neon greens to electric pinks, each vehicle stands out in its own unique way, begging for attention.

Car engines rev with a low growl as they zip by, and the thumping bass of music blares from open windows. Laughter and animated conversations filled the air, mingling into an electric hum that buzzes with excitement.

The street is alive.

And no one here fears getting caught.

At the sight of Kirishima hunched over his car with the hood popped Mina rushes over with a determined stride.

Izuku has met her boyfriend a handful of times over dinner, he seems like a genuinely good guy. Kirishima had mentioned once that he was a mechanic, it made sense now, seeing him so at ease with the intricate workings of an engine, it also explains his connection to street racing.

It suits him, just like his car dose.

Approaching, Izuku takes a closer look at the vehicle. It’s a sleek, two-door black convertible. Nothing too flashy, aside from the bold red leather seats that stand out when the top is down. The car is flawless, its glossy finish making it look brand new. If Izuku didn’t know better, he would never have guessed it was as old as him.

Kirishima glances up just as Mina reaches him, a wide grin spreading across his face. He sweeps her off her feet, laughter bubbling up as he spins her around in a playful circle.

Izuku can’t help but smile at the sight. Their relationship always seems so effortlessly perfect, like a scene from a romantic movie. A part of him feels a little envious that they have found something so real at such a young age.

“Mina, you made it!” Kirishima exclaims, setting her gently back on the ground.

“Duh! What kind of girlfriend do you think I am?” she shoots back.

He laughs, then glances past her, eyes landing on the two following behind. “Oh, shit—you brought your friends. Midoriya? Damn, didn’t think I’d see you here. What happened, they kidnap you?”

“Nope. He actually snuck out,” Ochako says, nudging Izuku in the ribs. His cheeks flush instantly.

Kirishima claps his hands together, practically vibrating. “Hell yeah! Dude, you came at the perfect time—I just installed some new upgrades. No way I’m losing tonight.”

A voice calls from behind them. “Yeah, right. Win? In that tin can? Not a chance.”

Izuku glances back to find two boys approaching. Their stark height difference makes them look almost comical together, like a mismatched duo straight out of a comedy.

"Yo shut up, Denki, my s200 could rock your shit any day," Kirishima shouts back.

"Dude, it's a Honda. How good could it be?" The taller one taunts.

Kirishima gasps in mock offense, turning dramatically to his car. “Don’t listen to them, baby. You’ll always be number one in my heart.”

Mina smacks the back of his head and glares, “I swear to god, I am not fighting with your car for your affection.”

Kirishima lets out a nervous chuckle before slinging his arm around her shoulders, "You knew what you were getting into." then he pauses, eyes scanning the crowd, "Wait, where's Katsuki?"

"Oh yeah, he's about to do his first race of the night we came to get you," the blonde smiles.

"What? Already? Dude, it's barely midnight," Kirishima exacerbates.

"Yeah, well, you know how Bakugou is, impatient as ever," the tall one sighs.

"Shit, we should go," Kirishima says while checking his phone, "You guys will love this."

Kirishima leads them further down the street toward a massive crowd. Groups gather in tight circles, hyping up the racers and shouting over the roar of engines. Others hold up their phones, eager to capture the action for social media, their screens casting flickering blue light over the restless throng.

Adam Jensen's Street Fight blares from a set of massive speakers, the heavy bass thrumming in Izuku’s chest. It’s impossible to stand still. People shift on their feet, bouncing with adrenaline, some swaying to the music, others shoving playfully, already caught up in the thrill of the race before it even begins.

But the crowd, it’s too much. Too many people pressing in, voices overlapping, laughter mixing with shouts and cheers. The constant motion makes Izuku’s head spin. His breath shortens, quickens like his lungs can’t catch up. He shoves his hands into his jacket pockets, fingers digging into the fabric as he forces himself to stay rooted.

His heart hammers against his ribs. He tells himself it’s the excitement, but he knows better.

The noise warps—muffled yet deafening all at once. His vision tunnels slightly, a creeping pressure settling over his chest.

Then, past the sea of people, he sees them.

In the middle of the road, two cars sit parallel like gladiators ready for combat, their engines emitting a deep, feral growl. Izuku didn't know cars could be so loud.

But only one of them really catches his attention. A sleek, metallic orange vehicle gleaming under the moonlight. Its windows are tinted so dark they seem to swallow the night itself, turning into obsidian voids. Izuku doesn’t know much about cars, but there's an unexplainable allure to this one.

A girl in short shorts stands between the cars, raising a flashlight. The moment she flicks it on, the drivers slam their feet on the gas.

The sudden burst of engines and the shrieking tires echo through the crowd, the sound deafening and all-consuming, nearly drowning out the excited shouts and cheers. The cars seem to blur as they speed down the road, leaving behind trails of smoke and dust.

Izuku’s breath catches.

He can’t look away.

His eyes stay locked on the orange car as it surges ahead, easily hitting speeds over a hundred miles per hour. Within seconds, they’re nothing but streaks of light in the distance.

The race is over in a blink, barely a mile, as the cars slow past a guy with a flashlight marking the finish line. It wasn't even close. The orange car dominated from start to finish.

The crowd erupts, a wave of cheers and shouts surging toward the finish line. The energy is contagious, everyone riding the same high.

"Hell yeah! That's our boy!" Kirishima pumps his fist in the air. "How much was the pot?"

“Like fourteen hundred,” Kaminari grins, bouncing on his toes. “Not bad, right?”

“Wait—he just won fourteen hundred dollars?” Izuku gawks. “That’s insane!” He can’t even picture that much cash in one place, let alone in someone’s hands.

"Oh, bro, that's nothing," the black-haired guy shrugs like they're discussing pocket change. "That's just the starting pot at its lowest setting."

Before Izuku can process this, more movement catches his eye. The cars are heading back, slower now but still impressive as they cut through the night. As they approach, Izuku finds his gaze automatically drawn to the orange car again as it stops directly in front of them.

Then, the driver steps out, and just like the car, he is absolutely stunning.

The moonlight catches the edges of his hair, giving it a pale golden glow that contrasts against the night, creating an almost ethereal aura around him. There is something magnetic and intense about the way he moves, each stride echoing the power and precision of the machine he had just dominated with.

Kirishima runs up to him and slaps the winner hard on the back, "That was incredible, Bakugou! You totally showed off! You're bound to get good money tonight."

Bakugou grunts, "Sure hope so. The landlord is starting to get on my ass."

The other car's door opens, and a girl with short-cut hair steps out. "Fuck, man, every time," she slams the car door before trekking over to them. "You should start giving me a head start."

With a low chuckle, Bakugou says, "Not a chance in hell, Ears."

"Jiro!" Kaminari exclaims, "Damn, I was rooting for you, babe. You're getting closer, though!"

“Getting closer? Yeah, right. She’s still eating my dust!” Bakugou laughs, the sound so abrupt and full of confidence that it nearly makes Izuku stumble.

A man approaches the group, handing Bakugou a thick stack of hundreds. Izuku watches as Bakugou casually flips through the bills, counting them with an easy grin. “Thanks, Rin,” he mutters.

Izuku swallows hard, his palms damp and heart pounding as he stands rooted to the spot. The driver of the orange car, the winner of the race, is right in front of him. Words tangle in his throat, caught beneath an overwhelming need to seize this moment, a chance he might never get again.

“Wow, you were incredible out there,” Izuku blurts out.

The reaction is immediate. Bakugou’s smile vanishes, his entire demeanor shifting. But Izuku presses on, unable to contain his excitement.

"And your car! Seriously, wow. The speed, the control—it was amazing!” he gushes, eyes wide.

The way the vehicle had glided across the track, a blur of color and power, left him in awe. Every turn was executed with precision, every surge of speed a testament to Bakugou's skill.

Mina grins, placing a reassuring hand on Izuku’s shoulder, a small act to settle Izuku’s buzzing. “Bakugou, this is Izuku and Ochako.”

Bakugou’s eyes lock onto Izuku with an intensity that makes his expression unreadable. He stands perfectly still, not even blinking, as if time itself has frozen around him.

For a fleeting moment, Izuku thinks he catches a glimmer of recognition flitting across Bakugou's face, but it's gone just as quickly as it appeared, leaving behind a mask of stoic indifference. A tense pause stretches out between them before Bakugou finally breaks the silence.

“Thanks,” he utters, his voice flat and stripped of the vibrant energy that had animated him just moments before. It hangs in the air, stark and unyielding.

An awkward silence envelops the group, the earlier excitement of Bakugou’s victory dissipating like mist under the sun. It's as if his emotional defenses have snapped back into place the instant he realized he was being observed.

Izuku shifts uneasily, feeling the weight of Bakugou's stare pressing down on him. The atmosphere, once buzzing with loud chatter and celebratory cheers, has turned unnaturally quiet. Izuku shrinks back slightly, breaking the silence with a tentative, “Uh, sorry, I just got a little excited…”

“Whatever,” Bakugou grunts dismissively, waving him off without a second thought. Then, like flipping a switch, he turns away abruptly, his voice rising unnecessarily as he shouts at Kirishima, “Shitty Hair! I’m sitting in on your next race!”

"What? Why?" Kirishima groans, his broad shoulders slumping as he throws his hands up in exasperation.

"Because I said so." Bakugou rolled his eyes, arms crossing tightly over his chest, his stance firm like he was daring Kirishima to argue.

"Come on, man," Kirishima pouts, dragging his hands down his face with a heavy sigh. "You always backseat drive, and I can’t win with you barking in my ear! It's like having a damn drill sergeant riding shotgun. Plus," He gestured toward Mina, who was standing off to the side with an amused smirk. “I was gonna take Mina."

"Yeah, well, too fucking bad," Bakugou shot back without missing a beat. "You can take Pinky on your next run. Now quit whining and get your ass in the car, I put you on next."

Kirishima groaned again, casting a helpless glance at Mina, who simply shrugged. With a dramatic sigh, he mutters something under his breath before finally relenting and making his way back toward his car.

As they settle in, Sero, the black-haired guy, pops open the trunk of his car and gestures toward an assortment of alcohol tucked inside an unmarked gas station bag. "Alright, pick your poison," he offers, flashing a grin at Izuku, Ochako, and Mina.

Izuku's eyes widen in alarm, and he frantically waves his hands. "Wait, you guys are driving! You can't drink!"

Sero chuckles, shaking his head. "Oh, of course not," he reassures before smacking Kaminari’s hand away as he tries to swipe a BuzzBall from the stash. "It's against the rules to drink and race, you could get banned for life if you got caught." He smirks, leaning against the trunk. "But selling to the people who aren’t driving? Easy money."

That explanation settles some of Izuku's nerves. Glad that despite the whole illegal street racing thing, they still had safety rules in place. But his relief was short-lived as he glanced around, realizing a lot of the crowd looked young, himself included, even if he was only a year underage. The fact that Sero so casually provided alcohol to anyone willing to pay unsettled him.

Sero plucks the BuzzBall that Kaminari had failed to steal and holds it out to Izuku. "Don't worry, friends drink for free."

Izuku hesitates, staring at the tiny, colorful sphere in Sero’s hand. It wasn't like he had never had alcohol before, he'd shared wine with the girls a few times. But something about this felt different than just a glass or two as they gossiped in their dorm room. Besides, he still had to make it home, sober enough to sneak back in without getting caught.

Before he could decide, Mina and Ochako each grabbed cans of White Claw, cracking them open with twin grins.

"Come on, don't be a party pooper, Izuku!" Mina teases before taking a big swig.

"You don't have to if you don't want to, Izu," Ochako adds, her voice kind, but the sound of her drink opening wasn’t exactly comforting.

And well… tonight was a night of trying new things, right?

"Okay." Izuku takes the BuzzBall from Sero, who whoops in approval. He cracks it open and takes a tentative sip, only to immediately regret it as the liquid burns down his throat.

"Holy crap! What is in this?" Izuku sputters, coughing.

Kaminari cackles. "You like it? It’s apple!"

Izuku’s face scrunches in betrayal. "Where’s the apple?!"

As the sour taste lingered, Izuku shook his head, trying to dispel the burn. Laughter echoes around him, a chorus of amusement at his reaction. He takes a deep breath, steeling himself before taking another sip. This time, he’s prepared for the bite of alcohol. He feels the warmth spread from his throat to his chest, a strange but not entirely unpleasant sensation.

Izuku gets to witness the races again, this time with a pleasant warmth buzzing in his veins from the alcohol. His earlier nerves about getting caught have dulled, replaced with an almost reckless excitement as he cheers alongside the roaring crowd.

The energy around him is electric. Music blasts from car speakers, people shout and laugh, and the rush of engines revving sends vibrations through the pavement.

Kirishima’s race was nearly as thrilling as Bakugou’s. His car shot down the street like a bullet, the deep growl of his engine blending with the screams of the onlookers. Izuku found himself gripping Mina’s arm as they watched, unable to tear his eyes away until Kirishima crossed the finish line first.

When the redhead climbs out of his car, grinning ear to ear, Izuku rushes up to him, gushing about how awesome he had looked behind the wheel. Unlike Bakugou, who barely acknowledged praise, Kirishima accepted it wholeheartedly, throwing an arm around Izuku’s shoulder with a hearty laugh.

Next up, Kaminari practically begged Jiro for a race, hyping himself up like he had a real shot. But the moment the light flicks on, his reaction is just a second too slow. He hesitates on the gas, and it costs him. Jiro shoots forward, leaving him in the dust before Izuku can even process what has happened. The crowd erupts into laughter as Kaminari groans dramatically, dragging his hands down his face in defeat.

With his BuzzBall now empty and having watched a few more races between unfamiliar faces, Izuku was certain morning was approaching. He reaches for his phone to check the time, but before he can unlock the screen, Ochako grabs his wrist, tugging him forward with an urgency that makes him stumble.

“Come on, Izu! Kiri said Bakugou’s doing the last race of the night—it’s supposed to be a good one!” she exclaims, weaving them through the lingering crowd.

Izuku blinks, his slightly tipsy mind taking a moment to piece together who Bakugou was again. Oh, right, the guy in the orange car. The one who won the first race. He frowns, realizing how strange it is that he had clamped up so fast at their first interaction. Bakugou has seemingly decided to avoid him like the plague for the rest of the night.

As they approach the growing cluster of people, Izuku catches sight of the gorgeous orange car once again, but something feels... off. Unlike the races before, there are no cheers. No rowdy shouts. Just murmurs, low and uncertain, rippling through the gathering crowd. The tension is different, thicker, heavier, like a storm about to break. Izuku’s buzz dulls, an uneasy prickle crawling up his spine.

"what’s going on?” he whispers into Ochako’s ear, brows furrowing.

“I don’t know.” She frowns, scanning the crowd. “I think I saw Kirishima. Let’s go ask.”

She pulls him deeper into the circle, their path forcing Izuku closer to the source of the tension. The sight before him is clearer now, a sleek, expensive-looking gray car sits parallel to Bakugou’s, its driver-side window rolled down. Inside sits another blonde, a cocky smirk on his face as he yells something across to Bakugou. Izuku only catches the tail end of it, but the words ring loud in the eerie quiet.

“Fuck you, Katsuki—eat shit!”

Izuku frowns as the circle of spectators part just enough for him to see Bakugou himself, one hand gripping his car door, the other clenched into a trembling fist. Kirishima stands beside him, a hand on his shoulder, voice low but urgent.

“You don’t have to race him, Kats. There’s no shame in backing out.”

Bakugou’s head snaps toward him, face red, whether from anger or something else, Izuku isn’t sure. He jerks his shoulder free from Kirishima’s grip, posture rigid and defensive.

“I’m not a fucking pussy!” he barks, a voice loud enough to carry over the crowd.

“I know, man, but you haven’t been acting like yourself all night. Maybe you should sit this one out.”

Izuku takes a few slow steps forward, something in his gut twisting uncomfortably. Kirishima was right. He didn’t know Bakugou well, but something was wrong.

The air around him was wrong. The tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw clenches so tightly it looks painful. Izuku wasn’t sure what compels him forward, maybe the alcohol, maybe his ever-present need to intervene. His feet move before his mind can catch up.

He has to say something.

Bakugou and Kirishima both turn toward him as he made his approach, but before he could open his mouth—

“Shit, cops,” someone whispers behind him.

And just like that, chaos erupts.

Izuku's heart skips a beat as he catches sight of the blinding red and blue lights flickering down the road, a cacophony of sirens wailing in the distance. Suddenly, a powerful grip clamps onto his wrist, sending a jolt through his body. Before he can fully comprehend the situation, he’s hauled forward and unceremoniously shoved into the passenger seat of the closest vehicle, the orange one.

The driver's side door slams shut, and without hesitation, Bakugou, with fierce determination etched on his face, slides behind the wheel. In one fluid motion, he jams the gear stick into first, and the car roars to life, tires screeching as they speed off in the opposite direction of the flashing frenzy.

"Wait!" Izuku shouts, twisting in his seat. "My friends!"

He cranes his neck, searching desperately through the chaos of people scattering in all directions. But it was no use, there were too many. He couldn't see them.

"They're fine. Kiri got 'em," Bakugou says, casting a quick look at the rearview mirror where the flashing red and blue lights danced in the distance. His voice is frustratingly calm, betraying no hint of the adrenaline coursing through their veins as the sirens wail behind them, the city streets blurring past in a chaotic rush.

They could be arrested any minute. Of course, leave it to Izuku's crappy luck to be detained the one time he sneaks out. What would happen if his mom found out? Yagi or Mirio? He could imagine the disappointment. The hurt looks in their eyes, "Why Izuku? Why would you do this?" While they talked to him through the glass in the visitor room of a prison. They would kick him out of the house and tell him to pay his own bills. Would he still get to see Eri?

The thought made his chest tighten painfully.

"Hey!" Bakugou’s sharp voice cuts through the whirlwind of panic in his head. "You’re not going to jail. Calm the fuck down."

It was only then that Izuku realized he was hyperventilating, mumbling anxiously under his breath, his fists clenched so tightly his knuckles ached. He tried to speak, to apologize, but the lump in his throat made it impossible. His vision blurs as tears well up, completely unbidden.

"Hey," Bakugou says again, but softer this time. "You’re alright, yeah? Try counting the shit in the car. Just tell me what you see."

Izuku blinks at him through the haze of panic, then, hesitantly, lets his gaze wander. His eyes land on a plastic bottle in the cup holder. "A… a water bottle," he murmurs.

"Good. Keep going."

He searches again, slowly grounding himself. "Some papers… a screwdriver… an air freshener," he listed, each time Bakugou hummed in approval. Strangely, it helped. The suffocating weight in Izuku’s chest started to lift, just a little.

As his breathing evens out, he takes in more of the car. The interior is sleek, with black and orange leather to match the exterior. His seat feels stiff, almost untouched like no one ever sat there. Through the window, the road blurs past, the car so low to the ground that it felt like even the smallest pebble could send them flying.

Then, his eyes flick to Bakugou.

The blonde is completely at ease behind the wheel, one hand on the gear shift, the other on the steering wheel. His legs are spread comfortably, his focus locked on the road ahead. Every movement is smooth, instinctive. He looks so… natural like he belongs here. Like this is his element.

From the side, Izuku can see Bakugou smirking to himself and letting out a quiet chuckle. Izuku feels his ears burn.

But before he can dwell on it, his phone buzzes in his pocket, jolting him. A sharp shock of fear shoots up his spine. His mind races. Had the cops identified him? Had they already called his mom? Was she calling him right now?

Hands shaking, he fumbles for his phone and exhales in relief when he sees Ochako’s name on the screen. He answers quickly. "Hey, Ocha."

Bakugou shot him a brief glance but said nothing.

Over the speaker, Ochako’s voice burst through, laced with panic. "Izuku! Are you okay? Where are you? Everything happened so fast! I lost sight of you, and I’m so sorry! I begged Sero to turn back for you-"

"I’m fine, Ochako," he reassures her. "I’m with Bakugou."

"Oh, thank God. They said that, but I had to hear it myself. Is he treating you okay? Sero said he can be… kind of brash."

Izuku glances at Bakugou. The guy had just talked him through a panic attack, hardly the ruthless, intimidating street racer everyone made him out to be. "Yeah, he’s been alright. What about you? You okay?"

Ochako sighs in relief. "Yeah, I’m fine. Sero’s driving me. He says everyone’s meeting at a Waffle House, Bakugou should have the address. So… I’ll see you there?"

"Yeah. See you soon. Love you, bye."

Izuku ends the call and turns to Bakugou. "She said-"

"Waffle House. Yeah, I know," Bakugou cuts in, voice clipped. His grip on the steering wheel had tightened, knuckles pale against the leather.

"Oh. Okay."

Silence settles over them, thick and uncomfortable, lasting until they pull into the Waffle House parking lot. Instead of stopping near the entrance, Bakugou drives around the back, likely to keep his car out of sight.

Izuku spots Kirishima’s and Jiro’s cars, along with two others, a bright yellow one with a bold black lightning bolt across its side, and a nondescript black four-door. Nearby, the rest of their friends stand in a huddled, suspicious-looking group.

Izuku swallows hard. Tonight was far from over.

Bakugou was out of the car first, slamming the door behind him without so much as a glance in Izuku’s direction. The abruptness of it makes Izuku flinch, and he sits there for a second, trying to piece together what he could have possibly done to piss Bakugou off.

They had been fine before the phone call and nothing about it should have warranted this kind of reaction.

With a frustrated sigh, Izuku steps out of the car and makes his way toward the group. Before he could say anything, Ochako rushes towards him, wrapping him in a tight hug. He barely has time to return it before his gaze flickers past her shoulder, right into Bakugou’s piercing glare.

Izuku stiffenes. Seriously, what the hell was his problem?

“Okay, good, we all made it,” Kirishima says, clapping his hands together once Ochako finally let go. “I don’t know about y’all, but I’m starving.”

Walking into the small diner, the first thing Izuku notices is its size, or rather, the lack of it. There are only about five tables, not counting the stools lined up at the counter. The entire kitchen is visible no matter where you sit, giving the place a homey yet oddly exposed feel. Only one person is working, a plump, older man with a tired expression. Aside from their group, the diner is completely empty.

Izuku isn’t particularly hungry. To be fair, it is nearly four in the morning, and his body wasn’t accustomed to eating this late, let alone still being awake. Yet, he slides into the booth beside Ochako, picking up the laminated menu out of habit. Across from them, Kirishima and Mina do the same, chatting idly as they scan their options.

At the table next to them, Kaminari, Sero, Jiro, and Bakugou settle in, the latter slouched in his seat, arms crossed as he silently glares at the menu. Izuku flicks his eyes toward him briefly, still wondering about his sudden change in attitude, before forcing himself to focus on the food options in front of him.

“That was a total bust,” Kaminari groans, slumping in his seat. “Especially for your first time. I swear the cops don’t usually show up like that.”

“It’s fine! It just means we’ll have to come back again to get the full experience, right, Izu?” Ochako grins, nudging him a little too hard in the ribs.

Izuku winces but laughs. “Oh, definitely! I’d love to see you all race sometime. Bakugou, you were incredible out there. How do you even do it? You drive a stick, right? Don’t you have to shift gears manually to hit those speeds? That must take so much coordination. How do you focus on everything at once and not crash? Just the thought of it is terrifying. And going that fast—it must be ridiculously dangerous. Oh! And Sero mentioned there’s a rule about drinking and driving. Are there other rules? Can people cheat? What happens if someone—”

Bakugou’s sharp snort from across the table slices through Izuku’s rapid-fire questions like a blade.

Izuku blinks, his mouth snapping shut as he suddenly becomes aware of the silence hanging over the table. His gaze darts around, meeting the amused stares of his friends, some smirking, others barely holding back laughter. Heat rushes to his face. “Uh… sorry.”

For a beat, no one speaks. Then, Kaminari lets out a loud, wheezing cackle, and the rest of the group quickly follow, laughter spilling over like a dam breaking.

Kirishima has to wipe his eyes, his grin wide. “Dude, Take it one at a time.” He throws his hands up in surrender, still laughing. “So, what’s your first question?”

“Uhh, maybe the rules? It would be good to know if I'm going to continue going.” Izuku mutters, still flushed red.

"Of course, dude," Kirishima says with a bright grin. "There aren’t too many rules, but the main ones are: no drinking and driving, only two people per car during a race, and you have to be over eighteen to drive."

"And no aggressive physical contact with other competitors," Sero adds with a mischievous smirk, his eyes darting toward Bakugou, who’s already sending a searing glare his way. "That rule was made specifically because of Katsuki over here."

He jabs a finger toward Bakugou’s face, but before the gesture is complete, Bakugou's patience snaps like a taut wire. With a lightning-quick reflex, Bakugou clamps onto Sero’s wrist, twisting it with just enough force to extract a sharp yelp of pain from Sero.

"Why don’t we make a rule about you keeping your fucking mouth shut?" Bakugou snarls, his voice low and dangerous as he tightens his grip, forcing Sero to contort awkwardly in an attempt to alleviate the mounting pressure.

Izuku feels that familiar knot tightening in his stomach, the compulsion to intervene bubbling up inside him. But before he can act, Kirishima’s voice cuts through the building tension, clear and authoritative.

"Hey!" Kirishima barks, shaking his head with disapproval as he meets Bakugou’s fiery gaze with one of his own. "Alright, Kats, you made your point. Let him go."

With a derisive scoff, Bakugou releases Sero’s arm, his intense glare shifting to Kirishima's unwavering eyes. Sero immediately cradles his wrist, massaging the bright red imprint left by Bakugou’s grip, the sting still fresh. The table descends into a stunned silence, the air heavy with unspoken words, until Bakugou abruptly rises from his seat, exhaling sharply in frustration.

"Fuck this. I’m getting a burger. Did you idiots figure out what you wanna eat yet?" he snaps, his voice cutting through the quiet like a blade.

"Yeah, bro, like… three waffles and a Coke?" Kaminari grins.

Bakugou wrinkles his nose in disgust. "Gross. Get it yourself." With that, he storms off.

"Aww, man, but you asked," Kaminari huffs, getting up to follow after him. A few others from the group trail behind, heading to the cash register to put in their orders, leaving only Kirishima, Ochako, and Izuku at the table.

“Sorry about him,” Kirishima says, bowing his head slightly. “He’s usually not this snappy. I don’t know what’s gotten into him tonight. He’s a good guy once you get to know him, I promise.”

Ochako crosses her arms, her frown deepening. “I’m sorry, Kirishima, I know he’s your friend, but I just don’t see how someone like that can have a good side.”

Izuku frowns as well but for a different reason. Less than ten minutes ago, he’d seen Bakugou’s softer side in the car, the part of him that still held warmth beneath all that fire. So, he doesn’t doubt Kirishima’s words. Bakugou is a good person. Rough around the edges, but not heartless. Still, something about his attitude tonight feels... off.

And Izuku can’t shake the nagging suspicion that it has everything to do with him and Ochako joining the group.

Before he can ruminate on it longer, the other half of their group returns, filling the space with easy chatter and laughter. The tension lingers for just a second before the table is swept back into its usual, comfortably rowdy atmosphere, leaving Izuku with more questions than answers.

The night stretches on in easy conversation, laughter echoing across the nearly empty restaurant. Stories exchange between bites of food, letting the warmth of companionship melt away his earlier anxieties. Izuku feels a sense of belonging, despite Bakugou's hostility, and it is this feeling that makes him let his guard down.

Maybe it was the lingering buzz of alcohol still coursing through his veins, or maybe it was the comforting security of being surrounded by people who felt like home. Either way, he should have kept his mouth shut.

Izuku chuckles at Kaminari’s retelling of a minor fender bender with his neighbor, shaking his head at how absurd the situation had been. But then, without thinking, the words slip past his lips, far too casual for the weight they carry.

“When I was fourteen, my mom and I were driving through an intersection when another car slammed into us from the side,” he recounts, fiddling with a straw wrapper, “The impact was so severe that I ended up in a coma for three months.”

His eyes grow distant, and he pauses, fingers nervously twisting the paper into tight spirals. “When I finally woke up in the hospital, the years before the accident were a complete blank to me.” He hesitates, voice barely above a whisper. “I basically had to relearn who I was, piece by piece.”

The lively chatter and laughter that had filled the table moments ago vanishes, leaving a heavy silence hanging in the air. Izuku can feel the sudden change in mood settle over them like a thick, impenetrable fog.

The weight of his confession crashes into the moment, shattering the light-hearted atmosphere. Around the table, eyes widen in shock, expressions shift from confusion to deep concern, and then, as if on cue, a barrage of questions begin to flow, each one tinged with empathy and curiosity.

“What?” Bakugou breathes, his knuckles turning white as he grips the edge of the table, eyes narrowing with a mix of disbelief and irritation. His voice comes out in a low, incredulous whisper that cuts through the air.

“Dude, what the hell?” Kaminari gawks, his eyes wide like saucers, blinking rapidly as if trying to reboot his brain that seems to have short-circuited from the shock.

“Why didn’t you ever mention that before?” Mina asks, her voice softer than usual, laced with a thread of worry that made her words feel like a gentle probe rather than an accusation.

Izuku swallows hard, feeling a lump form in his throat as regret courses through him. He wishes he could reel his words back in as if they were fish on a fishing line.

Beneath the table, his fingers dig into the paper of the straw wrapper, the material ripping under his grip while his heartbeat pounds a relentless drumbeat in his ears.

He never should have said anything.

The table erupts with a cacophony of voices, a jumble of questions, concerns, and reassurances that swirl around him like a disorienting storm. But Izuku barely registers any of it, the weight of their collective gazes making his skin prickle with unease. The noise morphs into a distant hum, like a radio frequency tuned to static, and he feels as though he’s floating outside of himself, detached and unsteady, until—

Crash.

Bakugou stands abruptly, the sharp crack of his chair hitting the floor echoes through the restaurant like a gunshot. Without sparing a glance back, he pivots on his heel and storms out the door, his footsteps slamming down the hallway.

A moment of silence hangs in the air like an unfinished sentence before Kirishima reacts. His expression shifts into something unreadable, a mixture of concern and determination. He barely hesitates, pushing himself up from his seat beside Mina, and quickly follows Bakugou outside, his footsteps a mere whisper compared to the storm that had just left.

The sudden departure leaves an awkward tension lingering at the table, thick and heavy like a fog that refuses to lift. Izuku swallows again, trying to dislodge the anxiety pressing against his chest. His fingers twitch against the torn straw wrapper in his hands, destroyed under the nervous energy coursing through him.

“…Can we just forget I said any of that?” His voice comes out smaller than he intended, eyes fixed firmly on the table. “I’m sorry.”

Mina, thankfully, catches on immediately. “I think we should give Izuku some space, okay?” She throws on a bright, easy smile and leans forward slightly. “Actually, that reminds me, I’ve got a hilarious story about my childhood dog driving my car.”

Ochako’s eyes widen. “You're what!?”

With that, Ochako and Mina shift over to the second table, steering the conversation in a new direction. The others follow suit, letting things drift back to something resembling normalcy. The laughter is a little forced, the atmosphere still laced with something unspoken, but Izuku was grateful for the distraction.

Even if he couldn’t focus on it.

His gaze keeps drifting toward the window, his hands still restless under the table’s surface. Outside, Bakugou and Kirishima stand in the dim glow of the streetlights, locked in what was clearly an argument.

Kaminari slides into the seat across from Izuku, offering a lopsided grin. “Hey, don’t worry about Bakugou. He’s just a dick sometimes.” He leans back, stretching his arms. “Try not to take it personally. He’s never said a nice word to me, and we’ve been friends for, like, six years.”

Izuku forces a shaky smile, but his attention snaps back to the scene unfolding outside.

Kirishima's arms are flailing wildly, each motion punctuated with frustration as if he was trying to paint his point in the air. Bakugou, meanwhile, stands like a statue, every muscle tensely coiled, his jaw set like stone, eyes blazing with an unreadable intensity.

Then, Kirishima does something unexpected. With both hands planted firmly on Bakugou’s chest, he shoves him back.

The impact sends Bakugou stumbling backward, his feet skidding against the concrete, but he quickly regains his balance and closes the gap between them, his body a taut line of simmering anger.

Izuku's heart lurches, a cold knot of anxiety twisting in his stomach. Before he even realizes it, he’s on his feet, moving toward the door. By the time he reaches the threshold, Bakugou’s low, menacing words reach his ears, vibrating with an undercurrent of barely restrained fury.

“Shut the fuck up, Eijirou. You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Izuku freezes, his heart pounding in his chest, as he watches Bakugou’s fiery red eyes blaze with an intensity he couldn't decipher. For a brief, electrifying moment, those eyes lock onto him, piercing through the air between them with a weight Izuku feels in his very bones. Then, just as quickly, Bakugou turns his attention away, refocusing on Kirishima.

“I’m leaving.” he declares, his voice clipped and resolute. Without waiting for a response, Bakugou spins on his heel and stalks off into the shadows, his hands buried deep in his jacket pockets.

Izuku and Kirishima remain rooted to the spot, the silence wrapping around them like a thick fog as they watch Bakugou's retreating form fade into the night.

Kirishima releases a sharp exhale, his shoulders slumping under an invisible weight. A frustrated groan escapes his lips as he drags his hand through his hair, tugging at the strands in agitation. He spins around abruptly, his eyes widening in surprise when he realizes Izuku is standing directly behind him.

“Shit,” Kirishima mutters, eyes wide. “How long have you been standing there?”

"Long enough to see him get in your face," Izuku says, his voice quiet. "Are you okay?"

Kirishima exhales through his nose, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off the tension. "Yeah, I’m alright. Sorry about him. He can have an unwarranted temper sometimes." He flashes a reassuring smile, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

Glancing back through the front window, Kirishima catches sight of their friends watching from inside, concern evident on their faces. With a small sigh, he nods toward the door. "We should get back in."

He reaches for the cold metal handle, but just before he can push it open, Izuku's voice cuts through the silence like a sharp blade. "You call him your friend?"

Kirishima turns slowly, surprise flashing across his face like a sudden gust of wind. Then, as if the answer were the most obvious thing in the world, he chuckles, a sound warm and reassuring, and grinning widely. "Yeah. My best friend, actually."

Izuku hesitates, his fingers twitching at his sides like restless insects. "He shouldn’t treat you like that, Kirishima. I really thought he might hit you," he confesses, his voice tinged with unease.

Kirishima shakes his head, his smile unwavering and bright like a lighthouse beam cutting through the dark. "But he didn’t. And he won’t," he declares with unwavering certainty. "Bakugou might have an unnecessary attitude, but he’d never get physical with someone who didn’t deserve it."

Izuku isn't convinced. The image of Bakugou's eyes, fierce and crackling with wild, untamed energy, lingers in his mind like a ghost. It was a look he recognized, though he couldn’t quite place why, and a deep, unsettled feeling gnaws at the edges of his consciousness, whispering ominously that it meant something. Something bad.

Kirishima continues before Izuku can spiral further into his thoughts. "And, in all fairness," he admits, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, "I shouldn’t have pushed him. Physically or otherwise. It wasn’t my place."

With that, he turns and steps inside, the warm glow of the restaurant enveloping him like a comforting embrace as he rejoins their friends, leaving Izuku standing alone, the door swinging shut with a soft click behind him.

The summer breeze curls around him like a soft, cool blanket, soothing his sun-warmed skin. He leans his head back, eyes scanning the night sky, where the stars twinkled like distant promises. As he traces the constellations, he wishes they could reveal secrets.

"Everything will be fine," he whispers to the silence, trying to convince himself.

Bakugou's issues, whatever tangled mess they might be, weren't his to solve, weren't his burden to bear. He had no logical reason to step in, no obligation to care. Yet, an inexplicable pull tugged at his heart, leaving him questioning why he felt drawn into Bakugou's turmoil.

Izuku takes one last breath of fresh air before stopping inside.

By the time they finally part ways, the sky is beginning to lighten with the first hints of dawn, a pale pink glow cresting the horizon, and exhaustion is starting to creep in, weighing down their eyelids. Sero, being the only one with enough space in his navy blue sedan, offers to drive the three of them back to Mina’s.

The ride was much quieter than before. Gone were the rowdy conversations and bursts of laughter that filled the night; now, there is only the low, steady hum of the engine, punctuated by the occasional yawn that echoes softly through the car.

Izuku turns his gaze to the window, his eyes tracing the blurred outlines of the empty streets, the street lights flickering as they speed past. A soft sense of contentment settles in his chest, a warmth that spreads slowly, like the first rays of morning sunlight.

For the first time in a long while, he feels like he belongs, as if the laughter and companionship of the night had woven a thread that tied him to this group.

He had made actual friends.

Izuku sits on the front steps, his heart thumping as he surveys the quiet house before him. Sneaking back in was proving far more difficult than Izuku had anticipated.

His escape plan had been foolproof: a daring leap from the second-story balcony onto the narrow roof above his stepfather’s office. That part had gone off without a hitch.

But getting back inside? That had turned into a clumsy nightmare.

He’d figured he could scale the tree by his window and slip in unnoticed, only to realize, too late, that he had forgotten to unlock the window beforehand. And so, with no other options, he sits on the front steps, locked out of his own house.

As he is debating whether sleeping outside is a viable option, his mind is abruptly interrupted by the slow creak of the front door easing open behind him. The sound sends a bolt of panic racing through him, and his pulse seems to echo in his ears.

Crap.

He leaps upright, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste, and spins around to confront the unexpected visitor. Standing solidly in the doorway is his stepfather, arms folded across his chest, the dim light catching the faint squint in his eyes.

“Hey, Toshinori,” he blurts out, scrambling for an excuse. “I, uh, I was just about to go for a run! Sorry, did I wake you? I didn’t think I was being loud. I just– um, I should probably head inside, huh? So you can get some sleep?”

Toshinori raises one eyebrow in a measured, unimpressed arch. “Izuku.”

The single word fell from his lips like a verdict, enough to shut Izuku up.

"It’s four in the morning," Toshinori adds steadily, his arms tightening as he crosses them over his chest.

The stern light in his eyes speaks volumes, but still, Izuku stutters, “…Yeah, uh. Morning run?”

For a tense moment, the only sound was the quiet hum of the house, until Toshinori breaks into a half-smile. He chuckles and steps aside, gesturing toward the open door. “Why don’t you come inside, son?”

Izuku exhales, his relief mingling with embarrassment as he slips through the doorway.

Inside, the space is hushed and the dim glow of a single kitchen light bathes the countertops in a gentle, welcoming warmth. Sitting heavily at the counter, Izuku allows his fingers to curl around a steaming mug of green tea that Toshinori places before him. Every sip carried memories of long nights and quiet confidences, soothing his frayed nerves.

“How was it?” Toshinori asks, his tone laden with a silent knowing as he observes Izuku’s cautious movements.

Izuku blinks. “How was what?”

With a subtle shrug, Toshinori replies, “Wherever you’ve been for the past four hours.”

Izuku nearly chokes on his tea. His heart plummeted. “How did you-? Does Mom kno–”

“No, no.” Toshinori waves him off with a laugh. “Your mother doesn’t know. Let’s keep this between us. Doctor-patient confidentiality.”

The absurdity of the phrase hangs in the air, and Izuku stares at him with bewilderment. It wasn’t the first time his stepfather had invoked that term, but never had it struck him with such surreal familiarity.

Long before he took on the role of guardian, Toshinori had been his therapist after the accident. Even though those sessions were now a distant memory, talking with him had always come naturally—like slipping into a well-worn sweater.

Izuku lets out a chuckle, nodding in appreciation. “Thanks.”

Toshinori takes a sip of his own tea, his expression light with amusement. “I watch you climb off the roof of my study, by the way,” he notes with a teasing smirk that widens gradually. “You know, you could’ve just gone through the front door.”

Izuku groans, his tense shoulders sagging as he slumps against the counter. “I thought I had it all figured out.”

“I was afraid you’d break a leg or something.” Toshinori’s smirk softens. “I hope you had fun.”

A small smile tugs at Izuku’s lips as memories of the night flash in his mind. “Yeah,” he says, nodding. “I did have fun.”

“That’s good,” Toshinori replies quietly. “You needed it.”

Hesitantly, Izuku looks up, his eyes searching his stepfather’s face. “But… aren’t you mad? I snuck out. I broke the rules.”

Toshinori tilts his head, considering the confession with a gentle calm before letting a full, understanding smile spread across his face. “Sometimes, rules need breaking,” he says softly, his tone warm and deliberate. “Especially when they keep you from finding a little happiness.”

For a long moment, Izuku simply stared, the weight of the night slowly lifting from his chest. Then, with a quiet laugh that mingles with the quiet clink of the teacup on the counter, he shakes his head, drawing another slow gulp of tea. Warmth radiated inside him, replacing the cool uncertainty of earlier.

In that small kitchen, lit by the forgiving glow of a midnight lamp, he allows himself the hope that perhaps at last, pieces of his disordered life are starting to fall into place.

Chapter Text

Summer had barely begun, but Izuku was already climbing the walls. College was out, the days were long, and the silence at home was starting to feel suffocating. So when a message lit up his phone, a casual invite from his new friends, he lunged at the chance. It had been weeks since he'd seen anyone outside his family, and the itch to socialize is becoming unbearable.

To his surprise, instead of another invitation to a street race—something he half-expects—his friends want to go to the mall. It’s a much more casual outing, something he had done many times before, and this time, he feels confident he can convince his mom to let him go.

Taking a deep breath, he cautiously steps into her room, the familiar scent of lavender and freshly laundered clothes wrapping around him like a comforting but suffocating blanket.

"Hey, Mom," he begins, his voice slightly tentative. "Is it okay if I go to the mall with some friends tomorrow?"

Inko, engrossed in the task at hand, barely glances up from the neatly folded stack of laundry on her bed. The soft light from the window casts a warm glow over the room, highlighting the meticulous care she takes in arranging each piece of clothing.

“Izuku, honey, you need to be more specific,” she says, her voice firm and expectant as she continues folding, not missing a single crease.

He swallows and straightens his posture. He makes sure to include every detail, knowing she’ll ask for them anyway, “Ochako and Mina invited me to hang out at the mall at noon. Mina will drive, and I’ll be home before eight.”

That gets her attention. She slowly places a shirt down and finally looks up, her sharp gaze locking onto him. “I don’t know, Izuku,” she says, crossing her arms. “With college going on, we've barely gotten to see you, and now the moment summer starts, you’re trying to run off?”

Izuku feels his stomach twist. “It’s just for a few hours, Mom,” he says carefully. “I haven’t seen them in a while.”

Inko exhales sharply through her nose, her fingers drumming a steady, deliberate rhythm against her crossed arms. The motion is casual, but the silence that follows isn’t. It’s weighted. Pressing.

“I had plans for us tomorrow,” she says, her voice bordering on finality. It isn’t a suggestion—it’s a decision. “You’re always so busy with school. I thought we could spend some time together.”

Izuku feels the guilt pooling in his stomach, heavy and suffocating, like a dense fog creeping in and curling around his insides. It's an automatic response, a reflex honed by years of knowing exactly how she can make him pause, make him second-guess himself. But this time, he knows he can't give in. If he concedes now, he’ll be trapped in this cycle forever.

Inko spots his hesitation, because she always does, and before he can muster a reply, she adds, “Besides, with your summer classes starting soon, you won’t have much free time anyway.”

Izuku’s entire body tenses, his muscles rigid, as if bracing for a blow. His thoughts come to a halt, like a train screeching to an abrupt stop.

“…Wait. What?”

Inko doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t even pause. She Just continues her task of meticulously folding laundry, her hands moving with practiced precision, as if they’re talking about what to cook for dinner, as if the conversation isn’t about to shape the course of his next several months.

“I signed you up for summer courses a couple weeks ago,” she says smoothly, like it’s already been decided. Like it’s not something that even requires discussion. “You have to keep up with your studies if you want to stay ahead next semester, sweetheart.”

Izuku’s fingers curl into the soft fabric of his sweatshirt sleeves, his knuckles turning white with tension. Summer school. Decided without him, as though his opinion didn't matter at all. He feels a wave of frustration wash over him, his thoughts swirling with the realization that once again, choices about his life have been made for him, leaving him with no voice in the matter.

His throat tightens. “Mom, I—”

She finally looks up, her expression unreadable, but there’s something in her eyes that stops him cold. A challenge. A warning. “You’re not upset, are you?”

A trap. Because there’s only one right answer.

“No it’s fine.” Izuku swallows back the frustration burning in his chest.

If he lets it out now, he knows exactly how this will go. She’ll sigh, tell him she’s just looking out for him, that she’s only doing what’s best. And if he pushes back? Then suddenly, he’s being ungrateful. Selfish.

He forces his face into something neutral, shoving down the bubbling resentment clawing at his ribs. “When does it start?”

Inko’s lips curve, pleased that he isn’t fighting her. “Next Monday.”

A week.

She’s been sitting on this for weeks, making decisions about his life, and now she’s giving him seven days to accept it.

Izuku exhales slowly, staring at the floor, his fingers flexing and tightening around his sweatshirt. If he speaks now, he’s going to say something he’ll regret.

Instead, he forces himself to take another route. He shifts his tone, makes himself sound reasonable. Light.

“Maybe we can do something in the evening?” he offers, careful, calculated. A peace offering. A way to navigate around her without setting her off.

She studies him for a long moment, her gaze sweeping over his face like she’s trying to pick apart his intentions. Then, after what feels like an eternity, she sighs.

“Fine. You can go to the mall tomorrow,” she relents, but there’s a weight to the words. A warning threaded beneath them. “But you have to be home by four. Not a minute later.”

Her eyes lock onto his, firm and unyielding.“I don’t want my son spending the whole summer neglecting his family.”

Izuku’s jaw clenches, but he forces his lips into a thin smile. Because he knows what she really means.You can have this, but only because I’m letting you. A leash wrapped in the illusion of freedom.

Izuku nods quickly, eager to end the conversation, but Inko isn’t done.

“And another thing,” she continues, her voice sharp, leaving no room for argument. “I don’t like that Mina girl always driving you around. Let Toshi take you.”

Izuku’s stomach twists. “Mom—”

“I trust him to be responsible,” she cuts in, her tone final.

Izuku presses his lips together. There’s no use fighting it. “Okay,” he says, keeping his voice even, careful not to sound too eager.

But Inko isn’t satisfied. Her eyes narrow. “And I expect you to finish your studying before you even think about stepping foot outside. I will be checking your notes. And if they’re not done properly, if I even suspect you’re rushing through them then you can forget about going anywhere for the rest of the summer.”

The words settle like a stone in his chest, but Izuku barely hears them. He should feel frustrated, maybe even angry, but all he can focus on is the fact that she said yes.

She actually said yes.

A quiet, dizzying rush of relief crashes over him, and for the briefest moment, he lets himself get lost in it. His mind spins with the thrill of it, the idea of freedom just barely within his grasp. For a moment, he imagines vivid red eyes staring back at him.

“Oh! Thank you, Mom! I will, I promise!” he practically shouts, rushing forward to wrap her in a tight hug.

Inko lets out a small sigh, but she doesn’t stop him. Slowly, her arms wrap around him in return, tight and firm. Almost possessive.

“I mean it, Izuku,” she murmurs against his hair, her grip not loosening. “I love that you have friends now, I do, but don’t forget who raised you.” Her fingers tighten just slightly against his back. “Don’t forget who really cares about you.”

The words send an uncomfortable chill down his spine.

She pulls back slightly, just enough to search his face, her sharp gaze scanning for even the smallest hint of deception. “And they’re good to you, right? You know how I worry.” Then, her voice takes on a pointed edge. “That one with the pink hair… she seems like a bad influence.”

Izuku swallows. If only she knew. If she had any idea about all the things Mina has so effortlessly dragged him into, she’d probably lock him in his room and throw away the key.

“I know, Mom,” he says, forcing a reassuring smile. “But they make me happy.”

It’s not the answer she wants, but it’s the truth.

Inko studies him for another long second, and for a moment, he thinks she might push further. But then, just as suddenly, she exhales and pulls him into another hug—this one even tighter, lingering a little too long, like she’s afraid that if she lets go, he’ll slip right through her fingers.

Before he can fully relax in her embrace, hurried footsteps echo down the hallway.

“Mom! Dinner’s ready!” his little sister, Eri, calls as she runs into the room, nearly crashing into Izuku in the process. She stops just in time and looks up at him with a bright, beaming smile. “Oh, Zuku! Dinner’s ready!”

Izuku chuckled, reaching out to ruffle her hair. “Thanks, Eri.”

Even as they walked toward the dining room, he could feel his mother’s eyes lingering on him, ever watchful, ever cautious.

Somehow, he had a feeling she wasn’t done keeping tabs on him just yet.

As Izuku works his way through his stir-fry, savoring the blend of soy sauce and spices, his stepfather casually drops a piece of news that nearly makes him choke on his food.

“Mirio says he’s returning home for the summer,” Toshinori announces casually, as though he hadn’t just sent a shockwave through the table. Unfazed by the reaction, he takes another bite of his food.

Izuku froze mid-chew. Mirio? Coming back? His older brother had been overseas, training to become a detective. His phone calls had become increasingly rare. What had started as frequent video calls had dwindled down to brief, sporadic check-ins, often rushed and filled with grainy visuals of wherever he was stationed at the time.

This wasn’t just any news. This was huge.

“Big brother is coming back?” Eri gasps, nearly dropping her spoon as her crimson eyes wide with excitement. She grips the edge of the table, practically vibrating in her seat.

Izuku’s heart skips a beat. “What? When?” he asks, turning to his mother with a mix of disbelief and anticipation.

Mirio had been one of the most important people in Izuku’s life. In fact, for a long time, he had been Izuku’s only friend. They had first met when Izuku was still attending therapy sessions with Toshinori.

Mirio had always been there, lounging in the waiting room while his own guardian handled business. Since Izuku was homeschooled at the time and had no real friends his age, Mirio, only two years older, became his closest companion by default.

Their friendship had been easy, effortless. Mirio had this way of making everything seem brighter, lighter. He never treated Izuku like he was fragile or broken, he just treated him like him.

Then, when their parents got married and they moved into the same house, it was like having a permanent sleepover with his best friend.

The loneliness that had plagued Izuku for years finally started to fade. They played video games late into the night, and stayed up talking about everything and nothing.

So when Mirio left, the loneliness came back in full force. Even though Izuku had finally been allowed to attend high school by then, and was slowly making new friends, nothing had ever quite filled the void Mirio left behind.

“This June,” Inko answers, wiping her mouth with a napkin. “He’s planning for the seventeenth, but you know how unreliable those airlines are over there.”

June. That feels impossibly far away. It’s only the end of April. He has more than a month to wait. But at least Mirio will be back in time for their shared birthday.

Maybe he can even plan a surprise party.

Across the table, Eri claps her hands together, her excitement bubbling over. “Can we throw him a party? Can we, can we? With balloons? And cake? And a big sign that says ‘Welcome Home’?”

Izuku lets out a small chuckle, the weight of nostalgia giving way to warmth. “Yeah, Eri. That sounds like a great idea.”

As the conversation shifts to summer plans, Izuku hurries to finish his food. His mind is already racing with ideas. He quickly thanks his mother, rinses his plate in the sink, and wipes his hands on a towel.

Mirio is coming home.

As they drive toward the mall, the low hum of the car’s engine fills the silence between them. Toshinori, ever the calm presence, keeps his eyes on the road, but Izuku can feel the curiosity radiating from him.

“So, who all are you meeting?” Toshinori finally asks, his tone casual, but Izuku knows better.

He forces a shrug, keeping his voice light. “Uh, just Ochako and Mina,” he lies smoothly.

Toshinori didn’t deserve to be lied to. But if he knew who else was going, he’d tell Mom. And she’d say no before he even had the chance to ask. He trusts Toshinori, but he also knows how easily things can slip back to his mom, and he can’t risk that. It’s safer this way.

Toshinori hums, clearly unconvinced but not pressing the issue. “And why the mall?”

Izuku suppresses a sigh. This is starting to feel like an interrogation.

Ever since the sneaking-out incident, Toshinori has been more attentive, not exactly strict, but definitely more watchful. Izuku can’t blame him, but still, it makes these conversations exhausting.

“I think they want to buy new swimsuits for the summer,” he answers. “They just wanted me to give them my opinion, I guess?”

Toshinori's lips quirk up slightly, as if amused by the idea of Izuku helping with fashion choices. “Fair enough,” he says, pulling into the parking lot. “Are your friends here yet?”

Izuku glances at his phone. No messages. No missed calls. But instead of admitting that, he pockets his phone and nods. “Uh, yeah, should be.”

Toshinori doesn’t seem convinced, but he lets it slide. “Alright. Do you need any money?”

Izuku shakes his head. “No, I think I’ll be okay, thanks though.”

Without hesitation, Toshinori pulls out his wallet anyway, handing Izuku two crisp twenty-dollar bills. “Can never be too sure,” he says with a knowing smile. “Use it on your lunch.”

Izuku hesitates but eventually takes the money, tucking it into his pocket. It’s way more than he needs, but refusing Toshinori's generosity is nearly impossible.

“Thanks, Toshinori,” he says sincerely.

“Have fun, young Midoriya,” Toshinori replies as Izuku climbs out of the car. “And text me when you're heading home.”

With a nod, Izuku steps inside the mall, the cool blast of air conditioning greeting him immediately. He gets about two steps in before realizing something.

He has no idea where he’s going.

Pulling out his phone, he quickly dials Mina’s number. Straight to voicemail. Frowning, he tries calling Ochako next; at least her phone rings a few times before cutting off.

Izuku takes a deep breath, glancing around. The mall is packed for a Sunday, bodies moving in every direction, voices blending into an overwhelming hum of conversation. A tight feeling starts creeping up his throat. His heart pounding as he searched for his friends amidst the sea of strangers.

He hates crowds like this.

His fingers twitch around his phone, pulse hammering against his ribs. Someone brushes past him, and he flinches, his stomach twisting. There are too many people, too much movement. He can’t see past the shifting bodies, can’t find a clear path, can’t—

His chest tightens. He needs to move. He needs to breathe. But his feet feel rooted to the spot, his body locking up as anxiety claws up his throat.

Then, through the haze of panic, something familiar catches his eye.

A messy head of spiky blonde hair.

Bakugou.

His body moves before his mind can catch up, pushing forward, weaving through the swarm of people as fast as he can without drawing too much attention.

He doesn’t know if Bakugou is actually with Mina and Ochako, but at this point, he just needs something solid to hold onto.

Izuku's hand stretches out in a desperate gesture, fingers grasping at the fabric of Bakugou's jacket. Izuku's face is determined, his eyes focused solely on Bakugou as he gives the jacket a slight tug.

But as Bakugou turns around, his eyes narrow and his body tenses, ready to defend himself. His hand swats at Izuku's, knocking it away.

“What the fuck?” he snaps.

Izuku raises his hands in surrender. “Sorry! I just, uh, I couldn’t get a hold of my friends, and then I saw you, so I thought maybe you were with them, but then I got caught in the crowd, and—” He cuts himself off, realizing he’s rambling. “I just needed to get your attention. Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you.”

Bakugou clicks his tongue, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Tch. You didn’t scare me, nerd, I thought you were some extra trying to pickpocket me.” He rolls his shoulders and exhales sharply. “Yeah, I know where your shitty friends are. Follow me.”

He pivots sharply and strides forward with determination. Izuku hesitates for only a second before scrambling after him.

But just as Bakugou is about to slip beyond his grasp, Izuku lunges forward, his fingers closing around the edge of Bakugou's jacket once again, stopping him in his tracks.

“B-Bakugou, wait!” he calls. And for some reason, the name feels like acid on his tongue.

This time, Bakugou turns with aggression, eyes narrowing. “What?”

Izuku swallows, face going slightly red. How is he supposed to ask this without sounding stupid?

“Umm, can—can I…?” He stumbles over his words, his fingers twitching at his sides.

Bakugou lets out a heavy sigh, already losing patience. “What, nerd? Spit it out.”

