Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

“You know,” Katsuki says, in the tone of voice he always uses before making a jibe, “I find it amazing how you have a job giving people relationship advice when you have the worst dating history of anyone I know.”

At once, Izuku’s heart sinks as a ruckus follows his words. “Asshole!” Ochako shrieks, and only Tenya grabbing her glass stops her from throwing her drink over Katsuki. Simultaneously, he’s blustering about disrespect and needing to learn some basic decency, while Eijirou solemnly shakes his head to Katsuki’s left.

“I love you, Kats,” he says mournfully, “but sometimes you have to learn to be nicer.”

“What?” Katsuki says irritably. “It’s true.” He takes another swig of beer with his eyes focused on Izuku, who does everything in his power not to quiver under the crimson gaze. “There’s no fucking way you can argue with what I’ve just said.”

“It’s not - ” He breaks off, swallowing hard. Why did Katsuki always have to be so horrible when it came to his dating history, and humiliate him in front of people for it? So much for calm, casual after work drinks. Steadying himself, he tries his defence again. “It’s not my fault, the breakups.”

“No,” Katsuki agrees, “more like your choice of partners.” He lifts a hand, ticking each off on his fingers. “Let’s see: an obsessive control freak - ”

“Yo hid that side of himself really well,” Ochako says hotly, “so you can’t - ”

“ - a complete psycho,” Katsuki continues, undeterred, “who, might I remind you, is now serving prison time - ”

“How was he supposed to know Himiko was, well, like that?” Eijirou says wearily.

“ - a woman who moved abroad for an internship then decided not to come back - ”

“How is Melissa taking a permanent job in the best robotics company in the States his fault?” Tenya protests.

“ - and then Rody,” Katsuki finishes, eyes narrowing. “Huh. The less said about him, the better.”

A sudden hush goes over the group at the mention of He Who Must Remain Nameless, and Izuku stares back at Katsuki with his jaw set rather than meet any of the sympathetic gazes thrown his way. “Well,” he says, trying to keep his voice steady as he picks his way out of the graveyard of his failed relationships, “just because I haven’t had good luck, it doesn’t mean I can’t take an objective look at problems other people have and give them some advice.”

“And his advice is good, ” Ochako says, shooting Katsuki a filthy look. “Really good! And not just in those letters, either: Camie from the fashion features came by asking him for the best way to approach someone shy, and that’s the only reason why she’s dating Yaoyorozu.”

“No way.” Eijirou wheels around so fast that he slops his beer over his sleeve, mouth ajar. “Utsushimi’s dating Yaoyorozu?”

“Yep.” Ochako delicately pats the puddle of beer with a napkin. “Has been for months now.”

“You’re making that up,” Katsuki snaps, “because Yaoyorozu isn’t shy, and I’m pretty sure she’s straight.”

“Nope,” Ochako says lightly, “on both fronts. She is shy when it comes to anything related to dating, and Camie was making her flustered by all her attempts to flirt with her before she asked Izuku for advice. And you’d know she wasn’t straight if you ever walked in on them together,” she adds, folding the sodden napkin and waving to the waitress for another, “because I once called by her office with papers and walked in with Yaoyorozu sitting on her desk with her skirt hiked up and Camie - ”

“Anyway,” Izuku interrupts, aware that Tenya’s face is a concerning shade of crimson, “yes, the advice I gave Camie worked. The advice I’ve given a lot of people has worked: I’ve gotten thank you letters telling me so. Criticise my job all you want but whatever you do, don’t say this in front of Todoroki.” His hands twist together in his lap at the mere mention of his name, a terrified thrill going through him. “That’s the last thing I need.”

Katsuki’s eyes narrow over the rim of his glass as Ochako’s is deposited before her. “Why?”

“Deku thinks he hates him,” Ochako pipes up, stirring her drink with her straw, “because sometimes we catch him staring at us through the window of his office. He does it a lot, actually. We think he’s trying to catch us not working so he has an excuse to fire us.” Izuku nods solemnly along, hands still cold at the thought of the heterochromatic eyes focused on his every move.

“Nah,” Katsuki says, “he’s just a freak. I’d take no notice of him.”

Ochako raises cool eyebrows at him. “So you don’t think the magazine’s owner keeping his eye on us is worrying, do you?”

“Nope. He’s a trust fund baby who pays other people to run his magazine for him: he’s clearly just bored and watching normal people live their lives because he can’t understand how they survive outside of his ultra-rich world.” To punctuate his words, Katsuki drains his beer then drops the empty glass back to the table.

“He doesn’t pay other people to run it,” Tenya interjects, frowning. “He’s the co-editor alongside Yaoyorozu: he takes a lot to do with what goes in the magazine, and that’s why it’s a success. As for being a trust fund child - ”

“He is. His dad owns one of the biggest media corporations in Japan, and you’re saying Todoroki didn’t use an early inheritance to set up the magazine?” Katsuki snaps. “It makes me sick.”

“Well,” Eijirou says bracingly, “it doesn’t make you sick when Todoroki pays your wages, or when you remember you’re the son of one of the biggest fashion designers in Japan.” He stands and ambles off in the direction of the toilets, apparently ignorant to the hissing sound coming from Katsuki. A second later he’s off to the bar, and Tenya turns to Izuku with a sympathetic expression.

“Don’t worry about him.” He pats Izuku’s arm, almost pushing him down in his seat with the unintentional force behind it. “Todoroki asked him to redo part of what he’d written on the FTSE 100 earlier today; I overheard Katsuki swearing about it in the toilets. He’s just irritated and taking it out on you, but don’t let it stress you out about your work.”

Izuku tries for a smile, fails, and stares miserably into the depths of his gin and tonic.

“A lifestyle magazine?” his mother had said doubtfully so many months ago, once she was over the excitement of Izuku landing a writing job. “Giving relationship advice? I thought you wanted to write books, sweetie.”

He’d had to explain to her that, yes, he still wanted to write books, but he had to find something to support himself in the meantime, and at least this used his English degree. Writing an advice column and doing some editing work for a magazine seemed a pretty sweet deal to Izuku, right up until he saw his mother’s expression at the words relationship advice. Based on that, and on Katsuki’s reaction, he dreads to think what his mother must discuss with Bakugou Mitsuki.

Well, so what if his dating life was the pits? His advice certainly wasn’t, given the folder of thank you letters tucked safely in his desk drawer, and the fact he’d help the co-editor get a girlfriend. Surely that would work in his favour if he was ever at risk of being fired, since -

“Not to alarm you,” Ochako murmurs, pretending to dust off Izuku’s monstera, “but Todoroki’s staring again.”

Achingly slowly, Izuku lifts his head while miming scratching his neck. Sure enough, Ochako’s right: standing at his office window with a coffee in one hand, the magazine’s owner is watching them with a crease between his brows. Feeling the heat rising to his cheeks at once, he ducks down and starts hastily rearranging the letters before him, feeling Todoroki’s eyes on him all the while.

The staring isn’t helped by the fact that Todoroki is poised, and elegant, and handsome in a way Izuku could never hope for himself. There’s no way Todoroki’s hair - silky and swept back from his face - gives him a hard time any time he tries to style it, battling against every brush and comb raised to it. He’s taller than Izuku is, no doubt having no problem reaching for things on the highest shelves in supermarkets or grabbing stools when he needed a particular library book. That’s not even broaching the subject of his suits, each of which are clearly tailored to his measurements and probably cost more than the average salary, and the fact he was able to create and run a successful lifestyle magazine in his early twenties.

Some people, Izuku thinks to himself as he sorts through the letters and remembers he has an eye-watering energy bill coming in, have all the luck. Maybe he should do an Aoyama and find a sugar daddy to pay all his bills.

“Okay,” Ochako sighs after a moment, sinking into the chair beside him, “he’s gone.” Shaking her head, she helps Izuku to arrange the letters into a pile. “I can’t believe Katsuki hasn’t noticed him staring.”

“Maybe he doesn’t stare at Katsuki,” Izuku says, somewhat miserably, “because he thinks the business column is more important than the advice one. I don’t exactly blame him. If they’re going to cut anything, it’s - ”

“Not going to be us,” Ochako says firmly, thrusting a handful of letters at him. “An advice column is a staple of a lifestyle magazine, after all, and people love yours. You wouldn’t get so many of them reaching out otherwise, and Todoroki’s bound to know how many letters you get! Maybe he’s just… I don’t know, imagining rearranging our seating arrangement? Wondering if he can give us more editing work? Checking how many times we go to the coffee machine?”

“Hmm.” Somehow, he isn’t convinced. Todoroki probably sees him as a blight at the edge of the cubicles, considering he and Ochako are tucked in the loneliest, coldest corner of the room. When Izuku had first been shown his desk its proximity to a window had excited him, only for him to be brought back down to earth with the realisation that its view was the particularly ugly back of the neighbouring building.

“Anyway, have a look at these.” A comforting hand coming down on his shoulder, Ochako indicates the letters. “Todoroki can’t complain if you’re sitting down and doing your work, can he?”

“I suppose not.” Offering her a smile, Izuku peels the first letter away from the others and opens it, eyes darting over the contents.

Dear Deku,

Last month, I found out that my boyfriend of five years was cheating on me with another girl. He apologised to me and swore it would never happen again so I stayed with him, but now I’m constantly on edge and fearing he might slip up again. How can I get this trust in him back?

Thank you,

Heartbroken

“Ugh.” He tosses the letter towards Ochako. “Take a look at this.”

She unfolds the letter, scans it, then makes a noise of disgust. “Poor girl. How can you kindly word ‘your boyfriend is an asshole, dump him because you deserve better’?”

“Somehow I’ll manage,” Izuku says, squinting through his glasses at his laptop as he begins to type.

Dear Heartbroken,

Have you ever heard of the sunk cost fallacy? It's when you want to follow through on something because you've invested heavily into it, even though it would be better for you to abandon it. I know you’ve been together for a long time, but I believe that once your trust is broken in that way, there’s no repairing it. You deserve better than living in a constant state of anxiety fearing that he’ll betray you again - and you deserve a lot better than him!

Yours,

Deku

“One day,” he tells Ochako, “I’ll ask for another page in the magazine, just so I can plaster a statement on it reminding readers that I never advocate for someone taking a cheater back. After I’ve confirmed that Todoroki doesn’t hate me and wouldn’t fire me for asking, of course.”

“Good call.” She’s watering the plants on their desks now, poking at the soil of the cactus before deciding it needs a splash from her little watering can. “On both fronts.” Ochako pauses, thinking. “How would you react if you found out you were being cheated on? Something about the fact Tenya builds model trains in his spare time makes me think it's not something I'll ever have to worry about.”

“Simple: throw all their belongings out the window and string up a ‘welcome home, cheater’ banner on the front of the house.” Grinning at her, he grabs the next letter.

Dear Deku,

I’ve moved across the country and I’m struggling to make new friends. It seems almost impossible as an adult, especially since I’m self-employed. Do you have any tips on how to get out there and meet people?

Many thanks,

Relocator

He feels a twinge of sympathy for the anonymous author. That’s the problem with writing an advice column, he thinks: he can’t help but fret over the most desperate people who reached out for help, worrying what sort of state they must be in. Cracking his knuckles and sighing to himself, Izuku gets to work.

Dear Relocator,

It certainly is more difficult to make friends as an adult, but nowhere near impossible! If you have a particular hobby or play a sport, look for local clubs centred around those - or take this opportunity to start up something you’ve always been interested in! I made a lot of friends through playing rugby and met some of my best friends when I took up boxing classes, because seeing the same group of people every week who like the same things as you will naturally begin to form friendships. Best of luck!

Yours,

Deku

“Ahh,” Ochako says, misty-eyed as she reads over his shoulder, “you’re so sweet, talking about me like that.”

“Well, I do owe you one,” Izuku says lightly, “considering you helped me get my job here.”

Ochako shrugs it off. “They were looking for a replacement anyway after Shuzenji retired, and it was the least I could do after I, you know. Broke your nose. I still feel bad about that!” she adds hotly.

He can’t help but grin. “You shouldn’t, since it just taught me to keep my pads up and protect my face better in future. Plus, you think Kacchan would’ve told me about the vacancy considering the fact he’s known me since we were four.”

“Katsuki’s an asshole,” Ochako says flatly, “so I don’t know why you’re surprised. Sometimes I don’t know how Eijirou puts up with him.”

“Because Kacchan does all their cooking, cleaning, and never forgets anniversaries.” Sighing, Izuku stretches back in his chair with his arms high above him. He can see over the tops of most of the cubicles from this angle and spots the top of Katsuki’s blond head, no doubt bent over and frantically scribbling facts and figures in a notebook. Five metres to his left, Eijirou’s trying to balance a pencil on his nose and somewhat succeeding.

“I reckon,” Ochako pipes up, breaking him out of his nosying, “you can fit a longer one in for the last letter. What do you think?”

"Yeah, I'd say so." His hand hovers over the pile, the scarred lines crisscrossing his skin shining silver in the light. One with swooping, elegant handwriting catches his eye, and he plucks it free from the pile to tug it from its envelope. "Let's see what this one says."

Dear Deku, 

I’ve recently realised that I’m attracted to a man in my workplace. We don’t directly work together, and I’ve always lost my nerve any time I’ve tried to speak to him. I think I’m intimidated by the fact everyone adores him - he’s kind and polite, and I get flustered at the thought of just speaking to him and being on the receiving end of his smile. How can I get over this fear, and how best to speak to him?

Best,

Himura

“Ooh,” Ochako says, shoving herself in so close that her cheek’s pressed against Izuku’s. “Poor guy. He sounds hopeless.”

“He does.” That usual sympathetic pain is back in his chest. “This guy must be something if everyone loves him.”

“Maybe he had cosmetic dentistry, and that’s why our unlucky singleton’s so worried to be on the receiving end of his smile. A million yen smile, if you will.” Ochako’s finger drags over the writing again, silently mouthing the words to herself. “It’s like when Tenya was too intimidated to ask me out.”

“Tenya could at least speak to you,” Izuku tells her, “and I don’t think we can just tell this man to hedge his bets on his crush approaching him first and asking to be taken out to dinner.” He rubs his chin, thinking hard - then, squaring his shoulders, scoots his chair in close to his laptop and starts typing his response.

Dear Himura,

I’m always a big fan of ‘fake it until you make it’. You don’t feel like you have the confidence to speak to him, but I think you’ll get great results if you put yourself out there and start a conversation! Confidence will come once you start speaking to him: ask him how his day’s going, or make a joke about your own! Once you’re over that first hurdle, it’ll be a hundred times easier to speak to him going forwards. Take a deep breath, reassure yourself that this guy’s as nice as everyone says he is, and head out there in the knowledge this could be the first step to something life changing!

Yours,

Deku

He sits back, rubbing his chin, and Ochako leans in to scan his response. “Is that you all finished? Send them through then for me to edit if it's done.”

There's nothing else he can think of to say to Himura, and can't think of anything Todoroki could suggest to improve upon it. Grimly satisfied, Izuku considers himself competent at worst. "All done," he confirms, attaching the documents in an email to her. "I'll get started on editing Tokoyami's piece."

And, with one click and a scroll through Tokoyami's piece on astrology, Himura is forgotten about completely.

Chapter Text

“There,” Ochako announces, leaning back and admiring the newly pruned monstera. “I bet we could plant the clippings in a new pot and grow some new ones. What do you think?”

Izuku hums, only half-listening. With the sun beaming into the office almost directly onto him, it’s difficult to stay focused on even one topic, let alone two. Right now he’s focused on sorting through the letters before him, tossing one onto the reject pile after scanning its contents. His column is not for giving advice on how to spice up one’s sex life, especially not when that author went into so much excruciating detail about how vanilla their partner was. While Ochako busies herself with tidying up the clippings, he lands on one with potential. “Oh, here’s a woman wanting to date again now her kids are all grown up. She said she wanted to focus on them and wanted to give them a stable upbringing, but now she’s worried about how exactly to get back into dating.”

He raises his eyebrows, and a wicked grin spreads across Ochako’s face. “I’m sure you’ll be able to give her some advice there. On that note, how’s your mom? Did you thank her from me and Tenya for the melonpan you brought in?”

“Yeah, I did. She’s good.” He thinks of her kneeling down in the soil in her own garden, brow furrowed as she clips errant roses and battles strangling weeds. “Except every time she asks about work I know it’s out of actual concern. She doesn’t… well. She’s like Kacchan, you know? She doesn’t think I’m the right person to be giving relationship advice.” Izuku can’t help his sigh, and wonders if he sounds slightly pathetic. Across the room, Katsuki’s scowling at his laptop screen as Eijirou leans over his cubicle, clearly determined to distract him from his work.

“Well, she can’t really say anything about your dating history, can she? She married your dad, and he was a total loser.” Ochako sniffs dismissively, tossing back her hair and going for the watering can. “The only good thing he ever did for anyone was fathering you.”

“I suppose so.” He pulls his glasses off, slowly polishing the smudged lenses with the edge of his shirt. “Toshi is cool, though. He’s been more of a dad to me than he had to be, even when I was a teenager and he was just Mom’s friend.” He softens at the memory of Toshinori taking him to his first rugby match; teaching him the rules of the sport in their back garden after he brought him home, his mother worriedly watching from the kitchen window for fear of broken bones.

“Yeah, he is.” Tilting her head to one side, the blurry image of Ochako smiles down at him. “And there’s gonna be someone out there for you, too.” She pauses. “Just hopefully not when you’re in your forties. Hopefully a bit sooner than that.”

He snorts. “Yeah, ‘cause - ”

“Midoriya.”

Izuku yelps and drops his glasses. From the voice and hair alone he knows who the new arrival is, even if they’re blurred in the absence of his glasses. Hands trembling, Izuku slides them back on to see Todoroki standing before them, staring down at him with his jaw squared.

Terror only mildly describes Izuku’s emotional state. This is it, isn’t it? The moment he’s been dreading for weeks - no, months - is finally here. Why else would Todoroki have ventured from the confines of his personal office to their lowly corner of the room with such an intimidating aura if not to fire him? He certainly looks the tall, menacing part, exacerbated by the fact Izuku’s still sitting. Belatedly, he wonders if he should be standing. Would that gain him the tiniest iota of respect from Todoroki before he told him to pack his things and get out of his sight?

Words don’t come easily to Izuku. His tongue seems to have tied itself into knots, while his throat’s gone the way of the Sahara in how parched it’s become. Heart pounding like a bass drum in his chest, he forces himself to meet Todoroki’s mismatched eyes instead of the lapels of his expensive suit, and almost loses his nerve entirely at the intensity in his expression. “Hi,” he croaks, fisting his hands in his lap.

Todoroki surveys him, eyes slightly narrowed. Oh, God, it’s made even worse by the fact he’s so handsome. He’s probably looking at him and judging him for the Spider-Man shirt and his red high tops when he’s dressed like a young royal. Maybe, Izuku thinks wildly, he’ll have no choice but to beg Todoroki for one last chance: explain how much he likes this job, how upset his mother would be if he was fired, and how the shame would simply -

“How’s your day going?” Todoroki says abruptly.

Politeness, then, to soften the inevitable blow. “Fine,” Izuku whispers, “just fine.” Presumably, it’ll only get worse when Todoroki drops the bad news on him. He can feel a bead of sweat rolling down the back of his neck, his whole body trembling. Something in him tells him that he really ought to ask Todoroki how his day’s going, too, but he isn’t able to choke it out.

Todoroki opens his mouth, then closes it again. Ochako’s watching them through wide eyes, hands clasped around the watering can. Maybe she’ll be sacked alongside him, dragged down with him as his partner-in-crime. It’s that terrifying thought that has Izuku finally speaking up, the sudden determination to not see Ochako jobless that puts words in his mouth. 

“We’re just getting through the letters,” he tells Todoroki, forcing strength into his words, “and using our real life experiences to relate to them. There’s a letter here - ” He waves it in the air, Todoroki’s eyes breaking away from his face to follow its motion, “ - from a woman who didn’t date when her kids were growing up, and now they’ve moved out she wants to meet someone but is hesitant since it’s been so long. My mom didn’t date until I grew up, either, so I’m using that to offer her the best advice I can, especially since she’s very happy with my stepfather. I think between me and Ochako, we’ll give her everything she needs to know to get her confidence back to get the best outcome.”

It’s the most he’s ever said to Todoroki in a single sitting and, judging by Ochako’s smile, there’s not much else he could have added. Biting down on his tongue, Izuku meets his boss’ eyes but freezes when he can’t decipher his expression. Perfectly blank-faced, there’s not a hint of emotion on his face. He expects a we need to talk, see me in my office or else a simple you’re fired, but it doesn’t come. Instead, Todoroki’s statement is blunt. “I wish I had a stepfather.”

Izuku blinks. To his left, Ochako looks similarly bewildered. “Oh. I see.” Swallowing, Izuku musters up a smile, deciding not to question him on it. “Well, mine does come in handy: I always remember the time he drove me and my mom to the hospital when I broke my arm, right after my mom fainted at the sight of it.”

Something strange is happening with Todoroki. He’s blanched, his hands tightening into fists the second Izuku smiled up at him. The terror’s back with a vengeance now at the sight of him - he must be squeamish, or else disapproving of Izuku’s airiness around the subject of an injury, smiling it off as if -

“That’s good,” Todoroki grinds out, sounding the complete opposite of good. “I have to - I have a meeting.”

He spins on his heel and heads towards his office as if training for the hundred metres sprint. They stare after him, and fear claws at Izuku’s throat again. “Did you see that?” Izuku hisses, aghast, as he twists to face Ochako. “He was gearing himself up to tell me something bad! I think he came over here with the intention of reprimanding me!” He rakes his hands through his hair, feeling ready to tear great chunks of it out. “And now I’ve somehow offended him by talking about that time I broke my arm!”

“But you didn’t, and he didn’t reprimand you! He didn’t tell you anything bad at all!” Ochako soothes, clutching onto his arm to gently tug his hands away from his hair. “Look, if he was going to reprimand you, he would’ve just done it. You flapping and panicking in front of him wouldn’t be enough to save you from trouble.”

“I was flapping?” Izuku whimpers.

“A little,” Ochako says, remarkably composed herself. “Up until you got into the swing of talking about work, anyway. Maybe he just doesn’t like talking about broken bones? Whatever it is, get your head down and focus on your work: that’ll be the best thing to distract yourself from… what Todoroki was doing. Think of the fact he didn’t just fire you.” She slaps a letter before him. “Have a look at this one. I already skimmed it, and it’s juicy. The author and her best friend are both pregnant, except the best friend’s just given birth and stole the name the author was planning to use for her kid.”