“Can I hold on to you?” Izuku blurts out before he can stop himself.

Bakugou freezes. His eyebrows shoot up to his hairline.

Izuku rushes to explain. “I just mean, it’s easy to get separated in this crowd, and I don’t want to get lost again, so I thought–”

“Whatever,” Bakugou interrupts, rolling his eyes as he grabs Izuku’s wrist, yanking him forward. “Just move.”

Izuku barely has time to process what just happened, he’s being pulled through the dense crowd at a brisk pace. Bakugou’s grip firm and unwavering. The sudden skin-to-skin contact sends an unexpected jolt up Izuku’s spine, making him tense in surprise.

Bakugou tugs Izuku forward with ease, weaving through the shifting bodies without hesitation. For all his usual intensity, he handles Izuku like he’s something breakable, like he knows he isn’t used to this kind of chaos. Despite the aggressive nature of his actions, there’s a surprising amount of control in his grip, strong, but not painful.

That realization sends a confusing twist through Izuku’s stomach, one he’s not ready to untangle. And for some reason, it makes his heart stutter even more than the crowd around them.

By the time they reach their destination, Izuku’s mind is still struggling to catch up with everything that just happened.

They come to a stop in front of Forever 21. Because of course, it’s Mina’s favorite store. The realization makes Izuku feel a little ridiculous for not thinking about it out sooner.

Izuku exhales a shaky breath, relief washing over him as his eyes land on Mina’s unmistakable bubblegum-pink hair a few feet away.

“Zuku!” Mina beams the moment she spots him, practically bouncing on her heels. “Oh good, you’re here! Quick, which one looks better, purple or pink?” She holds up two swimsuits, her eyes alight with anticipation.

Izuku opens his mouth, about to say either one is fine—because seriously, they’re the exact same swimsuit in different colors—when a loud scoff cuts through his thoughts.

“Fuck no,” Bakugou says, arms crossed like the very question offends him. “The blue one.” he spits pointing toward the rack behinder her, “The pink’s too close to matching your stupid-ass hair, and the purple will just make people wanna throw up.”

Mina barely hesitates before shrugging. “Oh, alright, thanks, Bakugou!” She grabs the light blue swimsuit without a second thought, as if his opinion is the law of the universe.

Izuku keeps staring, his mind short-circuiting. Before he can find his voice, Mina grabs Ochako’s wrist and drags her toward the fitting rooms, chattering about accessories and sandals, leaving him standing there.

Bakugou lets out a low grunt, already turning away. “Tch. I’m done being in this shitty store.”

Izuku, still reeling, barely registers what he’s doing when he blurts out, “Uh—thank you.”

Bakugou pauses mid-step, glancing over his shoulder. “For what?”

Izuku swallows. “For helping me out back there. With the, um—” He gestures vaguely toward the entrance. “The crowd. I really appreciate it.”

For a moment, Bakugou doesn’t respond. His crimson eyes flicker with something unreadable before he scoffs and rolls his shoulders. “Yeah, whatever,” he mutters. “Just don’t let it happen again.”

And with that, he strides off, hands shoved deep into his pockets, leaving Izuku standing in the middle of a Forever 21, wondering what the hell just happened.

Izuku finds Kirishima and Kaminari toward the back of the store, messing around in the accessories section. Kirishima has on a pair of oversized, hot-pink sunglasses, grinning as he strikes a ridiculous pose for Kaminari’s phone camera.

Kaminari, not to be outdone, has layered multiple beaded necklaces over his shirt and is dramatically adjusting a wide-brimmed sunhat, puckering his lips like a model.

“Bro, you wish you looked this good,” Kaminari teases, snapping another selfie as Kirishima flexes in the background.

“Dude, this is peak fashion,” Kirishima says, pushing the glasses higher up on his nose with an exaggeratedly serious expression. “I think I’m pulling this off.”

Izuku can’t help but chuckle at their antics, shaking his head. It’s a wonder they haven’t been kicked out yet.

“You guys do know this isn’t a costume shop, right?” he asks, crossing his arms.

Kaminari turns to him with mock offense. “Excuse you, Midoriya, but true style knows no rules.”

He strikes a ridiculous pose, adjusting his fake glasses as Kirishima flexes behind him.

Izuku laughs, feeling the last remnants of his earlier anxiety melt away. Being around his friends always has a way of grounding him, no matter how chaotic they are.

“Hey, did you see Katsuki out there?” Kirishima asks, finally taking off the sunglasses and tossing them back onto the display rack. His expression is casual, but there’s an underlying curiosity in his voice.

Izuku nods. “Yeah, I saw him earlier. I’m kinda surprised he came.”

Kaminari snorts, flipping through a rack of funky patterned scarves. “The mall isn’t really his usual scene or something like that, but honestly, I just think he’s embarrassed to be seen with us.” He smirks, spinning around to snap a few more goofy photos in the mirror.

Izuku giggles. “I can’t see why.”

“Oh, dude!” Kaminari suddenly gasps, eyes lighting up with excitement. “We should totally hit up Spencer’s after this!” He bounces eagerly on the balls of his feet, practically buzzing with anticipation.

Kirishima laughs, patting Kaminari on the back. “You just wanna look at the inappropriate section, don’t you?”

“What?!” Kaminari gasps dramatically, placing a hand over his chest like he’s just been deeply offended. “How dare you accuse me of such a thing!”

Izuku shakes his head with a fond smile, warmth spreading in his chest as he watches the two friends goof around. Their effortless camaraderie is something he admires, yet it also makes him feel slightly out of place.

He’s always been the type to linger from the sidelines, hesitant to fully immerse himself, but deep down, he longs for the kind of easy connection they share.

But they invited him here, didn’t they? They seemed excited, just as eager to spend time with him as he is with them. He wants to believe that. He needs to believe that. Still, insecurity gnaws at the back of his mind, whispering doubts he’s not sure he can ignore.

For so long, he’s wondered what it would be like to have a solid friend group, a place where he isn’t just tagging along but is wanted. And now, standing here among Kirishima’s boisterous laughter and Kaminari’s outrageousness, he can’t help but wonder if this is it. If he’s finally found the kind of friendship he’s always craved.

After leaving Forever 21, their small group spots Bakugou sitting on a nearby bench in front of the store, scrolling through his phone with a bored expression. One leg is stretched out lazily, the other bouncing impatiently, as if he’s been waiting far too long.

Izuku’s heart skips a beat. His mind must still be reeling from their earlier interaction, the lingering warmth of Bakugou’s grip still imprinted in his memory. He shakes the thought away, but before he can dwell on it further, they’re already approaching.

Bakugou glances up, immediately scoffing at the ridiculous number of shopping bags Kirishima is carrying. “And what in the hell could you have possibly bought in there?”

Kirishima grins, shifting the bags in his arms like a seasoned pro. “Dude, I’m just carrying them for my lady. You know, being a gentleman. You should try it sometime.”

Bakugou snorts, shoving his phone into his pocket as he stands up. “Whatever. She’s got you whipped. Can we hit the food court now? I’m fucking starving.”

“Yes!” Ochako gasps dramatically, practically vibrating with excitement as she throws herself onto Izuku, looping her arm around his. “I heard a new sweets shop just opened up! I wanna see if their mochi is any good. Right, Izu?”

At the mention of food, Izuku’s stomach grumbles in agreement. “Yeah, that sounds great,” he admits, relieved to focus on something other than the growing warmth in his face.

“Alright! Food court first, then Spencer’s,” Kaminari declares, clapping his hands together excitedly, already getting ahead of himself.

“Absolutely not,” Bakugou grunts, shoving his hands into his pockets as he starts toward the food court without waiting for anyone to follow. His tone leaves no room for argument.

At the food court, the group splits up, each heading toward different vendors to grab their meals. The plan is to meet back at one of the large round tables near the edge of the food court, away from the busiest walkways.

Izuku sticks closely to Ochako’s side, feeling the press of people around him like a physical weight. The food court is massive, packed shoulder to shoulder with shoppers, families, and clusters of teenagers laughing loudly over trays of fast food.

The cacophony of conversations, clattering trays, and the occasional sound of a blender whirring makes Izuku’s head swim. The sheer number of people makes it difficult to focus, but Ochako’s presence keeps him grounded.

After securing their desserts, they make their way to a nearby Thai vendor, where Izuku orders a simple rice dish, something warm and familiar to settle his nerves.

By the time they finally regroup at the table, most of the seats have already been claimed. Kirishima is talking animatedly with Mina, while Kaminari gestures wildly with his chopsticks, clearly in the middle of an exaggerated story.

There are only two seats left—one next to Denki and another between Mina and Ochako.

Ochako, noticing the way Izuku’s hands twitch slightly as he hesitates, makes the decision for him, nudging him toward the open seat between her and Mina. He shoots her a grateful look as he sits down, relieved to have avoided the louder side of the table.

That relief is short-lived.

As he adjusts his tray, his eyes lift and immediately lock onto a pair of sharp, crimson ones. Izuku’s stomach flips.

Bakugou, sitting directly across from him, is engaged in an animated argument with Kaminari, aggressively gesturing at the half-eaten bag of greasy, deep-fried food in the blonde’s hands.

“You’re seriously eating that shit?” Bakugou scoffs, his voice laced with disgust. “That shit is pure oil, Dunce Face. You might as well drink fryer grease straight from the vat.”

Kaminari gasps in mock offense, clutching the bag to his chest. “Hey! First of all, don’t disrespect Micky D’s like that. Second, you literally drink Fireball like water, so I don’t wanna hear it!”

Bakugou rolls his eyes, muttering something under his breath before popping a piece of his own meal into his mouth, clearly done with the conversation.

Izuku swallows, quickly looking down at his tray as he pokes at his food. He has no idea how he always manages to get stuck in these situations. He just hopes Bakugou is too distracted to pay him any mind for the rest of the meal.

The group chats idly, laughter bubbling between bites of food as they poke fun at each other. The easy atmosphere reminds Izuku of the night they spent at Waffle House.

The night he unknowingly dropped a bombshell on everyone without thinking. He had braced himself for things to feel different afterward, but to his relief, no one seems treats him any differently, aside from the occasional extra glance or gentle nudge when he gets too quiet.

Mina must catch onto his silence because, without warning, she pinches his side, making him jolt. "You doing okay, hun?" she asks, tilting her head in concern.

"Mhm!" Izuku quickly replies through a mouthful of rice, chewing hurriedly before swallowing. "I’m doing good. There’s just a lot going on." He gestures loosely to the bustling food court around them.

"Aww, I’m sorry, babe. I know crowds aren’t really your thing, but I’m so glad you came out," Mina coos, bumping her shoulder against his in a teasing nudge.

Before Izuku can respond, Kirishima shoves into their conversation with his usual boundless energy. "Oh! Invite him to the thing tonight!" he exclaims, mouth full of fries.

"Chew your damn food before you talk, idiot!" Bakugou barks from Kirishima’s other side, shooting him an unimpressed glare.

Mina gasps, clapping her hands together as her bracelets jingle. "Oh yeah! One of Kiri’s friends is setting up a bonfire at Kumari Beach tonight, around eleven! You have to come! I promise it’s nothing crazy—just some drinks and a chill night among friends. You need to experience this."

"Yes!" Ochako grins widely, throwing her hands in the air. "You have to go, Izu! I can’t because my parents have been begging me to come home for dinner for, like, a week now, but if you go, you can totally experience it for me!"

Izuku blinks in confusion. "What? Why me?" he yelps.

"Because…" she draws out dramatically, wiggling her fingers in the air. "You never go to things like this, so you can give me all the first-time deets! It'll be like experiencing it all over again when you retell it to me later over the phone."

Izuku sighs, shaking his head. "I don’t know, Ocha. I really don’t think my mom would allow that."

"Why do you have to ask your mom?" Kaminari blurts out, his question muffled slightly by the food stuffed in his mouth.

Bakugou immediately smacks Kaminari on the back of the head. "How many times do I gotta tell you dumbasses? Don’t talk with your mouth full."

Kirishima chuckles, finishing the thought. "Yeah, man, can’t you just sneak out again? It wasn’t that hard the first time, was it?"

Izuku hesitates. He doesn’t want to be that guy—the one always bailing on plans—but sneaking out hadn’t been fun for him. It was terrifying. His stomach still twists at even the thought of getting caught again.

Bakugou scoffs, rolling his eyes as he stabs his fork harshly into his plate. His grip on the utensil is tight, his movements sharp and irritated, as if the very conversation is grating on his nerves.

"Don't pressure him. If Rapunzel doesn't want to go, he doesn't have to," he mutters, barely sparing Izuku a glance before shoving a bite of food into his mouth.

Izuku flinches, the nickname landing like a slap. He hates how the words sting. He knows Bakugou doesn't mean it kindly either. The name hooks under his skin, dragging all his insecurities to the surface.

Bakugou pauses just long enough to make it sound deliberate before adding, “It’s not like he’d enjoy it anyway. Bonfires are loud, crowded—too much for someone like him.”

Izuku pushes his rice around in his bowl, pretending to focus on it while his thoughts spiral.

Bakugou was right. Crowds aren’t his thing. Socializing exhausts him. He’s not the kind of person people look for at a party. He’s the guy they forget was even invited.

Plus it’s not like Bakugou wants him there.

That thought settles heavier in his chest than he expects, a strange mix of tension and something else he doesn’t want to name.

So why does it feel like backing out would be... disappointing him?

“I mean, it might be fun,” Ochako offers with a small smile, trying to keep the mood light. “Everyone’s going to be there, and the weather’s supposed to be really nice. ”

Izuku chuckles awkwardly, but his chest tightens. He glances at Bakugou again, just for a second. The other boy isn’t looking at him, still chewing intensely like the food insulted his family.

So he doesn’t care if I go or not. Why should I care what he thinks?

Bakugou chews for a second, then adds, a little too sharply, “Wouldn’t want him getting overwhelmed by all that fun.”

There’s something in the way Bakugou said it, dismissive, like Izuku wasn’t even part of the equation, that twists in his gut. Like he was being written off. Like he wasn’t brave enough. Like he was predictable.

He feels a slow, burning frustration start to rise in his chest, tightening his jaw.

Bakugou acts like he knows him. Like he knows Izuku is too scared to do anything unexpected.

His hand tightens around his chopsticks.

“I’ll go,” he blurts out.

The table quiets for a beat. Even Bakugou pauses, his chewing slowing just enough for Izuku to catch the flicker of surprise in his expression. It's subtle, barely there, but Izuku sees it.

And then it’s gone. Replaced by a scoff and a muttered, “Tch. Whatever.”

Izuku swallows hard, the initial adrenaline of his declaration wearing off quickly, replaced by a sudden wave of what did I just do?

He could still backpedal. Say he changed his mind. Blame homework, or his mom, or anything else.

But he doesn’t.

Instead, he straightens his spine and adds, “But... I’ll need a ride.”

Bakugou looks up at that. This time, he really looks—eyes sharp, mouth tugging into a smirk like he knows exactly what’s going on in Izuku’s head and finds it amusing.

"Don’t worry! I’ll totally swing by! How’s ten sound?" Mina grins, the reckless glint in her eyes sparking with excitement as she leans forward eagerly.

Ten o’clock is pushing it. Toshinori will definitely still be awake, but more importantly, his mom will probably be holed up in her room reading her newest book—still awake nonetheless. It’ll be a struggle, but he can manage. Probably.

"Okay," he agrees, albeit a little hesitantly.

"Yay!" Ochako screeches, nearly bouncing in her seat, and the table erupts in cheers.

Izuku catches Bakugou’s gaze from across the table—sharp and unwavering, like he’s sizing him up, dissecting his decision with those piercing red eyes. The intensity makes Izuku’s stomach twist.

Despite the lingering tension, the meal continues without further incident. The conversation around the table shifts from their impending night out to more mundane topics, like schoolwork and upcoming exams.

As the dishes are cleared away, Mina suggests they hit a few stores before heading home to get ready. Izuku can't help but feel Bakugou's gaze on him as he agrees, a silent reminder of the challenge he's accepted.

Izuku sits on a bench outside the bustling mall. The energy of the day hangs in the air, loud and brimming, even as the crowds begin to thin. He props his elbows on his thighs, phone in hand, quickly typing out a message to Toshinori for a ride.

The group had disbanded, each one making their way back to their individual cars with easy goodbyes and promises to meet again later.

All except for one.

He’s about to stand when Bakugou drops onto the bench, the weight of his presence solid and grounding next to Izuku. He doesn’t say anything, and Izuku hesitates, mouth opening slightly before he shuts it again. The silence between them stretches, more like a wire than a thread.

He hadn’t expected this—thought Bakugou would’ve been the first to leave, like last time. It’s uncharacteristic, this quiet. Izuku shifts his feet, tapping the tip of his shoe against the pavement in time with his heartbeat.

"You sure you want to go to the bonfire?" Bakugou asks after a beat, still staring off into the parking lot. His voice lacks its usual bite, quieter than before.

There’s something dangerously close to concern etched into his usually stoic features. The way his fingers tap idly against his knee suggests he’s debating saying more.

"Of course," Izuku brushes it off, leaning back slightly. "Why wouldn’t I?”

Bakugou exhales through his nose, arms crossing. “It’s not really your thing,”

At this Izuku frowns, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

"You'll just be in the way," Bakugou says, his voice low and dismissive.

Izuku's frown deepens, a flicker of defiance in his eyes. "You don't think I can handle it?"

"No I don’t," Bakugou shoots back, a hint of frustration creeping into his tone. "You don’t know what you’re getting into."

Izuku feels a spark of anger rise in his chest. “I don’t know why you think you know everything about me,” he counters, voice steady even as doubt gnaws at him. “But I can take care of myself.”

Bakugou’s gaze is intense, like he's trying to burn a hole through Izuku's resolve. "Really cause it doesn’t seem like it,"

The tension hangs between them, thick and almost suffocating. Izuku looks away first, jaw clenched tight. He can feel Bakugou's eyes on him, a mix of challenge and something else. He tries to shake off the uncertainty, tries to ignore the knot forming in his stomach.

"Don’t let them pressure you into shit you don’t want to do," he says firmly, his voice more grounded this time, like he needs Izuku to understand.

"I'm going," Izuku declares finally, meeting Bakugou's stare with determination. He needs this; he needs to prove something to himself as much as to Bakugou.

Bakugou exhales sharply, his fingers tapping against his arm like he wants to say something else. But instead, he mutters, “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

And then, just as abruptly as he spoke, Bakugou stands. His movements are decisive, purposeful, but there’s a flicker of something unreadable in his expression before he turns away.

He strides toward a dark blue truck parked a few feet away, his broad shoulders tense, his posture rigid. Izuku watches him go, left in the lingering heat of the conversation, his mind tumbling over the words, trying to piece together what Bakugou isn’t saying.

When Izuku’s ride finally arrives it isn’t Toshinori like he expected, it’s Inko. she pulls up to the curb, her car rolling to a smooth stop like clockwork. Her warm smile is a stark contrast to the growing weight in his chest.

“Sorry, hun! Toshi had an emergency at the office, so you’re stuck with me,” she says brightly, like it’s a treat. “So, how was it? Buy anything good?”

Izuku slides into the passenger seat, the familiar scent of his mom’s lavender car freshener filling his nose. He holds up the small shopping bag in his lap, revealing his modest haul—a single All Might comic book and a Plus Ultra keychain.

Inko glances over as she merges back onto the road, her eyes flicking to the bag before she lets out a knowing chuckle. “Classic Izuku,” she muses, shaking her head fondly. “You could go anywhere, and somehow, you’d still come back with more All Might merch.”

“It was a limited edition,” He forces a breath of laughter, tucking the bag by his feet like it might disappear under the weight of everything else pressing down on him.

Inko hums as she pulls onto the road, her fingers tapping the wheel like she’s already got a dozen thoughts running through her head. “Oh, by the way, since Toshi is working late and you’ve been out all day, we’re postponing the family dinner until tomorrow.”

Izuku blinks. “Really?”

She glances at him with an amused look, like she already knows what he’s thinking. “You must be relieved. No long, boring dinner dragging you away from your little hobbies.”

He doesn’t respond.

The car feels smaller. The air thinner.

The hum of the engine swallows the silence, soft and steady. The sun outside flickers past in golden streaks, the light stretching and breaking against the glass, but it doesn’t help the weight pressing against his ribs.

“Actually, Mom…” He hesitates, swallows back the feeling in his throat. “I’ve been invited to go out tonight.”

Silence.

The kind that’s more than just quiet. The kind that settles heavy, like the room before a storm. Inko’s hands tighten around the wheel, just barely. “What was that, sweetheart?”

Izuku shifts in his seat, keeping his voice as steady as possible. “Mina invited me to a bonfire. Just a small thing by the beach.”

The moment stretches too long. Then, a quiet sigh. Measured. Firm.

“No.”

Izuku knew it was coming. He should be used to it by now. But something about tonight makes it feel worse.

“Why?” His voice isn’t sharp. It’s just tired.

“Because it’s late,” Inko says, her tone clipped and unwavering. “I don’t know these people. And frankly, I don’t think this is like you, Izuku.”

His stomach twists. “What do you mean?”

She sighs again, this time deeper, like he’s already exhausting her. “You don’t go to things like this. It’s not your scene. It’s loud, reckless… those kids don’t care about you the way I do.”

There it is.

Izuku clenches his jaw, staring out the window.

“I just don’t want you making mistakes trying to impress people,” she continues, her voice soft, almost pitying. “You don’t need to pretend to be someone else just to fit in, sweetheart. You know that, right?”

His nails dig into his knee. That’s not what this is. But there’s no point in saying so. Because she’s already decided.

“I know,” he murmurs, because it’s what she wants to hear.

“Good.” Her hand brushes over his hair, gentle but claiming. “Are you upset?”

Izuku forces a smile. “No, It’s fine.”

She smiles, satisfied. Because she always wins.

But it’s not fine. Because she doesn’t see him as someone who can make his own choices. She sees him as fragile, as something that belongs to her, something she can keep exactly where she wants.

The car pulls into the driveway, and before she can say anything else, Izuku is already reaching for the door handle, stepping out into the cool night air. It should be refreshing. It should help.

It doesn’t.

He should let it go. Should stay home. Should be the good, obedient son she expects. But something about tonight feels different. Something inside him is screaming that if he doesn’t break free now, he never will.

Chapter Text

The house is quiet. Too quiet, the kind of silence that hums in your ears, heavy and sharp, like it’s waiting for something to break.

It had been hours since Izuku shut himself in his room, he lays on his back, staring at the ceiling, unmoving. He couldn’t eat. Couldn’t sleep. His mom’s words echo in his head, dull and weighty.

“You don’t go to things like this. It’s not your scene.”

But he did, didn’t he? He needed to prove it to himself. To prove that he was more than just some fragile kid who couldn’t make his own choices. His fingers curled against the sheets, frustration thrumming beneath his skin like an unrelenting pulse.

He had told her it was fine, that he wasn’t upset. But if it really was fine, then why was he still awake? Why did he feel like his skin was too tight, like the walls of his own house were closing in, suffocating him?

His phone buzzes, breaking through the thick silence. He reaches for it, eyes scanning the screen.

MINA<3 | 9:47 PM |

[OMG! I totally forgot I had told them I was going to help set up! IM SO SO SORRY!!! Is there any way you'll be able to find another way here? 😭😭😭]

Izuku stares at the message. His stomach drops, not in disappointment, but something sharper, something that twisted in his gut like a knife. Mina wasn’t coming. His ride was gone.

His fingers hover over the keyboard. ‘It’s fine, don’t worry about it, maybe next time.’ The message sat there, unsent. Waiting. Beckoning him back into his usual rhythm. Back into the safe little box he always stayed in.

He looked at it.

And he hated it.

That message was a lie. And it was the lie he was always telling — to his mom, to Bakugou, to himself. That he was fine. That he didn’t care. That staying home was a choice, not a cage.

The image of the bonfire flashes in his mind, glowing light on laughing faces, crackling heat, the smell of smoke and wood and freedom. He could picture them all out there, easy and alive in a way he didn’t always feel.

His pulse beats hard in his throat. A different kind of energy now, not anxiety, not quite. Something electric. Restless. Undeniable.

He stares at the message. His thumb hovering over the screen.

And slowly, deliberately, he backspaces. Letter by letter, until the screen was blank.

Then, with a sudden, sharp inhale that filled his chest, he rose to his feet, determination etched across his face.

The floor is cold beneath him as he moves across his room, his heart hammering in his ears. Each breath feels too loud, each movement sharp against the quiet.

He grabs his worn-down hoodie, pulling the hood over his head as if it could shield him from the weight pressing against his ribs. His fingers tremble slightly as he slips on his sneakers, tying the laces with more force than necessary.

He reaches his bedroom window and hesitates.

He should check if Toshinori is back. He should listen for any signs that his mom is still awake.

He should turn around, crawl back into bed, and forget this reckless idea ever crossed his mind.

But then a single thought creeps in, unshakable, insidious.

They didn't think he could take care of himself.

And that does it.

A sharp exhale escapes through his nose. His grip tightens on the window frame as he steels himself. His chest burns with something unspoken, something too big to name. Without another second of hesitation, he unlocks the window and pushes it open.

The night air is warm against his cool skin as he slips out the window, his fingers gripping the sill tightly. This time, he makes sure to leave it slightly open.

His feet shift carefully against the shingles, testing for stability. Once he’s sure of his footing, he lunges forward, hands catching the low-hanging branch with ease. The branch wobbles under his weight, but he doesn’t hesitate, quickly maneuvering toward the sturdier trunk of the tree. The rough bark scrapes against his palms as he steadies himself, his breath coming quick but controlled.

Pausing for just a moment, Izuku leans slightly to the left, angling his body carefully to get a clear view of Toshinori’s home office. The window is dark. Either Toshinori is in another part of the house, or he hasn’t come home yet. A sigh of relief escapes him. That’s one less thing to worry about.

Bracing himself, he resumes his descent, every movement calculated as he makes his way down to solid ground. He sneaks his way past the lower level windows sneaking toward the street before breaking into a dead sprint in an attempt to get as much distance between himself and his family home.

Although sneaking out had gone smoother than his first attempt, Izuku knew he wasn’t out of the woods yet. Every sound makes his heart lurch. His breath comes quick and shallow, as he glances over his shoulder for the fifth time, paranoia gnawing at his senses.

The shadows stretch unnaturally in the dim glow of the streetlights, and for a moment, he’s convinced that someone is lurking just beyond his vision, waiting to grab him, drag him back home, and tell him he was never meant to leave.

But step by step, block by block, the fear begins to wane.

His hurried strides slow to a brisk walk, his pulse still thrumming but no longer frantic. The tension in his shoulders eases just slightly as he lifts his head, taking in the quiet beauty of the town at night. The street lamps cast pools of golden light onto the pavement, their soft glow flickering ever so slightly.

Izuku exhales, his chest loosening. For the first time all day, maybe for the first time in weeks, he feels free. The weight that had been pressing against him, the invisible chains of expectation and restriction, suddenly seem lighter.

He straightens his spine, breathing in deeper, as if he could pull the night air into his very soul. The cool wind brushes against his cheeks, ruffling his hair, and he closes his eyes for a brief moment, letting himself savor it.

The distant hum of passing cars, the soft glow of neon signs in shop windows, the rhythmic tapping of his own footsteps on the pavement, it all feels like something new, something waiting to be explored. No one is watching him. No one is telling him where to be or what to do.

For once, his choices are entirely his own.

Izuku hears the thumping bass of music before he even sees the bonfire, the deep rhythm vibrating through the sand beneath his feet. Laughter echoes through the night, mingling with the sound of crashing waves. As he walks closer, the scene unfolds before him.

The fire, roaring and alive, sparks crackle and rise into the air, disappearing into the vast darkness above. The heat reaches him even from a distance, wrapping around him in a heady mix of warmth. There’s something wild about it, something untamed, and it coils around him like a phantom embrace.

To the left, a jagged rocky cliff rises above the sand, it's dark silhouette sharp against the night sky. The cliffside looms, rugged and uneven, a natural barrier between the beach and whatever lay beyond.

People have already started drinking. He can tell by the way they move. Stumbling, swaying, pressing against each other with breathless laughter. They shriek as they push each other into the waves, clothes soaked, without a care in the slightest. The energy is chaotic, reckless, intoxicating in a way that has nothing to do with alcohol. It is pure, unfiltered freedom.

The people, the fire, the drinks, the boundless, untamed energy. It was so different from what he knew. It was loud, unrestrained, exhilarating.

Izuku hovers on the outer edge, hesitant. Without Ochako by his side, nudging him forward with her unwavering enthusiasm, he suddenly feels so… out of place.

And then, like a slap to the face, the realization hits him.

For a moment, he let himself believe he belongs here. The fire is warm, the laughter is contagious, and for once, his thoughts aren’t pulling him in a thousand different directions. But then—he catches himself. And the illusion shatters.

This wasn’t his world. It never had been.

And yet… that’s why he was here, wasn’t it?

To taste a little bit of that freedom.

He inhales, steadying himself, then takes a step forward. Then another. The warmth of the fire grows stronger, the sounds sharper.

And that’s when he hears her.

"Izuku!"

He barely has time to register the voice before a blur of pink hurtles into him.

He stumbles, nearly losing his footing as Mina barrels into his side, throwing her arms around him like she hadn’t just seen him earlier that day. Her grip is tight, solid, grounding him in the moment.

"Holy shit, did you walk here?!" she screeches, eyes wide as she grabs his shoulders like she’s about to shake the answer out of him.

Izuku, still reeling from the sheer force of her, blinks at her in confusion. "Uh—yeah?"

Mina gasps, loud and dramatic. "Babe, that's so sad!" she wails, clutching her chest like he just confessed to a tragic backstory.

Then, without missing a beat, she spins toward the fire. "Ei! We gotta get this boy a car!"

Somewhere across the flames, Kirishima’s voice carries back, laughing, "I'm not rich, Mina!"

Izuku’s lips twitch, and before he can stop himself, a small, unexpected laugh escapes. The tension coiled in his chest loosens, just a little.

Mina beams at him, and without warning, grabs his hand. He barely has time to steady himself before she’s pulling him through the crowd, her energy infectious, impossible to resist.

They weave past clusters of people sprawled across the sand, perched on coolers and logs, laughter spilling into the air, the smell of smoke and salt swirling around them. The bass thumps wildly, and Izuku feels it in his chest, in his throat.

When they finally reach the fringes of the cliffs, Mina releases him. She plops down on a beach towel nestled between the towering rocks and the roaring fire. Izuku sits beside her, catching his breath. His pulse races louder than the music.

The cliffs loom high above them, their jagged edges casting long, uneven shadows that dance in the flickering light. In front of them, Kaminari and Kirishima are already deep in conversation, their laughter bright against the night.

“Midoriya!” Kirishima shouts, his voice booming with camaraderie. His red hair is wild in the wind as he high-fives Izuku with an enthusiastic force that nearly topples him.

“Dude, what’s up?” Kaminari grins, trailing behind. “Heard your ride bailed on you.”

Mina lets out a loud sigh and throws him a look. “I said I was sorry, okay?” she mutters, folding her arms. “Can we not keep bringing it up?”

“I’m just glad you made it,” Kirishima says, chuckling—then shoots Mina a mock glare. “Even if your so-called ‘ride’ totally left you stranded.”

“Oh my God—enough already!” Mina groans, flailing her arms. “I’m a terrible friend, I get it!”

Kirishima and Kaminari crack up. With a big grin, Kirishima throws an arm around her. “C’mon, you know I’m just messing with you.”

Mina pouts, crossing her arms again in mock offense. “Mm-hmm.”

She turns casually, reaching into the cooler beside her. “Well, since I’m such a horrible friend…” she pulls out a sleek bottle of vodka. The glass glints under the firelight, catching Izuku's attention like a beacon. “...guess I’ll just drink this all by myself.”

“Oh shit, we’re getting fucked tonight!” Kaminari exclaimed, his fingers eagerly stretching toward the glistening bottle of clear liquid.

“Uh-uh,” Mina interjected, swiftly snatching the bottle just out of his reach. Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she held it aloft. “Not until you apologize.”

“Aww, what?” Kaminari whined, his shoulders slumping in exaggerated defeat. “Come on, it’s not that big of a deal, is it?”

“Oh, it is!” Mina’s smile widened, her eyes dancing with ecstatic energy, “Grovel, bitch!”

Kaminari dramatically dropped to his knees, bowing low toward Mina with theatrical flair. “I’m so sorry, your majesty. Please forgive me and let me drink!” he pleaded, his voice dripping with playful desperation.

The group erupted into laughter, their voices echoing through the night. "Alright, alright," Mina said with a playful grin, noticing that Kaminari wouldn’t budge until he was assured of the vodka's presence. "You earned it."

Kaminari quickly straightened up, excitement flashing in his eyes as he deftly grabbed the bottle from her hands. With a practiced flick of his wrist, he popped the bottle open and sent the cap sailing through the air. It arced gracefully before landing in the fire with a satisfying sizzle and pop, sending a shower of sparks twinkling into the starry night.

He takes a hefty swig, his nose scrunching up for only a second before he exhales and grins.

“Your turn, Midoriya,” he says, thrusting the bottle toward him.

Izuku hesitates for just a moment as he watches the clear liquid slosh around inside the cup. The scent is sharp and unfamiliar; it sends a jolt of nervousness through him and he hesitates, "Never had it before."

Kaminari gasps, clutching his chest dramatically. "You’ve never had vodka?!" He leans in with a teasing glint in his eyes. "Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

Mina swipes the bottle taking a swig of it herself before pouring a generous splash into one of the red solo cups scattered around them. The liquid swirls like liquid ice against the plastic. “Come on Izu, it’s not a bonfire without drinks!”

He stares at it for a moment that lasts too long. A weighty second where everything that got him here hangs suspended: proving something to himself versus proving others wrong; not being fragile versus making choices that were maybe foolish after all.

“Just one sip,” Mina insists playfully, handing him the cup with an encouraging smile that makes his heart race faster than before. "You’ll love it! Trust me!"

He almost doesn’t take it. Almost doesn’t let himself outside that safe little box tonight either.

And then, Izuku grips the cup with trepidation masked poorly as determination.

He hesitates for only a second before nodding. “Yeah, okay.”

Izuku steels himself and raises the bottle to his lips, tipping it back for a sip. The moment the vodka hits his tongue, his entire body jolts as the harsh burn spreads through his throat and down to his stomach. His eyes widen, his nose wrinkles, and before he can stop himself, he’s coughing into his sleeve, fanning his mouth as if that will somehow lessen the sting.

"Holy crap," he coughs, blinking rapidly. "That’s aggressive."

Mina bursts into laughter, clapping him on the back. “Oh my god, your face! That was amazing.”

He wheezes, swallowing hard as his throat continues to burn. “It tastes like paint thinner,” he manages, staring at the bottle like it just betrayed him.

“You look like your soul just left your body!” Kaminari cackles.

Kirishima chuckles, elbows Izuku’s arm. "You’ll get used to it, bro. The first one’s always rough."

"Says the guy who threw up after his first shot," Denki reminds him.

"That was, like, two years ago!" Kirishima defends.

Denki snorts. "Still counts."

Izuku, still recovering, shakes his head with a quiet laugh. He’d expected the bonfire to feel alien, intimidating, but here, with them, it’s almost... easy.

Kaminari, still giggling, takes the bottle back and holds it up. “Don’t worry, we’ll ease you in.” He winks before throwing the bottle back, taking two big gulps.

Izuku watches him in awe, half-impressed, half-horrified, before laughing softly, letting the warmth of the fire and the energy of the night settle over him. Maybe he could get used to this. Eventually.

Kirishima grabs the bottle, and takes a swig like it’s nothing, then nudges Izuku with his elbow. "Wanna try again, or are you gonna wimp out?"

Izuku exhales, rolling his shoulders as if preparing for battle. "I’m not tapping out," he says, determination lighting up his eyes.

Mina grins, swiping the bottle from Kirishima and pours it into Izuku’s cup, "That’s the spirit. Welcome to the dark side.”

Izuku raises the bottle and takes a sip.The vodka still burns on the way down, sharp and fiery, but less than before. Or maybe, maybe he just cares less.

“Oh dude,” Kaminari pushes Kirishima to get his attention “look who decided to show up!”

“Is that Bakugou?” Kirishima cranes his neck to see past the bonfire.

Izuku follows their gaze, and sees a familiar blonde head ducking out of a truck. It feels like he’s holding his breath underwater, waiting for the current to subside. He releases it, deciding to let whatever happens next wash over him without thinking too hard about it.

Bakugou’s eyes meet Izuku’s, an electric moment that sparks and fizzles as Kaminari bounces on his feet, waving enthusiastically. Izuku notes the rigidness in Bakugou’s stance, the way his shoulders hunch forward like there is too much to carry all at once.

“What’s up with him?” Izuku asks, distractedly scratching at his cheek with a knuckle.

“I dunno,” Kirishima frowns. “I'll go find out.” With determined strides, he heads toward Bakugou, who is now making a hasty retreat to the other side of the beach.

Kaminari slumps down onto the sand next to Izuku. “Dude, what was that about?”

Izuku watches Kirishima's silhouette grow smaller in pursuit; it looks almost cartoonish against the backdrop of headlights and palm shadows.

Taking a sip from his cup to redirect his attention, he tries to let the warm fuzz of alcohol distract him from thinking too much about what just happened, but it doesn’t help their earlier conversation replaying in his mind.

It was clear Bakugou didn’t want him here. It was fine. It should've been fine. but it hurt something deep in Izuku’s chest.

The fire crackles beside them as Mina flops down across from Izuku. She tucks her hair behind her ear and leans forward, peering at him through the glow of flames and curiosity. “Deep in thought over there?”

“Yeah, man,” Kaminari grins as if on cue. “You look like you’re trying to solve an equation.”

Izuku laughs softly despite himself, rubbing the back of his neck where nerves gather like static cling. “Just—trying to keep up.”

“With Bakugou?” Mina cocks her head sideways in playful suspicion.

Izuku hesitates, then takes another sip for courage before speaking again: “With everything.”

She shrugs sympathetically and raises her own drink in mock toast. “You’ll get there.” Her smile is big enough to swallow the world whole or make you think you could do it together. “Come on let’s dance,”

Mina reaches over grabbing Izuku's wrist and pulls him to his feet. He resists at first, feet planted stubbornly in the sand. “Mina—”

Izuku opens his mouth to decline when a rush of dizziness nearly knocks him over, but Mina is quick and strong and doesn't take no for an answer. Her hand is firm around his wrist, guiding him through the sand and closer to the pulsing music. His heartbeat keeps time with each heavy bass drop, vibrating through his body, making everything feel distant and brightly colored.

She spins him once and he nearly trips, laughing at himself as he stumbles forward. M83’s Midnight City starts and Izuku gives into it, letting himself sway clumsily while Mina dances circles around him. She twirls close, arms open wide like she could catch the entire sky if she just tried hard enough. He doesn’t notice that he’s smiling until his cheeks ache.

Everything is softer. Easier. Like nothing matters quite as much as it did an hour ago.

He gets why people do this. It’s like hitting pause on the part of your brain that won’t shut up. The part that overthinks, that worries, that carries too much.

He likes it.

He shouldn’t. But he does.

For the first time in a long while, he’s not overthinking. He’s not worrying about what comes next, or what anyone expects of him. He’s just here. Existing.

But something about it feels temporary. Like the moment could slip through his fingers if he thought about it too hard.

And something just feels off.

It starts as a whisper of unease, a slow creep of awareness trickling down his spine, pooling in his gut.

Izuku frowns slightly, blinking against the firelight as he shifts his gaze across the crowd. People are lost in their own worlds, drinking and talking. Everything seems normal, but the feeling doesn’t fade. His gaze drifts past the fire, beyond the reach of its glow, to the outskirts of the bonfire’s light.

And there, perched on top of a cooler, beer in hand, is Katsuki Bakugou.

Watching him.

Bakugou sits rigidly apart from everyone else, his expression dark against the flickering orange light. The shadows cast by the flames seem to drag at his features, painting his expression in dark and brooding lines.

Izuku can't tear his gaze away. Something about the way Bakugou stares back is sharp, intense, daring Izuku to react. He feels the weight of that stare pressing like heat against his skin, almost making him shiver despite the bonfire's warmth.

His mind races, caught between giving Bakugou the attention he seems to demand and losing himself in the night's chaotic energy. There’s a pull in his chest, conflicting and confusing, that he can’t quite untangle. Maybe he doesn't want to.

Bakugou shifts slightly, his feet pressing into the sand, and for a split second, Izuku thinks he’s going to stand, going to walk toward him. His breath catches, anticipation tightening around his ribs.

But he doesn’t.

Bakugou’s jaw tightens for just a moment before he exhales sharply, turning his gaze toward the ocean. Like it holds an answer he can’t quite reach. The moonlight glints off his sharp features, casting shadows beneath his eyes, and Izuku feels something strange settle in his chest, something almost like recognition.

Something familiar etches itself into the back of Izuku’s brain.

Before he can process, Kaminari plows into them with a joyful whoop, breathless and unbalanced as they all fall into a tangled, laughing heap.

“Atta boy, Midoriya!” Kaminari grins lazily, an arm slung over Izuku's shoulders as they dance in a loose circle. "Finally letting loose!" The world spins around them in a blur of heat and sound as Kaminari’s laughter joins the music.

Izuku's head swims with warmth and he loses himself to this moment where everything is loud and alive and perfect; no mothers waiting worriedly at home, no memories rising like smoke.

A wild shout from Kirishima pulls a fresh wave of energy into the crowd. Someone passes Izuku another drink; he takes it without thinking and spirits it away in one long swallow before letting it fall back to earth beside him. Mina catches his hand again - together they leap effortlessly back into motion.

As hours bleed into each other like the flames licking through the night sky above them, Izuku feels strangely weightless; like maybe if he danced far enough or fast enough nothing would ever find its way close enough to hurt anymore.

Suddenly, a tall figure crashes hard against Izuku’s back. The stench of alcohol smothers him as a brown-haired man spills his drink, sticky and cold, down the side of Izuku's hoodie. Izuku blinks, the spell of his drunkenness cracked like glass. He expects an apology, but the man just sways unsteadily, eyes narrowed and mean.

“Watch where the fuck you’re going!” he slurs, loud enough to slice through the music and chatter.

“I— I’m sorry—” Izuku starts, but it comes out in pieces. Kirishima leaps in between them, hands raised in a gesture of peace.

“Hey, man! Chill out, okay?” Kirishima tries to mediate, voice upbeat despite the tension, but the guy shoves past him, intent on getting in Izuku's face.

“Don’t fucking ignore me!” The man's words are slurred and venomous. Before he can reach Izuku, Bakugou is there, stepping between them like a shield.

“Is there a fucking problem here?” Bakugou's voice is as sharp and dangerous as broken glass. The entire bonfire seems to hold its breath, everything going silent except for the hiss and crackle of burning wood.

The man falters for a second before his glare locks on Izuku again. “Yeah,” he spits. “Your fucking mutt shouldn’t be here.” His words hang heavy in the air.

Izuku feels them physically; they send his thoughts spiraling into dark corners of memory and doubt. The man is right. Izuku had tried all night to forget it but the truth was being spat in his face. He was so far out of his comfort zone, this wasn’t his place, he didn’t belong here no matter how hard he tried. His mom was right, Bakugou was right.

Izuku's chest rose and fell rapidly as he struggled to steady his breathing. His heart pounded against his ribcage like a drum, each beat echoing in his ears.

“The hell did you just say?” Bakugou’s voice is barely controlled lightning. Izuku can see the small tremors in his muscles, his fists clenching at his sides.

The man squares up as best he can in his drunken state. “you heard me fucker!” His words hit like rocks flung from careless hands.

As Bakugou lunges forward, his eyes blazing with fury, Izuku's insides twist into a tight, knotted ball of anxiety. The air crackles with tension as Bakugou's fists clench, his movements charged with a barely restrained aggression.

Kirishima rushes into action, his eyes wide with urgency, and throws himself between them, his hands outstretched in an attempt to hold back Bakugou's impending storm.

The guy stumbles backward, his eyes widening in surprise. Then he crossed his arms over his chest and let out a derisive snort, “Fuck this I’m out of here.”

The group watches in tense silence as the guy walks away.

Kirishima turns his attention to Izuku.

“Dude, are you okay?” he asks, but Izuku is dazed, he barely registers his surroundings, only able to focus on Bakugou’s retreating form.

All his thoughts about not belonging rush back like a tidal wave, crashing over him brutally and without warning. The man’s words loop wildly inside his head, bouncing off the sides of his skull until they bleed into a jarring chorus with Bakugou’s voice and his mother’s anxious warnings.

Mina latches onto his arm, her voice soft with concern. “Hey, you good?” Her eyes search his, trying to reach him through the fog that’s thickening around him.

Izuku swallows hard, blinking slowly. The words cling to him, heavy and wet: shouldn’t be here. They echo like the beat of a drum that won’t go quiet.

“He’s just drunk,” Kaminari says quickly, leaning in closer. “Don’t let that asshole get to you.”

“Yeah,” Izuku nods faintly, but it doesn’t feel like agreement. It feels like defeat. He hugs his arms, pulling into himself as if it would take less space that way.

“Screw that guy! You’re here now so let’s have fun!” Kirishima punches the air with determined enthusiasm, breaking through the awkward hush. He passes Izuku a fresh cup and grins wide enough to fracture the tension hanging over them.

Izuku takes the drink hesitantly. His fingers tremble as he raises it to his lips, it tastes sharp against everything swimming inside him, but then he lowers it without drinking more than a sip.

He forces a smile because they’re trying so hard but nothing fits right anymore; even smiles feel like borrowed clothes on someone else’s hangers.

“You need a coat or something?” Mina offers gently when she sees he’s soaked in alcohol.
“No,” Izuku shakes his head. “Just—need a minute.” He stands abruptly and sways before steadying himself against Mina’s shoulder.

Kirishima frowns in concern but nods understandingly when Izuku turns towards the ocean instead of deeper into their circle of laughter and light.

The rising tide beckons quieter now, only whispers compared to earlier crashes, and it calls out with promises no party could drown out tonight.

Izuku walks over to the outskirts of the beach, where the shoreline stretches into quiet solitude. The further he moves from the flickering bonfire, the darker it becomes, shadows swallowing the golden glow until only the cool blue light of the full moon remains, casting silver streaks across the rolling waves.

The rhythmic crash of the ocean against the shore is steady, soothing, yet the night air hums with a quiet intensity. His breath evens out as he lets the vastness of the ocean pull him away from the whirlwind of emotions tightening in his chest.

He crouches down to untie his sneakers. His fingers tremble slightly, maybe from the leftover adrenaline, maybe from something deeper, something he’s not ready to name.

He slips off his socks, stuffing them into his shoes before rolling up his pant legs. The night air is warm against his skin, but the second his feet sink into the cool, wet sand, a shiver runs up his spine. He takes a hesitant step forward, then another, until the waves rush up to greet him, swirling around his ankles with a teasing, icy touch.

The contrast between the warmth of the night and the chill of the ocean makes him shudder, but it’s grounding. It pulls him out of his own head, even if only for a moment.

The ocean has always been something vast, something untouchable. A force of nature, just like the emotions Izuku keeps trying to hold back. He watches the moonlight shimmer across the rippling water, his mind clouded with everything and nothing all at once. His thoughts are a tangled mess, but out here, away from the noise, he can almost hear himself think.

Then—footsteps.

Izuku doesn’t turn around.

He doesn’t know if it’s because he’s too tired, too overwhelmed, or because a small part of him is afraid of who he might see standing there.

That fear becomes reality when, out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of blonde hair.

Bakugou doesn’t speak immediately, but Izuku doesn’t need to turn to confirm it’s him. He doesn’t want to risk catching those unreadable red eyes again. There’s a weight in the air, something heavy and unspoken, stretching between them like an invisible thread.

A scoff breaks the silence, sharp and unmistakable.

“What are you doing out here, nerd?”

There’s a shift in the sand, and Izuku realizes Bakugou must have taken his shoes off as well. The water laps around their feet, cool and grounding, as Bakugou steps forward to stand beside him.

Izuku exhales, shoulders slumping slightly. “I just needed to get away for a minute.”

Bakugou doesn’t hesitate. “From the bonfire, or from your house?”

Izuku stills.

The question hangs between them, heavier than the salt in the air.

Slowly, he turns his head, finally allowing himself to take in Bakugou fully.

He’s tense. Jaw locked, back rigid, hands shoved into his pockets. He’s not looking at Izuku, He’s staring out at the dark abyss of the ocean, waves rolling endlessly into the night. but his brows are drawn tight, his expression hard, frustrated, maybe, but not angry.

No, it’s something else. Maybe something closer to concern.

And for some reason, that’s even harder to face.

“Both,” Izuku finally musters up the nerve to respond, his voice quieter than he intends. He turns his attention back to the moon, its soft glow reflecting off the restless waves. He doesn’t know why he answered honestly. Maybe because the night feels too big to lie.

Bakugou scoffs, shifting his weight in the sand. “You should go home.”

Izuku’s head snaps toward him so fast that dizziness rushes through him, making him sway slightly. He plants his feet firmly in the wet sand to steady himself. Go home? Seriously? Like he’s some helpless kid who wandered too far from the porch light?

“Excuse me?” His voice comes out sharper than he intended, but he doesn’t care.

Bakugou finally looks at him then, and there’s something unreadable in his eyes. “You don’t need to be out here,” he says, the usual sharpness in his tone dulled, like he’s forcing himself to say the words.

“And who are you to tell me that?” Izuku narrows his eyes. His voice is steady, but there’s a fire beneath it. Izuku searches his face, irritation prickling at the back of his neck. He can feel it licking at the edges of his restraint, daring him to push back.

Bakugou exhales sharply through his nose. He steps closer, the air between them charged, “You think this place is for you? Just ‘cause you snuck out twice doesn’t mean you’re one of us.”

Izuku clenches his jaw. One of us. He hates the way Bakugou says it, like there’s some invisible line he’s too soft, too sheltered, too naive to cross. Like he’ll always be the outsider looking in.

He gets enough babying from his mother, he doesn’t need it from some guy who thinks he knows him better than he knows himself. His fingers curl into fists at his sides. And now yet another person is standing here, telling him he doesn’t belong?

“I don’t need your approval.” He glares up at Bakugou, refusing to shrink back.

The words hang between them, tension thick enough to drown in. Izuku’s breath catches in his throat as he waits for Bakugou to throw another jab, to say something cutting, but Bakugou only exhales sharply, like he’s making a decision.

Finally, Bakugou breaks the silence. “C’mon. I’m taking you home.”

Izuku frowns, his head tilting slightly. “What? Why?” His words don’t slur, but there’s a slight delay, like his brain and mouth aren’t entirely in sync. He ignores it.

Bakugou gives him a flat, unimpressed look, like the answer should be obvious. “Because everyone, including you, is drunk off their ass, and there’s no way I’m letting you walk home.”

Izuku scowls, an immediate protest bubbling up in his chest. He doesn’t need an escort. He’s not a damn child. Sure, the buzz in his veins is warm and a little heavy, but that doesn’t mean he’s incapable.

His brows pinch together as he shifts his weight in the sand, assessing himself. Yeah, his limbs are a little loose, and the air feels thicker than usual, but he’s fine.

“I’m not that drunk,” Izuku says stubbornly, straightening his posture as if that alone will prove his point.

Bakugou’s expression doesn’t change. If anything, his eyes darken, his jaw tightening. Izuku knows that look.

“You’re drunk,” Bakugou says again, this time with an edge of finality, like there’s no room for argument.

Izuku’s pulse spikes. There it is again. The assumption. The condescension.

“I am not!” Izuku snaps, irritation flaring instantly. Why does everyone assume he can’t handle himself?

Bakugou raises a brow, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s about to call Izuku out on his obvious lie. But then, his expression shifts. His weight shifts. And before Izuku can react, Bakugou moves.

It’s barely a push. Barely more than a tap.

And yet, Izuku’s body betrays him. His footing slips against the wet sand, the world tilting abruptly. His breath catches in his throat as gravity yanks him down, and before he can even throw his arms out to catch himself—

Cold water crashes over him.

It steals the breath from his lungs, shocks every nerve in his body. The moment he hits the surf, everything else, the haze of alcohol, the heat of the bonfire, the dizziness humming in his skull, disappears. His mind goes blank, the world narrowing down to the sharp sting of saltwater and the chill sinking into his clothes.

He resurfaces with a sputter, blinking rapidly, spitting out seawater and sheer indignation. His palms press into the soaked sand as he pushes himself up, water dripping from his hair, his hoodie clinging uncomfortably to his skin.

“What the heck?!” he chokes out, shaking water from his face.

Laughter, loud, unabashed, and way too smug, cuts through the night air.

Bakugou isn’t just smirking. He’s full-on laughing now, shoulders shaking as his hands rest on his hips. The sound is raw, genuine, and so incredibly irritating.

“Yeah, sure,” Bakugou wheezes between chuckles. “Totally sober.”

Izuku’s face burns hotter than the bonfire behind them, but it’s not embarrassment that fuels it, it’s frustration. His fingers dig into the damp sand as he glares up at Bakugou. His clothes are completely drenched, his shoes sloshing with gritty seawater, and whatever shred of dignity he had left? Gone. Utterly destroyed.

Bakugou crouches down, his grin still plastered across his face. “So? You done being a pain in my ass now, or do I have to drag you to the car?”

Izuku’s jaw tightens. He wants to hit him. He wants to wipe that stupid smirk off his face. But more than anything, he just wants Bakugou to stop treating him like some fragile, helpless idiot.

The words spill out before he can stop them, sharp and biting, “Why do you even care?”

For a second, just a second, Bakugou’s smirk falters. His expression flickers, something unreadable passing through his crimson eyes. His mouth opens, like he wants to say something.

But then he clicks his tongue and stands up.

“Tch. Let’s go, dumbass,” he mutters, not looking at Izuku. “Before you drown yourself.”

Izuku scowls, the stubborn fire in his chest refusing to die down. He wants to argue. Wants to tell Bakugou he’s fine, that he doesn’t need help, that he’s not some reckless idiot who needs to be babysat.

But instead, he exhales sharply and pushes himself to his feet, water dripping from his sleeves. He doesn’t resist when Bakugou grabs his wrist and tugs him toward the dark green truck parked by the curb. Picking up both their shoes as they pass.

The moment Izuku drops into the passenger seat, everything crashes down on him.

The night air still clings to his skin, damp and cool, but the warmth of the truck’s interior wraps around him, making his exhaustion hit all at once. His limbs feel heavy, his body sinking into the seat like it’s finally allowed to rest. The saltwater on his clothes is starting to dry, leaving his hoodie uncomfortably stiff. He shivers slightly, rubbing his arms.

He should be mad. Furious, even. But the fight has been drained out of him, pulled away by the tide, leaving only an odd, quiet emptiness in its place.

Izuku takes a slow look around the truck, his fingers absently running over the seat beneath him. It’s a complete contrast to the orange one Bakugou had taken to the races.

The seats are torn in places, the leather cracked and peeling, revealing the foam beneath. The steering wheel is wrapped in faded, fraying tape, like Bakugou had tried to fix it at some point but never bothered to do it properly.

There are stains on the seats, dark patches of unknown origin, and crumbs scattered across the floor. An empty water bottle rolls under the seat when Izuku shifts his foot, knocking against something hard, probably another abandoned piece of trash.

It smells like burnt rubber and faint traces of smoke, like explosions that never quite leave. And underneath that, something unmistakably Bakugou.

Izuku exhales, a small, amused huff escaping before he can stop it.

It’s not what Izuku anticipated, but somehow, it fits perfectly.

Bakugou doesn’t start the car right away. He just sits there, fingers gripping the wheel so tightly his knuckles go pale. His gaze is locked on the windshield, unmoving. The streetlights outside cast shifting shadows across his face, making his expression hard to read.