“Dear God.” His fear over Todoroki’s behaviour is immediately forgotten about in the face of such a scandal. “How do you even respond to that?”

“I’d be furious,” is Ochako’s response, eyes glittering, “if Mina or Jirou or Toru stole the name I planned to use. Don’t give me the whole ‘imitation is the highest form of flattery’ bullshit! I know Tenya would try and smooth things over, but I’d be spitting mad!”

“It does seem sneaky in the worst way.” Chewing on his lip, he tries his best to think of a reasonable response. “On that topic, you two need to hurry up and have a kid: I wanna be an uncle.”

“Tenya wants to get married first,” Ochako says irritably, pulling her laptop towards her, “because his parents wouldn’t be able to stand him having a child out of wedlock. Use your agony aunt skills to get him to hurry up and propose so you can be Uncle Deku.”

As Ochako stews over her work and lack of a baby, Izuku sets about giving the writer his advice. Her friend may have been thoughtless, he suggests: despite the suspiciousness of her taking the name she knew had already been picked out, it would be best to meet up and try to discuss her feelings amicably, if only for her peace of mind. Once finished he returns to the first one, suggesting dating sites, singles nights, and however many other ways he can think of for someone to find a date.

If he’s staring so hard at his laptop that he’s close to boring a hole in it, all in an effort to avoid glancing in the direction of Todoroki’s office - well, that’s his business. 

Despite the fact that the sun shone tantalisingly through the building windows all day, the rain comes down in a deluge throughout rugby practice that evening. Stomping off the pitch, it feels as though his very bones are trembling from the cold beneath layers upon layers of mud. Filthier than he’s ever been in his life, Izuku winces at the sight of the idling car, well aware of the potentially disastrous consequences of clambering into the passenger seat.

Hitoshi does indeed wrinkle his nose at the sight of him, but he’s already prepared for his arrival: there’s a towel draped over the passenger seat, neatly covering the fabric below. “Thanks,” Izuku pants, sliding in and slamming the door behind him. When he pulls away there’s a perfect brown handprint against the dark handle. “The showers being broken is a nightmare, I swear.”

“You’d think they’d hurry up and fix them, considering how dirty a sport it is.” Hitoshi casts another look over him as he pulls away from the kerb, clearly revelling in the cleanliness of his hobby of crocheting. “Bet you’re glad you didn’t cycle in today. How was training?”

The warm air blasting from the dashboard comes as a welcome relief, until his skin begins to prickle uncomfortably at the sudden shift in temperature. “Good, good. Well, for me - it looks like Eijirou’s going to have a black eye in the morning from one of the scrums.” He wrinkles his nose, thinking of the way the redhead laughed it off, and imagining Katsuki’s reaction when he returns home. “Everyone in the office will be fussing over him - hey! Listen to this.”

He recounts what happened with Todoroki, and a crease forms between Hitoshi’s eyebrows as he stares through the rain-slicked windscreen. “So he was just - coming over to talk about nothing, then got freaked out by you talking about breaking your arm? That’s weird.”

“I know.” The towel shifts as Izuku slides down in his seat, suddenly miserable again as the high of rugby is replaced with the low of Todoroki’s uncomfortable stare. God help him if he breaks his arm again in another scrum and has to slink into the office with a cast. “I really think he wants to get rid of me.”

“If that’s the case, why hasn’t he just fired you already?” Hitoshi counters. He flashes to let a car pull out in front of them, scowling when they don’t flash their lights in thanks. “There has to be a reason for him doing what he did earlier, other than making that weird comment about stepfathers. Maybe he’s scoping you out, seeing if you can take on an extra workload or be moved to a different department.”

“Mm.” He hopes not: the advice column is the only place he wants to be. “If you had a friend steal the baby name you were planning on using, would it annoy you?”

“I don’t want children, so I don’t have to worry about that.” Hitoshi’s eyebrows arch. “Who’s pregnant?”

“No one. It was just from a letter I had to reply to.” Letting his forehead press against the window, Izuku sighs. “I told her to try and talk it out amicably, rather than call her friend a two-faced sneak. They hired me to offer people conflict resolution, not to encourage conflict, so…”

Hitoshi - who is sensible and so took a job as a computer programmer, where he can lurk behind a screen all day without human interaction or strange people approaching him - refrains from commenting.

With his roommate having dutifully left enough water for him to have a bath, the hot water brings some life back into Izuku. Hidden amongst the bubbles with only his face and a hand above the water, he scrolls listlessly through his social media and does his best to ignore the half-naked photos Aoyama’s uploaded. He’s not ready to see that much of his friend’s body, thank you. Try as he might, Izuku can’t shake off the strangeness of Todoroki from earlier. The grim expression. The seemingly pointless conversation. Why would Todoroki want to ask how his day was going? It seemed the height of strangeness, even before his abrupt escape.

Come to think of it, he doesn’t really know anything about his boss. None of them do, other than the fact he’s fabulously wealthy and practically reclusive. It had been easy to make the connection between Todoroki Shouto and Todoroki Enji, the latter of whom ran a huge media conglomerate which would surely have funded their magazine - but, then again, they don’t know anything about the senior Todoroki either. He can’t help but be reminded of the bizarre stepfather comment, and wonders if Todoroki Senior is an asshole comparable to his own father.

Squaring his shoulders and sloshing the water around the tub, Izuku starts trawling through social media for Todoroki. After only five minutes, he finds himself stumped. There’s no trace of the man on whatever website he looks, with not even a stern, formal photo of him on LinkedIn. Maybe his security settings are seriously locked down - but, really, it seems a lot more likely that the man doesn’t have any social media in the first place.

Why exactly Izuku is creeping on him, he isn’t sure. It’s not like he’s gonna send him a friend request, especially when doing so might cost him the job he thinks is already in danger.

He ends up on Yaoyorozu’s Instagram instead, scrolling through row after row of glossy, beautiful photos. Yaoyorozu in an expensive dress at an upscale restaurant, smiling through a glass of wine; Yaoyorozu taking a mirror selfie, chin tilted as a Rolex glitters on her wrist. There’s a marked change in her uploads from the last few months, though. It’s hard not to smile when he clicks through photos of Yaoyorozu and Camie on a hike; Camie posing in front of the Eiffel Tower as Yaoyorozu presumably acts as camerawoman, the blond pouting and tossing her hair behind her shoulder; the two women shoved into a photobooth together, giggling and kissing in a much less polished way than the rest of her feed.

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Izuku takes a cursory scroll through the comments, but there’s no sign of anyone who could be Todoroki. He returns to the photo booth photos, and an ache begins in his heart at the sight of them. There’s so much easy affection between the pair, so much adoration in Yaoyorozu’s expression as Camie presses a kiss to her cheek - more so than admittedly even he expected, from the moment Camie perched herself on his desk and demanded dating advice.

The photos from the last time he was in a photo booth with someone are shredded pieces of paper in some land disposal, thanks to Katsuki oh-so-kindly ripping them up and tossing them away when he found them in Izuku’s wallet. That was the last time Izuku let him borrow one of his loyalty cards, and the last time the full name of Rody Soul was ever spoken between them.

Absently, he wonders if Todoroki’s in a relationship. He could imagine him with someone like Momo, poised and put together - or maybe he was into men? Considering the fact that he’s bi and lives with an aromantic man, Izuku doesn’t think he’s in any position to make assumptions. No, if Todoroki was into dating, he can just imagine it being someone tall, elegant and as refined as him. Or, maybe not. Not a single one of his exes had been anything like the others, other than the fact they were into a short, broad rugby player whose eyes still watered every time he had to switch to contacts, and the fact they all left him an absolute mess after each and every breakup.

Sighing sadly, Izuku slips down beneath the bubbles and dully examines the mud beneath his fingernails, resolving never to smile in front of Todoroki again unless he was discussing only the cheeriest of topics.

Chapter Text

“Do you think you could convince Tenya to start up rugby?” Ochako says casually over the stack of letters, and Izuku almost grabs hold of her in his excitement.

“Do you think he’d play? He’d be brilliant! Him being so big would make him the perfect player - definitely a prop, I think, which are the biggest players on a team and use their weight and strength to win in a scrum down - or a lock, which Eijirou is, 'cause he's so tall - they lock out their legs to push the scrum forwards to win the ball - but then again, even though he's so big he's fast, and that would make him perfect as a wing - ”

Ochako listens patiently until he runs out of steam, even though she looks completely lost. “I’ve never watched a rugby match,” she confesses, as Izuku pants while he tries to regain his breath. “I haven’t a clue what any of those positions are. What position are you, then?”

“Scrum half. Number nine. I put the ball into the scrum and get it to the fly half - that's the number ten position - but I have to be fast, and make sure I know what’s going on all the time, since I make most of the tactical decisions.” He basks in Ochako’s admiring gaze for a moment, then makes his admission. “It’s also the position that tends to have the shortest player on the field: that’s why Toshinori made me try it out.”

She snorts with laughter, nudging him with her shoulder as she flicks through the pile of letters before her. “Not a position for Tenya, then. No, I think it would do him good - he’s been a bit restless recently, and I think he’s bored. Joining a team and playing a sport would be good, right?”

“Very good. We’ve a nice team, and he already knows me and Eijirou.” He lets himself daydream for a moment, imagining Tenya’s power in a scrum. He would be perfect. “Want me to speak to him?”

“If you could.” She lifts one letter and examines it, just as Izuku peels one from an envelope and starts to read. “Then you could get him in a one-on-one about when he’s going to hurry up and pro- ”

Ochako’s cut off by his yelp, waving a frantic hand to silence her. The letter in his hands is, unfortunately, more pressing than Tenya’s slowness in proposing.

Dear Deku,

It’s me again. I tried to fake confidence and speak to my colleague, but it was no use and I just humiliated myself in front of him. He’s just too bright, and I don’t know how to deal with that. I have no idea what to do now. Come to think of it, I don’t even know if he’s into men.

Best,

Himura

“Look at this!” He nudges Ochako, who mouths along with each word as she reads through the letter.

“Poor guy.” A crease between her brows, she scans the letter once more then sits back. “You should respond to it as a follow-up.”

“Is that a good idea? Would it not imply my advice doesn’t work?” Even as he says it, his mind is made up. He can’t leave Himura in the lurch, not when the man seems so hopelessly incompetent. “What if Todoroki thinks - ”

“Todoroki will see,” Ochako says firmly, “that you’re showing a duty of care to your readers. You give good advice that’s up to them to implement - it’s not your fault that he messed up talking to this guy. By giving him more advice, you’re showing that you actually care about what happens to him. It’ll show how kind you are!”

Izuku dithers, then sighs. Spinning his chair around again and wiggling his mouse, it doesn’t take long for the words to come to mind and his fingers to get typing.

Dear Himura,

I’m so sorry things didn’t work out, but I’m sure you didn’t humiliate yourself. We always take a social faux pas much more to heart than those who witnessed it do. Is there a friend in the office who could speak to him on your behalf? Maybe figure out if he’s straight or not? If he isn’t, that could give you the confidence you need to try again!

Yours,

Deku

He decides it’s prudent to go into it with the hope that the object of Himura’s affections is indeed not straight, instead of the possibility of him not having a single chance with the man. Thinking for a moment, Izuku purses his lips and adds to the end of it.

P.S. - maybe try a less direct approach? Do something helpful for him that’ll start a conversation naturally?