The silence stretches, thick and suffocating. Izuku doesn’t know what he’s waiting for. Some kind of scolding, another jab, anything to pull him out of this strange haze. But when Bakugou finally speaks, his voice is low and unreadable.

“Seatbelt, dumbass.”

The words pull Izuku out of his thoughts like a snap of a rubber band. He exhales sharply, reaching for the belt with sluggish hands.

“You don’t have to drive me home, you know,” he mutters, fastening the buckle with a quiet click.

Bakugou still doesn’t look at him. “Like hell I’m letting you walk.” His voice is rough, edged with frustration. “Didn’t we already have this conversation?”

Izuku opens his mouth to argue, but the look in Bakugou’s eyes makes him hesitate. There’s something simmering there, not just irritation, but something heavier, something raw.

Bakugou exhales sharply, drumming his fingers impatiently against the wheel. “Now tell me where the fuck you live.”

Izuku sighs, giving him the address. Bakugou nods once, then finally starts the engine, pulling out of the parking lot with a smooth turn.

The drive is quiet at first, the only sounds coming from the hum of the engine and the occasional rush of cars passing by. The city stretches out around them, neon signs and street lights flickering against the dark sky. Izuku watches as the glow of the world blurs past his window, the movement oddly hypnotic.

But this silence… It's different than before. It’s not thick with tension, not suffocating. It lingers in the space between them, unspoken, but not unbearable.

Then, Bakugou breaks it.
“Why didn’t you just tell me to fuck off back there?”

The question shoots through Izuku like an electric shock.

“What?” He turns his head, blinking.

Bakugou doesn’t spare him a glance, eyes fixed on the road. “At the beach. You could’ve told me to fuck off. But you didn’t.”

Izuku stares at him, caught completely off guard. He doesn’t know how to answer.

Because the truth is, he doesn’t know.

He could have. He should have. But something had stopped him. Something in the way Bakugou had looked at him, something in the way his words had lingered in the air like an unfinished thought.

Izuku swallows, turning back toward the window. Instead of answering, he leans his head against the glass, letting the cold seep into his skin. His leg bounces restlessly, the only outlet for the unease curling in his chest.

Bakugou doesn’t press him for an answer.

And for some reason, that makes it even harder to ignore the question.

“I don’t know,” Izuku finally mutters, voice subdued as he stares out the windshield. His fingers twitch against the damp fabric of his hoodie, tracing absent patterns over the drying salt crusted into the material. “I’m not that kind of person, I guess.”

Bakugou scoffs, shifting in his seat. “Well, maybe you should be.”

Izuku’s brows furrow, the irritation from their earlier conversation bubbling back up. His exhaustion makes it harder to keep it at bay this time. Turning to glare at Bakugou he mutters, “I’m not helpless,”

The words hang heavy between them.

Bakugou’s grip tightens on the steering wheel, the leather creaking under his fingers. His shoulders go rigid, his whole body tensing like he’s fighting the instinct to argue.

But he doesn’t snap. He doesn’t throw back another scathing remark or tell Izuku he’s being stupid. He just presses his lips into a thin line and keeps his focus on the road ahead.

The car slows as they approach Izuku’s street. The glow of streetlights washes over them in soft waves, illuminating the quiet rows of houses lining the road.

“Stop a few houses down,” Izuku murmurs, breaking the silence.

Bakugou raises a brow but doesn’t question it. He pulls up where Izuku instructed, the tires crunching lightly against the pavement as the car rolls to a stop.

As soon as the engine idles, Izuku notices the flicker of hesitation in Bakugou’s expression. Barely anything. Just a small crease between his brows, a shift in his gaze. But it’s enough to make something stir uneasily in Izuku’s chest.

“This is where you live?” Bakugou asks, voice unreadable.

Izuku frowns. “Uh… yeah?”

There’s a pause.

Bakugou doesn’t say anything at first, just grips the steering wheel a little tighter, the muscle in his jaw twitching slightly. Something is turning over in his head. Izuku can feel it, but before he can ask, Bakugou clicks his tongue and looks away, shaking his head.

“Huh. Fancy.”

Izuku follows his gaze toward the house. It’s a large but modest home, nothing extravagant, nothing special. To him, it’s just… a house.
He turns back to Bakugou, raising a brow. “What’s wrong with it?”

Bakugou still doesn’t meet his eyes. Instead, he stares into his lap, drumming his fingers against the steering wheel like he’s trying to distract himself. “Nothing,” he mutters. “Just… didn’t picture you here, is all.”

The comment makes Izuku sit up a little straighter, curiosity piqued. “Where did you picture me?”

Bakugou’s reaction is instant. He clicks his tongue, reaching for the door locks with a sharp movement. Click. The sound feels like a dismissal.

“Nowhere,” he grumbles, avoiding Izuku’s gaze entirely. “Now get the fuck out of my car.”

Izuku hesitates.

Something about the way Bakugou is aggressively avoiding looking at the house makes his stomach twist. He can’t explain why, but it doesn’t feel like nothing. It feels like there’s a story here, one Bakugou has no intention of sharing.

Still, Izuku doesn’t push. He exhales softly, unbuckling his seatbelt before reaching for the door handle.

Before he steps out, he glances back one last time.

Bakugou’s fingers are still tapping against the wheel, anxious, restless. His jaw is clenched, his eyes fixed forward, refusing to stray back toward the house.

Izuku lingers for a second longer.

The way Bakugou won’t look at the house, the way his grip on the wheel tightens, it sticks with him. Not in a way he can explain. Just in a way that feels… wrong.

Chapter Text

“Zuku! Wake up, it’s breakfast time!” A high-pitched voice cuts through the fog of Izuku’s sleep, yanking him into consciousness.

Before he can even process what’s happening, a small body crashes onto his chest. A sharp pang shoots through his skull, and he immediately regrets every decision that led to this moment.

He tries to recall the previous night, but his thoughts are slow and murky, blurring into a haze of smoke and laughter. Kaminari handing him another drink while Bakugou glared at him from across the fire. The headache tightening its grip distracts him, dragging him back to the present.

Eri giggles, her tiny fingers prodding at his cheek. Her laughter is light, cheerful, and entirely too loud for his current state.

He has to remind himself this is just how she is. Full of energy from the moment she wakes up. But the contrast only drives home the fact that he shouldn’t feel this exhausted.

“C’mon, Zuku! You’re gonna miss breakfast!” She bounces beside him, gripping his arm and shaking him with surprising strength for someone so small.

Izuku groans, barely managing to lift an arm to shield his face from the bright morning light. “Please, Eri, not so loud…” His voice is hoarse, and even speaking feels like an effort.

“But Mom made pancakes!” she singsongs, giggling as she tugs insistently at his arm, determined to pry him from his cocoon of self-inflicted misery.

Eri arrived in their lives five years ago, a small bundle of uncertainty and wonder. It hadn’t taken long for her to fill every corner of their home with brightness, bringing joy and laughter wherever she goes. Despite the chaos in Izuku's mind and body, he can't help but smile at her sheer enthusiasm. It's a stark reminder of how much brighter life feels with her around.

“Okay, okay,” he sighs, muffling his voice into his pillow. “I’ll be down in a second, just let me brush my teeth.”

Luckily, that’s enough to satisfy her. Eri hops off his bed, her tiny feet pattering against the floor as she skips toward the door. Before disappearing into the hallway she chirps,“Okay! I’ll tell Mom!”

Crap.

If he doesn’t get up now, his mom will definitely come looking for him, and there is no way, absolutely no way, he can let her see him like this. She’d take one look at him and know exactly what he did last night.

With a deep breath, Izuku swings his legs over the edge of the bed, rubbing at the tremors in his hands. The moment he stands, his vision tilts, dark spots creeping into the corners of his eyes. He wobbles, quickly pressing a hand against the wall to steady himself, swallowing hard against the nausea threatening to rise.

The scent of smoke, salt, and sweat clings to his hoodie and jeans, a lingering reminder of last night. Izuku drags himself toward his closet, pulling out his laundry basket.

As he grips the hoodie, he hesitates. It feels heavier than it should, the fabric thick with the smell of firewood and ocean air. Of something he shouldn’t have done.

For a moment, he considers keeping it, like some kind of proof that last night was real, that it wasn’t just a hazy, alcohol-fueled dream.

His fingers tighten around the fabric, but then, with a sharp inhale, he shoves it to the bottom of the hamper, burying it beneath fresher clothes.

Out of sight, out of mind. Or at least that’s what he tells himself.

Izuku’s phone buzzes from the night stand. His cell lies face-down, untouched since last night. He stares at it, hesitating.

He doesn’t want to check. He should just leave it. But his fingers move before his brain can stop them. The screen illuminates the moment he picks it up. And then notifications flood in, missed texts all from a brand-new group chat. He doesn’t even have to open it to know exactly what it’s about.

With a deep breath, he taps into his messages. At the top of the list sits a new group chat, glaring at him in bold letters: “The Bros.” His thumb hovers for half a second before he scrolls through the missed texts, eyes skimming over the frenzy waiting for him.

THE BROS |10:43 A.M|

Mina<3 : [Izuku Where the hell did you GO last night???]

Denki: [Bro did you get abducted orrrr 👀]

Kirishima: [Dude I turned around and you were GONE]

Denki: [WE THOUGHT U DROWNED]

Bakugou : [WOULD Y’ALL SHUT THE HELL UP the nerd’s probably sleeping off the massive hangover that YOU GAVE HIM]

Ochako₊✧: [Wait, you guys LOST IZUKU??]

Kirishima: [Not lost…..just misplaced?]

Mina<3: [Also welcome to the official chaos group chat!]

His thumb hovers over the keyboard. He should leave them on read. Instead, he types something quick. Short. Noncommittal.

Midoriya: [Sorry. Got a ride home.]

Delete.

Midoriya: [Yeah, I left early.]

Delete.

Midoriya: […Had to get home.]

He stares at it for a long moment. Then—

Sent.

His fingers hover over the keyboard, but before he can think too hard about it, he locks his phone. If Bakugou hasn’t said anything, then neither will he.

Izuku stomach twists into knots, Why does this feel like a bigger deal than it should? It’s just a ride home. It’s not important. So why can’t he shake the feeling that it is?

Izuku tosses the phone onto his bed. He scrubs a hand over his face, lets out a frustrated breath. Once he's satisfied he looks normal enough, he finally forces himself out of his room and trudges toward the kitchen, each step feeling heavier than it should.

At the table, Eri is already eating, happily swinging her legs as she takes big bites of her pancakes. A drizzle of syrup sticks to the corner of her mouth, but she’s too busy enjoying her meal to notice. She hums a little tune between bites, completely content. The sight makes Izuku’s headache even more.

Izuku spots his mother by the stove, flipping another pancake onto a growing stack. The familiar warmth of home should be comforting, but instead, anxiety and guilt gnaw at his insides, climbing up his throat like bile. His pulse kicks up a notch. Does she know? Can she tell?

The tension in his shoulders doesn’t ease as he sits at the table. He knows his mom. If she looks at him for too long, if she hears the slightest waver in his voice, she’ll know something is off.

“Good morning,” she says with a soft smile. “You look tired.”

Izuku freezes, his heart skipping at least two beats. He needs to come up with something fast. “Oh—uh—I didn’t sleep well last night,”

Inko doesn’t look convinced. Her lips press together slightly as she sets a plate of fluffy pancakes in front of him. He should say something else, try to shift the conversation, but before he can, she says, “Izuku, is this about not being able to go to the bonfire last night?”

“No, Mom,” he says smoothly, offering a tired but reassuring smile. “I was just up late studying. I wanted to get a head start before my summer courses.”

It’s a good enough excuse, believable, responsible, exactly the kind of thing she’d expect from him. He forces himself to hold her gaze, willing her to accept the answer.

Inko hums in acknowledgment, settling into the chair across from him with a warm cup of tea in one hand. She tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, her expression softening as she looks at him.

“There’s the little Izuku I know,” She says with a gentle smile. “Now, no more talk of this bonfire.”

Her tone is light, comforting even, but there's a quiet finality to it that makes Izuku's stomach twist. He swallows hard, nodding slightly as he pushes his fork through his pancakes. She believes him, or at least, she's decided to. But the weight in his chest doesn't ease. If she ever found out the truth... he doesn't even want to think about it.

His gaze drops to his plate, where he finds himself pushing his food around more than eating it. The sight of syrup makes his stomach churn all over again.

Trying to escape the present, his thoughts drift back to the previous night. Not to the bonfire, nor to the endless stream of messages still waiting on his phone, but to a feeling hanging at the edges of his consciousness, just out of reach.

A weight in his chest. A sense of recognition that didn’t make sense. Maybe it was just exhaustion. Maybe it was nothing. But his brain wouldn’t let it go. Wouldn’t let him go.
It wasn’t just the way Bakugou carried himself with a sharp, bristling, like he was constantly preparing for a fight. It wasn’t even the flicker of something behind his eyes, gone too fast to name. It was the way Izuku’s own thoughts kept looping back to him, like a song stuck in his head.

Why?

He didn’t have an answer. And the longer he tried to find one the more it confused him.

Izuku's thoughts of Bakugou morphed into thoughts of his missing childhood memories, like distant echoes reverberating in his mind. A knot of frustration tightened in his chest as he struggled to recall anything before waking up in a sterile hospital room.

The soft beeping of machines filled the air, and he remembered the gentle touch of the woman who sat beside him, his mother. Her eyes were warm and filled with concern, yet he couldn't grasp any details about her personality or their life together.

Despite having heard it all before, the question slipped out of his mouth, unable to be held back, "What was I like when I was a kid?"

The moment it’s out there, he freezes. His grip on the fork slackens. He wasn’t planning on asking. He wasn’t even sure why he asked. But now the words are hanging in the air, and there’s no taking them back.

Inko pauses, her spoon slowly swirling through her tea, the soft clink of ceramic filling the quiet space between them. She glances at him, her expression thoughtful, as if weighing her words carefully before speaking.

“Oh… well,” she begins, offering him a small, reassuring smile, “You were always a kind, happy kid. Always eager to help. You loved running around, always full of energy.”

Izuku studies her closely, his stomach twisting. He’s heard this countless times, almost line for line. But there’s something about the way she says it, light, easy, almost rehearsed, that doesn’t sit right with him.

“…That’s it?” he asks, his voice quieter now.

Inko chuckles softly, waving a hand as if brushing away his concerns. “What else is there?” She says with a gentle laugh. “You were just a normal, happy boy.”

But that answer doesn’t satisfy him. It feels too broad, too vague, like a half-truth wrapped in something softer to make it easier to swallow. He frowns slightly, shifting his fork between his fingers.

“Yeah, but…” He hesitates, staring down at his untouched pancakes before looking back up at her. “I mean, what did I do? Who were my friends?”

The question lingers in the air between them, heavier than he expected. He doesn’t know why, but suddenly, he needs to understand.

Inko’s spoon stills against the rim of her cup. She glances at him, her expression carefully neutral, the way it always does when she wants to reassure him but now that he’s looking closer, it feels… placed.

She sets her book down carefully, smoothing out the pages before rising to her feet. Her movements are graceful, deliberate. Then, smoothly, she smiles. “Well, honey, you played with all the neighborhood boys.”

Izuku’s pulse kicks up, his brows knitting together. That’s… not really an answer. It’s vague, noncommittal, just like before. The answer slides off her tongue too easily. Something about it doesn’t sit right with him.

Before Izuku can linger too long on the thought, his mother smoothly steps away, disappearing into the kitchen as if the conversation had never happened. Her voice floats back over her shoulder, light and effortless, cutting off any chance for him to press further.

“Now, finish your breakfast,” She says, her tone gentle but firm. “We have a couple of errands to run before we meet Toshi at our favorite restaurant.”

Izuku stares after her, stomach twisting. That’s it? That’s all she’s going to say?

Beside him, Eri lets out a dramatic gasp, her eyes lighting up with excitement. Practically bouncing in her seat she exclaims, “We’re going to Perry’s?”

Izuku barely registers his mother’s confirmation. The conversation replays in his head, looping over and over as he absently pushes a piece of pancake around his plate.

Maybe he really was just a normal, happy kid. Maybe he was overthinking it. But when he tries to focus on Eri’s excitement, on the warmth of the kitchen, on the normalcy of breakfast It doesn’t quite settle.

His fingers tighten around his fork, pressing indents into his skin. The half-eaten food on his plate suddenly looks unappetizing, the smell turning his stomach. He shouldn’t be surprised. It’s always like this. His mom has a way of dodging things, slipping past questions like water through fingers.

It shouldn’t bother him as much as it does. And yet. Why won’t she just answer him?

The words sit heavy on his tongue, unspoken. He could push her, should push her but the exhaustion settles deeper in his bones, and he lets the moment slip away. Just like always.

“Zuku!” A small weight collides against his side. Eri beams up at him, completely unaware of the storm in his head. “We’re going shopping, right? Can I pick the snacks? Please?!”

Izuku blinks, forcing his grip to loosen on the fork. Right. Grocery shopping. He exhales, pushing his chair back with a quiet scrape. Forget it. Just move on.

The store is brightly lit, the fluorescent glow bouncing off the polished tile floors. Shelves stretch in every direction, packed to the brim with neatly arranged products, their labels facing outward in perfect uniformity.

People move through the aisles at an easy, unhurried pace, their voices blending into a soft hum of mundane chatter. The artificial chill of the air conditioning prickles against Izuku’s skin, a sharp contrast to the summer heat that looms just beyond the sliding glass doors.

For once, everything feels completely normal.

Inko walks a few steps ahead, scanning her grocery list with the practiced efficiency of someone who has done this a thousand times. Every so often, she pauses to pluck something from a shelf, carefully placing it in the cart that Izuku is driving. It’s routine, familiar. Safe.

He breathes in, slow and steady, letting the soft rhythm of the cart’s wheels against the tile ground him. After the morning he’s had, after the unanswered questions still lingering at the back of his mind, this kind of normalcy feels almost surreal.

There’s no weight pressing down on his shoulders, no knot of unease twisting in his gut. Just a grocery run.

In front of him, Eri clings to the head of the cart, humming softly as she taps out a beat against the metal. The tune is familiar, probably from a show she’s been obsessed with lately, one of the ones she watches on repeat until every song is permanently embedded in their heads. It’s a small thing, but Izuku finds himself smiling.

It feels light.

And then she stops.

Izuku follows her gaze, curious, and finds himself staring at a pack of ridiculously bright, sugar-packed yogurt tubes. The kind that stains your tongue unnatural shades of blue and red, the kind their mother never buys unless Eri gives a truly outstanding performance of puppy dog eyes.

She doesn’t say anything. Just looks up at him, wide-eyed and expectant.

Izuku raises an eyebrow, crossing his arms. “What? You think if you stare hard enough, it’ll magically jump into the cart?”

Eri tilts her head, considering. “…Maybe.”

He snorts, shaking his head. She’s impossible. He takes a quick glance toward their mother, she’s distracted flipping through coupons.

With a dramatic sigh, he reaches for the pack and tosses it into the cart.

“Fine,” he says, feigning exasperation. “But don’t blame me when Mom gives you The Look.”

Eri beams, victorious. “I’ll just say you put it in there.”

Izuku gasps, pressing a hand to his chest in mock betrayal. “You wouldn’t.”

Eri giggles, bright and carefree, her laughter ringing through the aisle. And just like that, for a moment, everything feels right.

Inko steps beside Izuku, gently taking the cart from his hands as she glances toward the checkout lanes. “Izuku, Will you go grab some milk while I stand in line? Get the big jug—we have a coupon for it.”

Izuku waves off Eri’s smug little grin as he steps away from the cart, shaking his head. She’s far too pleased with herself, but he lets her have the victory.

The refrigerated section is tucked away at the back of the store, secluded and quieter than the bustling main aisles. Izuku can feel the temperature drop with each step he takes, the chill biting through his thin crewneck, sending goosebumps trailing up his arms.

The silence shrouds him like a heavy fog, amplifying the rhythmic thud of his heartbeat in his ears. It should be calming, but instead, it leaves him with too much room to think.

Thoughts buzz through his head like static, overlapping and chaotic. Of Bakugou and his clipped words. Of the bonfire and how everything spiraled out of control so fast. Of the conversation with his mom that still gnaws at him, sharp and unresolved.

The ground tilts slightly beneath his feet, a reminder of the hangover still clinging to him like a stubborn shadow. He presses on, determined to push through it.

He’s so lost in his own head that when he reaches the milk section, he can’t remember what his mother sent him to get. He stands there for a moment, staring blankly at the rows of neatly lined dairy products until it comes back to him.

Right. The big one.

Izuku reaches for the door but freezes as he catches sight of his reflection in its glassy surface. His hair is even messier than usual, sticking out at odd angles, and there’s a telltale bruise-like shadow beneath each eye. He looks exactly how he feels. Wrecked.

His fingers twitch toward his hair out of habit but then fall back to his sides. Whatever. It’s fine. It doesn’t matter.

He pulls open the door, the cold air rushing out in a sharp gust that prickles against his skin. As he reaches for the jug, an uneasy feeling washes over him, a creeping awareness that raises goosebumps across the back of his neck.

It’s like being watched.

His grip falters on the handle as anxiety coils tight in his chest, Izuku whips his head toward the mouth of the aisle, eyes wide and searching until they land on—

Bakugou.

He stands near the end of the aisle, staring intently at a shelf as if willing it to meet some unspoken demand.

The moment Izuku spots him feels like it stretches into infinity before snapping back all at once into real time. Because now Bakugou is looking right at him too, caught mid-glance.

Bakugou’s eyes are locked onto Izuku’s with an intensity that makes something inside him twist painfully tight, a mix of surprise and something else Izuku can't quite name or place but it’s all-too-familiar. And for half a breath neither of them moves or speaks or even blinks.

The air between them feels charged and fragile, like it could shatter apart under its own tension at any second. Izuku holds onto the milk with both hands, every nerve ending is hyper-aware of itself all over again.

And then Bakugou snorts loudly enough for Izuku to hear from where he's standing, “You look like shit.”

Izuku rolls his eyes, and bow his head with a sigh, “I know.”

Bakugou doesn’t walk away. Instead, he closes the distance between them with long, intent strides. The air crackles around him, and Izuku’s pulse thunders in response.

Bakugou stops just short of invading Izuku's personal space, his presence overwhelming and impossible to ignore. Izuku’s grip tightens around the milk like it’s some kind of lifeline. He braces himself for whatever’s coming, but Bakugou just stands there, arms crossed and eyes narrowed, as if daring Izuku to speak first. The silence between them stretches thin, taut like a wire.

“What?” Izuku finally asks, the word slipping out more defensive than he intended.

“What?” Bakugou echoes, voice dripping with incredulity. “What do you mean, what? You’re serious right now?”

Izuku stares at him blankly, unsure where this is going. He shifts the milk to one arm, trying to keep his balance under Bakugou’s scrutinizing glare.

“Are you always this stupid,” Bakugou hisses, “or was last night just, like, a special occasion?”

“What are you—”

“You shouldn’t put yourself in those situations, dumbass. You can’t handle it.”

Izuku's brow furrowed deeply, his eyes narrowing as something hot burned through his chest like a rising flame. Who did Bakugou think he was, standing with that familiar arrogant posture, to dictate what Izuku could or couldn’t handle?

“It’s not your business,” he manages after a moment, but even to his own ears it sounds weak. He takes a breath, forces himself to meet Bakugou’s gaze again. “I didn’t ask you to take me home,” Izuku says. “I’m fine.”

“Bullshit.” Bakugou’s eyes narrow, and there’s a hard edge to his voice that grates against Izuku’s already frayed nerves. It sounds like an accusation. Like a challenge.

Izuku’s stomach twists violently with frustration or something like it—but he bites down hard on the feeling anyway because this isn’t fair.

“Why do you care anyway?” His voice is softer now but no less Irritated.

Bakugou’s gaze snaps back to him, intense and unguarded for half a heartbeat before it hardens again into something prickly and stubborn. He hesitates for just long enough that Izuku thinks maybe he won’t answer at all.

Then, “I don’t.”

The words hang heavy in the air between them—heavy and wrong—and Izuku knows Bakugou can see right through him; knows he looks as wrecked on the outside as he feels on the inside.

A muscle flexes along Bakugou's jawline and for one impossibly charged moment everything stands still as they both wait for something neither can name.

He lets out a harsh breath and straightens his shoulders, trying to hold his ground even with Bakugou looming over him. “I’m not a kid,” Izuku insists. “You don’t have to act like my babysitter.”

Bakugou glares at him with an intensity that could melt glass. “Then quit acting like one,”

It feels like a slap across the face, sharp and stinging. [more internal monologue] but Izuku doesn’t back down or look away this time when he says, “Bakugou—”

“Don’t call me that.”

The interruption is sudden and blunt; enough so that Izuku blinks in surprise before narrowing his eyes slightly in response.

Why not? What else should he call him? A flicker of something uncomfortable passes through him as he thinks about it, and then before he can stop himself:

“Katsuki.”

Bakugou tenses visibly at the name. Bakugou’s expression hardens, his jaw tightening. The air between them shifts, a barely perceptible change, like a drawn wire pulled just a little too tight. There’s something raw in his reaction that makes Izuku pause again.

Then, through gritted teeth, “Don’t call me that either.”

…Huh? Izuku blinks, caught off guard. What the hell is his problem?

Bakugou won’t look at him now, his gaze locked onto the milk carton in Izuku’s hands. His jaw is clenched tight, his fingers wrapped so firmly around the handle of his basket that his knuckles pale.

The silence between them stretches, thick and weighty.

Neither of them knows how long they stand there after that. locked into each other’s orbit by some force neither quite understands. The space between them pulsing thickly with unresolved tension that refuses to null.

For the first time in this conversation, Izuku feels like he has the upper hand. He smirks, just a little. “What, now first names are off-limits too?”

Bakugou clicks his tongue, a sharp noise of irritation. His expression twists, and then, with a forcefulness that seems unnecessary, he shoves the fridge door closed. The dull thunk echoes through the empty aisle, rattling the glass. “Just shut up, nerd.”

Izuku sighs, exasperated, already turning back toward the cart. “Fine, whatever… Kacchan.”

The second it leaves his mouth, something slams into him. It’s not just a name. It’s a shockwave.

His fingers tighten around the milk carton, knuckles whitening. His heart stumbles, something deep in his chest pulling tight, like an echo of something he should remember.

It’s not just familiar. It’s his. It belongs to him in a way he doesn’t understand. The feeling surges forward, fast and overwhelming, and then it’s gone. Like it was never there at all.

Bakugou doesn’t move. For a second, just a second, his fingers twitch against the handle of his basket. His eyes flicker, like he’s weighing something, like he’s considering saying something else. A crack in the usual bravado, something fleeting and unreadable, gone before Izuku can catch it.

He exhales sharply, shakes his head. Mutters, “Whatever.”

That’s it? No comeback? No insult? No explosion of irritation?

His grip tightens around the basket, too tight. His fingers flex, releasing and clenching again, like he’s trying to shake something off.

Before Izuku can process it further, Bakugou moves. Not fast. Not like he’s storming off. But there’s something stiff in the way he turns, something wrong in the way his shoulders stay locked. He exhales sharply, shaking his head once, like he’s forcing himself to move.

Like he has to leave. Like if he stays one second longer, something will crack open, something he can’t put back together.

Izuku watches him go, heart pounding, feeling like he just missed something important, something big, something he should already know.

That was… not what he expected.

Bakugou should’ve snapped at him. Should’ve told him to shut up. Should’ve called him a nerd with that usual bite in his voice. But he just… left.

Izuku shakes his head, trying to brush it off. Still, as he turns back toward the check out, something doesn’t sit right. It’s not just in his head. It’s in his body. The name echoes, curling around his ribs, settling in the spaces between his breaths. It doesn’t leave him, doesn’t let him go.

The feeling clings to him, heavy and unshakable, like the scent of smoke in his hoodie. He grits his teeth, shoving the thought aside. He forces himself to keep walking, keep moving, keep pretending like the name isn’t still echoing in the back of his mind.

Izuku forces himself to move, one step at a time, back toward the cart. His grip tightens around the cold plastic of the milk jug, the chill seeping into his palm, grounding him. The weight of the moment lingers behind him, trailing at his heels like an echo he can’t quite shake.

By the time he reaches Inko, she’s nearly finished with the check out, completely unaware of the way his chest still feels too tight. Carefree. Unbothered. The complete opposite of the static still buzzing under Izuku’s skin.

Eri grins up at him the moment she notices his return. “Took you long enough,” she teases, tilting her head. “Did the milk run away or something?”

Izuku huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he sets the jug in the cart. “Something like that.”

“I told you not to let her grab anything extra,” Inko sighs, eyes narrowing as she surveys the cart’s contents. Her gaze lands on the bright packaging of yogurt tubes nestled between the bread and vegetables, lips pressing into a thin line.

Before Izuku can say anything, Eri beams, the picture of innocence. “Zuku put them in.”

Izuku snorts, shaking his head. “Yeah, okay,”

Normal.

This is normal.

That's what he tells himself as he forces a small smile. “At least it’s not candy this time,” he points out, glancing at his mother.

Inko hums, only half paying attention as she places the milk and yogurt onto the conveyor belt. “We’ll drop these off at home before heading to Perry’s,” she says, adjusting her purse on her shoulder. “Toshinori should already be there.”

Izuku nods, but his mind is still trailing elsewhere, stuck on a pair of crimson eyes and the sharp flicker of something unspoken.

He exhales, shoving the thought aside.

It’s fine.

It’s normal.

It has to be.

Toshinori is already at their usual booth when they walk in, posture easy, fingers drumming absently against his glass of water. The table in front of him is neatly set, the napkin folded in careful precision, a picture of quiet patience.

He sees them, smiles, and waves them over like he’s been waiting for hours instead of a few minutes. His presence is steady, grounding, a constant in the familiar rhythm of their evenings.

“Right on time,” he says lightly, voice touched with warmth.

Everything is calculated here. The dim glow of the lights casts a soft halo over polished wood and neatly arranged tables. Even the spacing between booths feels deliberate, allowing for intimacy without intrusion. The waitstaff move seamlessly, gliding from one table to the next with quiet efficiency. Nothing is rushed. Nothing is messy.

Eri slides in beside Toshinori without hesitation, her small hands smoothing over the tablecloth like a ritual, fingertips tracing the fabric’s delicate weave. She doesn’t need to think about it, just something she does, like making sure the world around her stays as neat as she can manage.

Inko takes her usual seat across from them, adjusting her purse beside her with a practiced motion, fingers moving in absent habit. The familiarity of it is soothing. Predictable.

Izuku follows last. He doesn’t think about where to sit. He just moves. His body already knows the motions. Slide in, straighten posture, hands resting lightly on his lap. It’s muscle memory, ingrained over time, something done a hundred times before.

So why does it suddenly feel like he’s following a script?

“You’re not even looking,” Inko teases, flipping through the menu, her eyes scanning the options with practiced ease. “You always get the same thing.”

Toshinori chuckles, setting his glass down with a quiet clink. “That just means he knows what he likes.” His voice is warm, easy, as if the matter is already settled.

Izuku huffs a small laugh, but his fingers falter just above the menu’s edge. He doesn’t need to look. He already knows what he’ll get—the pasta, no questions, no decisions, just an easy, expected answer.

But for the first time, he hesitates.

His fingers drum lightly against the table before curling into his palm. The menu in front of him is open, but the words blur together, blending into nothing more than ink and paper. The weight pressing against his chest is subtle but insistent, like something shifting just out of sight.

Why does it feel like choosing the same thing would mean something?

Like it would make him predictable. Stagnant.

Like it would prove something about who he is—or who he isn’t.

Izuku is quiet, lost in thought, the conversation around him fading into a distant hum. His fingers rest against the menu, but he isn’t really seeing the words, his mind caught in an endless loop of something he can’t quite name.

No one notices.

Except Toshinori.

“Is everything alright, son?” His voice is soft, laced with concern, the kind that doesn’t pry but lingers just enough to invite honesty.

The question jolts through Izuku like a static shock. He blinks, heart skipping, scrambling for something that won’t sound like a lie.

“Uh—yeah, sorry,” he says quickly, shaking his head as if that will help dislodge whatever has him feeling off-balance. “Just tired.”

Inko hums, unimpressed. “That’s why I tell you to be in bed by ten,” She says, folding her arms. “But do you listen? No.”

The words are light, teasing, but they land heavy in Izuku’s chest. His stomach twists with guilt as the table goes quiet, the silence stretching just a little too long.

He drops his gaze back to the menu, forcing himself to focus on something, anything, other than the feeling curling in his ribs.

“Alright, what can I get you guys to—oh shit Midoriya?!”

Izuku physically flinches, fingers tightening around the edges of the menu as Denki’s voice practically echoes through the restaurant.

Before he can brace himself, there’s a sharp slap against his shoulder, friendly but jarring, and Kaminari is grinning down at him like they’ve been best friends for years.

“Dude, what are you doing here?” he asks, beaming. “I didn’t even know you ate at places like this!”

Izuku’s pulse stutters.

Inko lifts a brow, setting her menu down with careful precision. “You two know each other?”

His throat goes dry. Crap.

He forces himself to nod, gripping onto his composure like a lifeline. “Uh—yeah. We—uh. We met in class.”

Kaminari hesitantly throws up a thumbs-up. “Oh, uh, yeah! Class buddies. That’s us.”

“Really?” Inko hums, gaze settling on Izuku, sharp but unreadable. “I don’t remember you mentioning a… what was it? Denki?”

“Denki Kaminari, at your service!” Kaminari declares, giving an exaggerated bow like he’s performing on stage.

Izuku wants to sink through the floor.

Kaminari doesn’t notice, already scribbling down their orders with the same boundless energy he carries everywhere. “Awesome! I’ll get that in ASAP!”

As soon as he’s gone, Izuku exhales, forcing his shoulders to relax, letting out a slow, steady breath.

But when he glances up Inko is watching him. Not angry. Not suspicious. Just… watching. She doesn’t say anything. She just hums, picks up her water, and takes a sip like she’s filing the moment away for later.

The food on Izuku’s plate blurs together as he absently pushes it around with his fork, the once-inviting meal now just a swirl of indistinct colors. He knows he should eat, should engage, should at least pretend everything is fine. But his brain won’t stop spinning, thoughts tangling into knots he can’t undo.

The murmur of the restaurant fades into the background, his focus narrowing to the rhythmic scrape of his fork against porcelain. It’s grounding, in a way. A repetitive motion. Something steady.

Then—movement. From the corner of his eye, just past the drink station.

Kaminari.

He’s lingering, half-hidden, eyes locked onto Izuku with an expression that’s far too focused for someone who should be busy working.

Izuku’s stomach dips. He looks away quickly, hoping that maybe, just maybe, Kaminari will take the hint and drop it.

He doesn’t.

Instead, Kaminari nods once, then twice exaggerated and jerky, like some kind of ridiculous cartoon character. Izuku clenches his jaw, resisting the urge to groan.

When Izuku still doesn’t move, Kaminari raises his hands, miming drinking from an invisible cup before jabbing a thumb toward the back of the restaurant.

Izuku’s pulse stutters, a flicker of nerves curling in his chest.

“Excuse me,” he blurts, already shifting out of the booth before his brain fully catches up. “I need to use the restroom.”

Inko’s eyes snap to him immediately, sharp as a blade.

“Now?” she asks, eyebrow raised. “You haven’t even eaten.”

“I—I’ll be quick,” Izuku stammers, shaking his empty cup like it will somehow sell the excuse.

She doesn’t look convinced.

Across from her, Toshinori chuckles, waving a dismissive hand. “Let him go, Inko. He’s not five.”

Izuku doesn’t wait for further scrutiny. The second her attention wavers, he’s moving, sliding out of the booth, making a beeline for the back of the restaurant.

As soon as Izuku steps past the last row of tables, Denki grins like they just ran into each other by accident, arms crossed as he leans casually against the wall near the kitchen entrance. The warm glow of the restaurant dims in this hallway, replaced by the faint hum of kitchen noise.

Kaminari shoots a bright smile at Izuku when he arrives, pushing off the wall with a lazy kind of ease. “Didn’t know you were such a fancy eater. Is that your little sister? She’s so cute!”

Izuku crosses his arms, trying to hide his apprehension behind a mask of irritation. “What do you want?” he fires back, “And what are you doing here?”

“Dude, chill,” Kaminari laughs, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “Only started a couple weeks ago. I wanted to ask you about the bonfire last night.”

Izuku's expression shifts from guarded to confused.

“I don’t remember squat after those vodka shots.” Kaminari rubs the back of his neck, sheepish. “I figured you could fill in the blanks.”

A flicker of surprise crosses Izuku’s face before it settles into something more resigned. “Honestly? I don’t remember much either.”

Kaminari barks out a laugh. “Shit, really? Man, Bakubro was right. We did get you fucked up.” He grins, then snaps his fingers like something just occurred to him. “Oh—that reminds me! You haven’t responded, but you’re coming to the race, right?”

Izuku blinks, caught off guard. “Next race?”

“Yeah! Haven’t you seen the group chat?” Kaminari cocks his head, looking genuinely puzzled.

Realization hits Izuku like a bucket of ice water. He’d turned off his phone all day. Who knows what he’s missed? “When is it?”

“Monday night,” Kaminari says with a grin that’s all anticipation and adrenaline.

Izuku’s stomach twists. That’s when summer classes start.

“I’m not sure if I’ll be there,” he admits, rubbing at the back of his neck.

Kaminari looks bummed for half a second before he shrugs it off, still grinning. “You should come! But I get it if you can’t—oh!”

There’s a shout from inside the kitchen, and Kaminari glances over his shoulder before shooting Izuku an apologetic look.

“Gotta get back to work,” he says with a quick wave as he disappears through the swinging doors. “Just thought I’d say hi. Don’t let your mom see you hanging out with a delinquent like me.”

Denki winks, then turns on his heel. “See ya back at class, Midoriya.”

Izuku stands there for a moment longer than necessary, feeling the weight of expectation settle back onto him like an old coat.

He takes a breath and heads toward their booth, but not without that knot in his chest tightening further with each step. The restaurant’s warm glow greets him like nothing has happened—as if time stopped while he was gone—but there’s an edge to everything now that wasn’t there before; every sound sharper; every detail more pronounced.

Eri spots him first and waves wildly until Inko turns her head too. Toshinori watches him return with that same quiet patience as before, like he already knows Izuku didn’t just need to use the restroom.

The thought sends Izuku’s pulse skittering under his skin like static electricity; small sparks flaring up at random intervals only to fizzle out again just as quickly.

All their eyes are on him now—Eri’s curious; Inko’s questioning; Toshinori’s concerned—and for half a second all Izuku wants is to turn around again and keep walking until none of them can see him anymore.

“That took a while,” Toshinori muses, voice too casual, like he’s testing the waters.

Izuku’s pulse jumps. He forces himself to keep walking, sliding back into the booth like nothing’s wrong. “Long line,” he says, grabbing his napkin again, hands too still.

Toshinori hums, a quiet sound, barely there. He swirls the ice in his glass with slow, measured movements, watching Izuku with the kind of patience that says he knows something isn’t right.

He doesn’t say anything else. But he doesn’t have to. Izuku keeps his gaze on his plate, stomach twisting. He knows Toshinori doesn’t believe him.

Dinner passes in a blur of conversation and forced smiles. Izuku answers questions when asked, laughs when expected, all the while feeling Toshinori's steady gaze on him.

The ride home is equally as tense, the silence in the car heavy and unyielding. When they finally pull into the driveway, Izuku is the first to get out, mumbling a quick goodnight before heading inside.

He drops his bag by the desk, grabs a textbook from the stack, and flips it open with practiced ease. He settles in, posture straight, pen in hand, highlighter uncapped. Like everything is fine. Like his thoughts aren’t spinning. Like his heartbeat isn’t too loud in his ears.

Another race?

His highlighter hovers over the page, the neon ink barely touching the words before he realizes he hasn’t absorbed a single sentence. His textbook is open. His notes are neatly organized. His pen is in his hand. And yet he hasn’t actually read anything in the last ten minutes.

Kaminari had said there would be another race.

Izuku blinks, dragging a hand down his face. He refocuses, zeroes in on the same sentence. Reads it. Once. Twice. Nothing sticks.

His phone buzzes from where it’s face-down on his desk. The vibration rattles against the wood, slicing through the thick, suffocating silence of his room. Izuku doesn’t check it.

He doesn’t need to.

He already knows it’s from the group chat. A conversation he’s avoiding. A night he just can't think about right now.

He stares at the textbook in front of him, words blurring together into meaningless ink. He should be studying. He should be focusing. He should be doing anything other than spiraling in circles. The buzzing in his skull is louder than the words on the page.

Then—

“Studying hard?”

Izuku jolts, breath catching as his shoulders snap up. His head jerks toward the doorway, pulse stumbling when he sees Toshinori standing there, tea in hand, expression unreadable.

“Uh. Yeah,” Izuku says too quickly, too stiffly, straightening like that’ll somehow make the lie more convincing.

Toshinori hums, stepping further inside. Slow. Measured. Like he’s testing the waters. “Good, good.” He takes a sip of tea, long and deliberate. “Because you’ve been staring at the same page for a while now.”

Izuku forces himself to exhale. Forces his shoulders to ease. Forces himself to not look guilty.

“Just tired,” he mumbles, shrugging like it’s nothing.

Toshinori doesn’t look convinced. He swirls his tea in slow, deliberate motions, eyes still on him. Watching. Noticing. “…Hm.”

And then—casually, almost absently—he sets his tea down. The soft click of ceramic against wood feels louder than it should. “So. Kaminari Denki.”

Izuku stills. It’s barely noticeable. Barely more than a breath. But he's sure Toshinori sees it.

Izuku grips the edge of his desk, knuckles white, but forces himself to not react. To keep his voice steady. Calm.“…What about him?”

Toshinori tilts his head, studying him with that same quiet patience. The kind that doesn’t miss a thing.“He seemed pretty familiar with you.”

Izuku’s heart kicks.“I—I guess?” he says, forcing a shrug. Too fast. Too forced. “We just had a class together.”

Toshinori hums again. Slower this time. “That so?”

“I mean, he’s just—he talks to everyone,” Izuku says quickly. Too quickly. “You know how some people are just… friendly?”

“Mm.” Toshinori takes another slow sip of tea. “And how do you know him?”

Izuku hesitates. A beat. A fraction too long.

“I told you,” he says, carefully measured. “We had a class together.”

Toshinori doesn’t react at first. Just watches. And then, “Right. That class you took after sneaking out a week and a half ago?”

Izuku’s stomach drops. His throat goes dry, breath locking tight in his chest. The blood in his ears is loud. Too loud.

“I— It wasn’t a big deal,” he mutters, flipping a page like that’ll somehow make this conversation disappear. Like he can just turn to a different chapter, a different scene, one where Toshinori isn’t seeing right through him. “I wasn’t— I didn’t plan on meeting people, it just… happened.”

Toshinori nods, slow and even. His gaze never wavers, heavy with something unreadable. Something that makes Izuku’s stomach twist. “And I told you I wasn’t mad about that, right?”

Izuku’s throat feels tight. The room feels too small. He shifts slightly in his chair, fingers gripping the edges of his textbook like it’ll somehow anchor him.

“…Yeah.” His voice comes out quieter than he meant it to.

Toshinori tilts his head, studying him with quiet patience. “Then why do you still look like you’re trying to cover something up?”

Izuku swallows. Hard. He forces himself to breathe, forces his face to stay neutral. But his pulse is erratic, his body too tense, his thoughts tangled into something messy and frantic.

Toshinori doesn’t push. He doesn’t demand answers. He just watches. Then—“Alright.”

Izuku blinks. Thrown. “…That’s it?”

“That’s it.”

Toshinori smiles, easy and warm. Too easy. The kind of smile that knows more than it’s saying. The kind that makes Izuku’s skin prickle with unease.

“Just be safe, alright?”

Izuku nods slowly. Mechanical. But something in his chest still feels tight.

Toshinori turns, his footsteps light, almost too casual as he heads toward the door. But just before stepping out, he pauses and glances back. “And kid?”

Izuku looks up, pulse still a little too quick, a little too uneven.

Toshinori meets his eyes. “You’re never as sneaky as you think.”

The words settle over him, firm, knowing, before Toshinori disappears down the hall.

Izuku exhales, tension leaving his body all at once. He presses his palms against his desk, heart pounding against his ribs. He stares at his open textbook. At the highlighted words he hasn’t read. At the phone that still sits face-down, silent but there. His fingers tighten around the edge of the page.

Chapter Text

Summer class feels dull, or maybe he’s just restless. The words on the whiteboard blur together, blending into an incoherent mess of equations and bullet points.

Izuku taps his pencil against his notebook, the rhythmic clicking barely keeping him tethered to the present. His half-written notes trail off mid-sentence, letters growing sloppy as his focus drifts.

His body is here, slumped in his chair, but his mind is elsewhere, lost in a whirlwind of thoughts far more compelling than the droning lecture.

He hasn’t checked the group chat in days. But that doesn’t mean he hasn’t been thinking about it. About the street race. About the energy in the air, the thrill in his chest.

He knows it's tonight. He knows the group is expecting him to go. He knows that if he did decide to go, Mina would be more than willing to come pick him up, but he can't bring himself to text her.

His phone sits in his pocket, an anchor he refuses to touch. If he looks at it, it’ll be real. The invitation, the temptation, the pull of something reckless and exhilarating.

He tells himself he won’t go. That it’s not worth it. That he has responsibilities, that he should stay home, study, sleep.

And yet, his fingers twitch. His pulse quickens. Because deep down, he already knows how this night will end.

The shrill sound of the bell barely registers. Chairs scrape against the floor, students shuffle out, voices overlapping.

Izuku moves on autopilot, closing his notebook, shoving it into his bag, slinging the strap over his shoulder. His body follows the routine without hesitation. He’s going home. That’s the plan. That’s what he decided.

So why does he feel like he’s lying to himself?

As he steps into the hallway, his phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out and hesitates. He already knows who it’s from. Knows what it’s about. He should ignore it. He should mute the chat, shove his phone away, and forget about it.

But his thumb lingers. And before he can stop himself, he clicks on it.

THE BROS |4:24|

MINA<3:[RACEEEE NIGHTTTT🔥🔥🔥]

DENKI:[HAAAAAA I FEEL IT VICTORY IS MINEEEEEE]

JIRO:[Denki you lost to a parked car last time]

SERO:[LMAOOO]

KIRISHIMA:[everyones coming, right?]

SERO:[ILL BE THERE🔥]

Ochako₊✧:[What about Izuku?]

Izuku stares at their texts, his stomach churning with unease. Ochako’s message stands out, bright and clear, searching for some confirmation he knows he doesn’t have. It’s the kind of confirmation he should have. But all he has is uncertainty, the nagging feeling that he’s about to let everyone down.

The weight of her words presses on him, suffocating him. He feels guilty, torn, like he’s standing at a crossroads he doesn’t know how to navigate. He should have made up his mind by now. Should have figured it out. But instead, he’s stuck, frozen between choices that feel both too heavy and too light.

He shakes his head, as if the movement will somehow clear the thoughts, clear the tension in his chest. He locks his phone, before shoving it hastily back into his pocket with more force than necessary, like he’s trying to physically push the decision away.

But it doesn’t work. The thought stays, pressing against his ribs, whispering at the edges of his mind.

The drive home is quiet, the low hum of the engine filling the space between them. The city slips past in streaks of golden sunlight, blurred through the windshield.

Izuku grips his bag tightly, fingers clenched around the worn strap as if holding onto it will ground him. He braces for the inevitable.

But Toshinori doesn’t say anything. Not at first.

He just watches. Glancing at the way Izuku’s knee bounces, the way his fingers twitch against the strap of his bag. Like he’s already somewhere else.

The sun is just starting to set, painting shifting patterns across the dashboard. Toshinori exhales, slow and thoughtful.

“You’ve been restless lately.” His voice is quiet, nonchalant, like he’s just making an observation. “Distracted.”

Izuku swallows. His grip tightens. He keeps his eyes on the trees streaking past the window.

Toshinori sighs, his fingers tapping idly against the steering wheel. “Are you planning on sneaking out again tonight?”

The question lands like a stone in Izuku’s chest. He hesitates, the answer thick on his tongue before it even leaves his mouth.

“I don’t know,” he mutters. The words feel flimsy even as he says them.

Toshinori hums thoughtfully, a sound that isn’t sharp with frustration or heavy with disapproval. It’s worse. It’s the kind of hum that says he’s already figured Izuku out, that he sees right through him.

“I think you do,” he says lightly.

Izuku stiffens. His grip on his bag tightens. “You’re not gonna tell me not to?”

Toshinori shrugs, one hand resting lazily on the steering wheel. “Should I?”

That makes Izuku pause. He expected pushback. Guilt. A lecture about responsibility, safety, consequences. But not this.

“I just…” His voice falters, caught between hesitation and frustration. The words don’t come out right, don’t shape themselves the way he wants them to. “It’s not like I have to go.”

Toshinori chuckles, a quiet, knowing sound. “Then don’t.”

That irritates Izuku more than it should. He turns, scowling at the older man, but Toshinori’s expression remains easy, unreadable in the dim glow of the dashboard lights.

“That’s not—” Izuku exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. “You’re messing with me.”

“Maybe.” Toshinori smirks, but his tone softens. “But I trust you to make your own choices, my boy.”

And that’s the part that gets him. The part that sticks, winding tight in his chest, heavy and warm, but they don’t bring comfort. They sit there, pressing against his ribs, winding tight around his lungs like something he isn’t ready to carry.

Because trust isn’t light. It isn’t easy. It’s not a gentle thing, not the kind of warmth that soothes. It’s weighty, filled with expectation, unspoken yet undeniable.

Trust meant responsibility.

Trust meant that if he went tonight, it wouldn’t be despite Toshinori.

It would be because of him.

Because Toshinori hadn’t told him no. Hadn’t warned him, hadn’t scolded him, hadn’t tried to stop him. He’d handed Izuku the choice and trusted him to make the right one. And that made everything feel so much heavier.

Because now, if he went it wouldn’t be an act of rebellion. It wouldn’t be something reckless he could shrug off later. It would be a decision. His decision. And that was far more terrifying than sneaking out had ever been.

The house seems normal. Warm. Familiar. The faint scent of dinner still lingers in the air, but Izuku barely notices. The soft glow of the living room lamp casts long shadows against the walls, flickering in time with the colorful images playing across the TV screen.

His mother sits curled up on the couch, a book open in her lap, her lips moving slightly as she reads. On the floor, Eri is sprawled out with her coloring book, crayons scattered around her like tiny, vibrant stars. Neither of them look up as they steps inside, too lost in their quiet evening routine. It should feel comforting. Safe.

But the weight in his chest doesn’t lift.

Izuku toes off his shoes and drops his bag by the door, the dull thud barely registering. His body moves on autopilot, drawn toward the kitchen, hands already reaching for the leftovers in the fridge. His fingers brush against the chilled container of gyoza, the motions practiced, familiar. This is what he’s supposed to do.

Eat. Study. Sleep. Be responsible.

So why does he feel so unsettled?

The microwave hums, casting a soft yellow glow over the counter as he waits. His hands press against the cool surface, grounding himself, but the restlessness doesn’t fade. The quiet of the house, once soothing, now feels too still—like an empty space waiting to be filled.

The microwave beeps. He pulls out the plate, the scent of warm gyoza rising in the air, but his appetite is absent. Still, he picks it up, feet carrying him down the hall without thought, without question.

He drifts to his room without a word, slipping inside and nudging the door closed. The soft click feels final, isolating. The gyoza sits in his hands, steam curling in the air.

But he doesn’t eat.

Instead, he just stands there, staring at nothing, the hum of the city beyond his window pulling at him, calling him to something he’s not sure he can ignore.

Izuku pulls out his phone, the glow of the screen casting faint shadows across his face. The group chat is still there, the messages waiting, unread. He could open it. He should open it. But instead, his thumb hesitates before tapping on a different conversation, a private chat with Bakugou.

Kacchan

They hadn’t spoken since that brief, tense encounter at the supermarket, not that they ever really texted each other anyway. But Bakugou hadn’t said anything in the group chat either. No taunts. No challenges. Just silence.

Izuku’s thumbs hover over the keyboard. To do what? He isn’t sure. Maybe to ask if he’s going. Maybe to ask if he should go. Maybe just to reach out, to close the distance that neither of them seem willing to acknowledge. But before he can type anything, a small bubble appears at the bottom of the screen.

Bakugou (Typing…)

Izuku’s breath catches. His pulse jumps, fingers tightening around his phone as he stares, waiting, half hopeful, half dreading whatever Bakugou might say.

Is he actually—?

The dots flicker once. Twice.

Then they disappear.

The weight in Izuku’s chest drops like a stone. He changed his mind. Whatever Bakugou had been about to say, he swallowed it down instead, leaving nothing behind but empty space.

Izuku shouldn’t care. But he does.

His jaw clenches. He exhales sharply through his nose, his fingers moving before he can think. He exits the private chat, flipping back to the group one with a certainty that wasn’t there before.

Midoriya: [I’m coming.]

11:37 PM. Still too early.

The house has long since settled into quiet. The distant murmur of the TV is gone, the gentle clinking of dishes long since faded. Everyone is either asleep or getting ready to be, lost in the rhythm of their nightly routines.

Izuku sits at his desk, his leg bouncing restlessly under the wooden surface, his knee tapping in an erratic rhythm. His textbook lies open in front of him, pages illuminated by the glow of his desk lamp. But the words blur together, melting into meaningless lines of text. His pen rests idly in his grip, poised over a blank notebook, untouched for the past twenty minutes.

He should be studying.

He should be using this time wisely.

But his mind is already somewhere else.

The race. The lights. The adrenaline humming beneath his skin. The sound of engines roaring in the night, fast and untamed, filling the space between heartbeats.

Izuku leans back in his chair, dragging a hand down his face. The air in his room feels thick, heavy, like the walls are pressing in. His phone sits face-down on his desk, an anchor he refuses to touch. He hasn’t checked it since sending the message. He doesn’t need to. He already knows they’re waiting.

His breathing is shallow, his chest rising and falling like he’s subconsciously preparing for something big. His fingers twitch against the desk, tapping in uneven bursts. He glances at the clock again.

11:41 PM.

He groans, flopping back against his chair. The room is too quiet. His pulse is too loud.

He stands abruptly, crossing the room in quick, restless steps, then stops. Runs a hand through his hair. Sits back down. His foot taps against the floor. His fingers curl against the desk. He exhales sharply, frustration coiling in his gut.

Almost time.

His gaze catches on his reflection in the window, and for a second, his chest tightens. He doesn’t recognize the person staring back. Not fully. That’s when he realizes—he’s already dressed to leave. Hoodie on, sneakers laced, like part of him had decided before he did.

A buzz. Once. Sharp and precise.

Izuku exhales, rolling his shoulders, trying to shake off the tension, the doubt, the last remnants of hesitation clinging to his skin.

This time, when he stands, he doesn’t sit back down.

The house is silent as he grabs his phone.

He pulls his hood up over his head as he steps toward the window. His heart pounds, steady and even.

MINA<3 |11:53|

[IM OUTSIDE HURRY UP😜]

Izuku exhales sharply, shoving his phone into his pocket.

The house is quiet. Still. Unmoving.

The window creaks as he pushes it open, cool night air rushing in. It smells like pavement and city lights, like something just on the edge of freedom.

His breath comes slow and steady.

If he leaves now, he can’t take it back.

He hesitates. Just for a second.

Then he climbs out. No turning back now.

The moment Izuku steps out of the car, the night swallows him whole.

The world feels too big like the sky stretches wider here, like the ground hums beneath his feet, alive with something electric, something untamed.

The air vibrates, not just from the heavy bass of some distant speaker, but from the deep, guttural growl of engines, purring like restless animals waiting to be unleashed. The scent of burnt rubber and gasoline clings to the pavement, thick and acrid, mixing with the heat of the summer air. But it’s all just background noise to the tension coiling in his chest.

He’s been here before.

He should be fine.

Neon lights flicker and pulse, slicing through the dark, reflecting off the hoods of sleek cars lined up. The crowd moves like a living, breathing thing, shifting and flowing, laughter and shouts bleeding into the occasional rev of an engine or the crack of a firecracker splitting the night.

Izuku’s pulse stutters. Excitement flutters in his chest, adrenaline licking at his veins.

But still, something feels… different. It’s heavier. More real. Like he’s stepped over an invisible line that he didn’t know existed, one that he can’t go back from. And before he can think too hard about it, Mina yanks him forward.

“Come on, slowpoke! We gotta find everyone before the main race starts.”

“Wait—” His voice is swallowed by the noise as Ochako places a hand on his back and pushes him deeper into the chaos.

The crowd shifts around them, figures leaning against car hoods, cigarette embers glowing in the dark, the flicker of lighters casting quick flashes of light against grinning faces. The energy is thick, charged, ready to explode at any second.

Then, finally, familiar cars.

Kirishima’s grin is as bright as ever, his teeth flashing under the neon glow. He’s perched on the hood of his S2000, arms crossed, looking completely at ease, as if this is just another night, just another race. Beside him, Kaminari throws up a lazy wave, his ever-present energy buzzing even brighter under the streetlights.

The sight of them loosens something tight in Izuku’s chest. A little bit of solid ground in the middle of all this chaos.

“Hey you made it!” Kirishima runs over to give his girlfriend a big kiss on her cheek.

Mina giggles in return, “Wouldn't miss it for the world,”

“Oi, look who actually came back!” Sero’s voice cuts through the noise as he strides up, a lazy grin already on his face. Jirou walks beside him, raising an eyebrow.

“Guess we didn’t scare you off the first time, huh?” she says, arms crossed.

“Nah,” Sero smirks, nudging Kirishima, “he’s totally hooked.”

Izuku flushes slightly, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket. “It’s not— I just—”

“He likes the thrill,” Mina teases, throwing an arm around his shoulders. “Just admit it, Izu.”

The conversation is fast, easy, alive. The way they banter, shove at each other, completely at ease in a world that still feels too big for him.

“Where the hell is Bakugou?” Kaminari asks, scanning the crowd. “Thought he’d be here by now.”

“You know him,” Kirishima smiles looking right past Izuku, “Always one to make a grand entrance,”

As if on cue, an engine revs, low, powerful, commanding.

The air shifts.

The roar of the engine makes heads turn. The crowd doesn’t exactly pause, but it reacts. People glance over, not with surprise, but with expectation.

The flash of orange catches his eye, and his stomach twists before his brain catches up.

He’s seen that car before. The first time he was here, standing on the sidelines, convincing himself this wasn’t his world. He remembers how it moved, how it stood out, how the headlights burned through the dark. The way the crowd seemed to part as it passed.

Loud. Unapologetic. Unshakable.

Bakugou’s car has that effect. Izuku notices.

The street race already felt electric, already felt like something alive, pulsing with heat and adrenaline. But now, with Bakugou here, it feels sharper. Like the air itself is holding its breath.

A sigh pulls Izuku from his thoughts.

Beside him, Ochako shifts, her arms crossing tight over her chest. She doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t say anything at first. Her gaze is locked on Bakugou’s car as it rolls to a stop beside Kirishima’s, the engine purring before settling into silence.

The door swings open.

And then, Bakugou steps forward. Shoulders squared, gaze sharp, completely in his element. The overhead lights catch the sharp angles of his face, the way his jaw tightens just slightly as he scans the crowd. Like he’s searching for something.

Izuku swallows, suddenly hyper-aware of his own heartbeat.

He doesn’t know why Bakugou’s presence shifts the air around him. But it does.

His gaze lingers. The tension stretches, just for a moment.

“Well, who’s ready to get their ass beat?” The words come out dripping with confidence, his voice carrying easily over the rumble of distant engines.

Kaminari barely lasts a second before bursting into laughter, doubling over like he’s just heard the funniest thing all night. “Oh man!” he gasps between wheezes, wiping at imaginary tears. “With a catchphrase and everything?”

Bakugou’s smirk instantly drops into a glare, but it’s not just irritation. There’s a flicker of something else, like a challenge, like he’s daring them to keep pushing. Like this isn’t just about the joke.

He slams his car door shut with a bang, the sharp sound cutting through the laughter. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Sero claps a hand over his mouth, but his amusement still slips through. “Nah, bro, he’s got a point,” he snickers, eyes glinting with barely contained laughter. “You are cheesy as fuck.”

Bakugou doesn’t hesitate. He takes two long, deliberate steps forward, shoving himself into their space, his presence crackling like a live wire. His glare is molten, daring. “Say that again,” he growls, voice low and dangerous, “and I’ll beat you to a pulp.”

But instead of backing down, Kaminari and Sero just lose it. Their laughter explodes, echoing through the lot, Kaminari actually stumbling back as he wheezes. Sero clutches his stomach, shaking his head like he just can’t believe it.

Bakugou’s scowl deepens, his fingers twitching like he’s this close to making good on his threat. And then for just a second, his gaze flicks to Izuku. Not long enough to mean anything. But not short enough to mean nothing, either.

Izuku feels it, a brief, sharp weight, something unreadable behind those crimson eyes. And then, just as quickly, it’s gone.

Bakugou backs down, takes a step back then growls out, “Are we here to race or what?”

But before anyone can answer, something shifts.

One second, Bakugou is glaring at Kaminari and Sero, irritation rolling off him in waves. Then, his entire demeanor changes. His shoulders tense like a coiled spring. His stance firms, weight shifting, like he’s bracing for something. His usual simmering anger doesn’t just spike, it refines, sharpens into something colder, something meaner.

Izuku follows his line of sight instinctively, a prickle of unease skittering up his spine. Off to the side, just past the line of souped-up cars and neon-lit rims, stands a guy Izuku doesn’t recognize.

Tall. Blonde. Dressed in dark clothes that make him look sharper under the glow of streetlights. He’s smirking like he owns the place, like he’s been waiting for this exact moment.

Bakugou’s jaw tightens. His hands curl into fists at his sides, tension crackling off him like a live wire.

Oh.

Kirishima notices, too. His expression flickers with recognition, concern tightening his features. He moves before Bakugou does, clapping a firm hand on his shoulder, his voice low and steady. “Not tonight, man.”

Bakugou doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. His gaze is locked on the guy, unreadable but burning. He looks like he’s waiting, no, daring him to make a move.

The blonde tilts his head, slow and deliberate, his smirk never slipping. Like he’s in on some private joke. Like he knows exactly what buttons to push to get under Bakugou’s skin.

The air between them feels different now. Heavy. Charged. The kind of tension that doesn’t come from revving engines or the promise of a street race, but something older, deeper. Personal.

Izuku’s stomach twists.

Still, the guy doesn’t speak. Doesn’t engage. Just lifts a hand in a lazy, mocking salute before turning on his heel and strolls off.

And for the first time tonight, Bakugou doesn’t lunge at the bait.

His fists remain clenched, knuckles white under the harsh glow of the streetlights. His breathing is sharp, controlled. Each inhale is measured, like he’s counting, grounding himself, forcing restraint onto something that doesn’t want to be restrained.

Izuku swallows. He’s never seen Bakugou this mad before. It's different. This isn’t the usual sharp, explosive rage that burns fast and hot.

This is quiet. Contained. And somehow, that makes it feel so much worse.

Kirishima steps closer, pressing a firm nudge to Bakugou’s shoulder. It’s subtle, but it’s a tether, an anchor. “Let it go, man.” His voice is low, careful. Like he knows just how fragile the balance is right now.

For a long second, nothing happens.

Then, Bakugou exhales. He clicks his tongue, an irritated, biting sound, but doesn’t say a word. His hands unclench, fingers flexing, shaking off whatever instinct had locked them into fists. But his shoulders stay stiff, his body still humming with restrained energy.

Izuku watches. Feels the weight of it pressing down on the moment, thick and unshakable.

What the hell was that about?

The blonde guy is gone. Disappeared into the shadows of the street, swallowed by the noise of the crowd and the thrumming bass of distant music.

But the tension lingers, heavy and electric. It clings to Izuku like a second skin.

Bakugou doesn’t move for a second, shoulders still wound tight. His fingers twitch at his sides, curling, flexing, like he’s still fighting the urge to swing at something.

Izuku keeps watching. And for the first time, he feels like he’s witnessing something he wasn’t supposed to see.

Then a sharp voice slices through the charged air.

“Oi, Bakugou! You up next or what?”

The spell breaks. The atmosphere shifts. The world snaps back into motion like someone flipping a switch. The tension from before doesn’t disappear but instead it’s buried beneath the hum of excitement, the crowd shifting in anticipation. The roar of engines, the cheers of the crowd, the pulsing energy of the race, all of it rushes in like a crashing wave.

Mina grins, nudging Izuku’s side. “Oh, this is gonna be fun.”

Izuku barely registers it. His thoughts are still stuck on the way Bakugou’s head turns, slow and deliberate. His scowl is back in place, his usual fire sparking in his eyes, but Izuku can tell it’s not gone. Not really.

Kirishima claps Bakugou on the shoulder. “You good, man?”

Bakugou clicks his tongue. Rolls his shoulders back. Cracks his neck. And without a word, he turns, heading toward his car.

Izuku exhales. But even as the crowd starts moving, even as the energy shifts toward the next race, he can’t shake the feeling in his chest. It stays with him, thrumming beneath his ribs, a tension that won’t settle.

The distant roar of an engine cuts through the noise of the crowd, low and rumbling, and the feeling inside him tightens, coils. The air shifts, not just around him, but inside him too.

Excitement crackles in the air, thick and electric, buzzing against Izuku’s skin like static. It’s a pulse, tangible, infectious, a force of energy that seeps into his bones and sets his heart racing in time with the growl of the engines.

The crowd erupts as the engines rev, a deafening roar that shakes the pavement beneath their feet. The first set of racers line up, tires screeching as they inch forward, testing the asphalt, their machines snarling like caged beasts ready to be unleashed.

Izuku moves without thinking. Drawn forward by the sheer intensity of it all, by the promise of speed and adrenaline and something just out of reach, he steps past Mina, past Ochako, closer, just to see better. But he’s not moving for the race. Not really.

His eyes are already searching, already locking onto one car, one driver.

Bakugou.

The crowd shifts around him, bodies pressing in, voices rising in a chaotic blend of cheers, bets, and shouted names. But Izuku barely notices. His focus is locked ahead, on the dark stretch of street illuminated by headlights and neon glows, on the cars lined up like coiled springs waiting for release.

And then Bakugou’s car moves.

His car doesn’t just take off, it lunges, surging forward like a predator finally set loose. The tires shriek against the pavement, a sharp, violent sound swallowed immediately by the thunderous acceleration. The sleek body of the car cuts through the night, aggressive and precise, hugging the asphalt like it was made for this, like it doesn’t just belong on the road, it owns it.

Izuku barely blinks, his breath catching as he tracks its path, mesmerized. The way the headlights carve through the dark, the way the machine glides over the pavement like it’s defying gravity itself. But it’s not just the speed. Not just the machine.

It’s the dominance.

It's him.

“You look a little starstruck.” The voice pulls him out of it, too close.

Izuku stiffens. He turns and finds himself face to face with the same blonde guy Bakugou had been staring down. “What’s a little cutie like you doing here?,” he muses, eyes sweeping over Izuku like he’s something to be evaluated. “Seems like you’ve got a thing for dangerous guys.”

Izuku’s stomach turns. “What?”

The blonde smirks, tilting his head toward the race. “You know, Katsuki’s kinda fun to watch, if you don’t mind reckless idiots with an ego problem.”

Izuku bristles, shoulders tensing. “He’s not reckless.”

“Please,” he scoffs, stepping closer. Izuku takes a step back before he can stop himself. “Katsuki’s the type who drives like he’s got something to prove. Like he’d rather die before losing.” He leans in, lowering his voice. “That kind of desperation? Not exactly attractive.”

Izuku hates this. The closeness, the smugness in the blonde’s voice, the way his words slither under his skin. “So what?” Izuku narrows his eyes. “You’re trying to convince me you’re the better option?”

The blonde just grins. “I’m saying you deserve someone who actually pays attention to you.”

A loud cheer erupts from the crowd. Izuku blinks, snapped out of the conversation just in time to see Bakugou’s car speeding back toward the starting line.

He must have won. Izuku missed it.

His breath catches, eyes snapping to the road as Bakugou pulls up, engine growling as he slows to a stop. He doesn’t know why, but watching Bakugou like this—victorious, untouchable—makes his pulse stutter, heat curling under his skin in a way he doesn’t have time to examine.

The driver’s side door swings open.

Bakugou steps out, flushed from the race, chest rising and falling with deep, controlled breaths. The streetlights cast sharp shadows over his face, making the glint in his eyes look even sharper, dangerous and electric.

Izuku barely has time to process the way his stomach twists, because then Bakugou's gaze flicks over the crowd, locking onto him.

And just like that, the mood shifts.

Bakugou’s expression darkens. His eyes cut to The blonde. He doesn't waste a single second to absorb his victory before he’s stomping his way over to them with a hurried fever.

“The hell are you doing here, Monama?”

Monoma barely reacts at first. He just exhales a slow, exaggerated sigh, like this whole thing is beneath him. “Damn, Katsuki. Can’t I have a conversation without you throwing a tantrum?”

Izuku tenses. He’s still close enough to Monoma to feel the shift in energy, the way Bakugou’s presence changes everything.

Bakugou’s jaw clenches, muscles coiled tight, like he’s restraining himself from saying something worse. He takes a step forward.

Monoma, to his credit, doesn’t immediately back down. Instead, he just smirks. “Relax. We were just talking.”

Bakugou’s expression twists into something sharper. “The hell you need to talk to him for?”

Izuku suddenly feels like he’s caught in the middle of something.

Bakugou steps forward. Just one step but it’s enough. The way he carries himself, the tension in his shoulders, the sharp edge in his gaze, it all makes Monoma’s smirk falter for half a second.

Izuku notices.

Monoma schools his expression quickly, tilting his head with that same lazy arrogance. “What, you jealous?”

Bakugou doesn’t blink. Doesn’t react. But the weight of his stare is heavier than any explosion.

Monoma exhales through his nose, like he’s already gotten what he wanted.

Then, without breaking eye contact with Bakugou, he leans just slightly toward Izuku.

Izuku barely has time to tense before Monoma murmurs, “Shame. You’re kinda cute when you’re flustered.”

A muscle in Bakugou’s jaw jumps.

Monoma doesn’t wait for a response. He just smirks and strolls off, perfectly satisfied with himself.

Izuku stands frozen for a second, pulse skittering. He doesn’t know what to do with what just happened, doesn’t even know why he feels the way he does.

Bakugou exhales sharply, clicking his tongue. “Tch. What a pain in the ass.”

Izuku finally snaps out of it. “Yeah,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “No kidding.”

Monoma’s words still linger in the air.

Izuku shifts uncomfortably, rubbing his arm. He doesn’t know why his stomach is twisting, but something about the whole thing makes his skin feel too tight.

Bakugou exhales sharply through his nose. He doesn’t say anything. Just clicks his tongue, shoves his hands into his pockets, and turns on his heel.

Izuku watches him go.

Bakugou’s shoulders are tense as he strides away, heading toward the other racers. He doesn’t glance back, doesn’t say anything else.

Like nothing happened.

But Izuku can still feel it.

The tension that was there. The way Monoma’s words sat wrong with him, not just because they were gross, but because of the way Bakugou reacted.

The crowd is still buzzing, energy crackling in the air like a live wire. Laughter and shouts mix with the distant hum of engines, voices rising over the pounding bass of some song playing through the speakers. The lingering scent of burnt rubber and gasoline clings to the night air, thick and intoxicating. People jostle against each other, hyped up on adrenaline, still riding the high of the last race.

But Bakugou isn’t celebrating.

He stalks back toward his friends, shoulders tight, his scowl carved deep into his face. His movements are sharp, purposeful, but there’s an edge to them, a tension that hasn’t eased. His fists remain clenched at his sides, knuckles white, like he’s still holding onto whatever had him wound so tight in the first place.

Kaminari is already moving on, hyping up the next race, his voice loud and animated as he gestures wildly. His excitement bleeds into the crowd, feeding into the restless energy that hangs heavy in the air. But Izuku barely registers it. The noise, the movement—it all blurs together into a distant hum.

Because he’s still watching Bakugou.

“Aaaaand up next our challenger for the night—!”

The crowd shifts, murmurs turning into cheers as someone new steps forward. The challenger climbs into their car, revving the engine loud, demanding attention, like they have something to prove. The sound rattles through Izuku’s chest, vibrating in his ribs, grounding him just enough to remember where he is.

He exhales sharply, forcing himself to focus.

Engines roar. Tires screech. The cars tear down the road in a blur of color and motion, headlights streaking across the pavement like shooting stars. The rush of speed sends another wave of excitement through the crowd, voices rising in a chaotic swell.

Mina whoops beside him, pumping a fist in the air. Kaminari throws an arm around Sero, shaking him excitedly as they watch the racers disappear into the night.

But Izuku barely sees any of it. Because his focus isn’t on the race. It’s on the figure standing just a few feet away.

Bakugou.

He stands at the edge of the crowd, slightly apart from the chaos, arms crossed over his chest. His jaw is tight, lips pressed into a thin line. The harsh glow of a nearby streetlight casts shadows across his face, sharpening the angles of his expression.

He isn’t watching the race. Not really.

His gaze flickers, just for a second, toward the spot where Monoma disappeared earlier. A brief glance, so quick that most people wouldn’t have caught it.

But Izuku does.

And suddenly, the race in front of him feels like background noise.

Because whatever’s running through Bakugou’s mind, whatever’s still lingering in his clenched fists, in the tension coiling beneath his skin, feels like the real thing to be paying attention to.

Izuku exhales, dragging his gaze back to the street, but the weight in his chest lingers.

It’s just a race. Just a stupid rivalry.

So why does it feel like something more?

Engines cut off, the sharp growl of horsepower fading into the night. The moment the race ends, the crowd erupts, cheers and laughter spilling into the humid air, bodies surging forward to get a glimpse of the winner. Streetlights flicker overhead, casting long shadows as people rush toward the finish line.

Kirishima is laughing, throwing an arm around Kaminari as he practically climbs onto Sero’s back in excitement. Someone else is already calling for a rematch, the hype never settling, the energy never dipping.

But Izuku doesn’t move.

His gaze is still locked on Bakugou.The way he exhales sharply, shoulders squared but rigid. The way his fingers twitch, flexing like he’s gripping something invisible—like he’s holding himself back. Like there’s still a fire simmering under his skin, waiting for the right moment to ignite.

A nudge to his side makes him jolt.

“You spacing out on the race, or just distracted?”

Izuku blinks, stomach twisting as he turns his head.

Mina.

She’s watching him with a knowing smirk, arms crossed, head tilted just slightly. Like she’s caught onto something he hadn’t realized he was giving away.

His heart stutters. Was he that obvious?

“What? No—I was just…” Izuku fumbles, scrambling for an excuse. “Watching the race.”

Mina snorts, unconvinced. “Right. Sure.”

Izuku scowls, heat prickling the back of his neck. “I was\!”

But Mina’s smirk only deepens, and it’s infuriating. Like she knows. Like she’s reading him too easily, picking apart the tension he hasn’t even fully acknowledged himself.

He forces himself to stand straighter, to shake it off, but it doesn’t help. He can still feel Bakugou’s presence, just out of his line of sight, standing stiff and silent at the edge of the crowd.

“I was just—watching the race,” Izuku repeats, but even he can hear how weak it sounds. A little too quick, a little too defensive.

Mina raises an eyebrow, teasing. “Uh-huh.”

Izuku clears his throat, desperate for a subject change. “Who’s racing next?”

Mina smirks, stretching her arms over her head like she’s giving him mercy. “Dunno. Some newbie, I think.”

Izuku exhales, relieved. Crisis averted.

But then, as Mina lowers her arms, she doesn’t turn away. She doesn’t rejoin the excitement with Kirishima or Kaminari.

She’s still watching him.

And for some reason, that makes Izuku’s stomach twist. It shouldn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. So why does it feel like he just dodged something big?

The crowd feels louder now. The music, the laughter, the revving engines—it’s pressing against Izuku’s skull, a relentless, pounding thrum that makes his skin feel too tight. Voices blur together, neon lights flash in his periphery, and the humid air clings to his skin, thick with the scent of rubber and exhaust.

It’s too much. All at once.

He pulls out his phone, barely looking at the screen. Just an excuse. A buffer. Something to ground himself, to pretend he’s checking a message, scrolling through nothing, anything to escape the weight pressing in on him.

Then, quietly, he steps away.

The shift is instant. Just a few steps, just enough distance, and the chaos dulls to something manageable.

The night air is cooler here. The heat of the cars doesn’t reach this far, and the neon lights feel distant, their glow flickering but not overwhelming. The roar of engines softens into a steady hum, more white noise than deafening thunder.

Izuku exhales as he presses his back against the cool metal of a streetlamp, dragging a hand down his face. The noise of the crowd fades just slightly, but his thoughts don’t.

Why does it feel like something shifted tonight?

His thoughts keep circling, looping back over and over like a frayed thread he can’t quite pull loose.

To Bakugou’s expression. To the sharp set of his jaw, the way his shoulders had tensed like a live wire ready to snap. To the way his fists had clenched, fingers twitching like he wanted to throw a punch but knew he shouldn’t.

Izuku runs a hand through his hair, fingers tangling in his curls.

The noise of the race fades the further Izuku walks, the distant roar of engines muffled under the heavy night air. He exhales, dragging a hand through his curls, trying to shake off the strange, unsettled feeling twisting in his chest.

It’s not just the race. It’s not just Monoma’s or Ashido’s words. It’s… everything.

The weight of something unspoken lingers in his ribs, coiled tight, refusing to settle. He knows he should head back, rejoin the others, pretend the night is nothing more than adrenaline and neon lights. But his feet stay planted, his fingers twitching slightly against his sleeves, like his body is waiting for something.

A presence settles beside him, quiet but impossible to ignore.

Izuku doesn’t have to turn his head to know who it is.

Bakugou stands just a step away, hands shoved deep into his pockets, his gaze locked on the distant horizon like he’s watching something only he can see. The sharp glow of the streetlights casts long shadows over his face, catching on the tension in his jaw, the tight line of his shoulders.

Neither of them speak at first.

The silence stretches, thick with something neither of them know how to name. The distant hum of the city presses in around them, but in this small pocket of space, everything feels still.

Then, without looking at him, Bakugou mutters, “That guy’s full of shit.”

Izuku blinks, thrown off by the sudden words. He turns his head slightly, but Bakugou’s eyes stay forward, his expression unreadable.

A beat of hesitation. Izuku exhales, a small, almost breathless laugh slipping past his lips. “Monoma?”

Bakugou clicks his tongue, shifting his weight slightly. “Who the hell else?”

Something about the way he says it makes Izuku pause. There’s no fire behind it, no explosive anger. Just something quieter, steadier.

He should just let it go. It’s not like Monoma’s words meant anything. But still… Izuku can’t shake the way Bakugou reacted.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Izuku says, voice softer now. “Get in his face like that.”

Bakugou finally looks at him then, sharp red eyes locking onto green. The weight of that stare settles over Izuku like a low, burning ember, not quite a flame but just as intense.

“Tch. Like I was just gonna stand there and let that bastard run his mouth?” Bakugou scoffs, rolling his shoulders. “Not happening.”

Izuku studies him for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his expression. Then, slowly, he shakes his head, a small, almost amused smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re always like this, huh?” he murmurs, mostly to himself.

Bakugou’s brow furrows slightly. “The hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Izuku doesn’t answer. Because he’s not sure himself.

The quiet stretches again, not uncomfortable, but filled with something heavy. Bakugou doesn’t move, doesn’t look away, like he’s waiting for something.

And then, just as abruptly as he arrived, he breaks the moment.

“You wanna see what it’s really like?”

Izuku blinks, caught off guard. “What?”

Bakugou jerks his chin toward the lineup of cars, where another set of racers are gearing up, their engines rumbling like restless animals. His voice is casual, almost careless, but there’s an edge to it, something deliberate.

“Passenger seat,” he says simply. “Next race.”

Izuku’s brain stalls for half a second.

“…Wait, seriously?”

Bakugou rolls his eyes. “Nah, I’m just screwin’ with you,” he deadpans before giving Izuku a pointed look. “Yes, seriously, dumbass.”

Izuku hesitates, shifting his weight. He’s seen Bakugou drive. He’s seen the way the car moves, the way it cuts through the night like it owns the road. The thought of being inside that chaos, feeling every turn, every shift of speed, makes his pulse spike.

“I—”

“Look,” Bakugou interrupts, already turning back toward the lineup like the conversation is over. “Don’t come cryin’ to me later when you regret not takin’ the chance.”

Izuku exhales sharply. A challenge. A test.

His fingers curl slightly at his sides.

Screw it.

“Fine,” Izuku says, stepping forward, matching Bakugou’s pace. “I’m in.”

Bakugou doesn’t react at first. But just before they reach the car, his lips curl, not quite a smirk, but something close.

“Tch. ‘Bout time.”

For a second, Izuku thinks maybe no one heard Bakugou’s offer.

Then—

“What?!” Mina squeals, grabbing Izuku’s shoulders so hard he nearly trips.

“Izu, do you understand how big this is?!” she shrieks, practically shaking him.

“Big deal?” Kaminari snorts. “It’s a damn miracle! Katsuki doesn’t let anyone in his car!”

“It’s not that serious,” Bakugou snaps immediately, scowling.

“Ohhhh, but it is,” Jiro teases, poking his chest. “When was the last time you let anyone sit up front, huh?”

Bakugou clicks his tongue, shoving her hand away. “Mind your own damn business.”

Kaminari grins, eyes glinting with mischief. “Damn, bro. Didn’t know you had a favorite now.”

“Tch shut the fuck up!” Bakugou explodes, shoulders stiff.

Izuku feels his face heat up. “It’s not like that!”

“Nah, man, it totally is.” Kaminari cackles, dodging when Bakugou moves like he’s gonna swing.

Sero tilts his head. “Hold up, does that mean Midoriya ranks above us now?”

“Above you extras?” Bakugou scoffs. “Obviously.”

“Aw, man!” Kaminari clutches his chest. “Betrayal! I thought we had something special, Kats!”

Bakugou’s eye twitches. “I will kill you.”

“Wait—hold on.” Ochako’s voice cuts through the chaos. She’s not laughing.

Izuku turns to her, catching the way her brows are furrowed, her arms crossed tightly.

“Are you sure about this?” She asks, looking directly at him.

Izuku blinks. “Huh?”

Ochako gestures toward Bakugou’s car, voice lower now. “I just mean after your— is it safe?”

Bakugou glares. “What the hell’s that supposed to mean?”

Ochako doesn’t flinch. “I just don’t want Izuku getting hurt.”

The words hit hard. The group goes quiet.

Because it makes sense, doesn’t it?

Izuku should be nervous. His mother wouldn’t want this. Toshinori wouldn’t want this. Hell, even he doesn’t fully understand why he said yes. But the fear never comes. Instead, something burns under his skin.

“I’ll be fine,” Izuku says, voice steady.

Ochako isn’t looking at Izuku anymore. She’s looking at Bakugou. Her brows knit, lips parting like she wants to say something. But then she shakes her head, forcing a small smile. “Just… be careful, okay?”

Mina, clearly eager to break the tension, throws an arm around his shoulders. “Oh, come on! He’s gonna have the time of his life!”

Kaminari leans in again. “Yeah, unless he passes out.”

“I won’t,” Izuku mutters.

“Mmm, I dunno.” Sero smirks. “He did look kinda spacey just watching.”

Izuku groans. “I wasn't—!”

“Man… guess things really are different now, huh?” Kirishima, who had been quiet up until now, finally shakes his head, smiling. His voice is casual, but Izuku notices the way he locks eyes with Bakugou.

Bakugou clicks his tongue, looking away. “Tch. Don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

Kirishima doesn’t argue. Just grins, slapping Bakugou’s shoulder.

“Whatever you say, bro.”

Bakugou clicks his tongue, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Tch. Don’t make it weird, shitty hair.”

Something about it sits heavy in Izuku’s chest.

Because even though Kirishima doesn’t spell it out, even though he isn’t outright saying anything…

Izuku knows Kirishima can feel the same shift, and it makes his stomach twist.

“Alright, enough of this dumbass talk.” Bakugou grumbles, already turning toward his car. “You coming or what, nerd?”

Izuku snaps out of his thoughts.

He exhales. “Yeah,” he says, stepping forward.

Bakugou doesn’t react.

But just before he reaches the car, Izuku catches something. The smallest flicker of tension, a breath, a shift in Bakugou’s stance, like he’s bracing himself. Like maybe… This is a bigger deal than even he wants to admit.

The car door shuts with a low, satisfying thunk, sealing Izuku inside.

He’s been here before strapped into the passenger seat, feeling the low, steady hum of the engine beneath him. He knows the scent of this car, the weight of it, the way Bakugou’s hands flex against the wheel like they were made for this.

But this time it’s different.

The air inside the car is thick, pressing against his skin, heavy with something unspoken. The roar of the crowd outside is just background noise now, fading under the weight of the moment. Ahead, the straight stretch of asphalt glows under the streetlights, waiting, empty, endless, daring them to take it.

Beside him, Bakugou grips the wheel, fingers tightening once before stilling. His jaw is set, eyes locked straight ahead.

“Last chance, nerd,” he mutters, voice low, unreadable. “If you’re gonna back out, do it now.”

Izuku swallows. He’s been in this car before. He’s felt this speed. He knows what happens when Bakugou drives.

And yet, he should be scared.

He should feel something heavy in his gut, some innate fear thrumming in his bones. Because he was in a car accident. A bad one. One that supposedly took everything from him.

He doesn’t remember it. Not the impact. Not the metal crumpling. Not the moment his entire life changed.

But shouldn’t he still feel something? Shouldn’t the thought of speed, of engines roaring, of the world blurring around him, make his skin crawl?

He waits for the fear to come. The tightness in his chest. The cold weight of panic curling in his gut. But it doesn’t. His fingers don’t shake. His breathing doesn’t stutter. His pulse doesn’t pound—it just beats, steady, controlled, like this is exactly where he’s supposed to be.

Instead, his heart thrums, not in fear, but in anticipation.

Izuku exhales. He’s already made his choice.

“I’m good,” he says, voice quieter than he meant.

Bakugou clicks his tongue. “Then hold the hell on.”

The race official stands between the two cars, arm raised.

Izuku barely has time to suck in a breath before—

The light flicks on.

Bakugou slams the gas.

The force hits Izuku like a punch to the chest, slamming him back into the seat. The tires scream against the pavement, gripping hard before launching forward like a slingshot released at full tension.

The world outside blurs into streaks of neon and asphalt. The deep roar of the engine isn’t just sound, it’s vibration, thrumming through Izuku’s bones, rattling in his lungs. His pulse spikes, hands instinctively tightening against his seat belt as the car shoots forward, faster than he thought possible.

This isn’t speed. This is velocity, a straight shot, a fight against physics, a collision between man and machine and pure, reckless determination.

The other car is just barely in their periphery, but only for a second.

Bakugou shifts gears, fast and controlled, the car responding like it was built for this moment. The sudden surge of power pressing Izuku even deeper into his seat. The g-force clamps around his ribs, the city lights warping, stretching. The needle on the speedometer climbs fast, but Bakugou’s focus never wavers, never hesitates.

This is the fastest Izuku’s ever moved in his life.

And yet, it’s not the speed that makes his chest tighten.

It’s the way Bakugou drives like he has something to prove.

Like winning isn’t enough. Like he’s trying to outrun something Izuku can’t see.

Izuku turns his head, just for a second, watching Bakugou’s profile. The sharp angles of his jaw set firm, the way his hands grip the wheel like it’s the only thing tethering him to reality.

He’s seen Bakugou race before. He’s seen him win.

But tonight it feels different.

It feels personal.

The finish line rushes toward them, coming too fast, too soon, but Bakugou doesn’t ease up.

The car flies past the line at full throttle. The second it does, Bakugou slams the clutch, easing off the gas just enough to let the world settle back into something almost still. The growl of the engine lowers into a steady purr, the rush of wind outside calming as the car slows.

The race is over. They won.

The engine purrs low as Bakugou finally eases off the gas, the weight of the speed settling back into something tangible.

But inside the car the silence lingers.

Izuku exhales, realizing his hands are still gripping the seat belt. His pulse is still racing.

He turns his head, finds Bakugou already looking at him.

And for some reason the look in his eyes makes Izuku’s stomach twist harder than the speed ever did.

For a second, Bakugou doesn’t move.

His fingers flex against the steering wheel tight, too tight. His knuckles go white, the tension in his shoulders coiling sharp and rigid. His jaw locks for a fraction of a second before he exhales, forcing his grip to relax. Izuku almost doesn’t catch the way his throat bobs, like he’s swallowing back something heavy.

The headlights cast sharp shadows over Bakugou’s face, highlighting the way his jaw tightens, the way his fingers flex just once against the wheel before going still. His breathing is even, controlled, but his eyes—

There’s something there. Something burning beneath the surface, unspoken and raw.

The air between them shifts.

Izuku should look away. Should laugh off the moment. Should tell Bakugou he drives like an absolute maniac.

But he doesn’t.

Because for the first time, he feels like he understands something.

Not about the race. Not about the speed.

About Bakugou.

For a moment, Izuku wonders, what the hell is he trying to outrun?

The tension stretches, heavy and thick, neither of them moving.

Then, Bakugou clicks his tongue, breaking the moment first.

“Tch. Shoulda known you’d like this.” His voice is rough, but not unkind.

Izuku doesn’t answer. He can’t.

Because something just shifted, something real and undeniable. And for the life of him…

He doesn’t know what to do with it.

Chapter Text

Dinner is quiet, warm. The scent of miso soup drifts through the air, mingling with the faint crackle of the television in the next room. Eri chatters excitedly about school, hands waving as she reenacts some grand story, face bright with animation.

Izuku nods along absently, chopsticks hovering over his plate. He forces a small smile, murmurs the occasional “Mm-hm” or “That’s great,” but the words feel automatic, distant.

Because he’s not really here.

The distant clatter of a dish being set down makes him flinch. For a second, it doesn’t sound like dinner at all.

It sounds like the sharp click of a seatbelt snapping into place.

The low, vibrating hum of an engine beneath him.

The way Bakugou’s hands flexed against the wheel, before forcing them to relax.

It was three days ago. So why does it still feel like he’s there? The memory unfurls in his mind like a reel on loop.

Bakugou had driven them back to their meeting spot, the low growl of the engine fading as they rolled to a stop. The moment the car was in park, the world outside came rushing back.

But Izuku barely registered any of it.

Voices blurred, shapes moved around him, pressing in from all sides.The second Izuku stepped out of the car, the others swarmed him. Their excitement crashed over him like a wave he hadn’t braced for, loud and relentless.

But even then, he felt distant, like an observer watching from behind thick glass, separate from the moment.

And then Bakugou disappeared.

One second, he was there. The next, he wasn’t.

Izuku turned back toward the car, expecting to catch his eye, to exchange some kind of glance, an acknowledgment, maybe. But the car was gone.

And Bakugou was gone with it.

No victory celebration. No taunts. Not even a glare thrown Izuku’s way.

No one else seemed to notice.

But Izuku did.

His mouth parted, instinct stirring—he should ask. He should say something. Anything.

But the words never came.

Because he didn’t know why he felt so compelled to ask.

Adrenaline still hummed in his veins, but beneath it, something heavier sat. Something unshaped, unspoken. And for the first time, he wondered—

Had he won at all?

“Izuku?”

His mother’s voice cuts through the haze like a breath of cold air, sharp and grounding.

He blinks, the memory dissolving around him. The warmth of home rushes back in, the soft glow of the dining room, the distant clink of dishes, the gentle, rhythmic sound of Eri’s voice.

Everything is normal.

Except Izuku still feels like he’s moving too fast.

Like the car never really stopped.

Like he never really left that night behind at all.

“Yes—uh, sorry, what?” Izuku winces, blinking rapidly as he snaps back to the present. His chopsticks slip from his hand and clatter against his plate, a little too loud in the otherwise quiet room.

Inko exhales, gesturing toward the rice bowl sitting untouched beside him. “Izuku, I asked you to pass me the rice.”

“Oh—right.” He shifts quickly, grabbing the bowl with both hands and passing it to her. His fingers fumble slightly, movements stiff. “Sorry.”

Across the table, Toshinori’s eyes flick to him, sharp yet unreadable. He doesn’t say anything, but Izuku feels the weight of his gaze, pressing against him like a silent question.

“Izuku,” Her tone is laced with skepticism, “You’ve been distracted all week.”

He exhales slowly, already bracing for the conversation he doesn’t want to have. “It’s nothing. Just… tired.”

Inko watches him carefully. Then, she sets her chopsticks down, slow and deliberate. “And what, exactly, has you so exhausted?”

Her words hit like a pin bursting the bubble around him.

He tenses, shoulders going rigid. He knows she’s noticed, of course she has. His mother has always been razor-sharp in perceiving his emotions, and Izuku already knows whatever answer he gives won’t satisfy her.

Izuku swallows. He shouldn’t say it. He knows better. But the frustration simmers too hot beneath his skin. “I don’t know, Mom,” he mutters. “Maybe the summer classes you signed me up for?”

A sharp silence follows.

The moment they leave his mouth, he regrets them.

“Inko,” Toshinori starts, his voice even, calm, but there’s a warning edge to it. His fingers twitch against his chopsticks, like he wants to say more, but he doesn’t.

Inko exhales, slow and measured, fingers pressing lightly against the table. Her lips purse, not in anger, but in something worse.

Disapproval.

“I see,” she says, voice quieter now, but no less sharp. “So everything I do to make sure you have a secure future… is just an inconvenience to you?”

His breath catches, and he scrambles to backtrack. “Sorry, Mom, I didn’t mean—”

“No, it’s fine,” she cuts him off, but her voice has that controlled disappointment that makes his chest feel tight. “I wouldn’t want to ruin your summer with my unreasonable expectations.”

“Mom, that’s not—”

“If you’re so tired from all the things I ask of you, then maybe you should eat in your room,” she says, finality laced in every syllable. “Since I’m such a burden on you.”

His stomach drops. “But Mom, I really didn’t—”

She cuts him off again, firmer this time, her voice final. “No, Izuku, I don’t want to hear it. In fact, I don’t want to see you for the rest of the night. We’ll talk in the morning.”

His pulse kicks up, a protest on his tongue, but it dies before it can escape. There’s no point. Not with that look in her eyes.

Izuku swallows down the lump in his throat, fingers clenching against his knee. He knows arguing will get him nowhere.

The room falls into heavy silence.

Eri stares down at her plate, small shoulders hunched, suddenly very interested in pushing rice around with her chopsticks. Toshinori exhales quietly but doesn’t intervene.

“Fine.” Izuku pushes his chair back, the scrape of wood against tile echoing louder than it should. Without another word, he grabs his plate and leaves, his mother’s disappointment curling around him like a noose.

The door clicks shut behind him, quieter than it should be. Too quiet.

He stands there for a moment, plate still in his hands, the silence pressing in on all sides.

The air in his room feels heavier than usual, like it’s closing in on him. It’s stupid. It’s just a room. Just four walls. The same walls he’s lived in for years. And yet, for some reason, he feels like an outsider in his own home.

His stomach twists.

Izuku sets the plate down on his desk, not because he plans to eat it, but because it feels wrong to throw it away. He just stares at it, the untouched rice, the half-eaten vegetables, like they might hold some kind of answer. But there’s nothing. Just cold food and colder silence.

He sinks onto his bed, shoulders slumping, the exhaustion settling in.

Why does it still feel like a punishment?

He’s twenty years old. An adult. He should be able to go where he wants, do what he wants. But he isn’t. He’s still trapped in the same cycle, the same expectations, the same guilt that wraps around him like a chain.

He shouldn’t be this upset. He shouldn’t care. And yet, he does. The feeling lingers, crawling under his skin, refusing to let go.

His fingers twitch.

He needs to get out. Not physically, maybe, but something inside him is clawing at his ribs, restless and desperate. He can’t just sit here. He can’t sit in this silence, in this feeling.

He needs a distraction.

Before he can talk himself out of it, he reaches for his phone. His thumb hovers over the keyboard.

He types.

Then deletes it.

It’s stupid. It’s late, and he’s probably being annoying. But, if he doesn’t reach out, the silence will swallow him whole.

He exhales sharply and finally types out the message again.

THE BROS | 7:54 PM

IZUKU: [Anything going on tonight? I need to get out of the house.]

The second the message goes through, regret coils in his chest.

He tosses his phone onto the bed, face down, like that will somehow stop him from checking it. He won’t check it. He tells himself that. Over and over.

But his fingers twitch. His pulse jumps at every imagined vibration. His mind is already racing through the possibilities, what if they don’t answer? What if they’re busy? What if they think he’s pathetic for asking?

He doesn’t know which would be worse.

He sighs and lays down, back hitting the mattress with a dull thump. The bed should feel comforting. Soft. Familiar. Safe. But it isn’t.

The air in his room feels thick, pressing against his skin, and his thoughts won’t stop circling back to that stupid message. He shouldn’t have sent it. He should have just kept his head down, sucked it up, done what his mom wanted.

What was he expecting, anyway? For everyone to immediately respond? For them to drop whatever they were doing and pull him out of this suffocating silence?

Pathetic.

With a frustrated exhale, he drapes an arm over his eyes.

Just forget it. Forget the ache in his chest, forget the restless feeling clawing at his ribs. Just let exhaustion win. Just sleep. Just stop feeling.

His body starts to sink into that hazy in-between, where thoughts grow sluggish and the weight of the day finally begins to drag him under—

Bzzzt.

His breath snags. The vibration cuts through the quiet, sending a jolt of adrenaline racing through him. Someone answered.

Izuku bolts upright, heart hammering against his ribs. His fingers scramble for the phone, nearly knocking it off the nightstand in his rush. His pulse is so loud in his ears that he barely registers the glow of the screen before unlocking it.

They saw the message. They want him there. He’s not alone.

But then—

His stomach twists.

It’s not the group chat.

It’s Ochako.

He stares at the screen for a second too long, thumb hovering over the accept button. She saw it. She had to have. The group chat was still silent, but she called.

A flicker of disappointment stirs in his chest, unbidden. He knows it’s selfish. He should be grateful. He is grateful. But some small, irrational part of him was hoping for more.

A joke from Mina. Some dumb comment from Kaminari. Maybe even Kirishima saying, “On our way, bro!” Something that would pull him out of his own head without having to explain why he needed them in the first place.

But it’s Ochako.

His first friend. The person who has always been looking out for him, even when he didn’t ask her to. The one person who knows him well enough to see through him, to recognize when he’s slipping before he even says a word.

She’s calling because she knows.

The tightness in his chest eases, just a little. He exhales through his nose, shaking off the last remnants of hesitation before finally swiping to answer.

“Hey,” he murmurs, voice rough with exhaustion.

There’s a pause on the other end, just long enough to let him know she’s choosing her words carefully.

“Hey, Izu,” she says softly. And just like that, he feels a little less alone.

Another pause, and he can hear the faint sound of wind rustling in the background. She must be outside.

“So…” she starts, her voice light, casual, but he knows her too well. There’s a carefulness to her tone, a deliberate softness. “What’s up?”

He hesitates. “Nothing, just… needed to get out of the house.”

“Yeah?” She doesn’t sound convinced.

He exhales, forcing a small chuckle. “You always say that like you don’t believe me.”

“That’s because I don’t.” Her voice is still light, teasing, but underneath it, there’s an edge of concern. A weight.

“Izuku.” She says his name quietly, and his fingers clench against the sheets. “Talk to me.”

He swallows. He should brush it off. Make some excuse. Change the subject. But the words are caught in his throat, thick and heavy.

“Did something happen?” she presses, softer now.

The image of his mother flashes in his mind. Her clipped voice. The way she dismissed him so easily, like he was still a child.

He exhales sharply. “I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?” she echoes, waiting for more.

“I mean… It’s stupid.” His voice is quiet.

“It’s not stupid if it’s bothering you.”

His jaw tightens. The words are right there, but saying them out loud makes them real.

“It’s just… my mom.” He forces out a laugh, hollow and humorless. “Same old stuff. Nothing new.”

There’s a small pause. “She upset you.”

He rubs a hand over his face. “It’s not like that. She just—”

He doesn’t even know how to explain it.

How do you explain something that isn’t just one thing? That isn’t just one fight or one bad moment—it’s a constant, lingering presence in the back of his mind. The way she makes him feel small without even trying.

The way he still wants her approval, even though he knows he’ll never quite be enough.

“She treats me like I’m still a kid,” he admits finally. “Like I’m—” Like I’m not allowed to live my own life. But he doesn’t say that part.

Ochako is quiet for a second. Then—

“Yeah,” she says softly. “That’s not fair.” Another pause, thoughtful this time. “But… you know, she just wants to keep you safe, right?”

His fingers tighten around the blanket. “I know,” he admits. “But it still sucks.”

“Of course it does,” she says. “You’re not a kid anymore, Izu. You shouldn’t feel like you have to prove that to her every second of the day.”

He lets out another humorless laugh. “Yeah, tell her that.”

“I would if I could,” she mutters. “But she’d probably just think I was a bad influence.”

That earns a small, genuine chuckle from him. “She already does.”

“Oh, good.” He can hear her grin. “Then I guess I should live up to the reputation.”

The silence between them is lighter now. Not gone, but not as crushing.

“You’re not alone, you know,” she says, quieter now.

His fingers tighten around the phone.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “I know.”

And for the first time tonight, he almost believes it.

“But,” she adds, voice lightening just a bit, “you also don’t have to sit in it alone. There might not be anything big going on tonight, but I’m sure I can gather a few people for a small hangout.”

He blinks. “You’d do that?”

“Duh,” she teases, her warmth shining through. “You sounded like you needed a distraction, so let’s make one. We could hit up Kirishima’s or just chill somewhere. No pressure, just a few of us.”

No pressure.

He lets out a slow breath, his fingers gripping the phone. It’s stupid how much that helps. How much he needs it.

His pulse slows. The weight on his chest isn’t completely gone, but it’s lighter now. Manageable.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “That… sounds nice.”

“Good.” He can hear the smile in her voice. “Now, if I show up and you look like you just crawled out of bed, I’m kicking your ass.”

A quiet chuckle escapes him. “No promises.”

“Ugh, I hate you. See you soon, dummy.”

The call ends, and Izuku stares at his phone for a moment longer, gripping it tightly in his palm.

The silence in his room feels different now. Not quite gone, but softer. Less suffocating.

He exhales, tilting his head back against the pillow, eyes slipping shut for a brief second. He lets himself sit in it—the lingering weight, the exhaustion, the quiet relief.

Then, with a soft sigh, he stands up.

Izuku stands at the end of the street, just far enough away from his house that the walls no longer feel like they’re closing in on him. The air is thick with lingering heat, carrying the scent of sun-baked pavement and late-summer humidity. It clings to his skin, heavy and unmoving, pressing against him like an extra weight on his shoulders.

It should be freeing, stepping outside, but it isn’t. His chest still feels tight, like the argument wrapped around his ribs and followed him out the window.

The street is eerily quiet, the flickering street lights casting uneven shadows that stretch and shrink along the pavement. The distant hum of cars fills the silence, but it’s not enough to drown out the thoughts clawing at his mind.

His hands curl into fists at his sides before loosening again, his breath unsteady. He should feel relieved to be out here, but instead, he just feels… stuck.

He barely has time to take a breath, to let the night air settle in his lungs, before twin beams of light slash through the darkness, cutting across the pavement.

The car barrels down the street way too fast, tires screeching against the asphalt as it swerves slightly before jerking to an abrupt stop right in front of him. With a soft whir, the passenger window rolls down, revealing a grinning Mina, eyes alight with mischief like she just got away with something illegal.

“Get in, loser,” she chirps, the corners of her mouth curling even higher. “We’re committing crimes.”

Izuku blinks, caught between amusement and disbelief.

Ochako leans over from the passenger seat, waving. “She’s been planning that line the whole drive.”

For the first time all night, Izuku huffs a small laugh.

The car smells like perfume and fast food. Mina’s got one hand on the wheel and the other flailing wildly as she rants about some dramatic work story, weaving between lanes like she’s in a race only she knows about.

Izuku lets himself sink into the noise. It’s easier than thinking.

“Oh my god, Midoriya, you’re so quiet. Is this a sad-boy moment? Are you having a sad-boy moment?” Mina asks, squinting at him in the rearview mirror.

“I—what?”

“Should I play something emotional? Something with depth? A real tearjerker?” She scrolls through her phone with one hand—while still driving.

“Mina, watch the road,” Ochako sighs, exasperated but fond.Izuku barely registers it. Ochako glances at him, her voice quieter now. “You okay?”

He forces a smile, knowing she sees right through it. “Yeah.”

She doesn’t push, but he knows she doesn’t believe him.

The car screeches to a stop outside a small rundown apartment building, and before Izuku can even unbuckle his seatbelt, Mina’s already shouting.

“Kiri! We brought the sad boy! Emergency fun time, stat!”

The door opens, warmth spilling out onto the street, the sounds of laughter and music pressing against him.

Izuku lingers for a second, his pulse steady, his breath slow. This is different. This is better.

The second Izuku steps inside, the air changes.

It’s warm, filled with the scent of something fried and greasy, the faint undercurrent of someone’s cologne lingering in the air. Music hums low from the speakers, barely noticeable beneath the overlapping voices.

It’s messy, chaotic, alive.

Nothing like his house.

It takes a second to settle in. The noise, the clutter, the sheer energy of the place, it’s all so different from the quiet, heavy air he left behind.

Izuku sat on the floor of Kirishima’s apartment, his back pressed against the couch, legs crossed tightly in front of him.

Sero stretched out in his bean bag chair, one arm draped lazily over the side as he tapped something out on his phone. “Man, I swear to God, I saw a TikTok today that reminded me of you, Kiri.”

Kirishima, sitting stretched out on the couch with a beer in hand, perked up. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” Sero snickered, eyes still on his phone. “It was like, ‘if your homie is too nice, he’s definitely the one who would throw hands for you in a bar fight.”

Mina nearly choked on her drink. “That is so him.”

Ochako grinned, tossing a chip in her mouth. “You do have big ‘I’ll fight a guy for my friends’ energy.”

Kirishima let out a bashful laugh, rubbing the back of his neck. “What, just because I’d throw a punch if someone looked at you guys wrong?”

“Yes,” Izuku said before he could stop himself.

Laughter rippled through the group. Kirishima shot him a look, grinning wide. “C’mon, Midoriya, you’d be right there with me!”

Izuku opened his mouth to argue. The laughter still rang in his ears, but something about it didn’t quite reach his chest. Not fully.

His mind wandered, slipped, really. Right back to the one person he had been trying to avoid thinking about.

Bakugou.

The guy definitely seemed like the type. Short temper, loud as hell, always bristling like he was expecting a fight.

But there was something else under it, something Izuku couldn’t quite put into words yet. It wasn’t just unchecked aggression. It was controlled. Like he was always measuring how much force to use, like every action had an intention behind it.

“What about Bakugou?” the words had slipped from his mouth before his brain could catch them.

“Nah,” Mina said, shaking her head. “Bakugou doesn’t count. He’s just… Bakugou.”

Sero snorted. “Yeah. If Kiri fights a guy, it’s heroic. If Bakugou fights a guy, it’s just Tuesday.”

Ejiro grinned but didn’t deny it. “I mean… yeah, you’re not wrong.”

“Exactly,” Ochako said, pointing at him. “He can’t fit into the ‘nice guy who will throw hands’ category because he’s just an asshole.”

Yeah, he was intense, blunt to the point of being rude, but an asshole?

The word didn’t sit right. Not when Izuku kept replaying moments in his head. The way they all dismissed him so easily made something twist deep in Izuku’s gut. Like Bakugou wasn’t even a person to them, just a temper, an expectation, a reputation.

What had Bakugou done to make them all see him like that?

Izuku thinks of the way Bakugou lingers on the edge of the group, eyes darting like he was constantly measuring the distance between himself and everyone else. The more Izuku thought about it, the more he felt a pull towards unraveling who Bakugou really was.

But then, he’s startled from his thoughts as Sero pulls out something from his pocket that catches Izuku’s eyes. And just like that, all his thoughts evaporated, replaced just as fast with new concerns.

Everyone perks up, an unspoken agreement settling over them. Izuku recognizes it immediately—a joint.

Izuku didn’t react outwardly, but inside, his stomach twisted. Alcohol was one thing but drugs?

The lighter clicked. A brief flare of orange. Smoke curled lazily in the air as Sero took the first drag, holding it for a moment before exhaling with a satisfied sigh. “Man, I needed this.”

He passed it to Kirishima who accepted it without hesitation. “Same,” he says, taking his own slow hit. “Long-ass week.”

Izuku feels his heart start to race. He’s seen people smoke before—half-hidden alleyways on his walk home from school, crowded in bathroom stalls on campus—but never this close. Never anyone he knew. He watches Kirishima take another rag and blow out a cloud of smoke that circles lazily above their heads.

“Hey,” Ochako says softly beside him, nudging his arm. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Izuku lies. He fights the instinct to retreat into himself, not wanting to be that guy—the one who freaks out over nothing. But the panic is there anyway, buzzing under his skin.

Kirishima passes it back to Sero, who holds it out toward Mina. She hesitates long enough for Sero to quip something about not bogarting the damn thing, and Mina laughs before taking it with an exaggerated sigh.

Izuku knows it’ll come around to him eventually. The thought makes his stomach clench again—not quite fear but something like it. He glances at Ochako, unsure if she’ll say yes when they offer it to her.

Mina takes her hit and leans back against the couch, eyes half-lidded and content as she hands it off once more to Sero.

The joint reaches Ochako and she politely declines with a wave of her hand. Her refusal is firm but friendly.“Nah, I’m good tonight.”

Izuku lets out a breath he didn't know he was holding.

His shoulders relax, and a sense of relief floods through him as he silently appreciates Ochako's ability to stand her ground with such grace.

Sero, unfazed, gives a casual nod and passes the joint along to the next person without a second thought.

No one comments on it, no one seems to notice how tense he is, the way his shoulders are still drawn so tight that they almost ache.

And now, now it was in front of him.

Mina held it out, her nails painted a bright, chipped pink, her lips curled into an easy, lazy smile. “Zuku?” she prompted, tilting her head.

It was just a question. Not pressure, not judgment. Just an offer.

Izuku swallowed, his fingers twitching against his knee.

He could already hear the questions racing through his head. What if he has a bad reaction? What if he freaks out? What if he does it wrong? What if he makes a fool of himself?

“I’m good,” he said quickly, shaking his head.

Mina shrugged, completely unbothered, and passed it back to Kirishima. That was it. The conversation rolled on like nothing happened.

Izuku let out another slow breath, willing his shoulders to relax.

Ochako nudges him again, her voice low, for him only. “See? They don’t care. You’re good.”

He nods, trying to believe it, trying to let himself relax into the noise and laughter, into the feeling of being here and not stuck inside his own head.

Time slips by in a haze of warmth and voices. The room smelled thickly of weed, earthy, a little sweet, with that sharp edge of something burning. It clung to everything. The couch cushions, the throw blankets, even the fabric of Izuku’s hoodie.