“That’s good,” Ochako says, reading over his shoulder. “Yep. I like that.” She suddenly grabs his hand, smile unnaturally forced. “Just keep looking at me, Deku. Don’t turn around.”

He fights the urge to do exactly that, dread beginning to trickle down his spine. “Why?”

“Because Todoroki is staring at us again. Well. Staring at you.”

Izuku tries very hard to focus on the pink butterfly clip holding back her bangs, but his traitorous eyes flicker to their right. Sure enough, Todoroki’s staring out the window of his office over a coffee, his brow visibly knitted even at this distance.

“You’re sure I should publish that letter?” Izuku whispers, as if Todoroki’s in hearing distance, too. Ochako’s hand tightening down on his have his eyes turning to her again, to her determined expression and the smudge of ink by her ear.

“Yes,” she tells him, voice firm, “and if Todoroki doesn’t like it, he can talk to me. I did debate in high school: he won’t know what hit him.”

On Monday morning, two days after the latest issue of the magazine was published, Izuku’s wiping the fingerprints from his keyboard when a pair of high heels appear before him.

“Midoriya.” He glances up to see that they belong to the magazine’s co-editor, smiling down at him as though he were a dear friend. She leans back against the partition to their left, legs crossing at the ankles. “How are you?”

“I’m good.” He swallows. Yaoyorozu Momo is less terrifying than Todoroki - and they both know she owes him one after he was instrumental in her getting together with Camie - but there’s something distinctly worrying about her appearing at his desk like this, uninvited. “And you?”

“I’m very well, thank you.” The smile’s still in place, her head tilted to one side so that her glossy hair falls over her shoulder. She might as well have gotten her hair and makeup professionally done with how put together she looks, but her calling into a salon before work - or having people employed to do it in her own home - doesn’t seem entirely implausible. “I just thought I’d call by and see how you’re getting on. How you’re enjoying your work.” She pauses. “You do enjoy working here, don’t you?” It doesn’t seem like she’s going to pose the same question to Ochako, staring at the two of them with bewilderment.

“Yes,” he says abruptly, as at once panic rushes through his veins. “Why? Did someone say I wasn’t? If so, they’re lying! I really like this job!”

“No!” Momo says hurriedly, “no, nothing like that!” She suddenly looks as alarmed as Izuku feels, legs now uncrossed and heels firmly planted in the carpet. “We just wanted to know how you’re getting on with things - we being Shouto and I, of course.”

And there it is. He’s offended Todoroki so badly that he’s sent his right-hand woman to carry out the task in his stead. “If he hates my column,” Izuku says, trying to keep his voice as measured as possible, “please just tell me now. If he wants - ” He meant to finish with rid of me, but it stutters to a halt before he can manage it.

Momo simply blinks at him, sooty eyelashes brushing her cheeks. Absently, Izuku wonders how much her mascara costs. “Actually, he likes your column. Really likes it. He appreciates the work you do very much, Midoriya.”

He’s not so sure he believes her. Todoroki certainly doesn’t seem the type to take time out of his day to read his advice, interested to see what advice he gives to quarrelling couples and heartbroken singletons. “Oh,” he says, for a lack of anything more intelligent to say. “I didn’t - well. I wasn’t sure how well an agony aunt column stacked up against - ”

“He loves your column,” Momo says firmly, “because he’s a person who loves love, and thinks there’s nothing more beautiful than being in a relationship where you’re loved and cherished. He thinks that you helping people to achieve that is a wonderful thing.”

Ochako doesn’t even try to hide her incredulous expression, and Izuku can’t blame her. Surely Momo was just paying him lip service? He doubts very much that Todoroki’s a romantic, and for him to be such an advocate of his column? Surely not. Izuku opens his mouth, closes it again, and can only manage an awkward noise of thanks.

“On that topic, will you indulge a little curiosity of mine? Just because you were so helpful in the advice you gave to Camie.” She smiles indulgently, but goes ahead before Izuku can actually respond. “What are you buying your significant other for White Day? Camie’s decided to go off dairy, meaning no chocolates, so I’m stuck for what to get her. I thought you telling me what you were planning might help me with something.”

“Oh.” Even with his back to her, Izuku can feel the pitying look Ochako’s aiming squarely at him. “Well, I’m not buying anything: I don’t have a significant other. But you could - ”

“You don’t?” Momo interjects, and Izuku feels his eyebrows knit together at how inexplicably enthusiastic she sounds. “You aren’t dating anyone?”

“No. I’m not.” He’s sure she can see the irritation in his smile. “No dating whatsoever.”

“But I’m correct in thinking that you had past partners that you bought presents for, right?” Momo says, undeterred. “What did you buy them for White Day? What did they buy you?”

“Mostly chocolates. Since he liked topography, I used to get my ex…” He trails off, uncertain, even as Momo’s eyes light up. His ex what? What exactly was he supposed to call Rody? Thoroughly annoyed, Izuku sighs through his nose and is surprised not to see steam before him. “You can get her something with sentimental value. Jewellery, white clothing, perfume - an engraved bottle of it, maybe. Whatever you think she’d like.”

He doesn’t bother to hide the flatness in his voice, and finally she seems to have realised that he’s not in the mood for her poking and prodding. A flush of pink in her cheeks, Momo stands up straight and attempts a winning smile. “Thank you so much for your help, Midoriya - and for your hard work.”

She turns on her heel and makes her way towards hers and Shouto’s office, Ochako watching her go with an obvious frown. “What is up,” she says under her breath, twisting to face him, “with the bosses in this place and them acting weird to you?”

“I don’t know,” Izuku says mutinously, stabbing down on the space key so hard that it sticks in place, “but it’s starting to really irritate me.” He’d always thought Momo was normal, polite and approachable in a way Todoroki wasn’t. Now, though, he scowls down at his keyboard at the mere thought of her.

“Rich people,” Ochako tells him comfortingly. “They don’t know how to act around people outside of their circles, do they? When I first started dating Tenya, he couldn’t understand why I was living in that shitty little apartment. He was polite enough to never say anything when he came over, but one time I was complaining about it and he asked me why I didn’t just move somewhere nicer.” She snorts, half-pitying, half-disparaging. “Rent and stretching out your pay check isn’t exactly something he’s ever had to think about, not when his parents bought him a penthouse.”

“Well, at least you live in that penthouse now, too,” Izuku says, thinking it would be unfair to agree on Tenya’s cluelessness when the man’s been nothing but kind to him. “I suppose Yaoyarozu’s going to take my advice and buy out an entire perfume shop for Utsushimi.” He sighs, then goes back to Tenya. “I bet they’ve never had Expiry Soup, though.”

Ochako’s grin is so big that it turns her eyes angular, cat-like. “Tenya was horrified when I told him about it: it was so obvious no matter how hard he tried to hide it.” She lowers her voice, taking on a bossier tone. “‘Everything in your cupboards, as long as it’s about to expire? Surely not’. I told him it works out okay after I throw it all in the blender, but he’s yet to try it.”

“I don’t want to use the word coward, but…”

His gaze drifts back to Todoroki’s office. Through the gaps in the blinds, he can see that Todoroki and Yaoyorozu are deep in conversation, heads together and talking fast. Pushing his tongue against his cheek, Izuku takes his glasses off and sets them aside. Leaning in until his nose is almost pressed to the screen in order to make out what he’s typing seems preferable to being able to actually see what the two of them are up to.

“I’m gonna have to start bringing in herbal tea bags,” he tells Katsuki as he approaches him at the coffee machine, frowning down at his latte, “‘cause I’m definitely having too much caffeine in my diet.”

Katsuki responds with a snort rather than actual speech, elbowing him out of the way and stabbing down on the button for a black tea. His self restraint meant he only had a single cup of Skull Crusher coffee a week, and he can still remember how it felt to have Katsuki’s gaze burning into the back of his head when he wandered into the kitchen for yet another cup of coffee.

Slightly wistfully, Izuku thinks back to when he and Katsuki used to live together. Sure, Katsuki was a nightmare when it came to cleaning and barely a day passed where they wouldn’t bicker over something, but it had been fun. They’d gotten along way better than they did when they were kids and, though Hitoshi was a decent cook, he’s never met someone with the same culinary skills as Katsuki. But then Katsuki had come along to one of his rugby matches, and Eijirou - one of the locks, impossibly broad and tall with all the energy of a golden retriever - took one look at the scowling blond huddled beneath an umbrella at the sidelines and fell in love. Well, Izuku rationalises, sipping his latte, they were perfect for each other - and Katsuki was certainly a lot more pleasant to be around since they’d started dating.

“Saw Yaoyorozu over at your desk.” Katsuki’s squinting at him over the rim of his cup, as if expecting Izuku to try and deny it. “What did she want?”

“Oh.” He feels his eyebrows pull together at the memory of Momo leaning against his desk, interrogating him with the most pleasant of smiles. “It was really weird, actually. She was talking to me about work, saying Todoroki liked my column - yeah, right - then asking for suggestions for White Day presents. It really seemed like she got a kick out of finding out I was single, which I never would have expected of her, but there you go.” Izuku shrugs, his mouth twisting.

He expects Katsuki to agree with the weirdness - lambast Momo and Todoroki for their rich cluelessness in an entirely hypocritical way, or else mock him for his singlehood - but it doesn’t come. Tongue pressed to the inside of his cheek, Katsuki’s watching him with a suspicious expression. “I wouldn’t trust either of them as far as you could throw them,” he says abruptly.

Izuku blinks. “What do you mean?”

“They’re both weird as hell. Let them keep paying you, but avoid the bastards as much as possible.” Without elaborating, Katsuki pushes past him and heads off for his desk again. Bewildered, Izuku returns to his own to find Ochako rattling a parcel, leaning in as if expecting to hear what’s inside.

“What did you order? Not more ceramics with how you’re shaking it, I hope.”

“Nope. It’s for you.” She sets the parcel before him, pointing to MIDORIYA IZUKU on the label. “Ojiro just dropped it off, so what did you order?”

“Nothing.” Frowning, Izuku searches his desk until he can find a pair of scissors, then sets about cutting the parcel open. Reaching inside, he pulls out a glossy box of chocolates and stares at it, bewildered. “I definitely didn’t order chocolates.”

“Oh my God,” Ochako whispers, eyes huge. “Tenya bought me a box from that company for my birthday - Deku, they cost, like, an entire week’s wages.”

“Surely not,” he says, unsure if he’s more aghast over the cost of them or the principle of chocolate costing so much money. “Not chocolate, surely.”

“I’m serious!” she insists, seizing the empty parcel and examining it as if clues are hidden in the binding sellotape. “They’re disgustingly expensive, but they’re pretty amazing chocolates. I ate myself into a coma with them while Tenya painted my toenails.”

“Lovely.” He presses his lips together, thinking. “So someone bought these for me and sent them here? It has to be someone who knows where I work.”

“It’s not - ” Ochako pauses, and bites down on her lip. “It couldn’t be from Rody, could it?”

“No,” Izuku says flatly. There’s no point even entertaining the idea. “Definitely not. I don’t think he knows I work here.” He hopes not, anyway. Flipping the box over, he reads out the selection with a false air of calm. “Champagne Truffle... Eton Mess... Neapolitan Macaron… they even sound expensive.”

“They are.” She’s nibbling at her nail now, and he wishes she didn’t look quite so worried. “And you’re sure it’s not - ?”

“Nope. Expensive chocolates from him? You know how broke he always was.” He rips the cellophane from the box with more force than necessary, holding it out towards her. “Go on. You get first pick.”