The smoke hung low, a hazy veil stretching across the room. Every time someone exhaled, another thin stream of it curled upward, adding to the heavy air.

The smoke lingers but feels less invasive, less pressing against his skin like an accusation. He sinks back further against the couch, lets himself drift in and out of the conversation.

Izuku’s head felt light, like his thoughts were a half-step slower than usual, but still jittery around the edges.He hadn’t taken a hit, but at this point, he was pretty sure he was getting a secondhand high.

His fingers twitched against his knee.

That’s a thing, right? Secondhand highs? Can you actually get one, or is that just something people say? What if I’m imagining it?

The thought made his stomach twist. He was overthinking. He knew he was overthinking. But knowing didn’t stop his brain from running a mile a minute, from cataloging every shift in his body—his slightly fuzzy thoughts, the warmth pooling in his limbs, the way his breathing felt different, like he had to remind himself to inhale deeply enough.

He rubbed at his face, trying to ground himself.

“Dude,” Sero said, voice thick with amusement. “You good?”

Izuku blinked, realizing too late that he’d been sitting stiffly for who knows how long.

“Y-Yeah,” he said, forcing a small laugh. “Just—uh—just thinking.”

Mina stretched out on the couch, head tipping back over the back of it. “You always look like you’re thinking. You gotta turn your brain off sometime.”

Izuku huffed a quiet laugh, even as his chest stayed tight. Turn his brain off? Yeah. Sure. He’d get right on that.

Kirishima grins, passing the joint back to Sero. “Don’t mind him, He’s just getting a contact high.”

Izuku stiffened. “That’s not a real thing, right?”

“Oh, it definitely is,” Sero said, exhaling another slow stream of smoke.

Izuku’s stomach dropped.

Mina waved a hand dismissively. “Only if you’re in, like, a tiny room with zero ventilation.”

Ochako nudged Izuku’s arm, her lips twitching. “We are in a tiny room with zero ventilation.”

Izuku inhaled sharply.

Mina cackled. “Relax, you’re fine. If anything, you’ll just feel a little floaty.”

“Or paranoid,” Sero added unhelpfully.

Kirishima shot him a look. “Dude.”

“What?” Sero grinned. “He already looks paranoid.”

Izuku ran a hand through his hair, ignoring the way his heart picked up speed. Okay. It’s fine. He’s fine. Just chill. Normal conversation. Normal breathing.

Ochako, bless her, changed the subject. “Okay, serious question,” she said, tossing a chip into her mouth. “If animals could talk, which species would be the most sarcastic?”

Mina perked up immediately. “Oh, absolutely a cat.”

Ejiro laughed. “Dude no, a snake, those little shit would be sarcastic as hell.”

“You guys are missing the obvious choice,” Sero says, grinning. “fucking hyenas.”

The conversation picked up again, easy and natural, but Izuku still felt a little… detached. Like he was just a little outside of himself, his thoughts floating just a little slower than usual.

Maybe Mina was right. Maybe it was fine.

The air was thick, warm, buzzing with the lazy hum of conversation and low music. Izuku let out a breath, trying to let himself sink into it. The weight in his chest loosened, just a little.

Just for tonight.

Just let the noise settle. Let himself exist in it.

His shoulders finally, finally began to loosen—

BANG.

The front door slammed open, rattling on its hinges. Izuku flinched, the sudden noise slicing through the hazy calm like a blade.

“Yo! Guess who I found!”

Kaminari’s voice rang out, loud and triumphant, like he had just discovered fire. He stood in the doorway, grinning wildly, his hand latched onto someone’s wrist. Someone who did not look happy to be there.

Bakugou.

The second Izuku registered him, his breath caught.

He hadn’t expected to see him tonight. Hadn’t even let himself consider the possibility.

But there he was, dragged inside, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. Scowling, tense, sharp edges and narrowed eyes. Something hot crawled beneath Izuku’s ribs, a mix of unease and something else he didn’t have the words for.

His red eyes flicked over the room, over the haze hanging thick in the air, the way everyone was sprawled out, easy and relaxed, completely unbothered by the fact that he had just barged in like a storm.

Izuku sat frozen, tension creeping back into his shoulders like a vice, his heart thudding uncomfortably loud in his chest.

Kaminari, meanwhile, was oblivious to the shift in atmosphere. He hopped over the couch in one fluid motion, narrowly missing Kirishima’s outstretched legs, and plopped down beside Mina. “Dude was just sitting outside in his car like a weirdo,” he said, throwing his hands up dramatically.

Bakugou clicks his tongue in irritation. “I wasn’t—” He cut himself off, exhaling sharply like it wasn’t worth the effort.

Kaminari didn’t seem to notice, or maybe just didn’t care. He sniffed the air, his nose scrunching before he let out an exaggerated groan. “Aww, man, you guys started without me?”

Sero snorted from his spot in the bean bag. “We didn’t know if you were coming.”

Kaminari flopped back into the cushions with an over-the-top sigh. “Rude.”

Bakugou still hadn’t moved from the doorway.

Izuku’s chest tightened again, a weight pressing down as he became acutely aware of Bakugou's presence. The energy in the room had shifted, though no one else seemed to notice. It wasn’t just his imagination; there was an electric crackle beneath the haze of smoke and warmth that wrapped around him.

Bakugou's gaze flicked toward him, sharp and unreadable, for just a moment. Izuku swallowed hard, feeling unsettled for reasons he couldn’t quite grasp. Perhaps it was because Bakugou didn’t belong here like the others did; he felt out of place, as if he had stumbled into the wrong scene of a story that didn’t fit him.

His stomach twisted, thoughts spiraling faster than he could rein them in. One moment, Bakugou had been there at the race; the next, he’d disappeared without a trace. That night, Izuku had turned toward Bakugou’s car with an unspoken hope for some connection, a glance or acknowledgment, but instead found emptiness as Bakugou vanished before anyone noticed. And now here he was, acting as if nothing had happened.

The secondhand high coursing through Izuku muddled his thoughts further, amplifying his confusion over why this bothered him so much. He watched as Bakugou dragged a chair from the tiny dining table, its legs scraping against the worn wooden floor. He settled between Sero and Kirishima with a casualness that clashed with the tension coiling in his shoulders, leaving Izuku feeling even more adrift amidst the laughter and chatter surrounding them.

Sero, reclined in his seat with his usual easy going demeanor, lifts the dwindling roach between two fingers and extends it toward Bakugou without a second thought.

Bakugou barely glances at it before grimacing, his nose scrunching up in distaste. “Pass.” His voice is firm, leaving no room for argument.

Sero simply shrugs and leans over to hand it to Kirishima instead, who takes it with a nod before bringing it to his lips.

Izuku shifts where he sits, eyes flicking back to Bakugou. He doesn’t miss the way his arms cross over his chest, or the way his foot taps against the floor, a restless, almost subconscious habit. Bakugou isn’t talking, isn’t engaging the way he usually would, and more importantly, he isn’t participating.

For someone who never hesitates to throw himself headfirst into anything, his restraint stands out.

For the next hour, Izuku watches Bakugou grow increasingly tense.

At first, it’s subtle, his foot bouncing, fingers twitching against his biceps. He shifts, rolling his shoulders, never quite settling. But as the night drags on, the signs sharpen.

His jaw tightens. His nostrils flare. And yet, he doesn’t take anything. Doesn’t reach for the bottle, doesn’t touch the blunt. Just sits there, energy coiling tighter, like a spring wound to its limit.

This isn’t restlessness. It’s restraint.

Izuku’s grip tightens around his glass as he watches Bakugou’s fists clench, his breathing too measured, too controlled. The realization settles, heavy and undeniable, he’s uncomfortable.

Why? Izuku isn’t sure. The smoke, the setting, or something deeper. But Bakugou doesn’t want to be here.

And yet, he stays.

That alone says something.

Izuku swallows, concern unfurling in his chest. He wonders if anyone else has noticed.

But the chatter amongst the group carries on, unbothered, as if nothing is out of place. Laughter bubbles up every so often, Kaminari cracking another dumb joke that sends Sero into a wheezing fit.

Izuku barely registers any of it. His attention keeps snagging on Bakugou. It’s like watching a storm cloud slowly gather weight, thick and heavy with something unsaid.

A hand suddenly waves in front of his face, jolting him out of his thoughts.

“You doing okay over there?”

Izuku blinks, refocusing to find Ochako watching him, head tilted in concern. The warm glow from the overhead light catches in her wide brown eyes, her expression soft but searching.

“Hm?” He turns toward her, his brain taking a sluggish moment to catch up. “Oh, yeah. Just peachy.”

His voice comes out lighter than he feels, the words an automatic deflection. Too automatic, because Ochako’s brows immediately pull together in a frown.

“You sure?” she asks, quieter this time, voice dipping just beneath the hum of conversation.

Izuku forces a small, lopsided smile, rubbing the back of his neck. “Yeah. Just zoned out.”

But the weight in his chest lingers, and as Ochako studies him for a second longer, he wonders if she can see it too.

Kirishima nudges Bakugou’s leg with his foot, his usual grin in place. “Dude, what made you show up? I thought you had work tomorrow morning?” His red eyes gleam with curiosity, but there’s also a flicker of genuine surprise.

Izuku watches the way Bakugou’s fingers flex against his bicep, the subtle tension there betraying his irritation. His jaw works for a second before he finally mutters, “Why does it matter? I’m here now, ain’t I?”

“Aww, poor Bakugou has to socialize,” Ashido coos, leaning forward with an exaggerated pout.

“Fuck you, I socialize.” Bakugou scowls, rolling his shoulders like he’s shaking off an invisible weight.

“Oh yeah? With what? Your fucking firebird?” Sero snickers from Bakugou's side, barely dodging the empty can Bakugou chucks at him in retaliation.

The group erupts into laughter, but Bakugou’s fingers twitch like he’s already halfway out the door. He shifts in his seat, muscles coiled tight, until he finally makes a move to stand—sharp, decisive.

Ejiro reacts fast, a firm hand clamping down on Bakugou’s forearm before he can bolt. “C’mon, man, you know they’re just fucking with you.” His voice is easy, warm, but there’s a thread of sincerity there, an unspoken don’t go.

Bakugou exhales sharply through his nose, still glaring, but his weight settles back into the chair.

And then, just as the tension starts to ease, Denki grins and delivers the final blow. “Damn, bro, I would’ve just let you sulk in your car if I knew you were gonna be such a party pooper.”

The Room falls silent.

Bakugou’s eyes snap to Kaminari like a wolf zeroing in on prey. His hands clench against his knees, his whole body thrumming with barely restrained irritation. For a moment, it’s unclear if he’s going to bite back or simply walk out.

Izuku’s fingers tighten around his drink as he watches.

And then—

Bakugou swiftly gets up, the legs of his chair scraping against the floor with a sharp screech. His movements are abrupt, precise, like a spring wound too tight finally snapping free. Without a single word, he storms out, the front door swinging open with enough force that it rattles against the frame before slamming shut behind him.

The room falls into an awkward silence, the lingering echo of the door reverberating through the space. Kaminari blinks, his grin faltering. “Uh… shit. Was that too much?”

“No shit, dumbass,” Sero mutters, rubbing the back of his head as he watches the door like Bakugou might come storming back in and deck someone.

Kirishima sighs, already pushing himself to stand. “I’ll go talk to him.”

But before he can take a step, Izuku’s already moving.

“I got it,” he says, setting his drink down. His voice is calm, even, but there’s something firm about the way he says it, like there’s no room for argument.

Kirishima hesitates for a second before nodding, sitting back down with a quiet, “Alright, man. Good luck.”

Izuku doesn’t need luck.

He just needs to find Bakugou.

And maybe, just maybe, figure out what’s really going on beneath all that anger.

Izuku steps out, the door creaking slightly as he pushes it open. He stops just short of crashing into Bakugou, who’s sitting cross-legged on the steps directly in front of the door, his arms folded across his chest. Bakugou doesn’t even flinch as the door opens, his posture radiating irritation.

“Leave it alone, Shitty Hair, I’m fine,” Bakugou growls, not even bothering to look up, his voice rough, like he’s exhausted from all the yelling he’s probably been doing.

Izuku blinks in confusion, then hesitates, shifting his weight. "Um, Kirishima is still inside," he says quietly, unsure of how to approach the situation.

At this, Bakugou finally turns his head, his sharp amber eyes meeting Izuku's with an intensity that almost makes Izuku flinch. The glare is there, but it's not as harsh as it usually is. Still, Bakugou's voice is a low, firm growl. "Well, the statement still stands."

The air hangs heavy for a moment. Izuku watches Bakugou carefully, noticing the way his hands are balled into fists, the tension in his posture. The silence feels thick, like there’s something unsaid between them.

Izuku shifts on his feet, the awkwardness pressing down on him. He feels like he’s intruding, but he can’t bring himself to leave. After a beat, he clears his throat. “Can I… sit?” he asks, his voice soft, almost hesitant.

For a long moment, Bakugou doesn’t answer, his eyes narrowing slightly as if weighing the question. But then, to Izuku's surprise, he shifts over a little, making just enough space on the step for Izuku to join him.

Izuku doesn’t move immediately, still caught in the awkwardness of the situation. But slowly, he takes a careful step forward and sits down next to Bakugou, the space between them still charged with an unspoken tension.

The moment feels suspended in time.

Izuku stares at the pavement, trying to find words. The silence stretches, heavy and awkward. Finally, he takes a breath. “Bakugou,” he says, keeping his voice steady. “Are you okay?”

There’s a long pause. Bakugou’s jaw tenses as if he’s holding back an avalanche of words. When he speaks, it’s sharp and clipped. “I don’t need your pity.”

The response doesn’t surprise Izuku, but it still stings more than he’d like to admit. He rubs his palms against his jeans, exhaling slowly, watching his breath disappear into the chill night air.

“I wasn’t—I just thought—” He stops himself, frowning. “You seemed like you didn’t want to be here,” he says finally, the words tumbling out before he can second-guess them.

Bakugou gives a low, bitter chuckle that sounds almost like a growl. “No shit.”

Izuku sits, heart thumping in his chest. The sound echoes in his ears, louder than the quiet around them. He’s so close to Bakugou, close enough to feel the ambient heat radiating from him like a furnace. He had taken to biting his lip, worrying it between his teeth as he stares straight ahead.

The words he wants to say are stubborn, sticking in his throat like they were never meant to be spoken. He wonders if this was a mistake, if he should have stayed inside, let Bakugou deal with this on his own. He doubts Kirishima would have let him leave. But then again, Bakugou’s been pretty damn good at leaving lately.

Izuku glances sideways, studying Bakugou’s rigid profile. The silence presses in, feels thicker than the tension. Thoughts swirl in his mind until, finally, they form words. “Do you always do this?”

Bakugou lets out a sigh, avoiding eye contact with Izuku. "Do what?"

Izuku waves his hand at the darkness enveloping them. "This. Walk away when everything becomes overwhelming."

Bakugou scoffs, finally meeting Izuku's gaze. "You're one to talk."

It’s obvious that Bakugou isn’t going to offer any more explanation, his expression closing off like a door slamming shut. Izuku knows that look, knows it well enough to recognize when it’s not worth pushing. The words that hover on the tip of his tongue die out, and he lets out a breath, almost like he’s surrendering.

“Yeah,” he murmurs finally, resignation creeping into his voice. “Okay.”

The fight drains out of him like air from a punctured tire, and he rubs the back of his neck, trying not to feel disappointed that he couldn’t break through.

The silence fills the space between them, making it feel larger than it actually is. Izuku wonders if this is it, if they’ve reached the point where Bakugou clams up and things are left unresolved. But then Bakugou shifts, his brows furrowing with irritation, and there’s a flicker of something almost like guilt in his eyes.

“Fuck,” he mutters, rubbing his temples like he’s contemplating his next words, “you wanna go for a drive?”

Izuku stares, momentarily stunned. The offer is unexpected, catching him completely off guard. “Right now?”

Bakugou looks at him like he’s stupid. “When else?”

His response is impatient, sharp, like he can’t fathom why Izuku would hesitate. But Izuku hesitates anyway, rubbing his palms on his shorts as his eyes dart back to the apartment door, his heart pounding in his chest.

“Um—”

Bakugou’s eyes narrow, and there’s a flash of annoyance on his face as he follows Izuku’s gaze back to the door. It’s as if he knows exactly what Izuku’s thinking, as if he can see the hesitation and doubt twisting inside him. Izuku can feel the heat of Bakugou’s stare boring into him, waiting for an answer.

Bakugou clicks his tongue, frustration starting to build as the silence stretches uncomfortably. “Look, if you’re just gonna flake—” He starts to stand, already moving like he’s about to bail on Izuku’s indecision.

Izuku’s panic spikes, and he blurts out, “No, wait!” The words leave his mouth before he’s even aware of saying them. He takes a quick breath, trying to steady himself. “I mean—yeah. Alright.”

Bakugou pauses, watching Izuku with a skeptical look, as if he doesn’t quite believe he’s heard right. Izuku swallows hard, nodding to confirm his words. “I’ll go.”

Chapter Text

Izuku climbs into the truck, the familiar scent of leather and engine oil wrapping around him. The seat is soft and cracked beneath him, worn with memories he wished he had.

Before properly settling, Bakugou swings into the driver's seat and slams the door shut, turning the key in one fluid motion. He reaches over and twists the radio dial until the music swells, a heavy bass rhythm filling the small car and vibrating through the seats.

Izuku watches the city lights disappear as they drive, each mile stretching further into darkness. The urban landscape gradually gives way to open fields, vast and sprawling under a starlit sky.

The air felt different out here—crisper, charged with possibility. He leans back against the seat, feeling the engine's hum beneath him.

After several moments of tense silence, Izuku finally breaks through the noise, "So, uh, where are we going?"

"Tch. Dunno," Bakugou grunts, his gaze unwavering from the dark highway stretching before them.

Izuku blinks in surprise, his eyebrows knit together, confusion mingling with a flutter of unease."Wait, you don’t know where we’re going?"

Bakugou shrugs, "Does it matter?"

The question hangs in the air, heavy and unyielding. It did matter, didn’t it?

They couldn’t just drive aimlessly down this random stretch of road under the cloak of night… right?

The thought coils in Izuku's mind, an anchor of uncertainty. He swallows hard, feeling the dryness in his throat, and tries to push away the rising tide of anxiety.

His mind races, jumping from one scenario to another, each one more unsettling than the last, but none offering a clear path forward. “I just mean—”

"Nerd, stop thinking so damn much," Bakugou mutters, "Just relax."

Izuku stares out the window, watching shadows twist along the road. His heart hammers. The darkness felt heavy, too heavy. He couldn’t sink into it.

What if something happened and they had no idea where they were?

Would anyone be able to find them?

Minutes pass. His thoughts twist like the road ahead, looping back and doubling over themselves. The unfamiliar stars contrast with the city lights he knew.

The truck drives on, and anxiety creeps back. Was this really freedom or just recklessness?

He sighs, sinking deeper into the seat. Maybe he should let go, just for tonight. But the silence presses in, heavy with thoughts he couldn’t shake.

As he fidgets in his seat, his gaze follows the meandering road unfolding before him, a path of infinite possibilities stretching out into the unknown. He hesitates, then, “What if—”

"D’you ever shut up?" Bakugou's sharp eyes dart towards him, cutting through the dimly lit atmosphere.

“Sorry,” Izuku murmurs reflexively, sensing the tension radiating from Bakugou’s rigid posture.

Bakugou's jaw clenches, the weight of unspoken words heavy in the air.

“Tch. Don’t…say that shit,” he growls, his focus unwavering on the road ahead.

Taken aback, Izuku mets his gaze, confusion evident on his features. “What?”

“Don’t fucking apologize all the time. It’s annoying.” Bakugou’s voice is a mixture of frustration and something more. His grip on the wheel tightens again, knuckles blanching against the leather.

Izuku studies him for a second. “…You hate it when I say sorry?”

Bakugou doesn’t look at him. Just keeps driving.“It pisses me off,” he mutters. “Like you’re always waiting for permission to exist.”

For a moment, Izuku was silent, the rebuke still echoing between them. He couldn’t help himself. This time there was an edge of frustration in his voice. “So I can’t apologize and I can’t use your name?”

“Yep,” Bakugou says, narrowing his gaze at Izuku with a mixture of challenge and expectation. “Got a problem with it?”

“Nope,” Izuku mocks, slouching back in his seat.

The words hang in the air, defiant and resigned at the same time. He watches as stars blink past the window, their light flickering out of reach like the answers he couldn’t touch.

Moments pass in tense silence, marked only by the rhythmic crunch of tires on pavement. Izuku fought to keep his mind still, to not let the questions crowd back in.

He can feel Bakugou’s presence beside him, forthright and unapologetic. It is as unsettling as it is liberating, a stark contrast to the world he’d left behind just hours ago.

Izuku opens his mouth to speak again, to try and figure out this unstructured freedom that Bakugou seems to know so well but hesitates.

His words die on his lips, doubts and uncertainties filling the space between them once more. Maybe this unspoken challenge was the point of it all. To not need words. To not need anything but the road and the night unfolding ahead.

He lets himself sink deeper into the discomfort, wondering if he could really let go as the truck continues its unsteady journey.  For tonight, for just a while, could he live inside that tension without needing to solve it? Izuku focuses on the road’s meditative blur, willing himself not to think, not to worry.

The truck slows, turning off the highway onto a narrow, gravel road that kicks up dust clouds behind them. Izuku’s phone hums in his pocket, and his stomach turns as he pulls it out. A message once again from Ochako.

OCHAKO₊✧|1:27A.M.|

[where are you?]

[you okay?]

Izuku fidgets, the cold glow of his screen pressing against his palm. Of course, Ochako had noticed, she always did. Her messages weren’t just words, they were weighted, pulsing with unspoken worry.

His thumb hovers over the keyboard, debating. Lying felt wrong. Telling the truth felt heavier. The road dust swirls outside the window, mirroring the storm inside his chest. Just say something.

Bakugou takes a glance at Izuku. Then smirks with a knowing look.

“Just tell them you ran away,” he says with a snort.

“Very funny,” Izuku mutters.

He stares at the message, debating if he should text her back or wait until he is home. If he ignored it, she might worry more. Better to respond, even if it is just a quick reassurance.

IZUKU|1:29A.M.|

[Yeah, all good. With Bakugou.]

He hesitates a moment longer before hitting send. The truth of what he was doing felt slippery and uncertain. Was this what he wanted? The dust from the road clung to the truck, and Izuku watched it swirl in the glow of the headlights.

Izuku’s phone buzzes again, this time he checks it without much compilation.

OCHAKO₊✧|1:32A.M.|

[be careful with him Izuku]

Izuku’s brows furrow, confusion clouding his thoughts.

Be careful? with Bakugou?

Did she think he was putting himself in real danger?

Or maybe she knew something he didn’t.

The uncertainty prickled nervously beneath his skin.

Bakugou hasn’t said anything since his last jab, but Izuku can sense him wanting to speak. Instead, he turns up the music again as they approach a cliff overlooking the sea.

The ocean stretches endlessly beyond them, moonlight bouncing off its surface in shifting patterns. The night sky is a deep, enveloping blue, spilling its stars onto a horizon that kisses both sea and sky.

As the truck idles, the rhythmic crashing of waves can be heard underneath the beat of the music. Izuku shifts in his seat. He looks over at Bakugou, who is staring straight ahead, a practiced indifference masking whatever he is actually thinking.

Izuku wonders at the quiet tension between them, and whether Bakugou feels it too. Yet, despite the unspoken distance, there is an ease in being away from everything else. He could almost feel the weight of unspoken words hanging between them, urging him to break the quiet.

“Do you do this often?” Izuku asks, his voice slightly shaky as he tries to bridge the silence.

“Do what, nerd?” Bakugou’s tone is sharp, but there’s a flicker of curiosity in his eyes, a crack in his tough exterior that Izuku yearns to uncover.

“Come up here?” Izuku’s heart races.

Bakugou’s fingers flex slightly on the steering wheel, his muscles tensing beneath his skin as he stares ahead with a guarded expression on his face. He glances at Izuku, and for a brief second, the walls he usually keeps up seem to waver, “Why do you want to know?”

Izuku shrugs, in a hesitant gesture. His gaze is fixed on Bakugou and watches him carefully. The waves continue their unceasing rhythm, a steady crashing against the shore that seems to match the pounding of Izuku's heart.

After a moment of silence stretches between them, Izuku assumes Bakugou won’t answer. Just as he’s about to look away, Bakugou’s voice breaks through the quiet, almost softer than usual, “It clears my head, I guess.”

Bakugou’s admission hangs in the air, heavy with unspoken weight. Izuku feels a surge of self-awareness, despite their clashing personalities it seems they might have more incommon that Izuku had realized.

His head spins. This shared moment, raw and unfiltered, fills him with resolve. He wants to open up, to reciprocate that honesty, “I get that,”

Because he does. Fully.

He thinks back to the past few nights spent staring at the ceiling, his mind racing with worries and questions. The weight of his mother’s expectations pressed down on him like a heavy blanket, making it hard to breathe.

Those moments, when the world hushed and darkness hid his thoughts, were when he felt the most trapped.

Nights like this when he wanted nothing more than a way to step outside the suffocating grip of reality. It was about finding clarity in the chaos, a chance to let the winds whisk away his thoughts and worries, if only for a little while.

He thinks of how Bakugou seemed to vanish after the last race. How Izuku wished he could have escaped too, overwhelmed by the pressure of whatever shift that race had caused between them.

"Is this where you went after you disappeared from the race?" Izuku asks, his voice laced with curiosity and concern.

Bakugou glances at Izuku, his eyebrows knitting together, the slight annoyance apparent in the way his shoulders tense. Despite this, Bakugou answers honestly, "Yeah."

A wave of guilt washes over Izuku, making his stomach churn. "Was it because of me?" he inquires, his voice dropping to a whisper.

"Has anyone told you, you ask too many damn questions?" Bakugou glares, the intensity in his eyes sharp as a blade.

Izuku shrinks back, his shoulders hunching as he mumbles out a soft, "Sorry."

At this, Bakugou snaps again, his voice rising with impatience, "What the fuck did I say about that shit?"

"Uh, right," Izuku stutters, his words tumbling out awkwardly as he swallows back another apology that threatens to escape his lips.

"Fuck," Bakugou mutters, his resolve cracking like a thin sheet of ice. "No, nerd, you weren’t the reason I left."

Bakugou sighs deeply, the exhalation carrying the weight of his frustration. "I left because that motherfucker kept screwing with my head." Izuku raises an eyebrow, silently questioning who Bakugou is referring to. Bakugou rolls his eyes, his patience wearing thin as he spits out the name with venom, "Fucking Monoma."

"Oh," Izuku replies, nodding slowly as the pieces fall into place in his mind. "Yeah, that makes sense."

There’s a beat of silence.

"You and Monoma," Izuku starts tentatively, "You, uh… got pretty worked up when he showed up. Is there history there or…?"

"That obvious, huh?" Bakugou says, a harsh laugh following like an echo of something old and bitter.

Izuku shrugs, trying to keep it light. "You seemed really,” Izuku pauses trying to find the right words, “angry at him the other night."

"He’s a pain in the ass," Bakugou snaps as if he’s exhaling something sharp and jagged.

Izuku stays quiet and lets the silence stretch like a bridge between them. It feels precarious, but he knows some things need time to balance.

Bakugou finally speaks again, his voice lower, "He’s a prissy bastard that gets his shitty entertainment from acting like he owns everyone. "

Bakugou’s complete and utter disdain for Monoma isn’t subtle. Izuku can’t help but wonder what kind of history they share, what grudges still linger like bruises that refuse to fade.

"So," Izuku presses gently, "he just likes messing with people?"

"Yeah," Bakugou says, almost distractedly, his eyes narrowing as if scanning memories instead of stars, “Something like that,”

They lapse into another silence, but this one is easier, like the air after a storm. There was something deeper beneath Bakugou's tough exterior that intrigued him. Bakugou leans back into his seat, his gaze fixed on the dark water, but his smirk betrayed a spark of mischief.

“Tch, you need to learn how to enjoy the ride, nerd. Life’s too short to overthink everything.” His voice carries over the soft rumble of the engine, punctuated by the distant crash of waves. Izuku shifts in his seat, his eyes lingering on the shimmering horizon.

“With you driving, it’s kinda hard not to,” he says, a wry smile tugging at his lips as he glances at Bakugou’s intense expression. Bakugou’s grip on the steering wheel tightens as he chuckles, the sound rough against the backdrop of the night.

“Shut the fuck up. I drive like a god!” He snaps, his tone carrying both pride and a teasing edge. A playful laugh escapes Izuku, mixing with the gentle sound of the wind outside.

“Maybe I should just leave you back in the city next time,” Bakugou muttered, almost under his breath. His voice soft for a brief moment as his view momentarily mets Izuku’s. Izuku rolls his eyes, the ease of the moment mingling with the cool night air.

It was easy for some reason that Izuku didn’t quite understand. Easier than it had been to be around other people. Easier than it had been with Ochako and his mom earlier that night. He felt none of the usual pressure to perform, to reassure, to explain himself.

Bakugou’s gaze flickers toward the ocean, eyes tracing the restless waves. He didn’t say anything for a while, letting the soft sounds of The 1975’s Be My Mistake fill the silence. Izuku exhales, almost relaxing into it—until Bakugou breaks the quiet.

“So you were in a car accident?”

Izuku stiffens, his stomach twisting at the words. The night air suddenly felt colder. He had hoped to never bring up again, especially with they confusing why Bakugou had responded the first time.

His fingers twitch slightly against the fabric of his jeans, “Uh, yeah,” he says, a beat too late, “Why?”

Bakugou shrugs, leaning forward to rest on the steering wheel. The uneasy pause lingers, heavy and dense in the cool night air. Izuku shifts, trying to chase away the creeping anxiety. He glances at Bakugou, searching for any hint of what had prompted the question, but the other boy keeps his eyes on the ocean, his expression unreadable.

“Do you,” Bakugou pauses, an uncharacteristic hesitation that seems to hang between them like the salted air. His jaw clenches and shifts as if he were wrestling with words that didn’t come naturally, struggling to say something he wasn’t used to putting into thought. Izuku watches him, taken aback by this unguarded moment, as Bakugou finally seems to settle on the question, “Do you know what happened?”

Izuku’s brow creases in response, and for a moment, he simply sits there, stunned by the unexpectedness of it all.

His mother had told him what happened. The answer was yes, wasn’t it? The sudden question stirred something unsettling inside him, something he thought he could ignore. But now, faced directly with it, he wasn’t sure he truly knew how to answer.

“I don’t,” Izuku finally settles on.

Bakugou’s eyes cut to him, sharp and probing.

“Like...nothing at all?” He presses his voice a blend of curiosity and something more, an edge that hinted at personal urgency.

Izuku hesitates. The intensity of Bakugou’s gaze pressed down on him like a heavyweight.

“No, not really,” he finally admits, his frustration etching cracks into his voice. “Everything’s still a blur. I remember...The sound of tires screeching, my head pounding.” Now, the words spilled out hurriedly, as if they had been battling to break free.

He shakes his head, his curls dancing with the movement, attempting to shake loose the thoughts seething just beneath his skin, “It’s like it’s all there but just out of reach.”

Bakugou falls into a heavy silence, his thoughts swirling like a turbulent storm within him. When he finally spoke, his usually explosive voice was hushed, carrying a weight of vulnerability that pierced Izuku's heart.

“It’s okay,” Bakugou murmurs, his words hanging in the air with a rawness that left Izuku breathless, “I get it.”

“What do you mean?” Izuku's voice was barely above a whisper, mirroring the fragile atmosphere between them.

Bakugou pauses for a moment, seemingly chewing on his words, “Don't worry about it.”

They both fall quiet, the silence no longer heavy but charged with an unspoken understanding. The ocean stretched before them, an endless expanse of shifting blues and whites, its vastness reflecting their own turbulent thoughts.

It was beautiful in its relentlessness, a reminder of time that moves beyond their control. Together, they watch as waves roll in, crashing onto the shore with a steady rhythm. Izuku lets himself breathe in the moment, feeling a strange peace settle over him despite the chaos of his mind. It was rare to feel this way, unrushed, unjudged. Words weren’t necessary here. They both just...were.

Eventually, Izuku shifts, breaking the spell. “I should probably head back, I’ve got class tomorrow,”

Bakugou turns towards him, his eyebrows knitting together in confusion. “It’s summer,” he points out, the implication clear in his voice.

Izuku sighs, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “My mom signed me up for a summer course,” he confesses. “Without telling me.”

For a second, Bakugou looks incredulous. A sharp laugh escapes him, disbelieving, and edged with something else, something like pity or understanding or both. “She really doesn’t let up, does she?”

Izuku grimaces, recalling all the times Inko had stepped in to make decisions for him, convinced it was for his own good. It wasn’t like he didn’t appreciate her love—but sometimes it felt like he was living her life instead of his own. The car fell silent, and Izuku's chest tightened at the thought of someone else saying it. "She's just... worried," he says, trying to swallow the defensiveness in his voice. "I mean, ever since the accident, she's been—"

"Too worried," Bakugou interrupts, his voice low but firm.

Izuku wants to explain it all away, the daily check-ins, the nagging about curfews and future plans. She'd been through so much. They both had. "She's my mom," he says, softer now, "She just wants what's best."

Bakugou regards him carefully as if seeing another side of him for the first time. His mouth set into a firm line that hints at newfound resolve. “You’re gonna let her run your life forever?”

The question hits with more force than Izuku expects, resonating deeply within him. He hesitates before answering because he isn’t sure what the right answer is or if there is one at all.

“I’m working on it,” Izuku says finally, determination creeping into his voice along with a hint of doubt.

“Work harder,” Bakugou shoots back instantly, his words rough.

Izuku looks at him and sees something he hasn’t before. Bakugou believed in him more than he believed in himself sometimes, a thought both comforting and terrifying. He nods slowly, committing himself to this new chapter that promised uncertainty and liberation in equal measure.

“I will,” Izuku promises softly.

Bakugou starts the engine with a decisive twist of the key, energy thrumming back into the car and into them both. He glances over at Izuku one last time before pulling away from the cliff, a silent vow passing between them that they wouldn’t be defined by their pasts or by anyone else’s expectations.

As they drive back, Izuku feels something shift inside him, hope rekindling beneath layers of self-doubt and fear. A glimpse of freedom just within reach if only he dared to seize it.

And beside him sits Katsuki Bakugou, who against all odds might be exactly what Izuku needs to find it.

The ride back to Izuku’s house was quieter, but not in a way that felt uncomfortable. The tension from before had eased, replaced with something calmer, something… settled. The weight of the night’s conversation lingers between them, but neither felt the need to fill the silence with empty words. The low hum of the truck’s engine and the distant chirping of crickets outside were enough.

Izuku traces idle patterns on the worn fabric of his jeans, watching the street lights flicker past through the passenger window. The darkened cityscape slowly came into view, a familiar sight after the open roads and crashing waves. Somehow, though, it feels different now, like stepping into something smaller after touching something vast.

Bakugou doesn't say anything as he pulls up near the Yagi house, the headlights briefly illuminating the quiet street before shutting off. The truck idles, its steady purr filling the space between them.

Izuku hesitates, fingers hovering over the door handle. “Thanks,” he murmurs finally, turning to glance at Bakugou. His voice softer than usual, the weight of the night settling in his chest. “For everything.”

Bakugou doesn’t meet his eyes, instead drumming his fingers against the steering wheel. “Yeah. Whatever.”

Izuku smirks faintly, shaking his head as he unbuckles his seatbelt. “I’ll see you later?”

Bakugou hums in acknowledgement without making eye contact.

And with that, he slips out into the night air.He moves carefully as he approaches the side of his house, stepping lightly on the grass to avoid making any noise. Climbing up to his window is second nature by now, and he slips through the opening with practiced ease. Once inside, he lets out a quiet breath.

A flicker of movement outside catches his attention. Peeking through the curtains, he sees Bakugou’s truck still there, engine idling, headlights off.

Bakugou stayed.

He waited.

Just long enough to make sure Izuku made it inside.

Izuku watches the truck for a moment longer before turning away, his heart pounding in his chest. He pulls out his phone from his pocket, the screen's glow illuminating his features in the dim room. His fingers hover over the screen for a moment before he starts typing, a small smile playing on his lips.

IZUKU | 3:05 A.M.

[Sorry about ditching earlier. I’ll make it up to you.]

OCHAKO₊✧ | 3:05 A.M.

[you better!]

[im glad youre safe get some sleep dummy.]

IZUKU | 2:06 A.M.

[You too.]

Setting the phone down on his nightstand, Izuku lets out a long breath and collapses onto his bed. His body is heavy, but his mind is anything but still. The night plays back in his head, Bakugou’s rare moments of honesty, the way the ocean stretched out endlessly before them, the strange sense of understanding that had passed between them.

He stares at the ceiling, the muffled sound of the truck pulling away and drifting through his open window.

Izuku fell asleep thinking about the ocean, the sound of the waves, and the boy who drove him there.

The harsh light of morning jolts Izuku awake, slicing through the exhaustion lodged deep in his bones. He winces, curling tighter beneath the covers, trying to shut it out.

His eyes are heavy, his mind a blur, as fragments of last night resurface—Bakugou’s voice, the vastness of the ocean, words that left him feeling both hopeful and anxious.

He rubs his face with both hands, trying to shake off the haze. Thinking about it feels just as overwhelming in daylight.

Bakugou’s question echoes in his mind, ‘Are you gonna let her run your life forever?’

Izuku sits up slowly, groggy and uncertain. The room is still a mess from his late return, clothes strewn across the floor, and the window cracked open, letting in a whisper of morning air. Everything looks untouched by the weight of last night’s revelations, in quiet contrast to the storm inside him.

He yawns heavily, glancing at the clock.

9:12 A.M.

“Crap,” he mutters, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed. He's already late for class. Inko would definitely notice if he lingered much longer.

Still half-dazed, he shoves on a pair of sneakers and grabs a bag from under a pile of clothes. But when he bolts down the stairs, he stops short at the bottom step.

Inko Midoriya stands in the kitchen, carefully arranging breakfast with her usual meticulous care.

She looks up the second he steps into view, her face lighting with thinly veiled relief. “Oh! Izuku! I was starting to think something happened.”

A flicker of guilt twists in his chest. He forces a calm tone. “Sorry, Mom. I overslept.”

She sets down a fork with a soft clatter and walks toward him. “You surely slept in this morning. did you stay up late?” Her voice was light, but laced with meaning.

“Uh— no, I was just tired,” he said quickly.

She pauses, studying him a moment too long. Then, with a practiced smile, she changes the subject. “Anyway. I’m glad you’re up. I wanted to tell you—we’ll be picking up Mirio next week.”

“Mirio?” Izuku blinks. He hadn’t thought about Mirio’s return since summer began. “Already?”

“Yes,” Her tone was almost too cheerful now. “It’ll be good to have another set of eyes around the house again. Someone who notices things when I can't.”

That landed strangely. Izuku’s brow furrowed, but he just nodded slowly, trying to process.

Mirio’s presence would shift the dynamic. It always did. But maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.

He picked at the edge of his hoodie sleeve.

Would having Mirio here make it harder to maintain his freedom?

Or maybe Mirio’s easy going nature would defuse some of the tension Inko stirred up without realizing.

“It’ll be good to see him,” he says, offering a smile that felt more genuine than expected.

He glances at the clock again.

9:21 AM.

His eyes widen—he is seriously late.

With sudden urgency, he grabs his backpack and turns to go, sneakers squeaking faintly against the floor. But just as he reached for the door—

“Izuku, wait—about last night.”

He freezes. Not because she wanted him to, but because she sounded gentle. Too gentle. Like last night hadn’t happened the way he remembered it.

He doesn’t turn around. “Yeah?”

“You’re not still upset, are you?” she asks, her tone careful like she was afraid he might shatter if she said the wrong thing.

He hesitates. “No.”

“You seemed upset,” she continues, stepping toward him. “I know you’ve been under pressure, but that doesn’t mean you can take it out on me.”

His hands tighten on the strap of his bag. He swallows down the words that rose automatically. “You sent me to my room,” he says instead, quietly. “Like I was ten.”

“You were being cruel, Izuku.” Her voice sharpens, just a little. “Blaming me for summer school? After everything I’ve done to support you? That’s not fair.”

He almost laughs, not because it is funny, but because the pressure inside him needs somewhere to go.

But he didn’t say anything.

She steps closer, voice softening again like she hadn’t just snapped. “I stayed up half the night, you know. Worrying. Wondering if I pushed too hard. But I have to push. You won’t talk to me otherwise.”

Because when I do, you don’t hear me, he thought.

But still, he says nothing.

“I’m just trying to help you stay on track,” she went on, hand resting lightly against her chest like she needed to protect herself from him. “You’re pulling away, Izuku. I can feel it. And when you get distant like that…”

She pauses. The silence is heavy. She doesn’t need to finish the sentence for him to hear it:

That’s when bad things happen.

His pulse ticks faster.

“I’m not trying to shut you out,” he says, low. “I just... need space sometimes.”

She gives a small, brittle smile. “I know you think that. But that’s when you make mistakes. That’s when you start listening to the wrong people. And I can’t always be there to clean up the pieces.”

The words sit in the air like fog, choking and impossible to swat away.

Izuku doesn’t respond. Can’t respond. The urge to say something, to push back, coiled tight beneath his skin but his throat wouldn’t open for it. Not yet.

“I’d rather you hate me,” she says quietly, “than let something happen to you again.”

His chest tightens.

“I don’t hate you,” he whispers, though part of him wonders if she wanted him to. If it made it easier for her to keep him small, safe, manageable.

He glanced at the clock. Still late.

“Mom, I really have to go,” he says, voice flat now. Not cold. Just dulled, like a blade tucked away before it could be drawn.

She gives a small nod, her worry unwavering.

But as he turns and reaches for the door, he feels it—that tight, buzzing feeling in his shoulders. The pressure of everything unsaid. The resentment that clung to him even after he stepped outside.

Izuku jogs down the street, his mind still tangled in the conversation with Inko. The stretch of sidewalk ahead seemed endless, each step a reminder of the distance between where he was and where he wanted to be.

He clutches the straps of his backpack tighter as if they could anchor him to something steadier than last night’s uncertainties and this morning’s unresolved tension.

It was too early for most, but the city was waking up around him. Neighbors tending to gardens, sprinklers creaking to life, cars pulling out of driveways with sleepy drivers behind their wheels. Routine and predictability. He envied it.

The morning air is warm, hinting at the heat that would settle over everything by noon. It feels different from the cool breeze at the cliff, but Izuku welcomes it, any change in the atmosphere seems preferable to being stuck in one place for too long.

Thoughts of Bakugou drift back unbidden into his mind, confusing, conflicting thoughts that made his pulse quicken like they did last night when they sat in silence together by the water.

‘Don’t worry about it.’

An echo from earlier left him unsettled and curious all at once. What did Bakugou mean?

He crosses another street, narrowly dodging a cyclist who glares as they swerve out of his path. Izuku waves apologetically but doesn’t slow down, his legs carry him forward even as his brain lags behind trying to piece together everything that felt just out of reach.

Toshinori’s voice echoes faintly in his memory: thoughtful, measured words from conversations past. She has to learn how to let go too, you know? It’s not just you figuring things out.

Izuku shook his head slightly as if dispelling foggy remnants of those talks would make new answers clearer. Maybe Toshinori is right—maybe they all need time and space away from their familiar roles before any real change could happen.

But how long would things stay this way?

A sleek grey car glides up beside him, its engine emitting a low, throaty purr that reminds Izuku of a cat guarding a secret. As the vehicle adjusts its speed to match his brisk pace on the sidewalk, his heartbeat quickens, thudding loudly in his chest.

With a seamless motion, the driver’s side window slides down, revealing the interior of the car. Izuku halts abruptly, his eyes widening as they lock onto Monoma. The familiar smirk on Monoma’s face was sharp, oozing confidence and a hint of mischief.

Monoma lounges in the driver’s seat, one arm draped nonchalantly over the steering wheel. His eyes, bright and playful, meet Izuku's with an amused glint that suggests he found this encounter thoroughly entertaining.

“Midoriya!” Monoma drawls, his voice slicing through the crisp morning air with a practiced, leisurely cadence. “Out for an early run?”

Izuku hesitates, feet shuffling uncertainty against the ground. His body tenses, caught in a paralyzing indecision, every fiber screaming a silent plea to retreat.

“Something like that,” he replies carefully, trying to keep his tone light even as his thoughts raced.

Monoma’s laugh spills out like glass—bright and brittle, shattering the brief silence.

“I would have thought Bakugou’s little adventure last night might’ve done you in.” he teases, words infused with playful malice.

Izuku stiffens, his mind spinning. How did Monoma know about that? He forces himself to stay calm, to play it cool. Maybe Monoma was just fishing for information. “Adventure?”

“Don’t play dumb.” Monoma chides, the words almost melodic in their mockery, “You really shouldn’t let him drag you around.” He pauses, delighting in Izuku’s visible discomfort. “Dangerous places for delicate things.”

That last bit hit harder than Izuku expected. How could Monoma know Bakugou had taken him to the cliff last night?

Izuku hadn’t seen anyone else around, but Monoma always seemed to know more than he should. Was he just guessing? Was he watching? Izuku’s thoughts churn, trying to piece it together.

“What do you want?” Izuku asks finally, annoyance edging into his voice despite himself.

“To give you a ride.” Monoma leans back in his seat with casual ease, his expression a mix of amusement and something more calculating. “Or maybe just some advice?”

Izuku narrows his eyes, trying to decipher the intent behind those words. Was this another one of Monoma’s games? His mind flashed back to Bakugou’s tense expression whenever Monoma’s name came up. Nothing good could come from getting involved with him.

“Don’t worry,” Monoma says smoothly, barely pausing for Izuku’s silence. “I don’t bite.”

Izuku grimaces. There was no way in hell he was going to get in that car. “Um, I’m good, thank you though,” Izuku turns to walk away, but Monoma doesn’t leave his side.

“Come on, you hang out with bigger assholes than me, and I’m just trying to help.” Monoma’s persistence was almost casual as if he knew Izuku couldn’t avoid him forever.

Izuku doesn’t respond, anxiety clawing up his throat. His fingers twitch, looking for any excuse to get out of this conversation.

Monoma continues relentlessly, “You’re going to be late for your first lecture if you don’t get in.”

Izuku’s heart drops. How did he know that? Why did he know that?

“I’m not going to class,” Izuku lies, hoping his voice won’t betray the unease building inside him.

But Monoma kept pursuing, his voice lilting with amusement, “Oh, sneaky. Where are you headed then?”

Izuku swallows, his mind scrambling for anything that would get Monoma off his back. Maybe if he thought someone was expecting him, he’d leave him alone. “I’m meeting with a friend.”

Izuku didn’t know why he was even talking to Monoma right now. ‘Why didn’t you tell me to fuck off back there?’ Bakugou’s voice rang loud and clear in his head. ‘I’m just not that kind of person I guess.’

The words still rang true because instead of sticking up for himself, Izuku fakes a phone call.

He slips his hand into his pocket, pulling out his phone with a quick glance toward Monama.“That’s them now. I have to go.”

Izuku fumbles with the device, fingers clumsy and frantic. Monoma was still creeping along the sidewalk next to him. He couldn’t tell if Monoma was toying with him, genuinely seeking to pry, or just enjoying Izuku’s discomfort. It didn’t matter. He just needed an out and fast.

As soon as he hit dial, he pressed the phone to his ear, willing the first ring to come quickly. His heart hammered in his chest as he glanced back at Monoma. Was this an elaborate trick?

Izuku wasn’t sure, but after last night, he wouldn’t be surprised if Ochako was already worried. He braces himself, expecting her concerned voice to answer and give him the lifeline he so desperately needs.

But instead, the line clickes open, and a gruff voice comes through the speaker. “Nerd?”

Bakugou.

Izuku’s heart skips and then plummets, his breath catching in surprise. He nearly drops his phone, his pulse spiking in sheer panic. How did he manage to call Bakugou? Did he hit the wrong contact in his rush? Blood rushes to his ears, drowning out everything except for the sound of his own disbelief. There had to be some mistake.

Monoma’s car still hovered beside him like a specter, his patience likely wearing thin. Izuku’s mind spins as he tries to juggle the competing crises, the tense silence on the line, and the tense smirk on Monoma’s face. He has to say something, but his brain has short-circuited, leaving him stranded with no plan and no plausible excuse.

Out of the frying pan and into the fire.

“Uh, hey,” Izuku finally stammers, his voice uneven. He hopes it sounds casual enough that Bakugou wouldn’t immediately catch onto the slip. The silence tightens around them, a coiled spring ready to snap. “What’s up?”

“You called me.”

He risks a sideways glance at the car. Monoma is watching him with a curious, calculating glint in his eyes. Izuku’s anxiety shifts under the weight of that gaze, but he can’t back down now. He has to fully commit to the charade, even though his heart is in his throat and his words are stuck behind his teeth.

“Yeah, I—” Izuku stammers, feeling foolish for calling without thinking it through. “I’m by campus.”

“So?”

“Nothing! Just saying where I am,” he blurts out awkwardly as if it should mean something.

Bakugou was silent for a long moment and then, “Are you fucking with me?”

“Are you already there?” Izuku blurts out, his feet speeding up. His mind moved too slowly to keep up with the momentum he’d set into motion. The question made no sense, but he was counting on Monoma not knowing that.

As he begins jogging, trying to create the illusion of urgency, he prays silently that any sort of response would be enough to get the other boy off his case. To his relief, Monoma didn’t call him out. After a few long seconds, the car picked up speed, leaving Izuku breathless and alone on the sidewalk.

But the crackling tension didn’t leave with it. He could feel Bakugou’s presence on the other end of the line, sharp and unnerving. Why wasn’t Bakugou saying anything? The silence stretches and stretches until it is unbearable.

Izuku’s panic rose, his thoughts racing with the sudden realization that his knee-jerk improvisation had unprecedented consequences. If Bakugou had figured out he hadn’t meant to call—figured out that Izuku had only been using the call to escape—then any chance of explaining himself was lost to the wind.

He braces for the worst.

“Yeah,” Bakugou said finally, the suspicion in his tone unmistakable. “What the hell is going on?”

“Ah, I’m sorry, Bak- um, I mean it’s nothing,” Izuku stammers, his words tumbling over each other as he tries to avoid breaking Bakugou’s two rules, “Monoma just showed up on my walk to school, and I must’ve called you by accident.” His breathing is uneven, a testament to his frantic pace as he hurries to make it to class on time.

“Shit, nerd, calm down for a second,” Bakugou's voice crackles through the line, accompanied by the sound of rustling fabric, as if he had just sat up abruptly. “You said Monoma’s there?”

Izuku's eyes flicker rapidly, darting from one face to another in the bustling crowd, his gaze sharp and searching. He needs to be certain before he allows himself to relax. Once he is sure, he gradually eases his hurried pace into a brisk walk, each step measured and purposeful amidst the throng of people.

“Yeah, I mean, no. At least not anymore,” he replies, his voice laced with uncertainty.

Bakugou’s hum resonates softly through the phone, leaving a momentary silence that hangs between them. Izuku hesitates, caught in the uncertainty of whether Bakugou is about to hang up or if he should end the call himself, yet neither of them moves to do so.

“Good,” Bakugou finally states, and then, “If he ever shows up again call me.”

Izuku doesn’t want to think about the way that made his heart flutter.

“Okay,” Izuku manages to say, his voice softer than intended. He wonders if Bakugou could hear the rush of relief and confusion tangled together in that one word. He wonders if Bakugou could tell how much these conversations, every single one, left him breathless and unsteady.

The line goes quiet again, but this time it isn’t uncomfortable. Izuku imagines Bakugou scowling at the phone, half-amused, half-annoyed by Izuku’s inability to speak like a normal person whenever he is around. It should have embarrassed him more, but somehow it didn’t.

“Hey, um,” he starts, hesitating just long enough to gather his resolve. “How did Monoma about last night?”

There is a pause on the other end, and Izuku can almost see Bakugou’s scowl deepen. “What?”

“About us going to the cliff,” Izuku says, feeling the uncertainty of it all pressing down on him again.

Bakugou’s scoff is loud in Izuku’s ear. “No way in hell.” he curses “That fucking shitty bastard!”

Izuku feels a knot of anxiety tighten in his stomach, he can tell Bakugou is getting worked up. “What's wrong?”

“Monoma knows people,” Bakugou interrupts, his voice edged with irritation but also something heavier, something like resignation. “He’s got friends all over this city.”

Izuku frowns, trying to make sense of it. The idea of Monoma’s reach spreading like a web unsettles him more than he wants to admit.

“And his old man runs shit,” Bakugou adds after a moment as if that explained everything.

“Runs what?” Izuku presses, unable to leave it at that.

“The cops.”

Izuku stops walking, the weight of that single word crashing into him like a tidal wave. He thought back to Ochako’s warning: ‘Be careful with him’ But no one knew better how dangerous Monoma could be than Bakugou. If Monoma had connections like that...

“What else did he say to you?” Bakugou asks suddenly.

"Nothing much, really," Izuku says with a shrug, recalling the earlier conversation. "He just offered to give me a ride to school." As he spoke, a puzzled expression flickers across his face. He recalls the conversation and adds, “he said I hang out with um, bigger a-holes them him.”

Bakugou scoffs frustration simmering beneath his next words, “Don’t let him mess with your head.”

Izuku nods even though Bakugou can’t see it. He wants to say more but doesn't know how or where to start without unraveling everything he’s barely managed to hold together since their drive last night.

“I’ll try,” he said finally.

They linger in silence again, this time with too many unspoken thoughts crowding between them.

“I mean it,” Bakugou says, at last, his voice rough but earnest.

Izuku feels the warmth of that sincerity spread through him like a flickering flame against the chilling uncertainty Monoma has left behind. It stills some of the chaos inside his chest.

“Okay,” Izuku replies, stronger now. He takes a breath and adds before he can stop himself, “Thanks.”

“Tch.” and then “See you later, nerd.” The words are abrupt, but there is something underneath them, something warm and promising that kept Izuku holding the phone to his ear even after the call ended.

He slows his pace as he draws closer to campus, students bustling around him in all directions. Monoma is nowhere in sight, thank god. He stuffs his phone back into his pocket with a shaky exhale, trying to sort through the jumble of feelings that had risen up inside him.

He hurries into the lecture hall just as the professor begins speaking, taking an empty seat near the back where he can let his mind drift if he needs to. There are still so many questions swarming inside him, but they don’t feel quite as heavy anymore, not after last night, not after today.

The lecture drags on, the professor’s voice fading into the low hum of Izuku’s thoughts. He’d taken out his notebook at first, pretending to pay attention, but now the pen hovers uselessly above a blank page. His mind kept wandering back to Bakugou and the way his voice had softened at the end of the call.

He shouldn’t be thinking about it like this. Izuku knew that. But there was something about last night, about Bakugou’s rare openness and unexpected insistence that he call if Monoma showed up again. It feels strange to be so cared for by someone like him—to feel important in a way he hadn’t let himself hope for.

The minutes tick by slowly, each one an eternity as the weight of his anticipation grows heavier. Izuku shifts in his seat, restless energy coursing through him until he can’t stand it anymore. He digs into his pocket and pulls out his phone, glancing around to make sure no one is watching.

His thumbs move almost automatically over the keyboard, words spilling out before he could second-guess himself.

IZUKU | 10:22 A.M.

[Thanks again.]

He hits send and stares at the screen with a mix of hope and anxiety. Would Bakugou think he was being clingy? Would he even respond?

Izuku’s heart skips when his phone vibrates again almost immediately.

BAKUGOU | 10:22 A.M.

[Don’t worry about it.]