“Because you love and appreciate me so much?” She offers him a wobbly smile, but picks a Pecan Praline. “Thank you.”

“No worries.” Heart thumping, he stands up and makes his way over to Eijirou, whose eyes are glazed over as he watches a volleyball match. “Chocolate?”

Eijirou shakes his head like a dog, seemingly bringing life back into him. “Aww, man.” His hand hovers over the selection, then swoops down on a Cherry Deluxe. “You’re the best.”

Moving through the office clears most of the box, especially when Sero helps himself to two and Eijirou follows his example. Pausing at the door to Todoroki’s office, Izuku hesitates. He’s not sure he should but, then again, it would be rude if Todoroki had spied him handing the chocolates about but left him out. Squaring his shoulders, Izuku knocks on the door then pushes it open at the low murmur from within.

There’s no sign of Momo. Todoroki’s on his own, frowning at his laptop and rubbing the back of his neck. When he glances up and sees who’s entered, he jerks in his seat. “Midoriya. Hello.” Todoroki looks alarmed at the mere sight of him, sitting bolt upright in his seat. “How can I have you - help you? How can I help you?”

He says his name in an unusual way, Izuku thinks. More Midoriyuh than Midoriya, dragging out the last syllable. Well, whatever. Smiling as best he can, he holds out the box of chocolates. “Someone got these for me, so I wanted to see if you’d like one.”

Todoroki stares at him, mouth a straight line. Izuku tries his best not to quiver under his gaze. Maybe he still resents him for the flippant comment about his broken arm, or hates chocolates, or wishes Izuku was at his desk and working instead of waltzing around the office offering up Pistachio Pralines and Tiramisu Tarts -

“That,” Todoroki says, voice slightly strangled, “would be very kind of you. Thank you.”

Slightly emboldened, Izuku ventures further into the room. He’s never been in Todoroki’s office before, and tries not to stare openly at the furnishings. There’s a few plants dotted over his desk - a leopard lily and a monstera deliciosa, he thinks - and a small framed photo of a woman and child, the boy’s split hair instantly letting him know it’s a younger version of the man before him. “Help yourself to as many as you’d like,” he says, thinking it’s best to appear kind and generous to the man who pays his wages. “Eijirou already had seconds.”

Todoroki examines the contents before he goes for the Eton Mess, setting it before him on the desk instead of straight down his throat like Eijirou did. “Thank you,” he says again, then pauses. “Do you know who bought them for you?”

“No.” Izuku’s smile fades at the memory of Ochako’s speculation. It can’t be, though. He was honest when he pointed out that Rody was constantly broke, and would surely never have spent so much money on something as frivolous as chocolate when he had so many bills to pay. Shaking his head slightly and, with difficulty, he meets Todoroki’s mismatched eyes. “I guess I have a secret admirer or something - that, or it was my mom. Doubtful, though.” He can’t help his laugh at the thought.

He has the strange feeling that Todoroki’s almost smiling, despite the fact his face barely moves. “Doubtful,” he agrees, and Izuku feels a sudden, unexpected rush of heat to his cheeks at the way Todoroki’s looking at him.

“Well, I should be getting on.” He almost trips over his own feet as he makes for the door again, plastering on the best smile he can. “Lots of typing, and - and writing to do - I’ll leave you in peace.”

He thinks he hears Todoroki say that he didn’t mind the interruption as he closes the door behind him, but puts it down to wishful thinking that his boss doesn’t actually mind him. Maybe chocolate just sweetened his presence.

On the way back to his desk, Izuku’s ambushed by Camie whose hands are firmly on her hips. “I heard you were offering chocolates about,” she declares, eyes narrowed, “but you totally ignored me! Were you hinting at something, or did I piss you off?”

“No!” He almost thrusts the chocolates at her in his terror, shaking them under her nose for good measure. “No, Camie, I’m sorry - I just heard that you don’t eat dairy, so I thought it better not to offer it and rub it in, you know?”

She frowns, even as a long nail hovers over the remaining chocolates until she picks a Fudge Sundae. “I do eat dairy. I order frappuccinos in, like, every day. What are you talking about?”

He pauses, staring at her until her eyebrows arch so high that they’re in danger of disappearing into her hairline. “Oh. I must’ve gotten you mixed up with someone else, then.” Suspicion prickles over his skin, even as Camie’s face relaxes into a smile.

“Deffo. Thanks, babes!” She sidesteps him and heads off, leaving Izuku standing alone and wondering what exactly Momo had been up to earlier.

Chapter Text

“What did you think?” he asks Tenya the moment they get into the changing rooms, nerves alight. “Did you like it?”

Tenya - who’d picked up the rules of rugby so fast and was physically so fast that Aizawa almost instantly slotted him into one of the wing positions, only to take an elbow to the face ten minutes in - waits until he’s put on his glasses to respond, blinking through the condensed lenses. “You know what? I actually did.” He smiles down at Izuku, who fights not to punch the air in triumph. “I wasn’t sure about it when Ochako suggested it, but it was fun. Is it every Wednesday you meet?”

“Yep,” Izuku says, smug in the knowledge he’s just secured the team a great new player. “No matter the weather, we’re here.”

“Good, good.” The glasses are off again as Tenya strips, skin and clothes splattered with mud. Izuku decides not to tell him there’s a bruise already blooming on his cheekbone. “I’ll keep coming, then, if you don’t mind.” 

“Of course we don’t mind!” Eijirou booms as he appears behind them, already naked as he slaps Tenya on the back. “We’re happy to have you, man. Why did you never tell me you were related to Usain Bolt? You have to be, being able to sprint like that! ” 

“Thank you.” Izuku can tell that Tenya is fighting not to look down as Eijirou stands with his hands on his hips, innocently beaming. “We’re not related, as far as I’m aware.”

“Maybe a long-lost, distant cousin then.” Shrugging, Eijirou heads off towards the showers. Tenya breathes a visible sigh of relief and, mouth twisting, Izuku leans in. 

“I wouldn’t call him an exhibitionist, exactly, but you’ll get used to it. It would be weirder if he slunk around trying to cover himself up, actually.”

“Yes,” Tenya agrees, squinting at him now the glasses have disappeared again, “I suppose so. I just didn’t expect - ”

“The way he stands,” Izuku finishes, pulling his shirt over his head. “I get it. It’s almost impossible not to look, right? Anyway, you need to get onto wearing contact lenses - honestly, they’re a godsend instead of constantly straining to see where the ball’s gone - ”

In work the next day, there’s only one topic of discussion. “Poor Tenya,” Izuku says when he meets Katsuki at the coffee machines, casting a sympathetic look over at the man. “His face looks so sore behind his glasses. He got it when he came along with me to rugby last night.”

“I know, idiot. Eijirou told me.” Katsuki’s lip curls as he glances in Tenya’s direction, the other man frantically typing away at something. On the other side of the room, Eijirou looks like he’s snoozing on his keyboard. “Did anyone tell him that the wings aren’t involved in a scrum?”

“He was an outside casualty.” Despite the fact he turned his nose up at playing and would much rather watch Eijirou than participate, Katsuki knew every single rugby play and rule that there was. Izuku wouldn’t be surprised if it ever came out that Katsuki sat down and studied the game simply to coach Eijirou himself. “Anyway, it didn’t ruin his enjoyment of it. I think that was the main thing Ochako wanted him to get out of playing.” 

Perhaps out of respect for her, Katsuki doesn’t comment. “She still waiting on a proposal?” he says instead, jabbing at his tea bag with a spoon. “At this point she should just hurry up and ask the idiot herself.”

“Uh-huh.” He eyes Katsuki. “When are you and Eijirou gonna get married? I’m surprised it hasn’t happened already.”

Katsuki snorts, scooping out the teabag and aiming it at the bin, then shaking off the droplets of tea in Izuku’s direction. “What’s it to you? We’ll do it when we feel like it. I’d much rather elope than deal with all the shit of planning a wedding, which is a load of bull- ”

He stops quite abruptly, staring at Izuku. Maybe he can see the way he’s chewing his tongue, or else the way his arms are folded so tightly across his chest that they’re trembling. There’s a pronounced pause, all while the low ambience of chatter and typing continues behind them.

“I’m sorry,” Katsuki says at last. For him to actually say the words lets Izuku know that he means it. “That wasn’t a jibe.”

“I know,” Izuku tells him, suddenly weary. “It’s fine. I just - ” He breaks off and the silence returns, as tense as before but for a vastly different reason. Katsuki’s gaze drifts over his shoulder, and Izuku watches the pronounced frown lines etch themselves into his brow. Before he can question him Katsuki pushes away from the counter and turns on his heel, stalking back to his desk without another word and leaving Izuku standing on his own, blinking.

“Midoriya.”

The pronunciation of his name lets him know at once that it’s Todoroki, and that he’s the reason why Katsuki disappeared so suddenly. Izuku twists to face him, almost slopping his coffee over his hand with the motion. “Hey,” he says breathlessly because, for some reason, the arrival of Todoroki has left him breathless and his heart racing. “I’m just - my head was hurting staring at my screen for so long - ”

“Take as long as you need away from your desk,” Todoroki interrupts, his tone graver than his words. “You don’t want to strain your eyes, or give yourself a headache.“

“I - no. Thank you.” Todoroki nods, and Izuku’s left fumbling for something else to say. Why is it so awkward to talk to his boss? He can talk to anyone - his mother’s reminisced enough times about how talkative he was the moment he gained the ability to speak, chattering to every other patron in the supermarket, or passenger on the train, or patient at the doctor’s office, all without the apparent inability to think of what to say in the way Todoroki leaves him tongue-tied -

“I didn’t want to ask him directly,” Todoroki says, relieving him of conjuring up a conversation topic, “but…” He leans in. Izuku’s forced to look at his white eyelashes and the bow of his lip, and it takes everything in him not to quiver at the sight of them. “Why does Iida have a black eye?”

“Oh!” His laugh is slightly hysterical, half-relieved at the innocence of the question and half-terrified by their close proximity. “Oh, it’s just from rugby! He’s started playing with me, you see - I mean, literally just started, he’s only been to one practice - and he got an elbow to the eye in a scrum. It’s normal, though! Rugby’s a seriously high-intensity sport, and thank God he realised that instead of writing it off, because he’s got the potential to be an amazing player, and I would’ve been so embarrassed if I brought him along and he hated it, so the fact that he liked it and was so enthusiastic about coming along to the practice next week - ”

He prattles on until he eventually loses steam. “I see,” Todoroki says, studying him. Izuku would expect his forehead and around his eyes to be more lined, what with how much he frowns, but they’re smooth and unblemished. Genetics, he supposes: a predisposition for excellent skin any dermatologist would die for. Some people really had all the luck - but, then again, he probably shouldn’t spend so much time at the beach anytime it’s sunny, what with the whole exposure to UV and the wildly ageing properties of the sun - 

“I - ” Todoroki opens his mouth, effectively cutting Izuku’s rambling thoughts off, only to then close it again. He sounds almost embarrassed when speech finally returns to him. “I don’t know a single thing about rugby, other than there being a scrum involved somewhere. And it seems very violent.”

“Oh.” It’s definitely not the first time he’s heard someone say they don’t know anything about rugby, but it’s also not the reaction he was expecting from Todoroki. “Well, it’s a fun sport. It’s rough, yes, but it’s not deliberately violent: the referee steps in if someone’s not being sportsmanlike. I like it for strategising, and because my stepdad introduced me to it. I used to be this skinny little weakling who had the confidence of a cardboard box, so getting started with rugby really - ”

He suddenly breaks off, heat flooding his cheeks. Could he portray himself as any more of a loser to Todoroki? A loser who spent his free time playing what he thought was a bloody, vicious sport, even though Toshinori was the least violent person he knew and had never even raised his voice in front of him. He’s not sure if he can decipher the expression Todoroki’s wearing, or if he even wants to.

“It’s a great sport,” he says firmly, before Todoroki can open his mouth and say otherwise. “You respect the other players on the field, you don’t set out to hurt them, and everything’s resolved with handshakes and pints after the match. There’s no bad blood in it.”

Todoroki’s back to studying him again. It takes everything in Izuku to keep his spine straight and not bow under the intensity of his gaze. It still feels like Todoroki isn’t fond of him, or at least doesn’t know what to make of him - but surely he would be paranoid to still think the man wants rid of him? He wouldn’t be having a conversation with him about something outside of work otherwise, would he? Swallowing hard, Izuku holds his ground.

“I suppose it’s like icy hockey,” Todoroki says at long last, and his tone is contemplative, not dismissive. “My brother plays it, and despite the fact he’s had a broken collarbone and a few concussions, he’s the least violent person I know.” 

Izuku feels some of the tension leave him, and he conjures up a smile for Todoroki. “It’s all the adrenaline, you know? Yeah, it’s potentially dangerous, but that’s why there’s a referee and skull caps. My stepdad always insisted I wear one, so.” He knocks his knuckles against his head. “No fractures so far.”

“I should hope not.” Despite his jovial tone, it seems Todoroki took his words seriously. “Well, thank you for letting me know.” For a moment Todoroki lingers, as if gearing himself up to say something else. Then, quite abruptly, he nods and disappears in the direction of his office. Grabbing his coffee from the counter, Izuku finds he’s cheerier than he really ought to be, given that it was just a regular conversation with his boss.

“What was Todoroki talking to you about?” Ochako hisses as he returns to his desk, eyes darting between him and the door of Todoroki’s office. In response, he beams at her.

“Rugby, actually. I think I converted him from a sceptic into grudgingly accepting it as a sport not played by total cavemen. It was all because of Tenya’s black eye - he wanted to know if he was okay.”

“Oh.” Ochako blinks. “That was really sweet of him. You know he crept back into the apartment as if I was going to freak out at the sight of him? When he nearly had a nervous breakdown when boxing gave me a black eye, and I told him to calm down and accept that it was an unfortunate side effect! I just gave him a packet of frozen peas and all of my sympathy.”

“It’s all you can do, I suppose.” He thinks of Hitoshi - quiet, reliable Hitoshi, who always seemed to produce ice packs whenever Izuku limped in with a new bruise or blemish. “I found something out, though: Todoroki has a brother.”

“Ooh, I wonder what he’s like?” she says eagerly, stopping typing to turn around and face him with a gleam in her eyes. “Younger? Older? Shorter? Handsomer?”

“Todoroki’s really handsome,” Izuku says, without thinking, “so that’s doubtful.”

Silence stretches out between them. They stare at each other and Izuku watches as her lips part, her mouth lax as she’s left speechless. It’s easier to stare at Ochako than to confront what he’s just said, or acknowledge the fact his stomach is tying itself into knots. “Oh my God,” Ochako breathes at last, eyes huge. “You think Todoroki’s handsome?”

“No,” he says immediately, heart feeling like a jackhammer against his ribs. “No, I don’t - it was just a slip - I didn’t - not - ”

He lets out a wheeze, and Sero’s head appears over the cubicle divider beside theirs. “Everything okay, Midoriya? Do you need an inhaler?”

“He’s fine!” Ochako barks, grinning so forcefully that Sero, blinking, has no option but to return to his computer. She rounds on Izuku, who’s currently clutching a hand to his chest and wondering if it’s possible for internal organs to spontaneously combust. “Please tell me,” she says in a lower voice, clutching onto his arm, “that you didn’t mean what you just said.”

“No,” Izuku gurgles, holding her arm like a lifeline, “no, no, no - ”

“Exactly!” she insists, apparently taking his internal turmoil over the realisation as agreement. “You don’t think Todoroki’s handsome, you aren’t interested in him, and he’s just our scary boss. That’s a can of worms you have zero interest in getting into, right? Right?” She shakes him slightly for emphasis. 

“I was talking on a purely aesthetic basis,” Izuku manages, though thinks it might be to convince himself more than Ochako. “Just stating the fact that he’s conventionally very attractive. Straight nose. Good jawline. Long eyelashes.” He stops himself before he can move to the topic of Todoroki’s lips, sure that in doing so his organs really would explode.

“And he’s got that whole heterochromia and mysterious scar going on, too.” They’d been walking past his office one day when the blinds had been half-opened and Todoroki had been half-turned away from them, too focused on reapplying foundation around his eye to catch them gawking at the red scar tissue he was trying to hide. Izuku hadn’t breathed a word of it to anyone else, but couldn’t help noticing after that that the skin on the right side of Todoroki’s face was ever so slightly textured even beneath layers of concealer. Ochako sits back, evaluating him. Then, out of nowhere: “He is far better looking than anyone you’ve ever dated, though.”

“You just spent the last minute telling me to avoid him!” Izuku cries, stung. “What are you saying that for? What was the reason?!”

“Playing devil’s advocate,” she says at once. “Not that Todoroki is the devil or anything, but… well. He’s rich, he’s handsome, we don’t think he wants to fire you anymore… but maybe dating him then breaking up would make him want to fire you to avoid the awkwardness… though he’d have a lawsuit on his hands for unfair dismissal, then, and he could turn out to be the best person you’ve ever had despite how terrifying he is…”

She hums and rubs her chin in thought. Izuku scrubs his hands over his face, runs his hands through his curls, and fights the urge to yank tufts of his hair out. “I can’t,” Izuku says flatly, firmly. “I won’t. It was just a slip. And why would Todoroki even be interested in me? I haven’t got money, I’m about a head shorter than him, I’ve got eyesight like a mole - ”

“So what if you’ve got severe myopia, astigmatism and an expensive prescription?” Ochako snaps. “You’re a catch! You’ve got the nicest smile of everyone I’ve ever met, you’re kind, you’re funny - ”

“Oh, yeah,” he says, voice dripping with sarcasm, “because the main thing Todoroki would look for in a person is that they’re kind.” Izuku shakes himself, pressing his lips together in a tight line. “I don’t like talking about this. It feels weird.”

“Hmm.” He doesn’t like the look in Ochako’s eyes as she turns to her laptop, wiggling her mouse to make it spring back to life again. “I suppose so.”

“It is weird,” he insists hotly, “talking about our boss like he’s a potential - ”

He falls silent as Camie strolls past, noisily sucking at her frappuccino through a straw. Seeing as it’s laden with cream, Izuku’s once again reminded of Momo’s lie about her avoiding dairy, and of Katsuki’s warning to stay away from them. “Todoroki,” he says firmly when Camie’s back at her desk, flexing his fingers over his mouse, “is not a potential boyfriend. He’s not even a potential crush. He’s a little bit scary, but mainly a lot out of my league. Anyway,” he adds, abandoning his mouse and attacking the pile of letters, “I’m off dating. I’ve given up on it.”

Ochako arches her eyebrows, leaning back in her chair. “You have? How come?”

“Because I have no luck with dating. I have a terrible habit of picking the worst, most selfish, most unreliable - ah-ha!” He stops shifting through the letters when he recognises the handwriting of one, plucking it free and holding it aloft. “Here’s someone with worse luck than me, though!”

“Himura?” Ochako says eagerly and he nods, ripping the letter open as she leans forwards. He scans it - then scans it again, and groans.

“Oh, God. Listen to this.” With Ochako wide eyed beside him, Izuku clears his throat and begins to read it aloud.

Dear Deku,

Thank you so much for your advice. I found out that he wasn’t straight and I’ve spoken to him multiple times, with actual conversations.  

“That’s good!” Ochako says brightly. “It shows your advice worked!” 

“Not exactly.” Grimacing, Izuku gets back to the letter.

Now I just have to work out how to tell him I’m in love with him. I’ve never felt this way about anyone else, and I’m certain that this is it. If I could ask - how would you best like to hear that someone’s in love with you? 

Best,

Himura

“Ah.” Ochako sits back, sucking her teeth. “Yeah. Ouch. That’s not good.”

“Not at all,” Izuku says, thinking fast. “I have to talk him out of it. What type of person thinks they’re in love with someone after a few conversations?”

“Someone very lonely, who’s probably yearning to be loved. They have all my sympathy. You should ask Todoroki if this can be a whole extra thing, though,” Ochako muses. “A Dear Himura column alongside your regular one, with specialised advice for this poor, foolish singleton.”

“Definitely not. Imagine if other people wanted their own column, too.” Still, the sympathy for Himura has returned, even with the knowledge he might be a stage five clinger. Cracking his knuckles, Izuku gets to work.

Dear Himura,

First off - that’s great! I’m really happy for you! Second - do not confess your love to him. At this stage, you can’t be certain if it’s love or infatuation. Actually, I’m telling you now that it’s infatuation. The quickest way to scare him off is to confess your love to him this early in the game!! Just keep doing what you’re doing by having conversations with him, getting to know him better, and developing a relationship in a natural, healthy way. Why don’t you try hanging out with him outside of work? If you’re nervous about being with him one on one, maybe you can get to know him better through a group activity!

Yours,

Deku

“There,” he says, satisfied, leaning back and rereading his work. “Slow and steady wins the race, and he’s less chance of scaring this guy off if he takes it slow.”

“Yep,” Ochako says, reading over his shoulder, “nice one. But imagine if he confessed his love, they had a wild night of passion together, and then poor Himura wakes up to find that this guy is the crazy one. Like, Patrick Bateman in American Psycho crazy.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Izuku says mildly, saving the document and sending it her way for editing. “If this guy is as genuinely sweet and as liked as he says he is, I’d give him the benefit of the doubt. The chances of him being a hardcore criminal are hopefully slim to none.” Ochako opens her mouth then snaps it shut almost at once, and Izuku scowls at her. “Yeah, okay, okay. Sometimes people end up dating criminals. I didn’t think she was capable of that, alright?”

“Well,” Ochako, who seems to be making a great effort to stay polite, says. “Let’s just hope Himura has more luck than you.”

“I’ll say,” Izuku mutters, trying his best to focus on the other letters and not on his ex-girlfriend’s prison sentence - or the fact that, despite the sensible part his brain telling him he should be thinking the exact opposite, how attractive his boss abruptly was.

He’s reminded of it later that evening when Hitoshi asks how his day was, face buried in the spice rack. “Good,” he says absently, pushing the slices of chicken around the pan to try and beautifully brown the edges. “I talked to my boss about rugby today, dispelling the myth that it’s a violent sport full of people trying to kill each other.” 

“I think it’s a violent sport,” Hitoshi says, whose sporting activities are confined to long walks while listening to true crime podcasts. He emerges from the cupboard, waving the container of turmeric. “Any sport where there’s an injury in every single match is violent.”

“Sometimes the injuries are only bruises,” Izuku protests - which, judging by Hitoshi’s expression, goes down like a lead balloon. “Well, at least I changed his opinion. He seemed to respect me afterwards, I think. Just a little bit.”