Izuku’s mind buzzes louder than before, drowning out everything else with possibilities and what-ifs that send a thrill through him despite his best attempts to stay grounded.

As the lecture continues around him, Izuku feels a newfound sense of clarity settling within him. There were still questions and uncertainties swirling in his mind, but for now, in this small moment of connection, everything felt a little bit lighter.

Tucking his phone back into his pocket, Izuku turns his attention back to the front of the room, a small smile playing on his lips as he allows himself to be present in the moment, grateful for the unexpected warmth that has bloomed between him and Bakugou.

Chapter Text

"Oh, come on, he's totally into you!" Ochako exclaims, her voice ringing with enthusiasm so loud it's a wonder the neighbors aren't complaining.

She's perched on the sofa, eyes glued to the screen as if each moment of the dramatic romance movie unfolds just for her.

"Seriously? She can't hear you, y’know," Mina, who's sprawled beside her, quips as she rubs her ears like they've just endured a concert.

Izuku sits quietly on the other side of Ochako, his gaze drifting away from the dramatic romance movie flickering across the TV screen.

The shared dorm the girls decorated together is cozy in its chaos. Fairy lights strung unevenly across the ceiling, half-eaten snacks on the coffee table, and a rainbow of throw blankets piled on the couch. It’s warm, safe. And yet, Izuku is distracted.

"I just mean," Ochako continues, her tone insistent, "he danced in the rain with you, and you still think he isn't totally head over heels for you? It's ridiculous!" She throws her hands up in exasperation, her eyes wide with disbelief. "Completely unrealistic!"

Mina snickers, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Oh yeah? What about you and that blonde girl in your bio lab?"

Ochako's face turns a vivid shade of pink as if the very mention of her college crush has sent her heart into overdrive.

"That's different," she mumbles, her voice a bit quieter. "We haven't said a single thing to each other outside of class."

Izuku stares intently at the phone resting in his lap, the screen glowing softly in the dim light and displaying a specific chat from days prior. There, in the text box, awaits a solitary message, typed out but not yet sent.

"Uh huh," Mina teases with a playful lilt to her voice. "Have you seen the way she looks at you? It's absolutely the same, sweetie."

"Shut up!" Ochako's voice comes out muffled as she buries her face into the plush pillow resting on her lap, her cheeks flush with embarrassment.

The movie keeps playing, some orchestral swell and passionate monologue, but Izuku barely hears it. All he can think about is Bakugou’s voice, not the real one, but the version in his head: sharp, dismissive, always louder than reason. Taunting him for overthinking a simple text.

His finger trembles, a hair's breadth from a decision. He gnaws at his thumbnail, caught in a spiral of indecision. It’s stupid really, either send the message or delete it. No more hovering in between.

Taking a deep breath, his fingers tremble slightly, but resolve steels his nerves. With a swift flick of his thumb, he taps the send button, watching as the message whooshes into the digital ether.

IZUKU | 3:08 P.M.

[Hey]

His heart lurches in his chest like he’d just jumped off a cliff, suspended in that moment of weightless anticipation before the fall.

As much as he's tried to rationalize and predict how it would feel, nothing could prepare him for the sudden shortness of breath as he lets it happen. There's no taking it back now.

The message sits there on his phone screen, a stark reminder. Sent. Not read. Not replied to.

Izuku's eyes are glued to the screen, searching for any sign of life, three pulsating dots, a new notification, even the small "read" receipt. But there is nothing but the cold, unyielding glow of the display.

His breath hitches in his throat, a tightness building with each passing second. What is he hoping for? A miracle in pixels?

"Izuku?" A voice cuts through the dense fog of his thoughts like a blade.

He jumps slightly, clutching his phone as if it might suddenly blurt out his secret. Ochako is watching him, her eyebrow arched in curiosity, her teeth sinking into a fluffy kernel of popcorn that hovers mid-air, forgotten.

"What are you staring at?" she inquires, her tone light and infused with curiosity instead of accusation. Yet, her eyes remain sharp, searching.

Izuku fumbles to lock his phone, slipping it hastily into the pocket of his frayed hoodie, the fabric worn from years of use.

"Nothing," he responds too quickly, his voice pitched a notch higher than usual. "Just zoned out."

Mina snorts, her eyes fixed on the movie flickering across the TV screen. "That's Izuku for you."

Ochako doesn’t join in the laughter. Her gaze stays on him, flicking to the phone now hidden in his pocket, then softening, the change in her expression subtle but unmistakable.

"You okay?" she asks.

He nods, perhaps a bit too eagerly. "Yeah. Just tired."

She doesn’t press the issue further, at least not openly. But her eyes dart to Mina and then back to him, an unspoken conversation passing between them like a secret code.

‘Be careful with him, Izuku.’

Izuku knows he should tell her, should fill the silence with some explanation that makes sense of everything, but he flounders. The words feel heavy, unmanageable. Staying quiet is easier.

They turn back to the movie, though Izuku can still feel Ochako's eyes on him now and then. Her unspoken questions linger like the smell of burnt toast, and even Mina’s laughter seems strained in the confined space of the room.

Izuku imagines pulling out his phone and deleting the message before it can be read. Or simply letting it sit there forever, unanswered, a silent testament to his hesitance.

He shifts on the couch, uncomfortable under the weight of everything left unsaid. He wants to talk about anything other than what's really happening.

The screen flickers, a dramatic kiss punctuating the scene with more flair than reality. Mina lets out a small squeal, her focus shifting back to the movie. "Oh my god," she says, her eyes wide and sparkling. "He's totally into her! Look at that!"

Izuku lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, some of the tension in his shoulders melting away as the attention shifts.

Ochako’s laughter rings clear, a welcome change that cuts through the heaviness like a breeze through an open window. "This whole thing is nuts," she manages between giggles. "Nobody actually does that kind of stuff, do they?"

Mina shoots her a playful glare. "I don't know! I think it's sweet." She pauses for a moment, thinking again. "But if Ei tried to pull some heartfelt confession like that, I'd die of embarrassment."

Izuku can’t help but smile a bit, imagining Mina cringing while Kirishima earnestly pours his heart out in front of a crowd.

Ochako leans forward, her eyes glinting with mischief now. "You mean you wouldn't want him to turn up with flowers and sing you a love song?"

"Ugh!" Mina groans dramatically, rolling onto her back and pretending to swoon. "Only if he's ready to catch me when I faint."

The room fills with laughter, light, and unburdened. Even Izuku finds himself chuckling, though his mind still flits to his phone like a moth orbiting a flame.

The rain picks up outside, drumming against the windows in earnest now. It’s almost comforting, like white noise masking the gap between what he wants to say and what he can.

"Oh god!" Ochako gasps suddenly, pointing at the screen where another over-the-top romantic gesture unfolds with full orchestral backing. "He actually is singing!"

Mina clutches her stomach as she falls into another fit of laughter. "Okay! This is too much," she relents gleefully.

The afternoon slips by unnoticed despite the constant rhythm of the rain and the steady thrum of Izuku's own heartbeat. He spends most of it in a blur as if each hour blends seamlessly into the next without bothering to mark its passage.

When he finally glances at his phone, surprise flickers across his face as he registers the time.

7:42 P.M.

No new notifications flash across the screen.

The "Hey" sits there like a loose thread, daring him to pull it. Maybe Bakugou saw it and laughed. Maybe he's still typing. Maybe he'll never respond.

Izuku knows it shouldn’t matter this much, it’s just a text, but somehow it feels like a bridge he’s already halfway across, and too far to turn back. His fingers itch to send another message. Or delete the first. Or both.

He forces himself to tuck the phone back into his pocket. He won't check it again. Not until it buzzes. But the weight of it feels like a dare. Like silence pressed into glass.

Mina and Ochako have switched over to a reality show now; something about cooking in the wild. A loud crash from the TV fills the room, followed by a distressed chef shouting over a ruined batch of dough. It draws them both in completely, leaving Izuku to think about what comes next.

The sudden buzz of his phone jolts him, adrenaline spiking as he fumbles to retrieve it. His anticipation deflates when he reads the name on the screen.

TOSHINORI | 8:00 P.M.

[Out front]

With a sigh, he rises to his feet, stretching his arms above his head, yawning more out of habit than any real exhaustion.

"I've got to go," he announces awkwardly, shifting his weight from one foot to the other.

"Aww!" Ochako protests, her voice tinged with playful disappointment.

"Booo!" Mina adds, teasing and lighthearted. "Who even has a curfew in college? That's like... medieval."

Izuku groans softly, already anticipating the teasing. "It's not a curfew, it's just—Toshinori’s picking me up. I promised I'd be home."

Mina smirks. "What, does he turn into a pumpkin after nine?"

Ochako adds, deadpan, "Do you have to clock in, or do they just scan your wristband?"

Izuku laughs, flustered. "Okay, okay, I get it. I'm tragically responsible."

"You're tragically something all right," Mina grins. "We'll decode the rest later."

Ochako hops up from the couch and wraps him in a quick hug, squeezing tighter than usual, like she's trying to say something she can't quite put into words.

"We're just giving you crap," she murmurs against his shoulder, "You know we love you, right?"

Izuku nods, feeling the warmth of it settle into his chest, "I know."

Mina grins, calling after him as he heads to the door, "Tell your parole officer we said hi!"

Ochako gives him a sidelong glance, one that’s knowing but still kind, "You sure you're okay?"

"Yeah," he insists, offering a half-smile, "Thanks for having me over."

Izuku turns on his heel, footsteps echoing softly against the wooden floor as he makes his way to the door, the warmth of the room clinging to him like a second skin.

He pulls the door closed behind him, leaving the laughter and light spilling through the crack as he steps into the waiting night.

He heads down the hall of the girls’ dormitories. The walls are adorned with colorful posters and photographs of past events, a testament to the lively camaraderie within. He can't help but feel a pang of regret for never experiencing dorm life himself.

Memories flood back to him, meeting Ochako back in high school, the laughter and shared secrets that bonded them.

He remembers how Ochako and Mina became inseparable after being randomly assigned as roommates, their friendship blossoming over late-night study sessions and shared cups of instant noodles.

Pulling his hood up against the rain that now falls heavy and determined outside. He walks quickly off campus and onto the damp sidewalk beyond. The air is thick with moisture, each breath tasting like wet concrete and fresh beginnings.

The rain greets him like an old song, familiar, constant, cold. His hood does little to help. Droplets slide down the back of his neck, chilling him straight through, but he doesn’t rush.

Each footstep on the soaked pavement is muffled, his sneakers kicking up tiny splashes as he moves toward the edge of campus. Streetlights blur behind curtains of water. His fingers twitch in his pockets, itching to check his phone again, but he doesn't. Not this time.

When he spots the familiar shape of Toshinori’s car, headlights dimmed, engine humming quietly in the dark, something in his chest loosens. Through the foggy window, Toshinori gives him a small wave, a warm, worn smile behind the glass.

Izuku stands for a moment in the rain-soaked evening light; taking it all in, the steady patter of water on metal, Toshinori’s gentle smile through the fogged-up window, and feeling something like relief settle inside him at last.

Dinner is warm, normal. The kind of normal that feels just a little too rehearsed.

Eri chatters happily between bites, her fork waving in the air as she recounts something funny that happened in her day program. Something about glitter, a heroic snail, and her teacher almost crying. Toshinori chuckles, politely engaged, while Inko hums her approval and serves up seconds like it’s any other weeknight.

Izuku sits between them, chewing slowly, pushing vegetables around his plate. The rain follows him home, still tapping on the kitchen window like it has something to say. He listens to it more than the conversation, letting the sound pull his focus somewhere safer.

Inko places her chopsticks down with a delicate clink, smoothing her napkin into her lap as if to hide the uncertainty behind her practiced warmth.

“You should invite Ochako and Mina over sometime. It might be nice to see the girls again,” she suggests, her tone layered with an edge that Izuku can’t quite decipher.

Izuku blinks in surprise, his gaze lifting from his plate as he questions whether he really heard her correctly. Just a few months back, she’d dismissed Ochako for being too bold and Mina for having “concerning energy,” and even warned him against being easily influenced. Now her words feel like a puzzle with missing pieces, why the sudden change?

He studies her face, trying to decode the conflicting emotions there. “Uh, sure. Maybe,” he mumbles, his voice betraying his own hesitation.

"It’s important to surround yourself with people who have your best interests at heart," Inko continues, her voice still sweet but now thinly veiling a pointed caution, "People who wouldn’t... push you into anything reckless."

Something in the way she says it sends a shiver down his spine. It’s not that her advice seems outright wrong, it’s the weight behind the words, as if each syllable were steered by secrets left unsaid. Izuku forces a slow nod and a thin smile. “Yeah. They’re great.”

As Eri slurps the last of her soup, she grins at him and proclaims, “Mina’s funny,” waving her chopsticks in the air almost in defiance of the underlying tension.

“She is,” Izuku agrees, ruffling her hair with a distracted tenderness that contrasts with the turmoil simmering inside him.

“I like when you smile like that,” Inko remarks, rising to clear the table. “You don’t do it enough anymore.”

Her words cut deeper than intended, and he finds himself wondering if she truly appreciates his smile or if she merely enjoys the control it seems to yield over him. The question hangs unspoken, heavy in the charged silence between them.

As dinner winds down, his thoughts feel dense and contradictory, full of weight yet laced with a gnawing sense of impending consequence.

Izuku methodically carries plates to the sink without being asked. A quiet attempt to occupy himself, to avoid facing the conflicted glances that seem to linger on him like shadows.

It’s easier to stay busy. To be useful. To not be looked at too closely.

The soft clinking of dishes and the gentle swish of water fill the kitchen, creating an atmosphere that feels almost serene. It all sounds normal. Feels normal. Only If you don't look too closely.

Toshinori stands up from the table, glancing at the stack of plates and cutlery.

“Let me handle those,” he offers, reaching out. Inko, her hands already submerged in soapy water, shakes her head with a warm smile, dismissing his gesture.

Toshinori hesitates then lowers himself back into his chair, leaning forward with his elbows resting on the table's edge. His posture, casual and relaxed, is the kind that would prompt a gentle reminder to Eri about table manners.

“You seemed a little distracted when I picked you up, Izuku,” he says casually. “Everything okay?”

Izuku flinches slightly, “I’ve been thinking a lot… about… stuff.”

His words hide too much. The text, the waiting, the wondering, and that desperate hope that maybe Bakugou’s feelings could mirror his own, all swirl in his mind like a storm he isn’t ready to calm.

After a moment of stifled silence, Toshinori finally speaks, “That’s not a bad thing. Just don’t forget to let yourself enjoy stuff too.”

Izuku forces a small smile, but the words stick in his chest. The comment feels both comforting and like a reminder of how much he’s been holding back.

Enjoy stuff.

It sounds simple. Easy.

But it’s not. Not when every good thing feels like it comes with invisible strings attached. Not when he can’t even trust the pieces of himself he’s supposed to enjoy.

The towel twists tighter in his hands. He thinks about the dorm room laughter, about Mina's teasing and Ochako's easy affection.

He thinks about Bakugou, the way the rain blurred the windows of the truck, the way the silence between them didn't feel empty at all. Maybe he’s already forgetting how to let himself want anything.

The thought makes his throat ache. He clears it roughly, setting the towel down with deliberate care.

“Thanks for dinner,” Izuku mutters, drying his hands on a towel as if the simple act might wash away the tangled feelings inside him.

“You’re welcome, sweetie,” Inko replies over her shoulder, a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You should rest. You’ve looked tired lately.”

He nods automatically, the way he's learned to over the years.

A small silence creeps into the kitchen, thick as the steam rising from the sink.

Eri hums to herself, stacking her empty bowl with exaggerated care.
Toshinori scribbles something absentmindedly on a notepad by the phone, grocery list, maybe, or a reminder for Eri’s school event.

Normal things.

Good things.

Izuku stands there for a moment too long, towel still clenched in his fist, as if his body hasn't gotten the message to move yet.

The rain rattles harder against the window.

He feels Inko’s gaze brush over him. Warm, heavy, expectant. And suddenly, the thought of sitting back down, of trying to pretend everything is fine for even one more minute, feels unbearable.

He forces a small smile even though he’s not tired at all, instead, his mind races relentlessly, circling through doubts and half-heard admonitions. “Yeah. I might turn in early.”

“Good.” Her nod is approving, yet the word “good” echoes in his ears like an inexplicable verdict.

Leaning down, he places a tentative kiss on the top of Eri’s head, her soft hair a welcome distraction from his inner discord. As she wraps her small arms around his waist, humming contentedly before running off to her own room.

Catching a glance at Toshinori, Izuku offers a slight nod, a silent exchange of unspoken worries, and Toshinori returns the gesture with a calm, reassuring look that does little to soothe the internal conflict brewing beneath his skin.

Turning away, Izuku ascends the stairs with his hoodie’s fabric brushing against him like a reminder of his vulnerability. He slides his hands into his pockets, feeling the weight of his phone, a silent, unyielding presence, and the invisible burden of his restless, conflicted heart.

It hasn’t buzzed. Yet.

His room greets him with silence, save for the occasional hiss of rain against the window.

The familiar clutter of shelves, notebooks, and posters does little to ground him. Everything feels still. Too still. Like the world hit pause and forgot to start again.

He lies down without changing, pulling his phone from his hoodie pocket and unlocking the screen with muscle memory.

Still nothing. He taps the message thread anyway. Just to see it. Just to be sure.

Don’t worry about it.

Izuku reads it again like it might rearrange itself into something more meaningful. He isn't even sure why he sent the ‘Thanks again’ text. Bakugou hadn’t saved his life or bared his soul—he’d just… driven. Warned him about something. Let his voice drop soft for half a second. That was it.

But still, it lingers. That shift.

That one moment that shouldn’t mean anything, and somehow means everything.

He sighs and rolls onto his side, covers pulled up to his chin. The rain whispers against the window like it’s trying to comfort him. His phone glows softly in the dark, casting thin blue shadows across his walls.

Time drags its feet.

One minute trudges by. Then another.

He tells himself that he isn’t waiting. No, he’s only… thinking.

Yet his grip on the phone tightens, betraying his inner turmoil.

Why did he send that message? What did he expect to happen? God, he should have just stayed silent.

With a heavy heart, he places the phone onto his chest, feeling its cool surface against his skin, and directs his gaze to the ceiling. The silence in the room is merciless, his thoughts a roar that drowns out the gentle murmur of rain and the steady thrum of blood rushing through his ears.

Unable to resist, he picks up the phone once more.

Still no response.

He squeezes his eyes shut, willing himself to calm down.

Then—

Buzz.

He sits up fast, blankets tangling around his waist. His heart thuds hard against his ribs, louder than it has any right to.

BAKUGOU | 11:15 P.M.

[Outside in 15.]

Izuku stares at the screen. His chest feels like it’s trying to fold in on itself. That… wasn’t what he expected. He doesn’t know what he expected, but it wasn’t this.

Izuku rises from his chair, his feet padding softly against the wooden floor as he makes his way to the window. With a gentle tug, he draws back the heavy curtain, revealing a world blurred by the relentless downpour.

The streetlight outside struggles to maintain its glow, casting erratic shadows through the torrents of rain. Each drop pelts the ground with a force that promises to drench anyone caught outside in mere moments.

Izuku's thumb hovers uncertainty over the keyboard of his phone, the screen casting a faint glow on his face.

IZUKU | 11:16 P.M.

[but it’s raining?]

The reply comes immediately.

BAKUGOU | 11:16 P.M.

[And?]

Izuku swallows hard, feeling the parched scratchiness at the back of his throat. Outside, the rain intensifies, drumming insistently against the windowpane like a relentless percussion ensemble.

He knows he shouldn’t go. It’s late, the kind of late where the world seems to shrink and quiet, and venturing out feels absurd. But his heart races, already propelling him forward, urging him to act. Just a drive, he tells himself, trying to rationalize the decision.

Another buzz from his phone, pulls his attention back to the present.

BAKUGOU | 11:17 P.M.

[don’t think too hard about it. either you’re in or you’re out.]

That’s the thing, isn’t it?

Izuku always overanalyzes everything, his mind a whirlwind of possibilities and consequences. He gazes at the blinking cursor for what feels like an eternity, his heart pounding in his chest. He takes a deep breath, his fingers hovering over the keyboard before decisively typing.

IZUKU | 11:18 P.M.

[i’m in]

The house is dark and hushed; only the rain and his heartbeat disturb the silence. Izuku hesitates at the window, feeling the weight of the night press in around him like a second skin.

Then he hears it, the low rumble of an engine just beyond the curb.

Before he can second-guess himself, he’s out the window and into the storm.

The rain is a wall of water and sound, swallowing him the second he steps outside. It’s colder than he expected, sharp and soaking, but he doesn’t care. He sprints through it, feet slapping against the wet pavement, heart racing to match his pace.

He reaches the car, breathless and drenched, and tugs at the passenger-side door. The handle sticks, a familiar stubbornness, and he lets out a soft, frustrated noise as he pulls again.

The door finally gives, and Izuku slips into the seat, water streaming from his hair and clothes. Bakugou glances over, a smirk tugging at his lips.

“You look like a drowned rat,” he says, his voice cutting through the rain’s roar.

Izuku shivers, laughter bubbling up unexpectedly. “You said outside in fifteen,” he counters, his teeth chattering slightly. “Didn’t wanna be late.”

“Figured you’d bail.” Bakugou’s eyes are steady on his, the smirk spreading into something closer to a grin. The warmth of it bleeds into Izuku’s chest, pushing back the cold.

“I almost did,” Izuku admits, feeling the residual clench of hesitation release. “But… here I am.”

“Guess you’re not as chicken as I thought.” Bakugou throws the car into gear, the engine rumbling to life beneath them.

Izuku watches him, the way his hands grip the wheel with practiced ease. He can already feel the pull of the night, the promise of motion and escape. “Where are we going?”

Bakugou’s eyes stay forward. His voice is gruff but not unkind. “You’ll see.”

The car shoots forward, tires skimming over slick asphalt. The city rushes past in a blur of neon and rain, each turn pulling them deeper into a world that feels like it’s theirs alone.

Izuku’s heart trips over itself with each beat, a frantic staccato that matches Bakugou’s foot on the gas. He leans back, letting the momentum carry him, the night unfolding with reckless abandon.

Rain drums against the windows, a percussive symphony that fills the space between them. Izuku can barely hear his own voice above it when he says, “This is crazy.”

“Yeah.” Bakugou’s eyes flash with something wild and fierce, the same look that always catches Izuku off guard, “ and yet, here you are.”

They reach a stop before Izuku realizes where they’re going.

An old building looms above them, its windows dark, a flickering motion light casting ghostly shadows over the wet pavement. The sign overhead reads "Kamada Auto," though half the letters are burned out and forgotten.

Bakugou parks out front, killing the engine with a twist of his wrist. “It’s not fancy or whatever.”

Izuku stares, rain sheeting down the windshield.

“Here?” he asks, surprise coloring his voice. He expected a drive, an escape, not this.

Bakugou shrugs, already out of the car. “You coming or what?”

He doesn’t look back, striding toward the shop with the confidence of someone who belongs.

Izuku fumbles with the door handle, stumbling into the storm. He chases after Bakugou, the rain relentless as it soaks through his clothes. By the time he catches up, Bakugou has unlocked the main door, pushing it open with the heel of his hand.

Inside, it’s cavernous and dim. Shadows stretch long and lean, interrupted only by the occasional glint of metal. The smell of oil and rubber hangs heavy in the air, grounding and familiar.

Bakugou flips a switch, and the room floods with light. Everything comes into focus, the scattered tools, the half-finished car projects, the organized chaos that speaks of late nights and long hours.

Izuku stands just inside the entrance, dripping onto the concrete floor. He feels out of place, like he’s somehow stepped into a part of Bakugou’s world he wasn’t meant to see.

Izuku breathes out, his voice soft in the cavernous space. “Whoa…”

“This is where I work. Don’t touch anything unless I tell you to.” Bakugou stretches, the movement fluid and catlike.

Izuku takes a tentative step further, his sneakers squeaking on the floor. He looks around, taking in the cluttered workbench, the shelves lined with tools and spare parts. He smiles faintly, a question forming in the back of his mind. “So… you bring all your friends here, or just the ones you lowkey insult?”

“Shut up.” But there’s no heat behind it. Bakugou turns, arms crossed over his chest. “You scared?”

“No.” Izuku’s answer comes quick, sincere. “Just surprised.”

“Everything surprises you,” Bakugou’s tone is teasing, but not unkind. It’s the way he sounds when he’s still figuring out a joke, the edges not yet sharp enough to cut.

Bakugou pulls out his phone, hits play. Something instrumental—maybe mellow indie rock, soft drums and reverb guitar. The garage feels warmer instantly. More human.

Izuku bites his lip, “So, what are we doing?”

Bakugou walks to a long workbench, picking up a rag and tossing it in Izuku’s direction. “You’re gonna dry off,” he says, the corners of his mouth twitching, “before you rust.”

Izuku catches it, warmth creeping up his neck. He dabs at his hair and hoodie, the fabric absorbing more rain than he thought possible. “And then?”

Bakugou tosses another rag over his shoulder, heading toward a car nestled in the corner. It’s covered by a black sheet, a dark silhouette against the stark light.

“What’s that?” Izuku asks, curiosity piqued.

Bakugou doesn’t answer right away. His fingers grip the edge of the sheet, pulling it back with a swift, practiced motion. The fabric slips away, revealing the familiar gleam of orange beneath.

Izuku’s breath catches.

“The Firebird,” he says, surprise threading through his words. It’s the car he’s watched from the sidelines, watched win, watched vanish into the night.

Bakugou smirks, a spark of pride in his eyes. “Yeah. Thought you’d recognize it.”

Izuku steps closer, drawn to the car’s sleek lines and raw power. It’s more than he imagined—more real, more tangible, more… here. His fingers brush the edge of the fender, reverent and careful. “It’s incredible,” he says, almost to himself. “Is this why you brought me here?”

Bakugou shrugs, but there’s an edge of something vulnerable in the motion. “Figured you’d want to see it up close. Without everyone else around.”

Izuku’s heart trips over itself, a familiar rhythm that he can’t quite name.

“Thanks,” he says, the word feeling too small for what it means.

Bakugou walks to the Firebird and pops the hood. “C’mere.”

Izuku follows his steps eagerly. He stands next to Bakugou, the engine, a complex sculpture of chrome and cables.

“Look,” Bakugou says, pointing out components with quick, precise gestures. His voice takes on a different tone, focused, almost reverent. “It’s a 400 V8,” Bakugou says, pointing to the engine like a proud parent showing off a perfect report card. “Had to rebuild it from scratch.”

Izuku leans in, the smell of grease and metal filling his senses. It’s not a scent he’s ever liked before, but here it has a strange comfort.

“This,” Bakugou says, pointing to a gleaming component, “is the new carburetor I put in last week.”

Izuku nods, though he’s mostly impressed by how Bakugou’s eyes light up, and how his focus turns sharp and intense.

Bakugou moves around the car, pointing out details Izuku wouldn’t have noticed. “These headers,” he says, “custom fit. Same with the exhaust.” There’s a reverence in his tone, a confidence that’s different from the bravado he usually wears. “Took forever to get it right.”

Izuku nods along, trying to keep up with the technical verbiage. He glances at Bakugou, catching the way his eyes spark with each explanation. “You sound kinda proud.”

Bakugou snorts, a short, dismissive sound. “Yeah, well. Should be.” But there’s no mistaking the satisfaction in his voice. He brushes his hand over the engine, his touch light, affectionate. “Fastest thing on the road.”

There’s a pause, a heartbeat where the space between them feels charged. Izuku breaks it with a question. “How long did it take?”

Bakugou leans back, crossing his arms as he calculates. “Two years, give or take. Had to start from scratch. None of this,” he gestures to the engine, “came easy.”

Izuku looks at him, really looks. The thin mask of indifference Bakugou wears is slipping, replaced by something genuine. He’s never seen him like this.

Izuku is silent for a moment, the weight of that commitment sinking in. “I can’t imagine,” he says, awe in his voice. “It’s amazing, You’re… amazing.”

The words hang between them, and Bakugou looks away, a hint of color rising to his cheeks. “Tch. It’s just work.”

“It’s more than that,” Izuku insists, his gaze steady. “It’s you.”

Bakugou doesn’t answer right away. He reaches for the hood, closing it with a decisive snap. Then he jerks his chin toward a red toolbox. “Hand me that ratchet.”

Izuku hesitates, surprised. But he moves quickly, fumbling with the metal clasps before finding what Bakugou asked for. The tool is cold and heavy in his hand, like he’s holding a piece of this world he doesn’t quite belong to. Bakugou takes it, their fingers brushing for a second longer than necessary. Izuku feels a spark at the contact, something electric and alive.

They move back to the Firebird, an unspoken understanding settling between them like dust in the air.

“You’re not totally useless,” Bakugou says, but there’s a hint of a smile, a look that’s almost gentle.

Bakugou squats down next to the front tire, his eyes narrowing in concentration. Izuku stands close, watching as Bakugou tightens a bolt. His hands move with precision, each motion deliberate and sure.

“You work on it by yourself?”

“Mostly.” Bakugou’s voice is low, almost a mumble. “Kirishima helps sometimes. But he doesn’t get it like I do.”

Izuku nods, unsure what to say. He feels like he’s been let in on a secret, something private and unspoken. A part of him he never thought he’d see.

The silence stretches, a quiet so full it almost vibrates. Bakugou wipes his hands on a towel, the rough fabric absorbing the grease and grime from his palms.

Izuku watches, feeling the weight of everything left unsaid. “Thanks for showing me,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “Really.”

Bakugou shrugs, tossing the towel aside. “Don’t get all sappy,” he mutters, but there’s no edge to it. Just a strange softness that lingers.

Izuku picks at a loose thread on his sleeve, the damp fabric clinging. His heart is loud in his chest, louder than it should be. He wants to say more, to ask why he of all people gets to be here, but the words tangle up inside him. Instead, he leans against the car, feeling its solid presence beneath him.

Bakugou leans next to him, their shoulders almost touching. They stay that way for a while, the music low and the rain still drumming its insistent beat outside.

Izuku shifts awkwardly, not sure if he’s supposed to leave now. Not sure if he wants to.

Izuku tilts his head, catching Bakugou’s profile in the dim light. “So,” he ventures, the word hanging in the air, “what now?”

Bakugou clears his throat. Without a word, he walks over to a battered old toolbox tucked under one of the benches. He rummages around for a second, muttering under his breath, and pulls out, of all things, a deck of Uno cards.

Izuku blinks. “Seriously?”

Bakugou tosses the deck onto the workbench with a sharp flick of his wrist. “Don’t knock it. You’re gonna lose.”

Izuku slides onto a nearby stool, tugging his hoodie sleeves over his hands. “Bring it on.”

Bakugou smirks, sharp and dangerous but there’s no real heat behind it. He pulls a stool up next to Izuku, close enough for their knees to touch. Bakugou rips the worn deck open with a practiced flick of his wrist, muttering under his breath about people who "shuffle like idiots" as he deals out the cards with surprising care.

They set up the game in silence, the only sound the soft shuffle of cards and the sound of I Found by Amber Run filling the air. Izuku picks up his hand of cards, trying to organize them without making it obvious he has no idea what he’s doing.

Bakugou narrows his eyes at him.“You better not suck at this.”

Izuku grins, the first real one he’s felt all night. “No promises.”

Bakugou snorts and slaps down the first card to start the pile. A blue seven.

Izuku finds himself watching Bakugou more than the game, the way his eyes flick over the cards, calculating, and focused. He remembers what Ochako said about the movie, about the way a look can say more than words, and wonders if that’s really true.

“Pay attention, nerd.” Bakugou’s voice snaps him back to the present. “You’re about to get wrecked.”

Izuku grins, the tension in his chest easing for the first time all day. “We’ll see about that.”

They fall into the rhythm easily enough—draw, discard, match colors. Bakugou plays with ruthless efficiency, snapping cards down like he’s dismantling an engine. Izuku plays slower, more cautiously, pausing to double-check the rules in his head even though Bakugou rolls his eyes every time.

They trash-talk under their breath in the way only old familiarity allows.

At one point, Bakugou drops a Draw Two on Izuku with a savage smirk.

Izuku groans dramatically, picking up his cards. “You’re insufferable.”

“Cry harder, Nerd” But there's no real bite to it.

Izuku huffs out a breath, rolling his eyes, "Whatever, Kacchan."

The name escapes Izuku's lips before he can stop it, hanging in the air like a spark.

For a brief second, Bakugou's entire body tenses. It’s subtle, an almost unnoticeable pause that would go unseen by most. His right hand, which had been steady, falters just a bit, and a shadow of something flits across his eyes, disappearing as swiftly as it appeared.

Izuku catches it all.

He observes the tight line that Bakugou's lips form, as if they're being pulled by an invisible thread. He hears the sudden, sharp tap of Bakugou's fingertips against the table, a single, disconnected beat that speaks volumes. Then, with a dismissive turn of his head, Bakugou looks away, leaving the air between them charged with unspoken tension.

Izuku's heart stumbles in his chest, confusion prickling under his skin. It’s just a nickname, he thinks. But the look in Bakugou’s eyes, the way the air shifts, heavy and uncertain between them, makes him wonder if it’s something else entirely.

Bakugou slaps a card down with a little too much force.

"Your turn, Dumbass," he mutters, voice rougher than before.

And just like that, the game moves on.

But the ripple it leaves behind stays, tucked tight between them, silent and unexplained.

They play through round after round, Bakugou’s competitive streak showing in the way he throws out each card with a flourish. Izuku matches him move for move, the game stretching longer than either of them expect.

As Izuku leans over the cluttered workbench, strewn with scattered cards and tools, he reaches for a card just as Bakugou does. Their fingers meet briefly—a gentle, accidental brush that sends a jolt through Izuku as if he had touched an electric fence. His entire body stiffens, eyes widening at the unexpected contact.

Bakugou doesn’t withdraw immediately. His fingers hover, lingering in the shared space for a fraction of a second longer than necessary before he abruptly seizes the card with a swift motion.

Izuku swallows, feeling the heat rise to his cheeks, a stark contrast to the crisp, cool air that fills the room. He forces his attention back to his hand of cards, trying to focus as his heart beat loudly in his ears.

Neither of them say anything.

The rain outside grows heavier, drowning the silence that falls between turns.

Bakugou taps a card against the table, slow, rhythmic, before slamming down a reverse card like a declaration of war.

Izuku gapes at him. “You’re the worst.”

Bakugou smirks, leaning back in his chair like a king surveying his domain as places down his next card. “And you’re losing.”

Izuku narrows his eyes, lips pressing into a determined line. He shifts the cards in his hand, slow and deliberate, like he’s considering, and then, without warning, he slaps down a Wild card with a crack against the metal workbench.

Bakugou startles upright, scowling. "The hell?"

Izuku doesn’t give him a chance to recover.

He plays again immediately, a skip card in the new color, then another. His moves are clumsy but effective, like toppling dominoes he didn't even know he set up right.

Bakugou growls low in his throat as he’s forced to draw two, then four, the stack growing in his hands like a punishment.

Izuku grins, a little breathless with the absurdity of it.

And then—

He sets down a card with a triumphant flourish. “Uno!”

Bakugou glares, but Izuku can see the curve of a smile tugging at his mouth. “You cheating or something?”

“Just lucky, I guess.” Izuku shrugs, feeling warmth rise in his chest. “You’re not gonna let me win, are you?”

“Hell no.” Bakugou discards two more cards with a quick, practiced motion. “This is war.”

Time slips by, unmeasured and unnoticed. They trade victories and taunts, the air between them light and charged. Izuku wins two out of three rounds before Bakugou nearly flips the bench in frustration, and they both agree to call it quits.

Izuku leans back after another round, stretching his arms over his head. “I can’t believe you had these lying around.”

Bakugou looks down, almost sheepish. “Shitty hair left ‘em here. Said I was too much of a hardass.”

Izuku’s chest tugs unexpectedly. He hadn’t realized how much this garage held pieces of Bakugou’s real life, messy, stubborn, and a little softer than he let on.

“Guess he was right.” Izuku laughs, the sound bright and unguarded. “You’re kinda competitive.”

“Yeah? Well, you suck at trash talk.” Bakugou flicks a card at him, and Izuku bats it away with a grin.

Silence stretches between them, thick but not uncomfortable. The kind of silence that hums low and steady. The kind that doesn’t demand anything. Izuku shifts back against the workbench, shoulders relaxing by degrees. He watches the rain smear silver lines across the windows, the world outside melting into vague shapes.

Bakugou doesn't move for a long moment. He just stands there, arms crossed loosely over his chest, gaze somewhere past the walls of the garage.

Izuku lets himself look at him—really look. The low light softens the angles of Bakugou’s face. At the way his fingers drum once, absently, against his arm. He wonders what Bakugou's thinking. If he's thinking anything at all. Or if he's just letting the quiet hold them both up for a little while longer.

The rain finally slows, a gentle patter that feels like a lullaby. Izuku checks the time, surprised to see how late it’s gotten. Izuku doesn’t want to move. Doesn’t want to break the moment, the warmth humming low between them. For once, the world feels simple. Easy. He wants to hold onto it for just a little longer.

Izuku’s heart beats slow and heavy in his chest. He doesn’t want to leave.

Not yet.

Then he checks the time.

4:25 A.M.

“I should probably head back soon,” he says, the reluctance clear in his voice.

Bakugou tosses the Uno deck onto the workbench with a little more force than necessary. He doesn't look at Izuku when he mutters, "Yeah. Guess so."

For a second, neither of them moves.

The rain drums heavier against the roof, filling the silence.

Bakugou stands, stretching like he’s shaking off the last of a fight. He grabs his keys off the bench with a short, rough movement, “Let’s go, then.”

They step outside, the air crisp and raw after the stuffy warmth of the garage. Everything is washed clean and new. The cab is still warm from earlier. Izuku pulls the door closed behind him with a soft thud, water dripping from his hair onto the worn seat.

Bakugou starts the engine without a word. The wipers squeal once against the windshield, clearing a blurred path through the storm.

The drive is calmer than before, the car gliding over wet asphalt with a smooth hum. Izuku watches the city blur by, the streets slowly filling with the first signs of morning life. He feels Bakugou’s presence beside him, solid and certain, and wonders how he can feel so untethered and so grounded all at once.

Izuku risks a glance at Bakugou out of the corner of his eye.

He looks tired. Not the sharp, angry kind of tired that Izuku had been bracing for, but a quieter exhaustion, something real and human. His hands are steady on the wheel. His jaw unclenched.

They don’t talk much, but the silence isn’t heavy anymore. Just comfortable, like the rhythm of the engine and the road beneath them. Izuku closes his eyes, letting the calm wash over him like a slow tide.

When they pull up to his place, the house is dark and quiet. Izuku hesitates, hand on the door handle, not ready to leave the bubble they’ve created. He turns to Bakugou, searching for words that don’t sound like goodbye.

“Thanks,” he says, finally. “For… everything.”

Bakugou doesn’t answer. But his fingers drum once—twice—against the steering wheel before settling again. “Go inside, Nerd.”

The words are rough, but the way he says them isn’t.

Izuku hesitates, fingers curled around the door handle. Then he nods once and slips out into the rain, hoodie clinging damp to his arms, shoes squelching in the grass.

He slips through the window and lands softly, the damp fabric of his hoodie clinging to his arms. The room is dark, but his heartbeat feels too loud in the quiet.

Outside, the engine is still running.

Izuku pauses near the window, fingers resting lightly against the frame. He doesn’t pull the curtain aside, but he can see the faint glow of headlights cutting through the rain.

Bakugou hasn’t left yet.

Again.

Izuku frowns, barely even realizing he is.

He doesn’t know what to make of it. Doesn’t know why it makes his chest go tight, like something important is happening and he doesn’t have the context.

He almost opens the curtain.

Almost.

But then the engine rumbles low, the sound shifting as the truck eases away from the curb, swallowed by rain and distance.Izuku lets his hand fall away from the window frame.

Whatever it is, he’ll think about it later.

Or not at all.

His chest aches in a way he can’t explain. He thinks of the garage, the headlights, the silence. And the way being around Bakugou feels easier than it should.

His room is exactly as he left it, the faintest chill lingering in the air. He peels off the damp layers and slides under the covers, the fabric cold against his skin. The exhaustion hits him all at once, a wave of it that pulls him under before he can think too hard about why his chest feels so light.

He shuts his eyes, letting the steady patter of rain tap rhythmically against the roof, filling the silent voids in his mind with its soothing cadence.

And then—

For just a second—

He isn’t lying in his bed at all.

There’s wind, howling through the air. Cold and sharp against his skin, like icy needles pricking at his cheeks. And something else, a hollow tug in his chest, like he’s teetering on the edge of uneasiness.

His eyes snap open to the inky darkness, his heart pounding in his chest. The familiar outlines of his room come into focus, the wooden shelves lined with books, the posters of animated heroes pinned to the walls, the soft, shimmering reflection of rain trailing down the windowpane.

He draws in a shaky breath, trying to calm the racing beat of his heart. It was nothing. Just a trick of the rain, maybe. Just frayed nerves after a long day.

He presses his palms flat against the mattress, feeling the rough fabric against his skin, anchoring himself there. Breathing through the tremors that rack across his body. Willing the thoughts, the memories to go away.

And then Izuku turns onto his side, pulling the covers tighter around him, the fabric cocooning him in a sense of fragile security. He doesn’t fall asleep for a long time, staring into the dim shadows of his room. The rain keeps whispering at the window. Like it knows something he doesn’t.

Chapter Text

THE BROS | 4:15 P.M.

KIRISHIMA: [somebody else better be bringing the beer last time you all drank me into debt :(]

SERO: [dude if you can’t handle hosting just say that]

KAMINARI: [my place is LOCKED AND LOADED for a party]

JIRO: [No one wants to see your sex den, Denki.]

Izuku slips off his backpack and drops it by his desk, thumbing through the thread of messages. His phone had been buzzing all through class, and it had taken everything in him not to check. Now he understands.

A party.

He scrolls back up and rereads the start time.

KIRISHIMA: [starts at 11! come through whenever]

Izuku stares at the screen a moment longer, thumb hovering over the reply bar.

11 PM. There is no doubt in his mind it starts late enough he could slip out without being noticed. He racks his brain for an excuse, any plausible reason to decline, but his mind draws a frustrating blank.

It felt strange, foreign even, to want something without guilt, chewing at the edges. The desire to go wasn’t born from rebellion or loneliness. It was something softer. Something simpler. He wanted to be with them, with the people who had started to feel like something real. Not a distraction. Not a performance. Just… connection.

His fingers hover over the keyboard. With a deep breath, he types out the message, his finger pressing 'send' with a mixture of anticipation and apprehension.

MIDORIYA: [I’ll be there.]

He pauses, surprised by how easy it is to write and how good it feels not to delete it. A flicker of something warm stirs in his chest. But it doesn’t settle. Instead, his thoughts wander, instinctively, inevitably, to Bakugou. After the night at the auto repair shop, the blonde has been on his mind more than before.

Izuku’s heart seems to speed up at every flash of red eyes that run through the back of his mind. The sound of his voice in the dark, the way he didn’t pull away, that quiet moment where it almost felt like they understood each other.

Would it feel different now?

Izuku opens their chat. The screen lights up, and the conversation history is short but heavy. Every word and silence seems etched into the digital space like an indelible mark. He stares, fingers hovering uncertainly. What can he say without risking everything?

[Are you going tonight?]

He stares at it. The words are simple. Casual, even. But they carry everything.

A pause. A reach. An echo of that cliffside conversation that neither of them has acknowledged since.

Izuku’s thumb hovers over ‘send.’

The longer he waits, the heavier the moment becomes. Because if Bakugou answers like nothing happened, Izuku isn’t sure what that would mean. And if he doesn’t answer at all? Maybe that would mean even more.

A small thump sounds from somewhere down the hall. Muffled laughter. Child-sized feet skimming across hardwood.

Izuku startles, locking his phone without sending the message.

Then—

“Zuku! You won’t believe what I found!”

Izuku steps into the hallway just as Eri comes tearing around the corner, nearly crashing into him. She skids to a halt, her eyes bright with excitement as she holds something in her small hands, cradling it like the most precious thing in the world.

“Look!” she exclaims, thrusting it toward him.

Izuku blinks, leaning down to get a closer look. Nestled in her palms is a rock, smooth and green, shot through with tiny flecks that catch the light. It sparkles like it’s been dusted with stars.

“It’s for you!” Eri says, bouncing on her toes. “It matches your eyes!”

Izuku feels a swell of warmth, unexpected and disarming. He thinks about how something so small could be so grounding. It’s just a rock, but it’s also Eri’s trust, her joy, her belief in him. It’s a gift without condition. And that’s the part that undoes him. Because lately, everything feels earned through performance. But this? This is just love.

He takes the rock carefully, the smooth surface cool against his fingers. “It’s awesome, Eri. Thank you.”

Her grin widens, delighted. “Do you really like it?”

“I love it,” he assures her, crouching down to meet her eye level. “Where’d you find it?”

“The park!” Eri declares. “There were lots of them, but I thought you’d like this one best.”

Izuku ruffles her hair, touched by the simple joy she radiates. “You were right. It’s perfect.”

Eri beams at him, then runs back down the hallway, her voice trailing behind her. “I’m gonna find more!”

Izuku stands, the rock still resting in his palm. It feels heavier than it should, like it’s carrying the weight of more than just stone. He turns it over, watching the way it catches the light. The way it transforms in his hand, from opaque to brilliant. From something small and ordinary to something else entirely.

Love. Or maybe freedom. Or the impossible choice between them. It doesn’t make the choice harder. But it reminds him why the choice matters.

“Izuku!” his mom calls from the kitchen, her voice light and inviting. “I could use your help in here.”

Izuku lets the rock settle on his desk. It glints softly, a reminder of possibilities he isn’t quite prepared to face. He walks down toward the kitchen, his mind a tangle of anticipation, of Bakugou, of the night that seems like a whole other world.

Inko is at the counter, flour smeared across the front of her apron. The kitchen is a fragrant mix of ginger and soy sauce, the air warm and familiar. Izuku is struck by how hard it is to breathe in here, how this space seems to expand and contract on the rhythm of their family, no matter how easy that rhythm sometimes feels.

“Can you grate these for me?” Inko gestures to a pile of carrots, her smile bright. “Toshi loves them extra thin.”

“Sure.” He takes the grater, settling into the task with a nervous energy that’s hard to shake.

Inko starts peeling an onion, her movements practiced and efficient. “Did I tell you Mirio is planning on staying till the holidays? ” she asks, her voice tinged with pride. “He’s organizing a big event at the youth center. Everyone’s so excited.”

Izuku nods, focusing on the carrots. “That's cool.”

“He’s always been like that, hasn’t he?” She laughs softly, a fondness in her tone. “So thoughtful. So proactive. He doesn’t wait around for someone to give him permission to do the right thing.”

The grater slips. Izuku flinches, biting back a hiss of pain. He stares at the thin line of red blooming across his knuckle. He scowls, more from the words than the sting of raw skin. He keeps his eyes on the counter, on the orange shreds piling up like the pieces of something he can’t quite hold together.

“Oh, sweetheart—” Inko frowns as she turns to look at him. “You really should slow down. You get so jumpy when you're distracted.”

He mumbles an apology, though he’s not sure what he’s apologizing for, before grabbing a towel and dabbing the wound dry.

Inko watches him, concern etched in her features till the bleeding stops. And then she continues without missing a beat. “We’re lucky he’s part of the family,” she adds, turning back to her chopping board. “You remember how you two used to play? He always brought out the best in you.”

Izuku remembers. He remembers Mirio’s unstoppable energy, his laughter that seemed to bounce off the walls and fill every corner. He remembers being 15 years old and feeling like he had to run twice as fast just to keep up.

“Yeah,” Izuku says, quieter now. “He’s… pretty great.”

Inko glances over her shoulder. “You could be too, you know. If you just let yourself focus.”

His throat tightens. “I’m trying.”

“Mm,” she hums, not convinced. “I just worry. I see you getting distracted, sometimes it feels like you’re pulling away again. ”

That lands hard. Too hard. Izuku’s stomach twists.

“I’m fine,” he says, barely above a whisper.

But he wasn’t. Not really. Not in the way that counted. The version of ‘fine’ he offered was the kind that meant: I don’t want to talk about it. Please stop looking at me like that. Please stop expecting me to be someone else.

Inko doesn't reply, her silence is louder than any words. She turns her attention to the onions, her knife slicing through them with a steady rhythm, as if the conversation had been nothing more than a fleeting breeze.

The sound of the blade hitting the cutting board fills the room, but Izuku feels an invisible weight pressing down on him, heavy and unyielding, like a rock lodged in the pit of his stomach.

He tries to change the subject, desperate to shift the atmosphere. “Do you think Eri will eat any of this?”

“Probably not,” Inko laughs, returning to her chopping. “Even Mirio couldn’t get her to like it.”

The words are light, but they land with weight.

Izuku lets the conversation lull, the kitchen sounds filling the silence. He thinks about Mirio, about the effortless way he seems to belong everywhere, about the way Inko’s eyes light up when she talks about him. He wonders if they ever light up like that for him.

He grates a little faster, more forcefully. The pile of orange curls grows, but the knot in his chest doesn’t loosen.

The rest of the evening drifts by in a blur of routine. Dinner is a strained affair, heavy with the kind of silence that buzzes louder than conversation. Plates clink against one another as they’re cleared, leftovers sealed and stowed away in the fridge with robotic efficiency.

No one says much, just the occasional polite murmur, as if everyone’s too tired or too cautious to poke at the tension that’s quietly taken root.

Once the kitchen is clean, the family scatters. Doors shut. Lights dim. The house settles into that strange hush that only comes at night.

However, instead of changing into his pajamas like usual, Izuku quietly laces up his sneakers and slips on his jacket, the fabric rustling softly in the stillness of his room.

As the clock ticks closer to 10:30, he sits on the edge of his bed, his phone glowing in his hand. He opens his chat with Mina, his fingers poised to type that he’s ready for her to pick him up.

But before he can hit send, his bedroom door creaks open. The light from the hallway spills across the floor in a long, pale streak. “Plans tonight?”

Izuku jumps, heart skipping a beat. “Um, no?”

“Uh huh.” Toshinori’s mouth quirks in a knowing smile, his sharp eyes soft and unreadable. “I see.”

Izuku squirms, tugging at the edge of his sleeve. “What?”

“Just thinking out loud.” Toshinori takes a step inside, hands resting loosely in his pockets. “I was wondering if you’d heard from your friends.”

Izuku tenses, caught like a deer in headlights. Why does he always know? “Oh. Uh, yeah. They’re having... a thing tonight.”

“A thing,” Toshinori repeats, the smile spreading as he takes in Izuku’s uneasy posture.

“Just a small get-together between friends,” Izuku says, trying to sound casual. “It’s nothing big, really, it just—” He cuts himself off, dragging a hand through his hair, already feeling the weight of an argument that hasn’t happened yet.

His mind slips to her — his mother. The way her worry clings to everything, even silence. How her voice trembles at the edges when she tells him she’s ‘just being careful.’ Like love is a shield and a cage all at once.

“If I asked my mom,” he says, voice quiet, “she’d say no.” He doesn’t need to imagine it. He knows how it would go: the way her eyes would tighten, her hands wringing at the hem of her shirt, her voice catching as she reminded him — gently, always gently — of what they almost lost. “It’s not that she’s trying to be awful,” he adds quickly. “She’s just scared. All the time.”

There’s a pause. He swallows, like the truth tastes heavier than he expected. “But I want to go.”

It comes out low, but solid. Not a plea. Not a rebellion. A truth. He glances away, jaw tight. “Not because I’m trying to sneak out or make a point. I’m just… tired of feeling like I have to earn every bit of freedom I ask for. Tired of acting like I don’t want things.”

Toshinori doesn’t look surprised. He just nods, slowly, like he’s been expecting this to surface for a while. “You don’t have to explain.”

Izuku studies him. “Are you going to tell me not to go?”

Toshinori sighs and steps further into the room. He doesn’t speak right away, and when he does, his voice is soft. Careful. “I fell in love with Inko because she cares like breathing. She carries people with her, quietly, completely. There’s no halfway with her. No version of love that isn’t wrapped around the bones.”

Izuku blinks. He wasn’t expecting that.

“But that kind of love,” Toshinori continues, “can turn into fear if you’re not careful. Especially when something breaks.”

He leans back against the dresser, arms crossed loosely. “She almost lost you, Izuku. And somewhere in the middle of hospitals and recovery and silence, she decided that if she could just keep you close enough, safe enough, she’d never have to feel that helpless again.”

Izuku’s throat tightens, words caught behind a wall of guilt. “I know. I do. I just... I don’t know how to breathe around her anymore.”

Toshinori nods again, not in agreement, but in understanding.

“That’s not your fault,” he says. “And it’s not entirely hers, either. She’s still healing, too. But that doesn’t mean you have to stay in that place with her. You didn’t survive all of this just to live inside someone else’s fear.”

Izuku swallows. His chest feels tight, like he’s on the verge of either crying or apologizing. Maybe both.

Toshinori adds, gently: “Loving her doesn’t mean you have to disappear for her.”

Izuku’s voice is small. “She’ll be mad.”

“I know,”

“…I want to go.”

Toshinori nods. “Then I’ll drive you.”

Izuku’s head jerks up. “You’d do that for me?”

“I’m doing it because I believe you deserve a night that belongs to you. Because I believe you deserve to be young for a little while longer.” Toshinori says.

A pause.

“I love her,” he adds quietly. “But I’m not raising a ghost. I’m raising you.”

Izuku looks at him, really looks at him, and something softens in his shoulders. Like maybe for the first time all day, he doesn’t feel like he’s being torn in half.

They move quietly, like phantoms. No shoes until the front door. No hallway lights. Just the sound of breath and the careful rhythm of practiced caution.

Toshinori unlocks the car slowly, watching the upstairs windows. Nothing stirs.

The vehicle pulls away without a word, the tires whispering against the curb.

They fall into silence. The kind of silence that isn’t comfortable, but familiar. The kind that fills a house that’s too careful.

“Izuku,” Toshinori says without turning back, “this isn’t easy for me either. Lying to her.”

Izuku feels guilt rise up his throat.

“I don’t like going behind her back,” Toshinori says after a moment. His voice is quiet, but steady.

Izuku stiffens. “I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” Toshinori says, turning now. “It’s not blame. It’s... truth. I love her. But sometimes, loving someone means knowing when they need to be wrong. And Inko — she’s still stuck in the past, in that moment when she thought she lost you.”

Izuku swallows hard. “I don’t want to hurt her.”

“I know you don’t.” Toshinori’s gaze turns back to the road, like he’s weighing something heavy. “Neither do I. But keeping you wrapped in bubble wrap for the rest of your life isn’t love. It’s fear. And I’ve watched her live inside that fear for too long.”

“She thinks if she controls enough, nothing bad can ever happen again,” Toshinori adds quietly. “But life doesn’t work that way. You know that better than anyone.”

Izuku doesn't respond. There's nothing to say. The words settle into his ribs like bricks.

“I love her, Izuku,” Toshinori says again. “But I won’t let her turn this house into a locked room she thinks is safe. Not for you. Not for her.”

There’s a long silence between them, not awkward, just heavy, and Izuku doesn’t know how to respond. Everything Toshinori had just laid out before him make the air feel hard to breathe.

“If she asks, I’ll tell her I needed a drive. That I took the car to clear my head.” Toshinori finally says.

Izuku freezes. “That’s not fair to you.”

“I can take her anger,” Toshinori says. “What I can’t take is watching you disappear in that house.”

Izuku bites his lip. He owes Toshinori big time.

The city is still glowing when Toshinori pulls up to the curb in front of Kirishima’s apartment complex, laughter spilling through the open windows like music. Izuku sits still for a second, fingers curled around the hem of his jacket. The street is painted in purple dusk, the kind of soft light that makes everything look scarier than it is.