“The terrifying boss you thought wanted to fire you?” Izuku nods, and Hitoshi raises his eyebrows. “Huh. Maybe he doesn’t hate you, then.” 

Izuku thinks of the way Ochako looked at him - the way Todoroki looked at him, in a way that seemed totally innocent before his best friend started filling his head with nonsense about how attractive the man was - and feels his cheeks flame red. Humiliated, he bends over the pan and pretends to be engrossed in how the chicken’s cooking.

It’s a mark of Hitoshi’s loyalty that - unlike questioning him as Ochako and Katsuki surely would - he merely raises his eyebrows and sets about boiling the rice, leaving Izuku to wallow in his newfound misery.

Chapter Text

From: [email protected]
To: All Employees
Subject: Team Building Activities

Dear all,

It has been raised to management that we should organise some fun, team building exercises outside of office hours. This is something that we are very keen on implementing, as we would like to make this workplace as enjoyable and co-operative as possible. Therefore, please send through suggestions to me on activities you would like to participate in alongside your colleagues. This can be anything from a group dinner, to an excursion, or even a sporting activity. We are aware that several of you are members of a certain sports team: if we could perhaps organise something around this, such as supporting your team at a match or event, then even better. We would like this office to be not only a place of work, but a place where you can bond with others and get to know them on a level outside of their daily work quota.

Everything will, of course, be fully comped by the company. Submissions close on Friday at midday.

Best wishes,

Yaoyorozu Momo
Deputy Editor

“When they say that everything will be comped,” Ochako muses, skimming the email once more, “I wonder how much you could get away with? Like, could you order twenty bowls of something at a restaurant?”

“It’ll probably be a specific amount per person. And, no, probably not enough for twenty bowls.” Ochako sighs while Izuku rubs at his neck, thinking. It’s difficult when the sun’s beating in from the window behind them, the heat making his head feel as though it’s stuffed with cotton wool. “I wonder who suggested we all do something outside of work?”

“No idea. It’s not Tenya, anyway; he’s spending all his free time on his model of the Flying Scotsman. There’s some sort of issue with the wheels, so he - oh! That gives me an idea!” She wheels around to her laptop and hunches over it, furiously typing out a response to Momo. When Izuku tries to take a look, he gets an elbow to his stomach. “Don’t look! I don’t want you copying me!”

“I wasn’t,” he says sourly, massaging his ribs. Since when did she have such pointy elbows? Sighing, he turns away and lets his gaze drift over the office. There’s few people responding to Momo with as much zeal as Ochako: Eijirou’s too busy eating a sandwich at his desk, Sero’s got his head down and writing, and Katsuki is, of course, typing like he’s trying to beat his words per minute record. 

Inevitably, he turns to look at Todoroki’s office. The blinds are open today, exposing the man sitting at his desk and focusing all his attention on frowning at his laptop. It’s a relief that he’s not staring out at them and Izuku isn’t under his watchful gaze, given the awful, petrifying realisation he’d come to last week: that he might just have a crush on the manager he’s been so scared of for so long now. On a list of the most irrational things he’s ever done, being attracted to the man who seems to blow so hot and cold with him and could fire him in an instant ranks pretty highly. It was definitely irrational to stare at Todoroki for longer than was necessary, marvelling over his heterochromia and high cheekbones. And the curve of his jaw. And the way his hair fell in his eyes as he leaned forwards to type. And the bow of his mouth when he - 

Izuku forces himself to look away from Todoroki’s office, focusing instead on this week’s batch of letters. Momo’s email had proved a welcome distraction from the last one he’d opened and had spent a good twenty minutes agonising over how to respond, and it’s with some trepidation that he returns to it.

Dear Deku,

I was in a relationship with my ex-partner for four years. I finally broke things off when I arrived home to find them with someone else in our bed, and it wasn’t the first time they’d cheated on me. I packed my things and left, and I’m so much happier single and out of the relationship, but even though months have passed, my ex won’t leave me alone. They kept contacting me telling me that they’re changed, blaming other circumstances in their life for them cheating in the first place, and that I owe it to them to give them another chance. Now even some of our mutual friends have started on me, telling me to take them back, but it’s the last thing I want to do and I’m struggling with the constant pressure and contact. All I want is to be left alone and to move on. What can I do?

Thank you,

Anonymous

He rakes his hands through his curls as he rereads the email. It was one of the occasional ones where the help needed bordered on them needing legal help, not just advice from a guy who cried at every sad advertisement on television. A great surge of dislike rushes through him at the thought of the unsupportive friends of the story, so unlike Hitoshi’s quiet reliance, Ochako’s fierce loyalty, or even Katsuki picking up his phone to scream abuse down the line at Yo when he wouldn’t stop calling him and demanding that they talk.

Dear Anonymous,

Clearly what's happened here is that your ex has realised they've made a monumental mistake in driving you away with their behaviour. It was their decision to cheat on you, and no matter what they say about changing, their attitude clearly hasn’t changed if they’re still treating you with such little respect and demanding a chance they haven’t earned. Don't allow anyone to shame or cajole you back into a relationship you don't want to be in, and one that was terrible for you! Block, delete, change your contact details if you have to - and as for the mutual friends who are ganging up on you too? Get rid of them - they aren’t your real friends if they don’t see the toll the harassment is taking on you. Tell them all that in no certain terms will you ever get back together with this person, that it ends here, and that if the harassment doesn’t stop, you’ll be looking for a restraining order next. Stay strong - you can do this.

Best,

Deku

He briefly wonders if the writer also had the misfortune of dating Yo, and if he was the ex in question. As far as he knows Yo didn’t cheat on him, but the wheedling and constant, incessant contact certainly fit. Didn’t he end up moving to Seoul for his job, though? Izuku goes back to his age-old resolve of not checking up on people who hurt him, determinedly avoiding LinkedIn as he saves the file with his response. 

Trying not to think of his exes - or the manager sitting in the office directly opposite him, now stirring his coffee cup - Izuku returns to Momo’s email and sends back a bland suggestion of them all going bowling together. 

As it turns out, Momo ignores his suggestion entirely and cuts her decision making time two days short.

From: [email protected]
To: All Employees
Subject: Responses to potential Team Building Activities

Dear all,

Thank you for the suggestions I received with regards to what activities we can do as a group outside of work. Having spoken to our Sports Editor, Kirishima Eijirou, we have arranged for participating colleagues to watch his rugby team in their next friendly match on Saturday afternoon, followed by drinks. The company will provide three free drinks per person: please keep your receipts.

If you would like to come along with us to watch the match and enjoy drinks with us afterwards, please fill in this spreadsheet confirming your attendance. In addition, please read the Code of Conduct guide, as you will be representing the company and are expected to conduct yourselves in an exemplary manner, both for the sake of your colleagues and the general public. If you have any queries about any of this, please reach out to me.

Best wishes,

Yaoyorozu Momo
Deputy Editor

Izuku reads the email twice, tongue pressed against his teeth. “Did you suggest this?” he says abruptly, twisting to face Ochako.

She stops shuffling papers and blinks at him. “No, I suggested we go to the railway museum in Saitama. Tenya loves it there.” 

“Huh.” He frowns, reads the email once more, then pushes himself out of his chair and heads towards Eijirou’s desk.

Cluttered is a polite way to describe it; Izuku thinks that Katsuki would go with something like chaotic, or horrendous. The surface is covered in scribbled notes, print-outs, half-drunk cups of coffee, and more often than not the odd Rubik’s cube or pile of Pokemon cards. Izuku knows for a fact that Katsuki spends the last hour of his day tidying the whole mess up, and attacking Eijirou with his handheld vacuum if interrupted. Maybe it’s a sign of appreciation, then, that Eijirou has a framed photo of the two of them beside his laptop, where Katsuki’s in a headlock and scowling while Eijirou beams. “Hey,” Izuku says as he approaches, noting that his desk isn’t quite as messy as normal today. Eijirou’s slumped sideways and unshaven, looking close to dozing off as he watches a golf match on his monitor. “I just read Momo’s email. How did you get that organised?”

“She came to me, man. Someone must’ve suggested it.” Eijirou shrugs, shaking himself back to attention and spinning around in his chair to face him. “She knew me, you and Tenya played together, so she asked if everyone could come and watch our next match.” He stretches back and yawns hugely, every one of his pointed teeth on show. Behind him, the golfer takes a slow putt on the green. “Something about supporting us, I dunno.”

“How much will they enjoy it, though? They might not know what’s happening on the pitch.” He can’t imagine going around each of them in turn to give a crash course on the fundamentals of rugby, and Katsuki doing it seems even more unlikely. He certainly can’t imagine someone like Momo watching a rugby match and finding it more fun than, say, a trip to the museum.

“Already on it. I’m sending out a mass email later with a guide on when to cheer and when to groan.” Eijirou grins at him, lurching forwards in his chair again. “Plus, suggestions on good rugby YouTube channels. You know what they say about young people being reliant on technology, so I was working with that.”

Izuku leans against his desk, accepting defeat. For how bizarre the initial thought of their colleagues coming to watch their match is, he supposes it’s just a kind attempt to show them support. “Did she say who’s coming?”

“Uhh…” Eijirou frowns at the ceiling. “Her, Camie… I know Hanta’s already going… Ojiro from the mailroom… oh, Todoroki is as well - ”

“Todoroki’s going?” Izuku interjects sharply, feeling as though someone has just thrown a bucket of cold water over him.

“Yeah. Something about the magazine’s owner directly supporting his staff.” Eijirou seems nonplussed at his attendance, rolling his head from side to side. “When she told me I was like, okay, cool. Maybe he can sponsor new uniforms for us or something, I dunno. I’m always afraid my ass is gonna rip right through those shorts.”

Izuku can already feel the sweat dripping down the back of his neck. Todoroki, coming to watch him play? Todoroki, his boss, his newfound-definitely-not-crush seeing him outside of work, potentially embarrassing himself during a match? What if he took a boot to the face and broke his nose? It would solidify all of Todoroki’s assumptions of it being a violent game, dooming Izuku forever in his eyes and maiming him in the process - but surely he’d changed his opinion on the sport after their conversation, if he was making the effort to attend? Why was he even attending? For such a quiet, closed-off man to decide to come along and support them, potentially getting a drink with them afterwards, potentially spending time with him in a setting where he didn’t have to be -

“Cool,” is all Izuku manages, his voice a wheeze. “Todoroki. That’s cool.”

“What’s that old song go like? What’s cool than cooler?” Eijirou’s brow furrows. “No, that’s not right. “What’s cooler than cooler?”

“Dunno.” Izuku’s already backing away, sure his knees will give in the second his anxiety peaks and finding himself wholly unable to correct the lyrics for him. “Enjoy your golf.”

He almost sprints away from Eijirou and back to safety, heart thumping as though it’s about to explode. “Todoroki’s coming,” he gasps to Ochako when he makes it back to their desks, collapsing into his seat. “He’s coming to watch the match.”

She spins in her chair to face him, eyebrows raised. Izuku tries not to crumble under her stare. “Todoroki’s coming to watch the match,” she repeats, but it’s more suspicious than anything. “Huh. Interesting.”

“Why are you saying it like that?” he whimpers, already knowing what the response will be.

“Because why would Todoroki come along to one of the matches?” she challenges, her tone vastly different to Izuku’s agonised internal monologue. “I find it veryyy interesting that he didn’t like the sound of rugby before he spoke to you, and now he’s coming along to watch a match. To watch you play.”