“You good?” Toshinori asks, eyes forward, hands loose on the wheel.

Izuku nods, even if he’s not sure it’s true.

He’s not supposed to be here.

That thought prickles at the back of his neck as he steps out of the car. The door shuts with a quiet click that feels louder than it should.

Toshinori doesn’t pull away immediately. He waits just long enough for Izuku to glance back. Their eyes meet.

Toshinori gives him a small nod. No pressure. No lecture. Just a promise: you’re not alone.

Then he drives off.

Izuku adjusts his jacket and turns toward the building. He hesitates just outside the door. He doesn’t need to buzz, the door is propped open with a folded pizza box. Of course it is.

Inside, it’s all light and motion, and sound. Someone’s shouting over a game console, Kaminari’s laugh cuts through the noise like static, and a burst of voices rises as the door swings wider than expected. The smell of weed seeps out and disappears into the night air.

“Oh my god,” Mina says, eyes lighting up. “He actually showed.”

Before Izuku can respond, she grabs his wrist and yanks him in.

“You’re late,” she says, mock-stern. “I thought you were going to flake.”

“Uh, surprise?,” Izuku mutters, which earns him a raised eyebrow and a grin.

“C’mon,” she says, dragging him deeper into the apartment. “Sero’s hogging the good weed and Bakugou’s losing it over Smash. It’s chaos.”

Izuku’s chest tightens at the name, but he doesn’t ask where Bakugou is. He just follows.

Mina pulls Izuku into the fray. The living room is packed, cushions and legs, and snack bowls scattered like a low-level warzone. The air is heavy and smoky. People laugh, argue, lean on each other like gravity’s an option, not a rule. And for a moment, it feels like another universe.

It’s loud and overwhelming, a tangle of voices and movement, but he doesn’t retreat. Normally, this would send him straight to the edge of the room. Back against the wall, eyes down, waiting for a moment to slip away without being noticed.

Tonight, the tightness in his chest had loosened. Just a little. Maybe it was the hour. Maybe it was the people. Or maybe it was the fact that he’d chosen this. Without prompting. Without panic. It felt like a step toward something. Something that might hurt but also might heal.

Somehow, this group, chaotic and loud and full of inside jokes he’s only half caught up on, has started to feel… normal. Natural. He doesn’t feel that tight coil of anxiety in his chest, doesn’t feel like he’s performing a version of himself that’s easier to like.

He just feels—

Happy.

The word hits him with quiet surprise. He hadn’t realized how rare it had become.

And still, beneath the warmth spreading in his chest, there’s a whisper of doubt: How long will he get to keep this?

His gaze finally settles on Bakugou, who is sprawled comfortably on the couch, one arm casually thrown over the backrest. His sharp, crimson eyes land on Izuku with a steady confidence. Their eyes meet. Just for a second. And it’s not a glare. Not a challenge. Just... recognition. Bakugou doesn’t smile. But he doesn’t look away, either.

Izuku's heart skips a beat, and he feels the dryness in his throat as he forces himself to swallow.

Then Mina bumps his shoulder. “You okay?”

He nods. “Yeah.”

“Izu!” Ochako waves from the kitchen, her smile wide and warm. She spins a bottle of soda in his direction, and he catches it with a surprised laugh. “I thought you were bailing, you never texted for a ride,” she says, eyes curious. “You didn’t walk here, did you?”

He opens his mouth to answer — No, Toshinori drove me, and I’m kind of still reeling from it — but he doesn’t get the chance.

An arm slings over his shoulders, yanking him sideways with enough force to nearly knock the soda from his grip.

“Yo, Midoriya!” Kaminari yells directly into his ear. His grin is full wattage, his energy chaotic in a way that feels oddly comforting. The stench of weed seems to seep out of his pores. “Dude, I didn’t think you were gonna make it!”

“Uh yeah, I—” Izuku stammers, trying to find his footing.

But Kaminari barrels on like a runaway train. “No, no, this is perfect. I need your help. There’s this guy, right? Purple hair, tall, sharp jawline — major resting judgment face. We hooked up once after this open mic night, but I forgot to get his number. Total rookie mistake.”

Mina groans and slaps a hand over her face. "Oh brother," she mutters, "Here we go."

Izuku blinks, already overwhelmed. “Wait,—um—what?”

Kaminari snaps his fingers, clearly not listening. “I think he goes to your school. Philosophy major, probably. Gives off serious, I listen to sad music on purpose, energy. I need recon. Or an in. Or both.”

Izuku stares. “I thought… I mean—aren’t you and Jirou…?”

He trails off, not sure how to phrase it without sounding like he’s asking the wrong question.

“Ew, gross,” Jirou appears at his side, wincing, “Wrong parts.”

Izuku blinks again. “Oh. Oh—uh. Right. Sorry, I didn’t— I mean, not that there’s anything wrong—uh—” His hands go up in front of him, palms out like he’s physically trying to catch the words as they fall out of his mouth. “I mean same! No— not that he has the wrong—” He groans quietly, face already going red. “I mean— I’m gay too.”

The words leave his mouth before his brain catches up. It takes him a second. Then his eyes widen, just a little. The room goes still for a beat. Not tense. Just surprised.

Izuku freezes, shoulders hunched like he’s bracing for a reaction, any reaction. His eyes dart between faces, waiting for someone to laugh, or stare, or ask how long he’s known.

Jiro chuckles, nudging Izuku, “Relax, dude, as long as you’re not homophobic, no one cares.”

Izuku lets out a long breath, he didn’t realize he was holding. He didn’t know how heavy the secret had been until it was gone, until it was replaced with something warmer, something like acceptance. His shoulders relax, the last of the tension melting away.

Ochako playfully wrapped her arm around Izuku's shoulders, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "Go on, tell them about the time you spilled your drink all over that cute boy in the coffee shop!"

Mina chuckles, her laughter ringing out like a bell. "Oh, come on, Ochako, don't tease him too much!" she says, wagging a finger playfully. "At least he's putting himself out there!"

“Seriously?” Kaminari cheers, throwing an arm around Izuku’s shoulders. “See now you gotta help me find him.”

Izuku blinks, still processing the rush of everything. “Um—okay?”

Jiro rolls her eyes but doesn’t hide her smirk. “Denki’s desperate. You’ve been warned.”

Kaminari ignores this, shaking Izuku with reckless enthusiasm. “I need a game plan. A strategy. You’re my inside man now.”

Izuku laughs, a little breathless. “I’ll try?”

Denki nods, as if this settles it. "Alright! We’ll track him down, then I’ll just— I dunno, stand there and look cute until he notices me again."

“Make sure to bring a dictionary,” Jiro quips. “You’ll need it to understand him.”

Kaminari points a finger at her, eyes wide. “Oh my god, that’s genius. I’ll be mysterious and smart. He’ll have to know what I’m about.”

Izuku’s grin stretches wider. “And what are you about?”

“Not a damn clue,” Kaminari says, his laughter infectious.

Izuku’s laugh blends into the noise, into the warmth, into the strange freedom of not having to hide. He watches them banter Jiro’s dry humor, Denki’s clueless charm, and feels the sharp edges of his nerves start to dull.

Across the room, Bakugou is on the couch. At first glance, he looks relaxed, the picture of someone who couldn’t care less, but Izuku knows that look. It isn’t ease. It’s distance, dressed up as indifference.

Ejiro is talking beside him, laughing too loudly about something that happened at work, but Bakugou barely reacts. He’s half-listening, detached. Like he’s waiting for a reason to leave, or maybe a reason to stay.

Izuku shifts, glancing toward him without thinking. And catches him already looking.

Their eyes meet again. Not by chance. Not this time.

It’s quick, but Izuku sees it clearly: Bakugou had been watching him first.

There’s no smirk. No glare. Just a flicker of something unreadable.

Izuku’s breath catches. His heart stumbles over itself. He doesn’t look away. He waits for something to follow. A smirk. A twitch of recognition. Some sign that Bakugou remembers the way things felt at the shop. That whatever passed between them that night wasn’t just in Izuku’s head.

But Bakugou turns his gaze back to Ejiro, unmoved.

Like nothing happened. Like none of it mattered.

Izuku forces his eyes down, suddenly aware of the way his hands are clenched around his drink. The room hasn’t changed, but something inside him has. The laughter still rises and falls around him, the same voices, the same jokes.

But everything feels a little more hollow now. A little farther away.

Izuku swallows hard.

“Are you coming or what?” Sero shouts from the living room, waving a joint like a flag. “We’re about to start another round. Could use the extra players.”

Ejiro nudges Bakugou with his elbow, grinning. “C’mon, man. You can’t hog all the wins.”

Bakugou shrugs, but there’s an edge to it, like he’s just pretending to be casual. Izuku feels it from across the room, feels the tension like a rubber band stretched tight. He hesitates, not sure if he should join them, not sure if he’s welcome.

Mina gives him a playful shove. “Go. Show them how it’s done.”

Izuku fumbles, almost dropping the soda. “You sure? I don’t want to—”

“What?” Mina laughs. “Have fun? Please, Zuku. You’re not sneaking out of this.”

Izuku’s smile is shaky but real. He lets the doubt fall away, lets Mina’s confidence in him be enough. Bakugou doesn't look up as Izuku takes a seat on the other side of Kirishima.

The game starts up, the screen flashing with color and energy, the controls vibrating in Izuku’s hand. The noise swells around him, the kind of noise that drowns out thoughts and fear, the kind of noise that feels like life.

Or maybe that’s just the feeling of being here.

Laughter rings out as the characters battle on screen, quick and chaotic, the couch shaking with the force of it. Izuku’s fingers fly over the buttons, the old familiarity rushing back. It’s been too long since he’s let himself do this, let himself be this.

“Whoa, Midoriya,” Sero says, leaning over to see the screen. “You’ve been holding out on us.”

“Yeah, dude,” Eijiro chimes in. “Where’d you learn to play like that?”

Izuku shrugs, a little shy. “I used to game a lot, my brother taught me all I know.” He trails off, the past hanging in the air like a shadow.

“Holy shit, must be a good mentor!” Denki quips.

Izuku smiles sheepishly, his fingers nervously brushing the back of his neck. “Something like that.”

Then, through the noise, a voice cuts in. Sharper. Quieter. Meant only for him.

“You have a brother?”

Izuku turns. Bakugou is still stretched out at the end of the couch, arms crossed, face unreadable. It’s the first time he’s spoken to him all night.

The room quiets, just a little. Not enough to stop the party, just enough to feel it.

Izuku blinks, caught off guard. “Yeah. Sort of. He’s my stepbrother.”

Bakugou's eyebrows knit together, before he hums an acknowledgement. Then, without offering another word or even sparing a glance in Izuku's direction, he shifts his focus back to the flickering images on the TV screen.

Izuku stays frozen for half a second longer, waiting for more, for anything. But nothing comes. And for once, he doesn’t chase it. He exhales, rolls his shoulders back, and lets the weight slide off.

The night spins on, bright and loud. Izuku feels the noise wrap around him, something like belonging. He doesn’t think about the time. He doesn’t think about the consequences. He just lets himself exist in the moment, free and unguarded.

It’s almost 1 A.M. when he catches his breath long enough to wonder. It’s been hours. Bakugou hasn’t said a word. But he’s still here. Still within reach.

His presence feels like a weight Izuku can’t shake. He’s aware of every move, every shift, every moment Bakugou looks like he might stand, might acknowledge Izuku’s existence. But he doesn’t. And the longer it goes on, the more it gnaws at Izuku.

He tells himself it’s fine. He tells himself Bakugou is just being Bakugou, intense, withdrawn, a storm that doesn’t want to be tamed. But the doubt creeps in anyway, curling tight around his chest. Was he wrong about the other night? About everything?

Still, he tries not to stare. He tries to lose himself in the noise, in the laughter, in Denki’s ridiculous schemes. But his eyes betray him, flicking back to Bakugou like a compass needle that can’t find north.

At one point Bakugou moves to the kitchen, slipping right past Izuku. And Izuku’s heart jumps. He waits, breath held, for something, a glance, a nod, anything. But Bakugou doesn’t even pause. He grabs a drink and heads back to the couch, slipping through the chaos like Izuku isn’t even there.

Izuku’s heart sinks. The realization hits hard: Bakugou is avoiding him. It’s deliberate. It’s intentional. And it stings more than Izuku wants to admit.

The rest of the night is a blur of half-heard conversations, his laughter more reflex than real. But he doesn’t let it show. He doesn’t let anyone see how Bakugou’s silence is louder than the party itself.

Amidst the swirling chaos, Izuku's eyes catch sight of Bakugou slipping quietly toward the stairwell, unnoticed by everyone else. A part of him wants to call out, to bridge the chasm between them, while another part hesitates, unsure if he should let Bakugou go without a word.

Izuku tries to ignore it. He keeps moving, keeps talking, keeps pretending until the minutes slip past like shadows. The apartment starts to thin out, the energy dipping into something softer, sleepier. Izuku checks his phone, the screen glowing bright in the dim room.

2:24 A.M.

He should go. He should’ve gone a while ago. But leaving feels too much like giving up, like admitting defeat. He glances at the couch, at the empty space where Bakugou was. His chest tightens, and before he can think too hard about it, he’s moving.

The hallway seems longer than before. Quiet. A little too quiet. He doesn’t realize he’s holding his breath until he pushes open the door at the end, until he’s standing on the landing outside, and there, in the stairwell, is Bakugou leaned up against the rail with his back turned towards the door.

Izuku stops short, heart tripping over itself. Bakugou doesn’t turn, doesn’t acknowledge him. He just lights a cigarette, the flame flickering like he’s the only thing in the world that exists.

Izuku hesitates. He could walk away. He should walk away. But his feet stay planted, his voice leaves him before he can pull it back.

“Kacchan?”

The name is barely more than a whisper, but it cuts through the quiet like a shout. Bakugou’s shoulders tense, a subtle shift that Izuku almost misses.

He exhales a thin stream of smoke, his back still turned. “What?”

“I just…” Izuku falters, rubbing at his wrist, his fingers tracing over the fabric of his sleeve as if seeking comfort. “I don’t get it. You’ve been ignoring me all night.”

Bakugou stands silent, his gaze fixed on the ground, lips pressed tightly together.

Izuku steps closer, his heart pounding in his chest. “Did I do something wrong?”

A long pause stretches between them, the air heavy with unspoken words.

Then Bakugou finally mutters, “No.” But the word drops like a stone, lacking conviction.

Izuku's voice wavers as he presses on, “You’ve barely looked at me since the shop. Did something change?”

Bakugou flicks the ash from his cigarette with a sharp motion, as if the question itself burns him. “You’re overthinking shit again.”

Izuku swallows hard, his throat dry. “Then why do you look at me like that?”

At last, Bakugou turns to him, and there’s a smoldering intensity in his eyes—not quite anger, but something dangerously close. “Like what?”

“Like I make you nervous,” Izuku whispers, his own voice barely audible over the rustle of the night breeze.

Bakugou stiffens, his posture rigid, the tension between them almost palpable. But then his eyes flash, sharp and dangerous. “What the hell are you on about?”

Izuku takes a step closer, his heart pounding against the rising heat of his frustration. “You know exactly what I mean. You’re doing it right now.”

Bakugou holds his gaze, the tension between them crackling like static. “Bullshit,” he growls, but there’s a strain in his voice, like he knows he’s been caught.

Bakugou's jaw tightens, his grip on the cigarette turning white-knuckled. He flicks the ash with a quick, angry motion, then moves towards Izuku “You think everything’s about you, huh?”

Izuku’s heart kicks up again, but this time, it’s not just from anger. It’s the way Bakugou is looking at him now, direct and intense, like he’s about to close the distance between them. Like he’s daring Izuku to take one more step.

“What else could it be?” Izuku demands, but his voice wavers, the heat of it turning into something else. Something that makes his skin prickle and his breath catch.

Bakugou stands frozen. Izuku feels the air thickening, the space between them charged and heavy. Bakugou’s eyes are fierce, and for a second, Izuku’s convinced he’s going to—

But then Bakugou jerks back, like he’s pulling away from an edge. He drops the cigarette, crushing it under his heel. “You’re such a fucking idiot,” he mutters, the words rough and uneven, like they’re meant for himself as much as for Izuku.

Izuku flinches, the sudden distance between them like a cold rush of air. He opens his mouth to speak, to demand an explanation, but the words stick.

Bakugou doesn’t give him a chance to find them. He turns sharply, shoving the door open with more force than necessary. “Go home,” he barks, and then he’s gone, the door slamming shut behind him.

Izuku stands there, stunned, the echo of Bakugou’s retreat vibrating through the stairwell. His heart is a riot in his chest, his mind spinning so fast he can’t catch a single thought. What the hell was that? What just happened?

He leans against the wall, the rough concrete grounding him, anchoring him back to reality. The confusion, the hurt, the electric thrill that shot through him when Bakugou looked at him like that—it all crashes down at once, leaving him breathless.

Izuku presses the heels of his hands against his eyes, trying to make sense of it, trying to understand. But the only thing he knows for sure is that he was right about one thing.

Bakugou’s not the kind of person who lets himself get caught up. Not the kind of person who sticks around long enough to see if there’s anything worth catching.

Izuku waits a moment longer, his heart slowing to a dull, heavy thud. He takes a breath, willing his pulse to settle, then turns and heads back inside.

The apartment is quieter now, but still a low hum of voices and music, and the smell of smoke faint in the air. He steps into the living room, expecting to see Bakugou gone, expecting to find the space where he sat empty, but—

His breath catches.

Bakugou’s in the kitchen, leaning against the counter. His posture is tense, bracing, like he’s waiting for something to happen. Izuku’s stomach twists. He forces himself to look away. He’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed, or both.

He lingers near the edge of the living room, just enough to be in the space but not fully part of it. He doesn’t think anyone notices—until someone does.

“Yo,” Kirishima says, appearing at his side like he was waiting for the chance. “You disappeared for a sec.”

Izuku tenses, then tries something casual. “Just needed some air.”

Ejiro doesn’t press. “Fair. Denki’s breath has been classified as a chemical weapon, so I get it.”

Izuku huffs a soft laugh. “I’ll keep my distance.”

“Probably wise,” Ejiro says, nudging him toward the drink table with his elbow. “Come on. We’re getting round two of karaoke started soon. You’re legally required to sing something awful.”

Izuku shakes his head. “I don’t think the neighbors deserve that.”

“Exactly why we’re doing it,” Ejiro grins.

They stand there for a moment, letting the conversation lull into a more comfortable silence. The party continues around them, Kaminari yelling something unintelligible, Sero tossing chips into someone’s mouth across the room, Jirou adjusting the Bluetooth speaker with practiced boredom.

Ejiro glances at Izuku again, this time a little longer. “You alright, man?”

Izuku blinks. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

Ejiro hums, unconvinced but not challenging. “You don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. Just—if you need someone who knows how to pretend to be chill while secretly spiraling, I’m your guy.”

Izuku gives a half-laugh, softer now. “That’s oddly specific.”

“Yeah, well, you hang out with Kats for long enough, you learn how to read a room and cry in the bathroom like a pro.”

That gets a real laugh out of Izuku, and Ejiro smiles like that was the goal all along.

Then, a little more gently, Ejiro adds, “He’s not easy, you know. Never has been. But he’s not heartless either.”

“I know,” Izuku says, too fast, too quiet.

Ejiro watches him a beat longer. “He gets weird about people he cares about. He thinks he’s gotta push everyone away before they can leave him.”

Izuku’s breath catches. “That’s not—” he starts, then cuts himself off.

“Hey, hey,” Ejiro holds up his hands. “Not saying anything. Just that… sometimes when Katsuki doesn’t know what to do with something, he makes it your problem.”

Izuku stares at the carpet, his heart still stuttering from the stairwell.

“I don’t think he means to,” Ejiro continues, his voice gentle and understanding. “He just… doesn’t know how not to push away the things that scare him.”

Izuku swallows hard, voice thin. “Yeah. I figured.”

“You’re not alone in this, okay?” Ejiro says. “Not tonight.”

Izuku looks up, meets his eyes. And for the first time in what feels like hours, the weight in his chest shifts. Not gone but shared.

“Thanks,” he says, barely more than a whisper.

Ejiro claps him on the shoulder. “Now come get a soda before Denki drinks them all and starts mainlining barbecue sauce.”

Izuku smiles, feeling a bit of the tension ease from his body. He allows Ejiro to pull him back toward the chaos of the party, where noise and laughter fill the air and warmth radiates from every corner. The night seems to soften around him, and for a moment, the world feels a little less heavy.

At some point, the music dips lower, the lights blur a little from the edge of tired eyes, and the chaotic energy that carried the group through the evening begins to fade. People are stretched across every surface — half of them sunk into pillows on the floor, the other half laughing at things that stopped being funny hours ago.

Cups are abandoned on end tables. Someone’s shoes are in the sink. Kaminari is asleep on the floor, a bag of open chips balanced on his chest.

Izuku glances toward the kitchen. Bakugou is leaning against the counter, arms crossed, drink untouched in his hand. His expression is unreadable, but his eyes sweep the room like he’s watching everyone leave in slow motion.

Izuku looks away before their eyes meet.

The laughter around him rises again — light and brief — but he doesn’t join in this time. He just presses his palms together between his knees, grounding himself. He should probably call Toshinori. Or text Mina for a ride. Or walk. That’s what he should do.

But his legs don’t move.

He doesn’t want the night to end, even if he doesn’t know why anymore. Maybe it’s the quiet. Or maybe it’s the way Bakugou hasn’t said a single word to him since they locked eyes across the room.

Eventually, Ejiro stands and stretches, rubbing the back of his neck. “Alright,” he says through a yawn. “I gotta start kicking people out or my neighbors will murder me.”

There are a few groans, some complaints, but no one argues. The energy’s shifted. Everyone can feel it.

Mina tosses a pillow at Denki to wake him up. “Come on, party boy. Time to return to the land of the vertical.”

Jirou pats Izuku on the shoulder as she walks past. “Glad you came, Midoriya.”

Izuku smiles, tired but genuine. “Me too.”

The apartment is thinning out. What’s left of the party is just echoes and footsteps, the shuffle of cups being gathered and jackets being shrugged on. The air smells faintly of alcohol and the earthy scent of marijuana.

Izuku finds himself helping without really thinking about it, gathering empty cans, stacking half-finished chip bags, tossing out crumpled napkins. Eijiro thanks him with a tired grin and a clap on the back before disappearing into the kitchen with a trash bag slung over one shoulder. When everything's mostly tidied and the last guests have trickled out, Mina walks with Izuku toward the front door.

She leans against the doorframe, hoodie draped over her shoulder like a cape. She’s still got that post-laughter glow, but her voice has gone soft around the edges.

“I’m crashing here,” she says, tilting her head toward the hallway. “Kiri’s got nowhere to be tomorrow so…”

Izuku blushes, “Oh okay,”

“Oh, and—Ochako’s getting a ride with Sero. He’s already out front. You can ride with them if you want,” Mina offers. “He’s got room.”

Izuku hesitates. “Right… yeah. I might.”

Mina narrows her eyes, then grins. “You’re thinking about walking, aren’t you?”

“I wasn’t—” Izuku starts, then stops. He was. He still might.

“Izu,” she says, voice lowering, “don’t make it harder than it has to be. It’s okay to let people help you.”

He nods, even though the thought of it feels complicated. Too complicated.

She gives him one last squeeze on the arm before disappearing inside, calling out something about borrowing Kirishima’s awful pineapple pajama pants.

Izuku walks down the front steps and pulls out his phone, thumb hovering over Toshinori’s name. But he never finishes the message. Because when he looks up to the other side of the street, his eyes meet red.

Bakugou. Standing beside his truck, backlit by the amber glow of the streetlamp. Hands in his pockets, hood down, red eyes fixed on the door.

Waiting.

Not patient. Not kind. Just... there.

Izuku swallows hard. His heart jumps like it’s made of loose wires. He doesn’t know why Bakugou is waiting. But he knows what it means that he hasn’t left.

The door behind him creaks open again. A cold breeze moves through the trees like a question waiting to be answered.

Izuku pockets his phone. And walks toward him.

His heart pounding, Izuku takes a deep breath and steps off the curb. He crosses the street under the watchful gaze of the streetlamp, each step echoing in the quiet night. The distance between them seems to stretch on forever, yet before he knows it, he's standing in front of Bakugou.

"Um, hi," Izuku says, his voice slightly wavering.

Bakugou doesn’t speak at first, his eyes scanning Izuku from head to toe with an intense gaze that makes Izuku feel as if every flaw and detail is being examined under a microscope. A shiver runs down Izuku's spine, leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake.

Without breaking eye contact, Bakugou finally turns toward the truck. He grips the door handle and mutters, "Get in."

And Izuku does.

The worn leather seat creaks under his weight as he slides in, the interior already filled with the faint scent of what Izuku has come to recognize as purely Bakugou. It makes the truck feel more familiar with each passing moment.

The engine rumbles low as Bakugou pulls away from the curb, headlights slicing through the dark. Neither of them speaks. The cab is filled with the soft hum of tires on pavement and the faint rattle of something loose in the dashboard.

Izuku shifts in his seat. The silence isn’t comfortable. It crackles, full of things unsaid. He shifts in his seat, the seatbelt tugging slightly across his chest. His fingers twitch in his lap.

Bakugou doesn’t look over. His left hand grips the steering wheel so tightly the knuckles stand white; his right hand drums a brittle staccato against the stick shift. The engine’s low rumble and the whoosh of passing tires are the only sounds.

Izuku turns his head enough to catch the faint glow of the dashboard outlining Bakugou’s profile—sharp cheekbone, clenched jaw, a deep crease between his brows. His eyes are shadowed, flat with exhaustion or something else Izuku can’t name.

He brings his fingers together, pressing his palms until his nails bite into his skin.

“Thanks for the ride,” he says, voice quiet against the engine noise.

Bakugou nods once, barely perceptible. Still no words. Just taps a finger against the steering wheel. Once. Twice. Then stills.

The silence stretches again.

The old streetlights flicker through the windshield in gold stripes, painting the cab in shifting bars of light. Izuku watches the way each flash cuts across Bakugou’s face, tracing the ridge of his cheek, the hard line of his mouth.

Izuku turns his attention to the window. He breathes out onto the glass and watches a small circle of fog bloom. He wants to break the silence, to patch whatever’s torn between them. But his thoughts feel knotted, fragile.

Finally, he says, “You didn’t have to wait.”

“I know.”

Silence again.

“So… why did you?” Izuku pushes, shoulders slumping toward the door.

Bakugou scoffs, low and humorless. “Didn’t feel like leaving you there.”

It’s flippant, like everything he says when he doesn’t want to be honest. Izuku feels the flick of anger rise in his chest, not because of the words, but because he can hear what’s buried under them. Because he thinks Bakugou stayed for a reason and now won’t own up to it.

“That’s not really an answer.”

Bakugou’s grip on the wheel tightens, just slightly. “You think too much, nerd.”

Izuku’s jaw tenses. It hits like a reflex jab. Izuku sits with it. Lets it sting. “You’ve been ignoring me all night.”

“I wasn’t ignoring you.”

“Then what were you doing?” His voice sharpens, frustration pushing forward.“Because it felt like—”

Before he can finish, Bakugou slaps his palm on the steering wheel. The sudden force makes the truck shudder. “Maybe I didn’t want to talk,” he snaps. “Ever think of that?”

Izuku’s heart jolts. He stares at him. “You didn’t want to talk to anyone? Or just me?”

Bakugou doesn’t reply. The air between them crackles. Izuku feels it under his skin, electric and tight.

“I’m not trying to fight,” Izuku mutters, softer, “I just… I don’t know what I did.”

Bakugou exhales through his nose. “You didn’t do anything.”

That should’ve been enough. That should’ve ended it. But Izuku could hear the words that weren’t said, the ones caught between clenched teeth and narrowed eyes. Silence was rarely neutral. Not with Bakugou. It was a weapon. A shield. And Izuku had no idea which one he was facing now.

Izuku turns toward the window. That should feel like relief. But it doesn’t. It feels like he’s missing something. Like something did happen, just not out loud. “Then why do you act like I did?”

Another silence. Longer. Sharper. The kind that insists Izuku should drop it.

When Bakugou finally speaks, his voice is clipped. “You talk too much.”

Izuku laughs once, hollow.“You mean I ask too much.”

Bakugou doesn’t bother denying it.

The truck turns onto Izuku’s street, rows of dark houses under weak porch lights. The quiet of the suburbs after midnight presses in around them.

“I see all these walls you’ve built,” Izuku says, voice low. “Walls I didn’t even know were there.”

“Good,” Bakugou mutters, foot easing off the gas.

They roll to a stop in front of Izuku’s house. The world outside is still, waiting. The silence now is different — solid, brittle, something that could break with the wrong word.

Izuku’s fingers hover over the door handle but don’t move. “I don’t know what you’re so afraid of.”

Bakugou doesn’t look at him. “I’m not afraid of shit.”

Izuku steps out and shuts the door behind him with more force than necessary. He doesn’t look back. Won’t look back.

The truck idles behind him. For a second. Two. Then it pulls away, taillights vanishing down the street like a closing door.

Izuku stays at the curb, breath ghosting the air. He still doesn’t know what happened between them.

But maybe Bakugou doesn’t either.

Izuku clamberes through the open window, careful not to disturb the stack of comics he had left on the sill, and flopped onto his bed with a heavy sigh. The soft mattress cradles him as he stares at the ceiling, trying to shake off the sting of his encounter with Katsuki Bakugou. A night that was supposed to be filled with laughter and camaraderie has somehow unraveled into a tangle of confusion and frustration.

His phone vibrates in his pocket, a persistent buzz breaking the silence of the room. With a weary groan, Izuku digs into his jeans, fingers brushing against the worn fabric, and retrieves the device.

BAKUGOU |4:27 A.M.

[Race on Monday, be there.]

Izuku stares at the screen. No apology. No explanation. Just a time. A command. Like nothing happened. Like Bakugou hadn’t spent the entire night avoiding him, only to blow up in a stairwell and walk away without looking back.

The message is so... Bakugou it almost makes him laugh. Or scream. He can’t decide.

He drops the phone beside him on the bed, the glow of the message still burning through his peripheral vision.

He doesn’t respond.

But he doesn’t delete it either.

Chapter Text

It’s Monday morning, and Izuku still hasn’t replied to Bakugou’s text. It’s like a ghost that refuses to be forgotten. And the longer Izuku waits, the more impossible it feels to respond.

He thinks about the way Bakugou looked at him at the party, or more accurately, the way he didn’t. Every glance was half a second too late.

And when they finally stood in the same space, it was like Bakugou had built a wall only Izuku could feel.

He hadn’t said a word to him until that moment on the couch, one question, flat and abrupt: ‘You have a brother?’ And even that had felt like more curiosity than care.

Izuku hadn’t expected a confession. Or a scene. But he hadn’t expected distance, either. Not after the night at the garage. Not after the way they’d looked at each other.

And then to drive him home after everything?

It all made Izuku’s head spin.

He rolls out of bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes and the doubt from his chest. He’s supposed to be at the airport with everyone soon, and the thought of another day pretending like everything’s fine feels heavier than he’s ready for. But he’ll do it. Because he has to. Because he always does.

Breakfast is a quiet affair. Izuku, still in his pajamas, picks at a piece of toast while Eri chatters on about the airport and the surprise they’ve planned for Mirio. Her excitement fills the room, making up for the silence between everyone else.

Inko sets a bowl on the table and casts him a sideways glance. “You were up late again, weren’t you?”

Izuku tenses slightly, caught before he’s even spoken. “Just couldn’t fall asleep,” he mutters, reaching for a slice of toast he doesn’t really want.

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately,” she says. It’s not quite a question, and not quite a scolding either, something in between. “You know it’s not good for you.”

“I’m fine,” he says quickly, maybe too quickly.

She hums in that way she does when she doesn’t believe him but won’t argue, not yet. “Well, you’ve got a free morning, at least. I told your instructor you’d be staying home today. No point dragging yourself to class when your brother’s flying in.”

Izuku blinks, unsure how to respond. Gratitude doesn’t quite sit right. Neither does guilt. He hadn’t asked to skip class today—she’d just decided. Like always.

Inko places a cup of tea in front of him. “I figured you’d be happy for the break. Most kids would be.”

There it is, the implication buried under the kindness. He forces a nod, the warmth of the cup doing little to thaw the weight curling in his chest.

“Yeah,” he says, “Thanks.”

Inko smiles, but it’s tight. “Mirio will be thrilled to see you at the airport,” she says instead, her tone overly bright. “We’re so lucky to have him back, even if it’s just for a little while.”

Izuku nods, trying not to choke on the weight of her words. Every sentence about Mirio feels like another thread tightening around his chest like she’s holding him too close, too tightly, too carefully, as if letting go might break something.

After breakfast, Izuku retreats to his room, the echo of Inko's words following him. He sits on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor as he tries to shake off the unease. The thought of seeing Mirio again is both comforting and suffocating, a paradox that leaves him feeling hollow. He takes a deep breath, resolves to put on a brave face, and heads for the shower.

He showers and dresses quickly, pulling on clothes that feel more like armor than comfort. The familiar weight of his hoodie. The familiar feel of his phone in his pocket. The familiar doubt settling into his bones.

He pulls out it out and opens the private thread with Bakugou. He already knows that the blonde will be at the race. The notification is still there. Unread, technically, even though he’s opened it a dozen times by now.

BAKUGOU | 4:27 A.M.

[Race on Monday. Be there.]

No question mark. No follow-up. Just a command.

Typical.

But Izuku had it sit in his inbox like a dare. Or a test.

He opens the message again.

Stares at the screen.

His fingers move before he can overthink it.

[I’ll be there.]

It’s short. Direct. But it feels heavier than it should. Like it’s not just about going, like it’s about something else entirely.

He stares at the words, thumb hovering over the send button. He wants to go. He wants to see the races again, feel the pull of something that’s his, outside of this house, outside of his mother’s gaze.

But now that Mirio is coming home, everything feels more fragile. The balance. The expectations. The part of him that’s supposed to stay.

If he leaves, even just for the night, it’ll feel like slipping back into a space he wasn’t sure he belonged in to begin with.

Still, he doesn’t delete the message.

He just backs out of the thread. Leaves it there. Waiting.

As he grabs his bag from the desk, something glints in the corner of his vision, the small rock Eri gave him a few nights ago, still sitting exactly where he left it.

He pauses.

For a moment, he just stares at it, the way it catches the morning light, flecks of gold winking through the dark green. It’s a small thing. Insignificant. But it sits cool in his palm for a second, steadying him. He doesn’t think, doesn’t overanalyze. Just slips it into his pocket before heading out.

Izuku barely has a moment to himself before they’re out the door, Eri tugging him along by the hand, her enthusiasm a bright, unrelenting force. She chatters the whole drive, her voice rising above the hum of the engine, above the tangled noise in Izuku’s head.

“Do you think Mirio will like my sign?” she asks for the hundredth time, waving the colorful poster she’d made the night before.

“Of course he will,” Izuku says, squeezing her hand. It’s a small thing. But it feels good to be sure of something.

They arrive at the airport, and the crowd is overwhelming. Eri bounces on her toes, clutching her sign with both hands as they scan the throng of travelers. Izuku barely registers the faces around him, barely registers the noise and motion. All he can think about is Bakugou, the text, the silence.

“Do you see him yet?” Eri asks, her eyes wide and searching.

Izuku shakes his head, focusing on the task at hand. “Not yet.”

Toshinori stands back, watching them with an easy smile. His presence is steady, calming in a way that makes Izuku feel both grateful and guilty. He thinks of the drive to the party, the weight of everything Toshinori had said, the way his love for Inko and Izuku seemed to exist in constant tension.

The seconds stretch. The crowd ebbs and flows. Izuku feels his heart rate tick up as the minutes pass, the anticipation building until it’s a physical thing, pulsing beneath his skin.

Then—

“There he is!” Eri squeals, pointing toward the escalators.

Izuku follows her gaze and spots Mirio immediately, his blond hair like a beacon, his smile wide and bright as he descends the stairs. Eri’s sign wobbles in her hands, her excitement barely contained.

“Mirio!” she yells, the sound of her voice lost in the airport’s cavernous space.

But Mirio hears her. He waves, a broad motion that cuts through the crowd, his face lighting up in the way that only Mirio’s can.

“He’s waving!” Eri bounces higher, her energy infectious. Izuku can’t help but grin, the heaviness in his chest lifting, if only for a moment.

Mirio reaches the bottom of the stairs, and Eri darts forward, colliding with his legs and giggling as he sweeps her into a hug.

“Hey, squirt,” Mirio says, his voice warm and full of laughter. “Didn’t expect to see you here!”

Eri beams at him, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “We came to surprise you!”

“Well, consider me surprised.” He sets her down, ruffling her hair. “And what’s this?” He takes the sign from her, holding it up to admire the colorful scrawl of “WELCOME HOME!” across the front.

“I made it for you!” Eri declares, bouncing on the balls of her feet.

Mirio laughs, the sound rich and genuine. “It’s perfect. Better than perfect.”

Izuku hangs back, watching the easy way Mirio interacts with Eri, with the world. He feels a pang of something sharp and familiar, something like envy, something like longing. He slips his hand into his jacket pocket, fingertips brushing against the coarse, jagged edges of the stone nestled within.

Then Mirio’s eyes land on him, and the sharpness fades into warmth. “Izuku!” he says, pulling him into a one-armed hug. “You too? Best surprise ever.”

Izuku smiles, “Welcome back.”

Mirio holds him at arm’s length, studying his face with a mock-serious expression. “You’re not gonna get rid of me this time.”

Izuku tries to laugh, but it comes out more like a sigh. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Mirio’s gaze softens, and for a second, Izuku thinks he’s going to say something else. Something about family, about belonging, about everything Izuku isn’t sure he knows how to claim.

But then Toshinori claps Mirio on the back, and the moment passes. “Good to have you home, kid.”

“Good to be home,” Mirio replies, and the warmth in his voice is enough to fill the space between them, to fill the silence that Izuku hasn’t been able to.

The walk back to the car is full of noise and laughter, Eri’s stories tumbling out with the urgency of 4 years worth of childhood adventures. Mirio listens with an attentiveness that makes her glow, makes her spin faster and faster around them until Izuku feels dizzy with it.

But it’s a good kind of dizzy. A kind that makes him forget, at least for now, the weight of other things.

They pile into the car, Eri’s chatter never missing a beat. As they pull away from the curb, Izuku’s phone buzzes in his pocket. He freezes, heart jumping. But when he checks the screen, the anticipation deflates.

THE BROS | 12:38 P.M.

KAMINARI: [YO! WHO’S READY FOR TONIGHT!!!]

SERO: [I’m going to race tonight so bring a game or don’t show up.]

KIRISHIMA: [Woah Hanta actualing racing for once?? ]

JIRO: [you sure your pos is still able to race?]

SERO: [dude…uncalled for :(]

KIRISHIMA: [LMAO she’s got a point!]

Izuku scrolls slowly, but Bakugou’s name never appears.

Not even a thumbs-up.

He stares at the screen for a second, thumb hovering. Then locks it with a quiet sigh.

Izuku pockets the phone, the unsent message to Bakugou still burning in the back of his mind. He leans back against the seat, watching the city blur past the window.

But the message in his pocket isn’t going anywhere.

And for reasons he can’t explain, it doesn’t feel like enough.

Eri bounds from the car, racing up the walkway and into the house. She flings open the front door and vanishes inside before the rest of them are even halfway across the lawn.

“Eri, wait for us!” Inko calls, laughter in her voice.

The second they step through the door, Eri flips the light switch like it’s a detonator. The whole house bursts into color. Streamers hang from every corner, balloons bob in the sudden brightness, and a hand-painted banner stretches across the living room wall, bold letters spelling out “WELCOME HOME, MIRIO!”

“Whoa,” Mirio breathes, coming to a halt. Genuine surprise flickers across his features, softening into something deeper, something almost tender. He looks at the decorations, at the banner, then at the people around him. “Did you guys do all this?”

Izuku shifts awkwardly, a small, shy smile on his face. “Eri and I stayed up late. We wanted—”

Mirio cuts him off with a whoop of laughter, pulling Eri into a tight hug. “You’re the best, squirt! This is amazing.”

Izuku watches them, his smile widening. Seeing Mirio happy is like seeing sunlight break through the clouds, bright and warm and all-consuming. But as he stands there, taking it all in, he feels the familiar twist of something darker. The sense that no matter what he does, no matter how hard he tries, he’s always orbiting someone else’s light.

He pushes the thought away, trying to focus on the moment. On Mirio’s joy. On the way the house feels alive with color and laughter.

“I’m glad you like it,” Izuku says, quieter now.

Mirio catches his eye, an expression of gratitude and something else flashing across his face. “Like it? This is the best welcome home ever. You guys didn’t have to—”

“We wanted to,” Izuku interrupts, his voice steady. “We’re glad you’re here.”

Mirio beams at him, and the warmth in his gaze is almost enough to melt the lingering doubt in Izuku’s chest. Almost.

Toshinori claps his hands together, breaking the moment. “All right, what’s the plan? Do we have games, food, interrogation about Mirio’s love life? I think Eri demanded all three.”

Eri giggles, spinning in circles beneath the banner. “Games first!”

Izuku watches her, watches Mirio, watches the family he’s always wanted surround him with laughter and noise and love. He tells himself he should be happy. He tells himself he is. But he can’t shake the feeling that he’s still on the outside, pressing his nose to the glass of everything he’s supposed to belong to.

The realization curls tight in his chest.

Even here, even now, he feels like a ghost.

It should feel easier than this. They’re laughing. Smiling. No one’s angry. So why does he still feel like he’s waiting for permission to exhale?

Eri scrambles to the game shelf, her voice ringing out like a bell. “I’m on Mirio’s team!” she declares, her eyes bright with determination.

Mirio laughs, helping her pull a stack of board games to the floor. “Then we’re definitely going to win.”

Izuku sits cross-legged on the carpet, sorting through the pile. “I’m keeping score,” he says, settling into the role that feels safest, easier than trying to match their energy.

Inko takes a seat beside him, her smile warm but her eyes sharp, watching the dynamics unfold like a careful dance. “Don’t make it too easy on us, Toshinori.”

Toshinori spreads out on the floor, his lanky frame sprawling over half the living room. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, a competitive edge in his voice Izuku hadn’t expected. “I’ve got a reputation to uphold.”

The first game is a riot of laughter and playful boasts. Eri throws herself into every turn, her enthusiasm infectious. “We’re winning!” she shouts, bouncing as their pieces move ahead on the board.

Izuku marks down points, careful and precise. His handwriting is neat. Contained. His smile is polite, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. Every laugh, every exaggerated joke, every small touch between family members feels like something he’s watching through glass.

Every so often, he discreetly slips his hand into his pocket, fingers curling around a smooth, cool stone. It's a small gesture, but it anchors him, preventing his thoughts from drifting away into the murky depths of introspection.

“Oh no, they’re too good!” Inko says with mock despair, her pieces mysteriously landing on penalty spaces.

Toshinori shakes his head, a rare smile tugging at his lips. “She’s letting you win, you know.”

“Am not!” Inko protests, nudging him with her elbow. Her laughter is soft and genuine, but Izuku catches the way her eyes flick to him, the way her smile falters just slightly when she thinks he isn’t looking.

He keeps his head down, pretends not to notice, pretends to focus on the score. But the old knot of doubt tightens, a familiar pressure that builds with each pass of the game and each unspoken word.

“Are you gonna let them get away with that?” Mirio calls, and Izuku glances up, startled.

Toshinori’s eyes meet his, steady and full of something like encouragement. “I’m just getting started,” he says, drawing another round of laughter from Eri and Mirio as he pulls ahead with a decisive play.

Izuku watches, his smile thin but existing. The game spins on, and he tracks it with careful attention, noting every point, every laugh, every time Inko’s gaze lands on him like a question he doesn’t know how to answer.

The day blurs around him, bright and loud, but there’s a distance to it, a disconnect like watching from behind glass. He tells himself it’s enough to be here, to be present, to see the people he loves happy.

But it doesn’t feel like enough.

Not when he can’t shake the sense that he’s still reaching for something that keeps slipping away. He laughs when they laugh, nods in the right places. But it feels like running a script he barely remembers learning.

The games continue, an endless loop of laughter and strategy, of close calls and deliberate losses. Eri’s energy never falters, and neither does Mirio’s, both of them feeding off each other in a way that leaves Izuku breathless and a little envious.

“Last round!” Mirio declares, though it’s already the fourth ‘last’ of the afternoon.

Eri claps her hands, her cheeks flushed with excitement. “We’re gonna win again!”

Izuku records the final points, his handwriting neat and precise. He wants to feel present, wants to feel part of it. But the longer they play, the more he feels like a spectator in his own life.

He tells himself it’s fine. That nights like this are what he’s been missing, what he’s been waiting for. But the tightness in his chest says otherwise. It says he’s still waiting for something he can’t name.

It says he’s still waiting to belong.

The hours slip by unfocused, like someone else is living them. The voices around him grow softer, lulling him into a strange, detached calm. He doesn’t notice the weight of it until it’s lifted, until Mirio’s hand lands on his shoulder with a gentle squeeze.

“Hey,” Mirio says, crouching beside him. “You okay?”

Izuku blinks, the question pulling him back. “Yeah,” he lies, the word reflexive and automatic.

Mirio’s eyes search his, too perceptive. “You sure?”

Izuku hesitates, the mask of his smile slipping. “I’m fine,” he repeats, softer now. “Just... tired.”

Mirio nods, like he understands more than he’s letting on. “Don’t disappear, okay? Not when I just got back.”

Izuku’s throat tightens. “I won’t.”

The promise feels heavy, but he holds it close, hoping it’s enough to keep him tethered, hoping it’s enough to keep him from drifting too far. As Mirio turns back to the others, Izuku watches him, watches the easy way he fits into this world, watches the effortless way he holds it all together.

Izuku draws a shaky breath, the doubt that’s been gnawing at him all night rising to the surface. He’s not sure how much longer he can keep this up. The charade of being fine, the charade of being part of something that was slowly choking him.

The realization hits him with a dull, familiar ache.

He slips away after a while, leaving the others to their games and food and laughter. The house is warm with energy, the walls echoing with Mirio’s voice, Eri’s giggles, and the low hum of Inko and Toshinori’s conversation.

Izuku heads to the nearest bathroom, the noise fading behind him. He closes the door and stands there for a moment, letting the quiet settle around him like a second skin. Like a shield. He grabs his phone, the weight of it a constant reminder.

He unlocks the screen. The unsent message to Bakugou stares back at him like a challenge. Or maybe a promise.

[I’ll be there.]

The words are simple. Casual, even. But still he hesitates, thumb hovering over the send button. Not because he doesn’t want to. Not exactly. But because there’s something fragile about it. Like answering might confirm something he’s not ready to name. Like silence might still protect them both.

What if Bakugou didn’t want that night to mean anything?

What if it did mean something and this is his way of running from it?

Izuku’s chest tightens. The uncertainty makes his skin feel too tight, like he’s standing on the edge of something and can’t tell if the fall would hurt more than the hesitation.

He takes a breath, deep and unsteady. His thumb moves.

His heart pounding, he presses down. The message is sent. It's out there now, irreversible. He exhales slowly, pocketing his phone just as he hears his mother's voice from the kitchen. “Izuku will you come help me with Dinner?”

He goes, like he always does, the weight of the message still pressing on him like a bruise.

The kitchen is warm, the air fragrant with ginger and garlic. Inko is at the counter, her movements efficient and controlled. Izuku stands beside her, awkward and unsure, waiting for instructions he knows by heart.

“Can you slice these vegetables?” she asks, handing him a knife. Her eyes linger on him a moment too long, assessing. “You seemed a bit distant during the games. Is everything okay?”

Izuku nods, focusing on the peppers. “I’m fine.”

“You haven’t been yourself lately, sweetie.” Her voice is soft, but there’s an edge to it, a worry that cuts deeper than her usual concern. “I thought having Mirio home would help. But you’re still...”

She doesn’t finish the sentence, but Izuku hears it anyway. You’re still not happy.

He grips the knife tighter, the weight of her expectations settling over him. “I’m just tired,” he says, trying to sound casual. “School’s been a lot.”

She watches him, her silence heavy and knowing. “I let you skip class today,” she says, the words landing with more force than she intends. “I just thought, after everything, It would be good for you,” she reaches out and brushes a curl away from his face, “that you might appreciate some peace and quiet. Most boys your age don’t realize how lucky they are to have someone looking out for them.”

Izuku’s chest tightens. I thought it would be good for you. Not for us. Not for family. For you. As if everything she gives must be accounted for, tracked, measured. As if his presence is a debt he can never quite repay.

“Thank you,” he says, each word a careful weight. “I didn’t mean to seem ungrateful.”

“I just want you to be happy. You know that, right?” Her voice lilted with practiced sweetness, but Izuku felt the familiar pressure behind her words, soft as a blanket, tight as a noose.

He nods, the motion automatic. But the tightness in his chest doesn’t ease. “I know.”

There’s a pause, a moment where the air between them feels like it might clear. Then she adds, almost to herself, “You used to smile more.”

Izuku’s grip slips on the knife. He catches it before it falls, catching the hurt in his chest before it breaks free. “I’m trying,” he says, the words thick in his throat.

Inko nods, but there’s a sadness in her eyes that makes him feel like he’s already failed.

He finishes the vegetables in silence, his mind a storm of guilt and confusion. He wants to lash out, to tell her she’s the one who’s pushing him away, but the thought of ruining Mirio’s return keeps him in check. He swallows his frustration, boxes it up, seals the lid, and sets it on the same high shelf as every other thing he hasn’t said.

“Thanks for helping,” Inko says as he sets the knife down, her voice lighter now. “Dinner will be ready soon. Can you let the others know?”

Izuku nods, leaving the kitchen with a heaviness that clings to him, a shadow that grows with every step. He finds Mirio and Toshinori in the living room. Eri is giggling, tucked between them as they lounge on the couch.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Izuku says, hovering at the edge of the room.

“Awesome!” Mirio grins, the easy warmth of his smile cutting through the tension that’s been building inside Izuku all night. “We’re starving.”

Toshinori looks up, his expression unreadable. Izuku wonders if he can see the cracks forming, if he knows how close Izuku is to falling apart.

“Everything okay?” he asks, his voice low enough that only Izuku can hear.

Izuku nods, a quick, jerky motion. “Yeah,” he lies. “Everything’s fine.”

But it’s not. Not really. Not even close. He feels the strain of it like a wire pulled too tight, a fraying connection he’s not sure how to mend. As they gather around the table, as the noise and laughter swell again, he forces a smile. Forces himself to be part of it. Forces himself to believe it’s enough.

And all the while, the silence from Bakugou echoes louder than ever.

The smell of the stir fry fills the air as they settle in for dinner, the table crowded with food and expectations. Izuku pushes rice around his plate, the conversation swirling around him. He tries to focus, to be present, but his mind keeps drifting back to the message he sent, to the silence that followed.

The food tastes like ash in his mouth, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on him. He thinks of the night at Kirishima's, of the way Bakugou's silence had been louder than anything Izuku had ever heard. He thinks of Eri and Mirio, of the effortless way they seem to fit into each other's lives, the effortless way they seem to fit into his.

He wants to be part of it. Wants to feel like he belongs. But the more he tries, the more he feels like he’s only pretending.

Toshinori clears his throat, the sound a gentle interruption. “Busy week coming up for everyone, huh?”

Mirio nods, his grin as wide as ever. “I’ve got a ton to prep at the youth center.”

“We should all go see the event,” Inko says, her eyes bright with pride. “It’s going to be wonderful.”

Izuku manages a smile, hoping it looks more convincing than it feels. “Yeah. Sounds great.”

“We’ll have to drag you away from your books for a night,” Mirio teases, his elbow bumping Izuku’s arm playfully.

Izuku laughs, but it’s a hollow sound. “I’ll try to keep up.”

The table falls into easy conversation, stories from Mirio’s time away, plans for the months ahead. Izuku listens, his silence unnoticed in the mix of voices. He watches the way Inko beams at Mirio, the way Toshinori’s calm presence balances them all. He wonders if they see him the same way, or if his place here is as fragile as it feels.

As dinner winds down, the knot in his chest pulls tighter. He stands to clear the table, the chore a temporary refuge from the tangled mess of his thoughts.

He finishes the dishes in silence, the weight of their unfinished conversation settling over him. When he returns to the living room, Eri is fast asleep on the couch, her head resting against Mirio’s shoulder.

“Long day for her,” Mirio says, his voice a low murmur.

Izuku sits on the edge of the coffee table, the tension in his body easing at the sight of Eri’s peaceful expression. “She missed you.”

Mirio laughs softly. “I missed all of you.”

Izuku looks at him, wondering if he’ll ever feel that sure. “Even me?”

“Especially you.” Mirio’s gaze is steady, his sincerity unmistakable.

He stays there for a while, watching Eri sleep, watching the way Mirio fits so easily into the life Izuku’s always wanted. The life he’s always been on the edges of.

Izuku feels it like a physical thing, the warmth and weight of everything he thought he’d lost. It fills the room, fills him, and for a second, he lets himself believe it’s enough to keep him here.

Eri stirs, a soft noise escaping her lips as she shifts against Mirio’s shoulder.

Inko appears in the doorway, her expression tender. “Looks like someone’s ready for bed,” she whispers, moving to gather Eri in her arms.

Eri murmurs sleepily, her eyes fluttering open for a brief moment before she snuggles against Inko’s chest. “Night, Mirio,” she yawns, her voice a drowsy whisper.

“Night, squirt,” Mirio replies, a fond smile on his face.

Toshinori stands, stretching his long limbs as he rises. “I’ll help get her settled,” he says, watching Izuku with a look that holds more than words.

Inko nods, her gaze lingering on Izuku as if she’s trying to read something beneath his skin. “i think it might be time we all head to bed some of us have to be up early tomorrow.” she says, her tone gentle but edged with an unspoken command.

Izuku watches them go, the knot in his chest loosening with each step they take. The house feels too big, too empty in their absence, and the silence hangs heavy between him and Mirio.

“So,” Mirio says, breaking the quiet with a grin. “You’re stuck with me for a while.”

Izuku forces a laugh, but it sounds thin even to his own ears. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

They sit there for a moment, the air between them buzzing with things unsaid. Izuku feels the weight of it, feels the way it pulls at him, and he stands abruptly, the motion too quick, too sudden.

“Want to see my room?” he asks, the words tumbling out in a rush.

Mirio raises an eyebrow, amused. “Thought you’d never ask.”

Izuku leads the way, his heart pounding like he’s 13 again, like he’s still that kid trying to keep up. The familiar clutter greets them as they enter, a jumble of notebooks and comics and the careful disarray of someone who needs to keep everything in reach.

“Not much has changed,” Mirio says, his gaze sweeping the room. “Except you’ve got a lot more of these.” He gestures to the stack of notebooks piled haphazardly on Izuku’s desk.

Izuku shrugs, trying to keep his tone light. “Guess I got used to being in my head.”

“Yeah?” Mirio asks, sitting on the edge of the bed. “Or are you just hiding there?”

Izuku’s breath catches. He didn’t expect the question to land so close to the truth. “A little of both,” he admits, sitting beside Mirio. “It’s been... hard.”

Mirio studies him, the weight of his gaze almost too much for Izuku to bear. “How’s it going with Mom?”

Izuku hesitates, the words sticking in his throat. “It’s been worse.”

“Worse than before?” Mirio asks, his eyes widening with concern. “I didn’t think she could hover any closer.”

Izuku laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “She found a way.”

“Have you talked to her?” Mirio’s voice is gentle, but there’s an urgency beneath it. “Does she know how you’re feeling?”

“It’s complicated,” Izuku says, looking away. “I think... I think she needs me to be okay more than she needs to know what’s actually happening.”

Mirio frowns, a shadow passing over his features. “Izuku, that’s not fair to you.”

“I know,” Izuku says, his voice almost a whisper. “But I don’t know how to make it different.”

Mirio is silent for a moment, the weight of Izuku’s words settling between them. “Maybe she needs a wake-up call,” he says finally.

Izuku shakes his head. “I can’t. Not right now. Not with everything else.”

Mirio’s expression shifts, a careful calculation crossing his face. “I heard from Toshi that you’ve been sneaking out.”

Izuku freezes, shock and something like betrayal coursing through him. “He told you?”

Mirio nods, watching him closely. “He’s worried about you. We all are.”

Izuku’s mind spins, trying to process the words, trying to understand what they mean. “I didn’t think he’d...”

“Cover for you?” Mirio finishes, his voice gentle. “He wants you to have space, But he also wants you to be safe.”

Izuku’s heart pounds in his chest, the enormity of it crashing over him. Toshinori had known. Had covered for him. Had seen his struggle and given him an out. And Izuku hadn’t even realized how much he needed it.

“I’m not trying to blow everything up,” Izuku says, the words tumbling out in a rush. “I don’t know, it’s just—” He drags a hand through his hair. “It’s like I can’t breathe in this house anymore. Everything’s so... tight. Like if I say the wrong thing, I’ll break something I can’t fix.”

Mirio doesn’t interrupt. He just nods, waiting.

Izuku shifts, shoulders tense. “I’m not trying to be dramatic or... ungrateful. I just—” His voice falters. “I feel like I’m shrinking. Like I’m trying to fold myself into the version of me everyone wants.”

Mirio tilts his head, eyes kind. “What version do you want to be?”

Izuku doesn’t answer right away. He rubs his thumb over the hem of his sleeve, thinking. “I don’t even know. I just want to feel like I belong somewhere. Like I’m not messing everything up by existing.”

Mirio lets that sit for a moment before speaking.“You’re not. And you don’t have to have it all figured out right now. But you should get to be more than just what people expect of you.”

Izuku’s throat tightens. He blinks down at his hands. “I want that. I just… don’t know if I’m allowed to want it.”

Mirio places a hand on his shoulder again, firm but gentle.“You are.”

Izuku looks at him, the fear and doubt and desperation spilling over. “I don’t know how to do this.”

Mirio’s grip tightens, a promise in the pressure. “You don’t have to do it alone. Not this time.”

The words settle into Izuku’s bones, a fragile hope taking root. He wants to believe them. Wants to believe he can hold it all together without falling apart.

Mirio’s hand drops from his shoulder, but the warmth of it lingers. They sit in the quiet for a beat, the hum of the house filling the spaces between their words.

Then, Izuku clears his throat, hesitant. “There’s... uh, something happening tonight.”

Mirio tilts his head. “Yeah?”

“A race,” Izuku says, voice a little steadier now. “Kind of an underground thing. Some of my friends do it every week.”

Mirio raises a brow, a slow grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Didn’t take you for the street racing type.”

Izuku shrugs, eyes dropping to the floor. “I’m not, really. I just… I like being around it. It’s loud and fast and messy, but somehow it makes more sense than everything else.”

There’s a pause. Then Mirio leans back, nodding. “Sounds kind of awesome, actually.”

Izuku glances at him, unsure. “You wanna come? It’s... late, and probably not your thing. But—”

“I’d love to,” Mirio cuts in, and the sincerity in his voice catches Izuku off guard. “If it’s something that matters to you, I want to see it.”

Izuku blinks. The offer sits between them like a puzzle piece he didn’t expect to fit.

“Okay,” he says, softer than before. “Cool.”

Izuku nods, still absorbing Mirio’s easy acceptance. But the moment stirs something else — a flicker of unease beneath the surface. He shifts, patting the pocket of his hoodie like he’s only just remembered something.

His phone.

He pulls it out, thumb swiping quickly to his chat with Bakugou.

Still no reply.

The message sits untouched. No read receipt. No response. Just silence.

Izuku's stomach knots, though he’s not sure if it’s disappointment or just the familiar sting of uncertainty. He locks the screen.

Mirio notices. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Izuku lies automatically.

Izuku’s thumb moves over the screen, the motion quick and decisive.

IZUKU | 7:36 P.M.

[Mina. Do you think you could pick us up tonight?]

He hesitates, then adds—

[Mirio’s coming too.]

He scarcely has time to breathe before her response pings back, exuberant and immediate.

MINA | 7:37 P.M.

[OMG YESSSS!!]

[Ill pick you up at 11:30]

Izuku reads the messages, a slow smile stretching across his face. Relief and anticipation bubble up, a strange mix of nerves and excitement. He looks at Mirio, the uncertainty of the day easing into something almost like hope.

Mirio watches him, picking up on the shift. “Everything coming together for tonight?”

Izuku nods slowly. “Yeah. My friend Mina will pick us up.”

“Sounds like it’s gonna be a good time,” Mirio says. Then, more gently, “You seem... lighter. Like this actually matters to you.”

Izuku hesitates, the smile faltering for a second. “It does. I didn’t think it would, not at first. But lately, it’s one of the only things that feels real.”

Mirio’s brows lift a little. “That a bad thing?”

“No. Just... weird.” Izuku thumbs at the edge of his phone, avoiding eye contact. “It’s like, when I’m there, I’m not thinking about what I should be doing, or who I’m supposed to be. I just... am.”

“Sounds like the kind of thing you should hold on to,” Mirio says, nudging him lightly with an elbow. “Not everything has to make sense to be worth it.”

Izuku nods, letting the words sit with him. He thinks of the heat of the engines, the roar of the crowd, the way the air shifts when the racing starts. He thinks of the way he almost feels like someone new out there, someone unafraid.

“Yeah,” he says quietly. “I think you’re right.”

Mirio grins. “Of course I’m right. I’m your older brother. It’s in the job description.”

Izuku huffs a laugh, the tension in his shoulders easing a little more.

The night feels full of possibilities, the promise of something new and electric. But beneath the thrill, there’s a whisper of doubt, a flicker of fear that he can’t entirely shake. He pushes it down, tells himself this time will be different.

He tells himself he’ll make it different.

The rest of the evening passes in a blur, the house still buzzing with the last of Mirio’s welcome-home energy, the mood stays light, the tension he’s been anticipating never quite manifesting.

They let the conversation drift, the easy banter of shared history filling the spaces between them. It’s almost enough to keep Izuku from checking his phone again.

Almost.

He glances at it, the screen still dark. No new messages. No updates. Just the same silence that’s been following him all night.

It shouldn’t matter. Not with everything else falling into place. But it does.

Mirio catches him looking, his brow furrowing. “You sure you’re okay?”

Izuku nods, forcing a smile. “Yeah. Just... waiting.”

Mirio doesn’t press, but Izuku can see the concern etched into his features. It’s a look Izuku knows too well, a look that says he might be fooling himself, but he’s not fooling anyone else.

“Don’t worry,” Izuku adds, trying to sound more confident than he feels. “I’ve got it under control.”

It’s a lie. But maybe not a big one.

The hours slip by, the anticipation of the night growing with each tick of the clock. Izuku tries not to think about what could go wrong, tries not to think about how fragile it all feels. He focuses on the promise of the race, the promise of something real and unguarded.

Izuku watches him scramble onto the ledge, laughing at the awkward way Mirio tries to keep his balance. The window is barely cracked before Izuku is out, feet catching on the shingles of the overhang, his heart racing with the thrill of it.

“Last one down’s a rotten egg,” he calls back, a challenge and an invitation.

Mirio hesitates for only a second, then follows, his footsteps a soft thud as he lands beside Izuku. “You’re on, little brother.”

The wind whips through their hair as they carefully make their way across the roof, the world below dark and inviting. Each step feels like a small rebellion, a taste of the freedom Izuku’s been chasing. He doesn’t look back. Doesn’t want to see the house, the lights, the safety they’re leaving behind.

Mirio’s laughter rings out when they reach the end. “I thought you said this was hard,” he teases, but there’s a breathlessness to his voice that gives him away.

Izuku grins, the excitement bubbling up inside him. “You haven’t seen anything yet.”

They make their way to the edge, the old oak tree reaching out to meet them. Izuku moves first, swinging onto a sturdy branch, the rough bark scraping his palms. He drops to the ground, landing with a soft thud, and looks up to watch Mirio follow.

“Easy,” Mirio says, but his eyes are wide, adrenaline bright in the dim light.

Izuku feels his heart soar. It’s been so long since he felt this—unburdened, unafraid, like he’s running toward something instead of away. He helps Mirio down, their hands gripping tight for a second before they hit solid ground.

They stand there for a moment, catching their breath, the thrill of the escape still buzzing between them. The world feels big and wide and theirs for the taking.

The sound of an engine rumbles down the street, headlights cutting through the dark. Izuku’s pulse kicks up, anticipation and anxiety threading together.

“That them?” Mirio asks, nodding toward the approaching car.

Izuku squints, the familiar shape of Mina’s sedan coming into focus. “Yeah,” he says, his voice a mix of nerves and excitement. “That’s them.”

The car pulls up to the curb, the passenger-side window rolling down. Mina leans across the seat, her grin wide and infectious.

“Need a lift?” she calls, eyes sparkling with mischief.

Mirio laughs, the sound full of disbelief and delight. “You weren’t kidding about this being an underground thing.”

>Izuku shrugs, trying to play it cool but failing miserably. “Told you it was messy.”

They climb into the backseat, the warmth of the car wrapping around them. Mina glances over her shoulder, her excitement barely contained.

“I can’t believe you got him to come,” she says, her voice a mix of awe and glee.

Izuku shrugs, a small smile tugging at his lips. “I can be pretty persuasive.”

Mirio ruffles Izuku’s hair, the gesture affectionate and unguarded. “Couldn’t miss it,” he says, and Izuku feels the sincerity of it settle into his chest, a steadying weight.

The car takes off, the world outside blurring by in streaks of light and color. Izuku watches it all, the familiar pull of freedom and uncertainty thrumming through him. He thinks of the message he sent, of the silence that followed, and wonders if Bakugou will be there. If he’s already decided to shut Izuku out. If this will be the last time it all feels like his.

He pushes the thought away, focusing on the moment—the rush of the car, the laughter of his friends, the steady presence of Mirio beside him.

Mina keeps up a steady stream of chatter, her enthusiasm enough to fill the space between them. “You won’t believe who I saw today,” she says, twisting around to look at them. “Purple hair. Philosophy major. Total brooding hipster vibe.”

Izuku laughs, the sound bright and real. “You’re kidding.”

“Swear to god,” Mina insists, her expression the picture of innocence. “I think he’s stalking me.”

“Poor Kaminari,” Izuku says, shaking his head. “How will he ever compete?”

Mirio nudges him with an elbow. “Sounds like you’re getting the hang of this.”

Izuku shrugs, but there’s a lightness to him that wasn’t there before. Like maybe, for once, he’s not just pretending.

They speed through the city, the lights of the skyline stretching out before them. It feels like anything is possible, like the night is theirs to claim.

As they near the warehouse district, the familiar sound of engines and music fills the air, a heady mix of adrenaline and anticipation. Izuku’s heart races, the thrill of it all coursing through him like fire.

“Almost there,” Mina says, the excitement in her voice contagious.

Izuku glances at Mirio, the nervous energy in his chest twisting into something hopeful. “Ready for this?”

Mirio grins, his eyes bright with the same reckless joy Izuku feels. “Let’s do it.”

The car pulls into the lot, the scene buzzing with life and energy. People mill around, the roar of modified engines echoing off the buildings. It’s chaotic and loud and everything Izuku needs it to be.

He steps out of the car, the noise and motion swallowing him whole. Mirio follows, his expression a mix of awe and amusement. “This is insane,” he says, and Izuku can’t help but laugh, the sound almost lost in the din.

“Welcome to the madness,” Izuku replies, the words tinged with exhilaration.

Mina joins them, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Looks like they’re setting up the first race,” she says, nodding toward a group gathered near the starting line. “I’ll go see who’s running. Catch you two later?”

Izuku nods, the anticipation building in his chest. “Yeah. We’ll be around.”

Mina flashes them a thumbs-up before disappearing into the crowd, her pink hair a bright streak in the dimly lit lot.

Mirio takes it all in, the chaos and noise, the sense of something wild and untamed. “You weren’t kidding about this place,” he says, shaking his head in disbelief.

Izuku watches the scene, his heart thudding in time with the bass of the music. “It’s something, isn’t it?”

They wander through the lot, the electric atmosphere wrapping around them like a second skin. Izuku feels the weight of the day slip away, replaced by the rush of the night, the promise of something bigger than himself.

But beneath the excitement, there’s a thread of tension, a flicker of doubt that winds its way through his chest. He scans the crowd, searching for a familiar face, for a sign that Bakugou is here, that everything he’s been hoping for isn’t just a fragile dream.

The minutes tick by, stretching into a silence that grows louder and heavier with each passing second. Then—

“Midoriya!”

Izuku turns, his heart leaping at the sound of the voice.

Sero waves from across the lot, his lanky frame a blur of motion. “Thought you were gonna bail, man.”

Izuku feels the tightness in his chest ease, just a little. “Wouldn’t miss it,” he calls back, a grin breaking across his face.

Sero jogs over, his expression a mix of surprise and approval when he sees Mirio. “Brought backup, huh?”

Mirio laughs, the sound bright and easy. “You could say that.”

They fall into step beside Sero, the noise and chaos of the lot buzzing around them. Izuku feels the old thrill of it all, the sense of belonging that’s been so elusive, so hard to hold onto.

“Who’s running tonight?” he asks, trying to sound casual.

“Don’t know yet,” Sero replies, a mischievous glint in his eyes. “But I’ve got a feeling it’s gonna be good.”

They reach the edge of the crowd, the anticipation thick in the air. Izuku stands on his toes, craning his neck to see the lineup, to catch a glimpse of the cars, the drivers, anything that might tell him what he needs to know.

Nothing. No sign. No red eyes or familiar scowl.

He feels the weight of it settle over him, the doubt creeping in at the edges. Maybe Bakugou isn’t here. Maybe the silence is all he needs to know.

And then—

The crowd parts, just enough for Izuku to see the unmistakable flash of blond hair, the confident set of a familiar figure leaning against the Firebird.

Izuku’s breath catches, a dizzy rush of relief and uncertainty crashing over him.

He knew Bakugou would be there. He knew it. But seeing him now, after everything, feels like stepping into a storm. Like bracing for the impact of something he can’t control.

He wants to move, to close the distance between them, to say something that makes this all real. But his feet stay planted, his heart a riot in his chest.

“Looks like someone’s ready to race,” Mirio says, following Izuku’s gaze.

Izuku swallows hard, the world narrowing to the space between himself and Bakugou. “Yeah,” he says, his voice barely audible over the noise. “Looks like.”

He watches Bakugou, the way he holds himself, the way he seems both part of the crowd and apart from it. The way he’s always been. The way Izuku’s always been drawn to.

He doesn’t know what to expect. Doesn’t know if Bakugou will acknowledge him, ignore him, or something in between. But he knows he has to try.

He takes a step forward, then another. The distance between them shrinks, the noise of the crowd fading into the background like a half-remembered dream.

Izuku’s heart pounds, the anticipation coiling tight inside him. He reaches the edge of the group, the tension building with each step, with each breath, until—

Bakugou looks up.

Their eyes meet, and the world tilts on its axis. Izuku feels the impact of it, the force of Bakugou’s gaze hitting him like a physical thing. It’s not a glare. Not a challenge. Just... there.

Izuku’s breath catches, his heart stumbling over itself. He waits for something to follow. A smirk. A word. Some sign that Bakugou remembers the way things felt. That whatever passed between them wasn’t just in Izuku’s head.

But Bakugou doesn’t move. Doesn’t speak. The silence stretches, heavy and uncertain, like the long pause before a fall.

Izuku’s chest tightens, the doubt creeping back in, wrapping around his ribs like a vice. Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe—

And then Bakugou pushes off the car, his movements deliberate and slow. He crosses the remaining distance between them, the crowd seeming to part in his wake.

Izuku holds his breath, the world narrowing to the space between them, the space that feels both infinite and impossibly small.

Bakugou stops in front of him, close enough that Izuku can feel the heat radiating off him, close enough that the rest of the world fades away. His eyes are unreadable, a storm just waiting to break.

Izuku stands frozen, a thousand words caught in his throat, a thousand questions he can’t bring himself to ask.

Half a second passes. Then another.

And—

“Hey, nerd,” Bakugou says, the words rough but not unkind.

Izuku stiffens, caught off guard by the sudden voice. He hadn’t expected it not after a night of careful silence.

He opens his mouth to respond —

He opens his mouth to respond, words forming on his tongue, but before he can speak, another voice cuts through the air, closer this time, just behind him:

“Katsuki.”

The name drops like a weight, resonating heavily in the charged space between them.

Instinctively, Izuku pivots, heart racing, each beat echoing in his ears. Mirio stands behind him, his expression an enigma, eyes unwavering and fixed intently on Bakugou.

Bakugou remains unfazed, his demeanor steady, showing no hint of surprise or discomfort.

His gaze bypasses Izuku effortlessly, locking onto Mirio with unwavering focus. “Mirio.”

Chapter Text

Izuku shifts uneasily between the two blondes, a wave of confusion crashing over him.

They….know each other?

Izuku's eyes dart to Bakugou, noticing how his stance is tense, shoulders pulled back and rigid. His eyes are fixed on a point above Izuku's shoulder as if he's bracing himself for something unexpected.

Meanwhile, Mirio's face lights up with a broad smile, but there's something not quite right about it. His eyes lack the warmth they usually have, instead there lies a colder ice blue. It’s a tell only Izuku would notice.

“I didn’t know you two knew each other?” Mirio asks, his voice cheerful, leaving Izuku's unspoken question hanging in the air.

Bakugou rolls his eyes, his voice dripping with disdain as he retorts, “Well, it’s none of your fucking business now, is it?”

At this, Mirio’s ever-present smile falters, his expression turning serious. “It is.”

“Oh? How so?” Bakugou shoots back, his glare sharp and questioning.

Mirio meets his gaze steadily. “He’s my brother.”

Izuku notices the momentary shock in Bakugou's eyes, a rare stillness overtaking him. Sensing the tension, Izuku interjects softly, “Stepbrother,”

Bakugou doesn’t answer right away. He just stands there, shoulders squared, jaw tight, not looking at either of them. He glances sideways, eyes narrowed like he’s reading something written on the inside of his own skull. There’s a weird, loaded silence, and then he shrugs, dull and dismissive. “Whatever.”

Mirio’s jaw ticks, but he lets it pass. The moment hovers, unresolved, buzzing with something neither of them wants to name.

Izuku, caught between, opens his mouth. Nothing comes out. He feels the weight of Bakugou’s shrug like a door slamming shut.

Bakugou shoves his hands in his jacket pockets and jerks his chin at the lot, eyes never quite landing on Mirio again. “Races start soon,” he mutters. “If you’re gonna stand around like idiots, at least don’t do it in the middle of the fucking lane.”

Then, as if nothing happened, Bakugou turns his back and heads for the Firebird, boots crunching over broken glass and loose gravel. “Race starts in fifteen,” he calls over his shoulder, voice flat and cold. “Don’t get lost.”

Mirio puts a hand on Izuku’s shoulder, grounding him. “You okay?” he asks quietly.

Izuku nods, though his heart is a knot in his chest. He can’t stop watching Bakugou’s retreating form, the rigid line of his spine, the way his hands ball into fists, release, and then clench again as he walks.

Mirio squeezes Izuku's shoulder firmly, his fingers lingering for a moment before releasing. As Mirio's hand drops away, Izuku feels a hollow ache settle in his chest, as if something inside him has been unmoored.

Mirio then grips Izuku’s forearm with a steady, reassuring hold, anchoring him in place, ensuring he doesn't bolt in the opposite direction. Together, they begin to weave through the bustling crowd.

Izuku trails behind, his gaze lingering over his shoulder. He watches as Bakugou, with a familiar scowl etched across his face, slams his car door shut with a forceful thud that echoes in the cool evening air.

"You know Bakugou?" Izuku finally asks, breaking the silence that stretches between them, his voice tinged with curiosity and a hint of apprehension.

Mirio only grunts in response, his gaze distant. "Seen him around Dad's office."

That stops Izuku in his tracks, "Like in therapy?"

Mirio pauses alongside him, nodding slowly. "Yeah,"

Izuku's mind struggles to wrap around this new information. Bakugou... in therapy? The revelation crashes over him like a wave, leaving him disoriented. Izuku stares ahead, but his focus is shot. Bakugou. Angry, sharp, unrelenting Bakugou, sitting across from Toshinori?

It doesn’t compute. He tries to picture it and his brain rejects the image like a bad file.

What could Bakugou, of all people, possibly go to therapy for?

"Why?" Izuku presses.

"Zuku, you know I don’t have that kind of information," Mirio replies, his tone resigned, as he shrugs his shoulders helplessly, glancing at Izuku with an apologetic look.

Izuku lets out a long, defeated breath, feeling the weight of unanswered questions pressing down on him. The sound of engines and the bass thumping from nearby speakers fade into the background as his thoughts swirl in a chaotic whirlwind. Each question leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, a reminder of how little he truly knows about Bakugou.

“C’mon,” Miro says pulling along Izuku once again “I think I see you’re pink haired friend,”

They wander through the shifting mass of people, Izuku letting Mirio lead the way. The lot is a living thing, music bleeding from battered speakers, laughter spilling out of clusters of kids, the tang of gasoline and cigarettes hanging thick in the air. Izuku can feel the tension in his muscles start to unravel, the sense that he’s caught between two worlds fading for a moment.

As they move through the crowd, Izuku tries to shake the conversation from his mind, but it clings. Like smoke. Like gravity. Every laugh and revving engine feels one layer too loud like he’s watching everything from the outside.

Mina’s dyed hair is impossible to miss, a cotton candy beacon in the neon chaos. She’s posted up on the hood of Ejiro’s Honda, ankles crossed, mid-story. As Izuku and Mirio approach, Mina clocks them instantly, her grin going wide and wolfish.

“There they are!” she hollers, waving them over. “The Midoriya Bros, right on time.” She hops down and swings her arm around Izuku.

Mirio flashes a sheepish smile, and Ejiro stands to greet them, eyes lighting up at a new face. “No way, is this your brother Midoriya?”

“Uh yeah,” Izuku blushes sheepishly, “Miro this is Kirishima and Kaminari.”

“Sup dude!” Denki greets.

Mirio chuckles and returns the handshake with an easy grin. “Nice to meet you guys.”

“Izuku didn’t say you were jacked,” Denki adds, giving Mirio a once-over. “Like, damn. Do you lift buildings for fun?”

Before Mirio can respond, Mina pops up beside him with a playful scoff. “Oh come on, Denks, we already covered this. He’s a walking protein shake. You're just catching up.”

“Yeah, but I thought you were exaggerating,” Denki says, eyes wide. “You undersold it, honestly.”

Mirio laughs. “I guess I’ll take that as a compliment?”

“Always,” Mina grins. “You're not off the hook yet, though. Group’s still deciding if we keep you.”

Izuku groans. “You’re not doing background checks, are you?”

Mina winks. “Only mildly invasive ones.”

“Mirio’s already passed the vibe check,” Ejiro chimes in, offering a fist bump. “Chill, funny, polite. That’s three for three.”

Mirio bumps fists with a smile. “Appreciate the hospitality.”

Ochako emerges from the bustling crowd “Omg there you guys are, did you see Bakugou he seems pissed—” Her voice suddenly rose in surprise as her gaze landed on a familiar figure. “Holy shit Mirio?”

“Hey, Ocha!” Mirio grins and moves to hug her, “Long time no see.”

She hurries over and hugs him without hesitation, nearly spilling her drink in the process. “What the hell! You’re back? Since when?”

Mirio chuckles, “Uh, just this morning,” he admits, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly.

She pulls back, grinning, then turns her wide-eyed gaze on Izuku. “You didn’t tell us Mirio was coming back.”

Izuku stiffens under the sudden spotlight. “I—uh. I meant to. It just... didn’t come up.”

“Oh, didn’t come up,” Mina teases. “Right. Just like how the brother thing didn’t come up. You’re a regular vault tonight, Midoriya.”

Izuku laughs weakly, scratching the back of his neck. “I didn’t think it was that important.”

Mirio lifts a brow. “Wow, way to make me feel special.”

“I didn’t mean it like that!” Izuku blurts, face going red.

Ochako tilts her head, studying him. “Weird. You usually tell us everything.”

Izuku forces a smile. That line hits harder than it should. He does usually tell them everything. So why didn’t he? Why had he tucked it all away—Mirio’s return, Bakugou’s therapy, even the way he felt after that look? He swallows hard. It’s like his own thoughts are ganging up on him. “Yeah. Guess I forgot.”

Izuku is instantly lost in the commotion, the group’s energy ricocheting through the chill night air. Mina hooks both arms around his and Mirio’s necks, drawing them together like a wrestler introducing her new tag team. “Okay, everyone, round of questions for the new guy! Lightning round, go!”

“Favorite color?” Denki blurts, his eyes darting from Mirio’s face to his biceps like he’s struggling to focus on just one target.

Mirio throws his head back and laughs. “Yellow, clearly.” He glances down at his tee shirt for confirmation, as if he’s ever in doubt.

“Favorite anime?” Sero yells from the other car, already knowing this is sacred territory.

“All Might,” Mirio says, without a hint of shame. “the silver age, obviously.”

Mina snorts. “Classic.”

“Uhhh, favorite food?” Ejiro offers, but Ochako’s already shouting over him—

“Wait, wait, wait—are you single?”

Mirio doesn’t even blink. “Nope, I’ve got a boyfriend.”

There’s a beat of silence where Izuku’s eyes go wide. He didn’t know that.

“Holy fuck both the bros are gay what are the odds!” Mina cracks up.

Izuku flinches, but Mirio just grins wider, slapping Izuku’s back. “I know right, maybe that's why we get along so well.”

Izuku manages a laugh, but his brain is fogged over with information he hadn't known before. From Bakugou seeking therapy from Toshinori to Mirio’s secret boyfriend, Izuku’s head was starting to spin.

The group is howling, Mina’s phone out already as she tries to snap a selfie with the “new and improved” Midoriya offspring, Mirio pulling Izuku in close with a one-armed hug that smells like detergent and subtle aftershave. The hug is warm, grounding, and wrong. Not because of Mirio, but because somewhere, someone else hasn’t said a word.

Mirio chuckles again, trying to deflect with good humor, but Izuku’s not listening anymore. His eyes scan the crowd half-expecting Bakugou to reappear, though the Firebird’s still sealed tight in the shadows.

The voices around him fade to a blur.

Bakugou.

Therapy.

Secrets he wasn’t meant to know.

Truths no one bothered to tell him.

He feels hot behind the eyes. Like static's building behind his forehead and he can’t shut it off.

“Zuku?” Mirio’s voice cuts through, lower now, closer.

Izuku blinks. Everyone’s still laughing. Smiling. Except Mirio.

“Are you okay?” he asks again, quieter this time.

Izuku hesitates—then mumbles, “Yeah, I’m fine.”

Mirio tilts his head. He doesn’t believe it.

Izuku shifts back a step. The laughter around them feels too loud. Too distant. Like he’s underwater. The weight of the whole night presses into his ribs.

The laughter rings in his ears like it’s miles away. His skin feels too tight. His heart’s doing this stuttering thing in his chest—fast, then faster. His body’s here, but the rest of him isn’t. Not really. Not anymore.

This isn’t fair this is supposed to be the one place he feels free. The one place he can pretend to be normal.

“I just need air,” he mutters and slips away from the group before anyone can stop him.

He weaves through the lot, head down, barely seeing the neon lights or the haze of exhaust curling under the streetlamps. He doesn’t stop until he’s behind one of the abandoned trailers, half in shadow.

And still, the thoughts don’t let up.

Bakugou's presence loomed in his mind like a storm on the horizon, unpredictable and electrifying, leaving Izuku both drawn to and wary of what lay beneath.

Why does he act like nothing matters and then stare at me like it does?

Footsteps crunch behind him.

“Izuku.”

Mirio.

He doesn’t turn around. “I’m sorry I just got overwhelmed.”

“It’s fine,” Mirio responds softly, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Izuku sucks in a breath before turning to face Mirio, “I don’t think there was a set thing that set it off, so nothing to really talk about.” he lies. “a lot has happened since you’ve been gone.”

“I know,” Mirio rests a hand on Izuku’s shoulder, that familiar, careful pressure. “If it gets to be too much, just come get me, okay? We can bail. Or hide. Whatever you need.”

Izuku nods, but he’s not sure what he needs. Only that he doesn’t want to leave. Not yet.

A sudden whoop from the crowd announces the start of the first race. The air shifts—electric, hungry. The muffled bass from someone’s battered subwoofer vibrates the night. For a moment, Izuku lets the chaos wash over him. He finds comfort in it, in the way everything sharpens to a single point: the starting line, two cars idling, headlights glaring white through the haze.

Mirio nudges him. “You want to watch?”

He hesitates, then nods. “Yeah. I do.”

They return to the others, who by now have migrated closer to the action. The lot is packed, every inch of curb and railing stacked with bodies. Mina, Sero, and Ejiro are front line to the action. Ochako stands a bit away, eyes locked on to Izuku, one hand on her hip in waiting.

As he reaches her, she gently slides her arm through his, her touch warm and reassuring. She tilts her head slightly, her eyes filled with concern.

“Are you okay?” she asks softly, her voice laced with genuine care.

“Yeah, sorry about that,” he mutters.

From the edge of the crowd, Izuku scans the starting line. The Firebird is there, hood down, paint catching the sodium glow. Bakugou stands beside it, helmet under his arm, jaw set like he’s holding back words he doesn’t want to say.

He’s paired up against a matte-black Skyline, its driver already inside, windows up, face a blur.

Mirio whistles low, impressed. “That’s Bakugou’s car?”

Izuku nods. “He rebuilt most of it himself.”

Mirio grins, but there’s a question behind it. He doesn’t ask, and Izuku’s grateful.

A girl in a mini skirt stalks to the front of the crowd, arms raised. The drivers start their engines in unison: the Skyline’s turbo snarl, the Firebird’s deep, American growl. People cheer, the lot swelling with anticipation.

A hand lands on Izuku's shoulder—Mina, leaning in so close her hair brushes his cheek. “Place your bets,” she shouts over the engine noise. “I got fifty on Katsuki.”

“Firebird’s a beast, but that Skyline’s track-tuned,” Sero shouts back, grinning. “It’s going to be a close call.”

Ochako shakes her head. “Bakugou seemed pretty upset when I tried to talk to him earlier. I think he’ll be too distracted.”

Denki chuckles. “If he’s mad then there is no way that Skyline stands a chance.”

At the line, Bakugou slides into the driver’s seat, slams the door, and straps in. The engine roars; the car becomes an extension of him, another layer of armor.

Izuku’s heart thumps hard enough to hear.

There’s a breathless hush, the lot holding itself taut on the backbeat of revving engines. Then the starter’s flashlight raises, slashing a white arc through the night.

Both cars launch at once, a simultaneous howl and shriek, the Firebird’s nose clawing up and the Skyline’s tires screaming against the asphalt. The crowd spills outward, chasing the tail lights as they disappear toward the far end of the lot.

Izuku watches, adrenaline flooding his veins, his entire world narrowing to that sliver of street illuminated by sodium lamps. The Firebird jerks ahead, only for the Skyline to reel it in by the second curve. For a breath, they’re perfectly even, two blurs, orange and black, neither yielding, neither flinching.

The gap between them is razor-thin. The Firebird surges ahead, half a car length, then less, and the Skyline claws back inch by inch. Izuku watches, heart in his throat, as the track blurs past and the world narrows to that final, brutal sprint.

Both cars thunder toward the finish, engines redlining, smoke trailing like war banners behind them. And just before the end, the Firebird punches forward snapping across the line. They cross in a blur of sound and smoke, Bakugou first, by less than a breath.

Tires lock. Smoke plumes. The Firebird skids to a halt like it’s ready to tear itself apart. Izuku exhales only when he realizes he’s stopped breathing.

Bakugou wins. Just barely, but he wins.

The crowd explodes, bodies pushing forward to swarm the finish. Izuku feels his knees buckle with relief. For a moment, he forgets why he came, forgets the ache in his chest and the secrets burrowed into his bones. There’s only the burn of victory and the sight of Bakugou, arms raised, face slick with sweat and wild with something like triumph.

"He’s really something," Mirio mutters, his eyes widening slightly in amazement despite the casual tone he's trying to maintain. “Is that why you like him so much?”

The words hit harder than Izuku expects. He stares at the finish line, heart skipping, mouth dry.

He wants to say, I don’t. But he can’t. Not with Bakugou’s eyes landing on him across the lot, like radar. Not with the heat of that look pinning him in place.

“Ooh, so you’re the one who made him mad,” Ochoko whispers, catching on to Izuku’s line of sight.

Izuku doesn’t answer. He just stares back, locked in place as Bakugou seems to be weaving through the crowd towards them.

It happens fast. One second, Bakugou’s fighting off high-fives and slaps on the back, the next, he stopped. He stood there merely a few feet away. Close enough that Izuku could see the sweat drip down his temple but far enough that he couldn’t see the fiery embers in his eyes.

“Nerd.” The word is half a greeting, half an accusation.

Izuku wants to ask if he’s okay. If he’s ever okay. But he swallows it. Instead, he manages, “You won.”

Bakugou just snorts, glancing at Mirio. “Of course I did.”

It’s a joke, or maybe a challenge, but Izuku doesn’t laugh. Instead he stands breathless. High off the adrenaline as if he were the one driving.

The tension, thick as oil, thins just enough for everyone to breathe.

But then Mirio’s gaze sharpens, just for a second, and Izuku sees it: the silent exchange. The look of pure disapproval radiating off of him.

Bakugou turns back to Izuku, eyeing him from under wet, tousled hair. For a second, there’s something softer in his expression, something almost like relief. “You saw?”

“Yeah,” Izuku says, voice barely above the noise. “I did.”

Bakugou nods, and for the first time since the night at the garage, he looks like he’s not running from something. “Good.”

The crowd thins slightly. everyone dispersing back into their own groups while waiting for the next race to begin. Someone calls for Bakugou to move his car off the starting line, But he doesn’t go right way.

He stays, hands shoved deep in his pockets, shoulders hunched like he’s bracing against a cold wind. Izuku can’t shake the sense that there’s something else, something Bakugou wants to say but can’t.

Izuku tries instead “What—” he starts, but the words tangle.

Bakugou barks a laugh, bitter and bright. “Spit it out, nerd. You’ll combust if you don’t.”

Izuku hesitates. “Can I sit in on your next race?”

A beat of silence passes, sharp and expectant. Bakugou opens his mouth to speak but before the words can escape, Mirio’s voice cuts in: “No.”

Izuku blinks, caught off guard. He turns, confusion twisting in his gut. “What?”

Mirio’s mouth is set in a way Izuku has only seen a few times before, the smile gone, replaced by something stony and certain. “It’s not safe,” Mirio says, voice calm but flat. “You’ve already got so much going on tonight—do you really want to add this?”

The blow lands in Izuku’s chest, cold and sudden. He almost laughs, but the sound gets stuck in his throat. “It’s just… riding, Mirio. Not like I’m driving.”

Mirio shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter.” His glance skates over to Bakugou, a quick, assessing look. “I know how fast these races get.”

Bakugou’s jaw sets, mouth twisting with something like contempt. “He’s not a fucking child,” he spits, the words sharp as broken glass.

Mirio bristles, squaring himself—not aggressive, but immovable. “I’m not treating him like a child. I’m treating him like my family.”

Bakugou’s scowl deepens. “You think I can’t handle one passenger?”

“I think you don’t care if you can,” Mirio shoots back, and for the first time all night, there’s an edge in his voice. “You drive like you want to die.”

The words hang in the air too long. Around them, the crowd’s noise recedes, replaced by the low buzz of an argument that has nothing to do with engines or ego.

Izuku’s hands curl into fists at his side. He doesn’t need protection. Not from Mirio, not from anyone. But he can’t make his voice work. He stands there, the target of their silent contest, wanting to vanish and fight back in the same breath.

"Fuck you," Bakugou spits through gritted teeth, sharply shifting towards Izuku, “My next race is at 1:30, I’ll wait for you.” he states before sending one last glare Mirio’s way and staking off back toward his car.

Izuku watches Bakugou storm off, the ache in his chest transforming into a hard, sparking anger. He turns to Mirio, ready to let it drop—but something in him refuses. If he lets it go now, it’ll only happen again. Always someone else speaking for him, making his limits, drawing his lines.

Mirio grabs Izuku’s wrist, not hard, but with enough finality that Izuku has no choice but to follow. They snake through the crowd, the air thick with voices and sweet, burning rubber.

The next race is already lining up, engines barking in the distance, but the noise thins as Mirio ducks them down a side path toward the edge of the lot, past a row of empty loading docks.

Here the air is colder, the concrete slick from a week’s worth of condensation. Mirio lets go only when they’re out of sight, tucked between a dumpster and the battered shell of a vending machine. For a second, neither of them speaks. It’s just the beating of Izuku’s heart loud in his own ears and the distant, persistent roar of the crowd.

“Don’t be mad at me,” Mirio gives him a sympathetic look, “you should know better than anyone it’s too risky.”

“You can’t just decide for me,” The words come without any warning, tumbling out of his mouth with no sign of stopping, “You’re doing exactly what Mom does. What everyone does, and I’m sick of it.”

Mirio’s jaw flexes. “I’m not—”

“You are.” Izuku cuts him off, surprised by the force of it.

Mirio’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out. He hesitates, and when he speaks, his voice is scraped raw. “I don’t—” He takes a breath, tries again. “I just don’t want you to get hurt.”

“I get it,” Izuku continues, breath coming faster, “I know you care. But you can’t keep me in a bubble just because you’re scared of what’ll happen if I get hurt again.”

Halfway through, he realizes he’s not even mad at Mirio. Not really. These words were meant for someone else. But it’s too late to pull them back. “I don’t need a third parent to lecture me about how dangerous the world is, I need a brother who will support my decisions and let me do what makes me happy.”

Mirio doesn’t speak. Izuku doesn’t either.

The crowd roars in the distance, but between them, the silence is louder.

“I’m sorry,” Mirio’s voice comes out quite and choked, “you’re right, you should be able to make your own decisions,” There’s something in his voice, it’s so unlike anything Izuku’s ever heard from him. It almost makes him want to try and take it all back, “But I can't stand here and watch you do this.”

Izuku's heart sinks like a stone as he watches Mirio pivot sharply on his heels, his shoulders squared with determination. Each step Mirio takes echoes in Izuku's mind, the sound of footfalls on the pavement growing fainter as Mirio strides purposefully further down the street.

The parking lot was a galaxy of sound and wild light, engines shrieking, every surface glistening with hot haze and spilled dreams. Izuku stood at the edge of it, the world around him blurred and bright, every sense on overload, every nerve ending awake and raw.

He watched Mirio go, saw the tall frame vanish into the crowd, the bright hair bobbing and then gone. Izuku stayed put, weightless, waiting for a wave of regret or guilt to sweep over him. Instead, there was just a hush, a clearing in his chest, the sensation of suddenly breathing in a new atmosphere.

He turned. The Firebird was there, half in the sodium glow, half in darkness. The hood was up, the car idling, headlights off as if it, too, was waiting for permission to be alive.

Izuku’s hands shook. He wasn’t sure if it was from anger, or relief, or just the sudden cold. He zipped his hoodie all the way up, pulled the sleeves over his hands, and walked.

There’s a high-pitched whistle from somewhere to his left, just sharp enough to cut through the engine static. Izuku flinches, shoulders up around his ears. A figure detaches from the darkness behind the nearest shipping container, hands in pockets, platinum hair poking out from under a ratty beanie.

“Tough night, Midoriya?” Monoma’s voice gleams with something like amusement, but his mouth is all knives.

Izuku slows, uncertainty mixing with the aftertaste of adrenaline. Monoma falls in step beside him like they’ve been walking together all along, boots crunching in counterpoint to Izuku’s sneakers. He smells like cigarette smoke and cheap soap.

“Didn’t peg you for the family drama type,” Monoma says, scanning the lot through half-lidded eyes. “But I guess we all gotta have a hobby.”

Izuku wants to tell him to fuck off, but the fight’s gone out of him. He just keeps walking, head low.

Monoma whistles again, softer this time. “What’s eating you, greenie? That Bakugou guy looks like he’d eat glass before he’d lose a race, but you look like you already swallowed some.”

“I’m fine,” Izuku mutters.

“Sure,” Monoma drawls. “Because people who are fine always storm off and have fights with their brothers in the middle of a parking lot.” He cocks his head. “That was your brother, right?”

Izuku grits his teeth. “Yeah.”

“Huh.” Monoma considers this, then grins. “Sad puppy must run in the family,”

Izuku tenses, pulling the edges of his hoodie tighter around his wrists. “Go away, Monoma.”

But Monoma just grinned wider, ignoring the request entirely. “So, Is coming to race’s becoming a regular thing of yours or are you only here to see a certain someone?”

Izuku stops. He turns to Monoma, finally meeting his gaze. “Why do you care?”

Monoma shrugs, “Maybe I’m bored,” he leans in, closing into Izuku space with a broad smile, “Or maybe I just like to watch you squirm.”

Izuku grimices but before he can pull away, there's a sharp drag of air, a presence, and Bakugou is suddenly between them.

His arrival is so abrupt it’s like he stepped directly out of the dark. He doesn’t touch either of them, but his body occupies the space with absolute certainty, a force field, an electric line.

Monoma’s grin falters, recalibrates, then stretches wider, curling mean and toothy. “Ah, there you are. We were just talking about you.”

Bakugou glares, sharp and ruthless. “You need somethin’?”

Izuku wants to say something, to tell Bakugou it’s fine, that Monoma’s just being Monoma, but the words won’t come. His throat’s tight. His instincts are confused: defend, defuse, or disappear.

Monoma lifts his hands in mock defense. “Oh no, just chatting.” He flicks a glance at Izuku, then back to Bakugou, smug. “Didn’t realize you were so quick to play guard dog.”

Izuku winces inwardly. There it is again, like he’s some kind of prize being fought over. Like he doesn’t have a say in it. He hates that feeling.

Bakugou’s lip curls. “Yeah? Find someone who gives a shit.”

Monoma laughs under his breath, tilting his head. “Feisty tonight. Are you always this territorial, or is that just when Midoriya’s involved?”

There it is. Izuku feels the heat crawl up his neck.

Everything suddenly feels a few degrees louder, Bakugou’s breathing, the way his shoulders coil, the stare Monoma won’t let up on.

Why does it always have to come back to him?

Bakugou’s stance shifts subtly forward, not an attack, but a promise of one. “You really wanna test me right now, asshole?”

Monoma’s smirk sharpens.“Relax, I’m just saying—he’s not exactly subtle with who he runs to. Guess we all know where loyalty lies, huh?”

Bakugou’s hands flex at his sides, fists trembling with restraint. Izuku notices the tension rolling through him like heat about to boil over.

He’s going to blow. Izuku knows the signs, the way Bakugou’s jaw clenches, how his shoulders lock like a fuse is burning too fast. One more push and—

“Wow,” Monoma continues, voice all faux sweetness. “Kirishima should keep a tighter leash on his mutt.”

Bakugou doesn't flinch but his eyes narrow like a blade being drawn.

“Say that again.” His voice is lower now, dangerous.

Monoma shrugs. “I said Kirishima’s got his hands full. Guess someone’s gotta handle you.”

A pause. The air feels thin.

Bakugou takes a single step forward. “You’re real confident hiding behind your mouth. Try saying it again when your teeth aren’t in the way.”

Izuku’s hand twitches at his side. He should say something. Should stop this. But he feels frozen, like his voice has been buried under the weight of everything he hasn’t said tonight. Too much. All of it too much.

Monoma continued to taunt, his tone dripping with mockery. "Looks like I struck a nerve. Tell me, Bakugou, do you bark louder than you bite?"

Bakugou took a step forward, his temper barely contained. "Keep pushing me, and you'll find out."

Monoma’s words hung in the air, a challenge wrapped in a sneer. Bakugou's eyes flashed with a dangerous glint, his body radiating an aura of imminent explosion. Izuku could only watch, his heart pounding in his chest, as the tension between them escalated to a breaking point.

Before Izuku can force a word out, Monoma’s shoulder slams hard into Bakugou’s as he brushes past, the deliberate collision sharp enough to rock Bakugou sideways.

The air snaps. Bakugou rounds on him instantly, arms tense, eyes flashing murder. Monoma doesn’t slow, doesn’t look back, just keeps walking, hands buried deep in his jacket, whistling tunelessly. The echo of his smirk lingers, a cloud of gasoline at the edge of a spark.

For a horrible second, Izuku is sure Bakugou’s going to retaliate. His hands are already balled, half-raised, knuckles ghost-white and trembling with the effort not to strike. But then Bakugou lets out a breath, sharp, ugly, and lets it go, his whole body vibrating with the aftershock.

“Kacchan—” It’s meant to be a question, maybe a warning, but it barely comes out at all.

Bakugou doesn’t look at him. He drags a palm down his face and mutters, “Don’t start, nerd.”

The words are raw, not angry but something worse. He shakes his head like he’s trying to rattle something loose inside his skull.

Bakugou’s breathing steadies, then he tips his chin at the open lot, squinting down the line of cars like an animal just out of a fight.

“So where’d your babysitter run off to?”

The word hits like a slap. Izuku’s mouth opens, but nothing comes out at first. The empty space between them vibrates, saturated with all the things neither of them will say.

“He’s not my babysitter,” Izuku manages, but even to his own ears it’s weak. He forces his hands to unclench, to stop shaking. “He just… left. Said he couldn’t watch me do this.”

Bakugou’s lip curls, but the sneer doesn’t rise all the way. There’s something tired in it, something almost like understanding. “Figures.” He jerks his head at the Firebird, still idling in the dark. “You coming, or what?”

Izuku swallows, nods. “Yeah. I am.”

Bakugou grunts and stalks away toward the car, leaving Izuku scrambling to follow. The Firebird’s engine is still idling, a growl even at rest.

As they approach the Firebird, the roar of engines fades into the background, leaving an oddly serene pocket of calm. Bakugou leans against the hood, arms crossed, his eyes fixed on the dark horizon. Izuku hesitates, then settles beside him, the cool metal of the car grounding him.

There’s a beat of silence. For a moment, neither speaks. It's just the two of them, the distant thrum of the race meeting their ears like a distant heartbeat, engines, laughter, the distant war-cry of someone winning a bet. For a moment, Izuku can’t remember why he was upset in the first place. They sit like that, side by side, not touching, not speaking.

Bakugou shifts, uneasy. “Your brother always like that?”

The question lands heavy. Izuku blinks, startled. “What do you mean?”

Bakugou stares at the ground, then tilts his head back, looking up at the sky like he might find patience there. “Acting like he knows what’s best for you. Like you need him to make your calls.”

Izuku hesitates. He wonders if Bakugou heard the whole thing—or if he just knows what it’s like to have someone else decide the rules. “He’s not… He just worries.” The words sound lame, even to himself.

Bakugou lets out a harsh breath. “Yeah. Well. He’s still a dick.”

Izuku huffs out a breath, almost a laugh. He doesn’t disagree. Not really. Not tonight.

Then, quieter, trying not to sound like he’s forcing it, “Did you really see my stepdad for therapy?”

Bakugou’s hands white-knuckle Into fists. He doesn’t answer for a long time. When he does, it’s barely above the hum of the Firebird. “Yeah, I did.”

Izuku waits. He doesn’t push. Just watches him, the side of Bakugou’s face lit faintly by the nearby street lamp. Izuku waits, hoping for more, but Bakugou doesn’t look at him. Doesn’t elaborate. Just stares ahead, jaw clenched like he’s chewing on something sharp.

So Izuku tries again, gentler this time. “Did it help?”

Bakugou’s laugh is bitter and short. “Not really. Some shit’s just broken, y’know?”

Izuku doesn’t know what to say to that. But he sits with it, lets the truth hang heavy in the air.

“Why’d you really come?” Bakugou asks, quieter this time.

Izuku gropes for an answer. There are too many, resentment, rebellion, some dumb hope he can’t name. But what comes out is the simple truth. “You said to.”

Bakugou’s jaw works for a second, like he’s arguing with himself. “Didn’t think you’d actually show. With the brother and all.”

Izuku almost smiles, but it’s a sad thing. “I wanted to.” He thinks of Mirio, of the fight, of the way the world felt right for just a second when Bakugou’s car crossed the finish line. “I needed to.”

Bakugou blinks, thrown for a beat. Then he snorts, but it’s softer now. “That’s so fucking corny,” he says, but he’s smiling.

Izuku shrugs. “It’s true.”

A voice, distorted by a megaphone, shouts over the lot: "Bakugou, Firebird up!"

Bakugou glances back at Izuku, his smirk returning full-force, brighter for the brief flicker of vulnerability that came before. “Ready to get your shit rocked?”

Izuku laughs, more relief than challenge, and pushes off the car. His limbs are still jittery with leftover adrenaline and something sweeter, something close to nostalgia. The lot is a blur of headlights and bodies, but the only thing in focus is the Firebird and the driver waiting for him.

Bakugou pops the door and slides in, all harsh glares and sharp edges. Izuku hesitates just long enough to check the crowd. No sign of Mirio. Only the usual swirl of faces, some expectant and some already lost in the next spectacle.

He swallows, then ducks inside.

Bakugou flashes a look at him, a real one, quick and bright. “Buckle up, idiot. It’s gonna be loud.”

There’s not much in the way of ceremony. The seatbelt is untouched and stiff, but it clicks, and that’s all the luck Izuku needs.

He’s barely got it fastened before the starter is waving them up to the line. The Firebird’s engine chatters, a snarl building behind its teeth, the whole car shuddering like it can’t wait to be set loose.

From the passenger seat, the world looks different. The track seems narrower, the crowd meaner and hungrier, the finish line so far away it might as well be another country. Izuku glances at Bakugou—he’s all focus, all certainty, as if he’s already visualizing the whole race in his head, every curve, every shift, every split-second where he’ll gain or lose.

Next to them is a battered Subie, blue flaked with primer, its driver looking over with a sneer that doesn’t quite land.

Bakugou doesn’t glance over. He waits, foot feathering the throttle, engine flaring, eyes locked on the wavering hand of the starter.

The starter’s hand drops. Both cars leap forward, the Firebird slamming Izuku back into the seat with a violence that’s almost intimate. Color, light, sound, all condenses into a tunnel, the white of the headlights and the orange burn of sodium lamps sweeping like searchlights. The tires shudder, catch, and then it’s all forward, all velocity.

Bakugou drives like nobody else, one hand always steady, the other loose and improvising, every shift a calculated aggression. The Subie grinds up on their left, close enough Izuku can see the driver’s face, can see the sweat and the desperation. Bakugou never spares him a look. He’s only got eyes for the blacktop, for the next turn, for the way every split-second can be snatched back from the edge.

The lot is a blur, the crowd a smear of faces and color, but there’s a clarity inside the Firebird, a bubble where only the two of them exist.

Izuku’s heart is pounding so hard he wonders if Bakugou can hear it. His hands are fisted in his lap, white-knuckled, but he doesn’t want it to end. Not ever. He wants to live in this moment, in the roar and the momentum and the feeling that nothing else matters.

The finish line is a fever-dream ahead, and for a second, the Subie claws back, the two cars so close the paint might as well blend. Izuku holds his breath. The Firebird surges, just barely, but enough. They cross first, by a hair, no, by a thought, by a promise.

There’s a second of total silence after. The car rolling down, all the rage spent and replaced by the echo of what they just did.

Bakugou slams the brake, yanks the car around, and the Firebird skids into a celebratory half-donut before coming to rest.

Izuku is breathing hard, laughing, his whole body shaking. Bakugou looks at him, for the first time in forever, and there’s no sneer, no mask, just a wide-open light. For a split second, Izuku thinks he might cry from the sheer relief of being alive and seen.

Bakugou reaches over, punches his arm lightly. “You’re getting addicted to this.”

Izuku grins in return “Maybe I am.”

“Yeah,” Bakugou grins, “me too.”

Izuku wants to question what he means but at the edge of the lot, a crowd is gathering—Mina and Ejiro and Sero waving their phones, Ochako up front, eyes shining. The lights are dizzying.

The music is louder. The world is still a little too much, but for the first time in a long time, Izuku wants it this way. He wants to be here. Wants to see what happens next.

Bakugou parks, killing the engine. “Go on,” he says, not quite looking at Izuku. “You should probably check on your brother.”

Izuku hesitates, but then he’s opening the door, stepping out into the slap of noise.

He pauses at Bakugou’s window, unsure why he’s lingering.

Bakugou rolls it down with a single crank. “Yeah?”

“You’re not going to leave are you?” Izuku asks heart hammering in his chest.

Bakugou shakes his head. “Not tonight.”
Izuku nods, and for the first time that night, his chest doesn’t hurt.

He disappears into the crowd, the sound of the Firebird’s door slamming shut like a promise, a rhythm he wants to hear again.

Far off, he can see Mirio at the curb, hands stuffed deep in his jacket, watching. Waiting.

Izuku walks toward him, feeling lighter. Not fixed, not whole, but less alone than before.

Mirio doesn’t say anything at first. He just walks beside Izuku, quiet, like he’s still figuring out how to exist around him again without stepping on something sharp.

Izuku keeps his hands in his pockets, his body still buzzing from the race, his mind a strange mix of clarity and fog. Everything’s louder now, his pulse, the breeze, the far-off hum of engines that have nothing to do with him. And yet… quieter too.

They stop a few feet from the lot’s edge, where the concrete starts to break into gravel and wild grass. The noise behind them keeps on like nothing ever happened.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Mirio says eventually. Not angry. Just tired. Honest.

Izuku huffs out a breath, not quite a laugh. “Yeah. I scared myself a little too.”

Mirio leans on the hood of someone’s parked car, arms folded, looking out across the lights. “You really didn’t have to do that to prove anything.”

Izuku glances at him, then away. “I wasn’t trying to prove anything.”

Mirio raises a brow. “Weren’t you?”

Izuku doesn’t answer right away. The words get stuck somewhere behind his teeth. He picks at the edge of his sleeve, trying to name the feeling that’s been sitting in his chest since everything exploded.

“I just… needed to do something,” he says finally. “For me.”

Mirio nods like he understands. And maybe he does.

“I didn’t mean to blow up at you,” Izuku adds. “I know you’re not trying to be my dad. I just—tonight, everything felt like it wasn’t mine. Even my own choices.”

“Yeah.” Mirio kicks at a pebble. “I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have tried to make the call for you.”

A pause. Then, lighter, “But seriously, if you’re gonna pick a death machine to climb into, can it not be Bakugou’s?”

Izuku smiles, then shrugs. “He drives like he means it.”

“Yeah, I noticed. Pretty sure he drove a hole through the night.”

They stand there in the half-dark for another few moments, not saying anything. Just letting the dust settle between them—not gone, but no longer choking the air.

“We’re good?” Izuku asks, quieter now.

Mirio doesn’t answer right away. Just claps a hand to Izuku’s shoulder and squeezes. “Always.”

Izuku nods. He doesn’t say thank you. He doesn’t need to.

The crowd is thinning. Someone starts a new engine. Someone else shouts across the lot. Life keeps going. But Izuku stands still, steady, like for once the ground isn’t shifting underneath him.

And when he turns to look back at the Firebird, still parked, still waiting, he doesn’t feel afraid.