“I know what you’re doing, and please.” He reaches out, clasping both her hands in his. “Stop it.”

“I’m not doing anything.” Ochako stares him in the eye, mouth set. “What do you think I’m doing?”

“Trying to make something of this when - when there’s nothing there. When he probably just wants to show support to three colleagues at once.” It’s extremely difficult not to wilt, what with her fierce expression, but Izuku keeps his spine straight and his eyes on hers. “When Todoroki is definitely not interested in me outside of enjoying my column.”

“Whatever you say,” Ochako tells him, voice deliberately airy. “After all, you said you were off dating, weren’t you? So it wouldn’t even matter if Todoroki was coming along to the rugby match in the hopes of catching you in the showers afterwards and ramming his - ”

Turning away from her and pulling his headphones on, Izuku sets to work answering letters and resolves to ignore her for the rest of the day. Two hours in and a stack more letters done, he decides that, if Todoroki did end up firing him, then the only option would be to pack his things and join a monastery in Tibet.

Thankfully, Todoroki is the furthest thing from Izuku’s mind on Saturday morning thanks to the deluge of rain from above and Tenya’s struggle with his contacts. “Keep looking up,” Izuku says bracingly, standing over him as Tenya sits on one of the benches in the changing rooms and stares at the ceiling, hands clenched in his lap. “That’s it. Just two little droplets and - ”

He deftly squeezes two drops from the bottle into Tenya’s eyes. To his credit, the bigger man only flinches then blinks valiantly, his eyelashes spiked from the moisture. “Thank you. They’re just so dry. ”

“You get used to them,” Izuku advises, tossing the eye drops back into his bag and zipping it up. “Daily lenses are easier to deal with than monthly lenses, anyway. You could take them out right after the match and switch back to your glasses, if you want.”

“I think I will. Thank you,” he repeats, standing up and stretching. Peering out the window, Tenya frowns at the heavy grey layer of storm clouds above as they empty themselves onto the pitch, turning the green into a great brown sludge. “Looks like it’ll be fun with that weather.” His tone suggests anything but.

“Oh, it’s just a bit of mud,” Izuku says bracingly, “you’ll get used to it. Just be glad the showers got fixed a few weeks ago!” Clapping him on the back he heads out of the changing rooms to join the rest of the team, studded soles clacking against the tiles.

He’s got his usual pre-match jitters, but his nerves are more average than overwhelming as Eijirou shakes hands with the other team’s captain. A quick Google search had led him to several of Shiketsu’s training videos, from which he was able to glean their playing style and report back on tactics that could be used against them. There was a humongous and slightly terrifying player in the number four jersey in the videos, but he seems to have been replaced by a smaller, slimmer player as they line up in position.

The rain’s heavier than ever when they trudge back into the changing rooms at half time, soaked to the skin but leading 13-8. “It’s close,” Eijirou says as they huddle in a circle, his hair plastered to his forehead, “and we’re doing well, but we need to put more of a distance in the score.” He glances over at Izuku. “What are you thinking?

“I’m thinking that we mostly stay as we are, but with a few changes. You and Tetsu should focus on the number four lock more in this half - he’s way smaller than either of you, and nothing like the guy they usually have in that position. It’ll be easy for you to break through his defence if you’re focusing on him. ” Strategising is almost second nature to him, ideas and pathways opening up to him even during the match. Eijirou and Tetsutetsu nod along, and he looks at Awase. “When I get the ball to you, just focus on kicking it down the field into touch. I know it’s hard to get a grip on the pitch in the field - it’s hard for me to hold my grip on the ball - but put all your attention into getting more points.”

“No problem,” Awase grunts, as stone-faced as always.

“Denki?” He turns to the man, who’s shoving a hairband on to try and keep his sopping hair back from his forehead. “Try to focus on running in this half and not passing from the ruck.”

“No problem,” Denki says mournfully. “Just don’t be surprised if running turns into swimming through that mud.”

“Atta boy.” Eijirou slaps him on the back, almost thrusting him forwards with the strength of it. “Get out there and do a front crawl any Olympian would be proud of.”

The door opens, and Ochako appears in a huge parka and hat. “I brought you tea!” She lugs a great thermos of it and disposable cups out of her bag, and a murmur of appreciation goes around the group. “You must be freezing! I know I am, and I’m not covered in mud.” She glances at Tenya’s sodden shirt, but refrains from commenting as she starts pouring tea into the cups and handing them out with a dazzling smile.

“Todoroki’s here,” she hisses when she reaches Izuku, eyebrows raised significantly. “He’s not very chatty, but he’s very interested in the match. Yaoyorozu had to practically shout to get his attention when she was offering him a coffee and she was standing right by him.”

“Oh.” The butterflies are back in his stomach, and he downs the tea in an attempt to drown them. Tongue burnt and eyes watering, he tries his best to shrug nonchalantly. “Maybe - he said his brother plays ice hockey. Maybe he just wants to have something to talk to him about.”

“Hmm.” Ochako frowns at him and moves to pour the next cup of tea, and Izuku makes sure to put a wide berth between them until she disappears and they’re piling out onto the pitch once more.

He can’t help himself: as they’re getting into positions, shoes sinking into the muddy ground, Izuku glances up into the stands. He recognises his colleagues immediately thanks to the two women huddled at the edge of the group on the far right of the stands. Dressed in a fur coat and matching hat, Camie looks deeply disgusted at the weather, arms wrapped tightly around her waist and hugging herself against the cold. Momo’s slightly more sensibly dressed in a trench coat and bright red scarf, and, to her left -

Izuku can’t help but stare, slack-jawed. It was just unfair for Todoroki to look so good on such a wet, miserable day; for him to be so coolly, effortlessly handsome in a long, dark coat that contrasted his hair so well, standing with his hands in his pockets and gaze focused on the pitch as the whistle blows and -

Shit. The whistle. Somehow Izuku stumbles his way through four more scrums and a hell of a lot of sprinting, trying his best not to let his attention drift back to the spectators in the stands. It’s only by some miracle that the game ends 33-10 to them, and the other players clapping his back seem not to have noticed that he was playing through brain fog.

He briefly contemplates drowning himself in the showers after the match, standing beneath the head of one with his face tilted into the spray. His tragic death would mean he wouldn’t have to worry about facing his colleagues in the clubhouse - colleagues being Todoroki and Todoroki alone. Leaning back and scrubbing at his face, Izuku sighs to himself at the sight of the mud beneath his fingernails and grabs a bar of soap. At least he won’t be absolutely filthy when he re-emerges into the world, and someone who people might actually want to sit beside without fear of dirtying themselves. All the same, he takes longer than usual trying to tame his hair before he heads out, and firmly puts his reasoning down to just because. 

His nerves diminish slightly when he reaches the clubhouse and is immediately grabbed by Eijirou, who hauls him through the crowds at the bar and over to their group of friends tucked in the corner. “I thought you’d been sucked right down the plughole!” the redhead tells him, grinning widely. “Get over here, get yourself sitting down - we’ve got a beer for you, but it wasn’t fun trying to stop Katsuki being nasty and drinking it before you could get to it - ”

Perhaps as a result of his thievery being foiled, Katsuki has his arms folded and scowling deeply when Izuku reaches them. He slides into place beside Tenya, with Ochako and Denki huddled around the table as well. “Let’s reschedule the next match that takes place on a bad day,” Denki says at once, his fingertips still red from the cold. “I can’t deal with all that mud again.”

“Wimp,” Katsuki mutters into the neck of his beer. Rolling her eyes, Ochako takes hold of both of Izuku’s hands and rubs them between hers.

“Oh, you’re not that cold! That’s good.” She releases him, grabbing her orange juice instead. “You all played really well! You played brilliantly,” she tells Tenya, beaming at him. “Wasn’t it a great decision to start playing?”

“Yes.” He looks a great deal happier than Izuku saw him earlier, whether because of their win or because his glasses are firmly back on again. “A great idea of yours for sure.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes so hard that Izuku’s surprised they don’t go into the back of his head, but his attention’s seized by the person who’s just slunk into the clubhouse, purple hair almost hidden by the hoodie he’s pulled over his head. Leaving the table and making his way over, he beams at Hitoshi as he pushes the hood back. “Hey! I didn’t think you would come!”

Hitoshi shrugs, gazing around the crowded room. “It’s too miserable to go for a walk, and I felt like a beer. How did the match go?”

“We won,” he tells him, finding it hard not to glow with delight at saying it aloud. “C’mon, we’re sitting over here.” He leads Hitoshi back to the group, sweeping his arm in a grand gesture to introduce him. “Some of you guys know Hitoshi, right? My roommate?”

“Nice to meetcha!” Eijirou says cheerily, thrusting a hand out for Hitoshi to shake. On his left, Katsuki very deliberately ignores him, and Hitoshi doesn’t acknowledge him as he greets the others in turn. Izuku can’t help but roll his eyes at the fact the two of them took an automatic dislike to each other the moment they met back when Katsuki helped him move into Hitoshi’s apartment, based on nothing more than each other’s vibes.

“I’ll get you a drink,” he says to Hitoshi, instead of try and play nice with the guy I know you think is an asshole, and gets a nod of thanks in return. Izuku pushes his way through the crowd to the bar, leaning against the wooden countertop and trying his best to meet the barman’s eye and seize his attention. 

Someone shuffles into place beside him and, before he even turns around, Izuku knows who it is. Perhaps it’s the sudden cold chill in the air, or the smell of expensive cologne, or maybe just the overwhelming presence of the man he finds half-thrilling, half-terrifying -

“Hi,” Izuku squeaks as he turns to face Todoroki, finding the man squinting down at him with an imperceptible expression. “Glad you could make it.” Todoroki nods, but doesn’t respond. It’s hard not to grimace out of pure awkwardness. “You - do you want a beer?”

“I’ll get them.” Todoroki moves so fast that the beers are delivered to them and his card handed over before Izuku can protest. “Congratulations. On the match, I mean.”

“Thank you.” He smiles up at him, and Todoroki slops his beer over his sleeve. “Oh no - here - ”

He hands over a tissue, and Todoroki daubs at the pale blue sleeve that’s rapidly discolouring thanks to the alcohol. Izuku had half-expected him to turn up in a full suit and tie, so to see his boss in a turtleneck and jeans is slightly disconcerting in its casualness - even if the jumper has a Hermès label, and wiping at it exposes the Rolex on his wrist. 

“Thank you,” Todoroki murmurs, and Izuku forces his eyes away from the watch and onto his face. “You’re starting to get a bruise, you know. Just here.” He raises a hand, and for a second Izuku thinks he’s about to reach out and trace a fingertip along his face, but Todoroki’s hand tightens into a fist in midair. He quickly pulls it back and taps his own collarbone instead, and Izuku lets out his breath and tries not to stare at the scar upon it he knows is hidden beneath makeup.

“Wouldn’t be the first time. I’ll stick an ice pack on it when I get home and hope for the best.” He smiles bracingly at Todoroki in an effort to let him see that it’s nothing to be concerned about though judging by Todoroki’s stiff expression, it does little to assuage him. “Did you enjoy watching the match, though?”

“I did, actually.” Todoroki pauses. Being this close to him for the first time, Izuku can see that his right eye is taupe and not the brown he’d always thought it to be. “I see what you mean about strategising. It was interesting to see how your team visibly changed the way they played after you pulled them in to discuss it. You’re very good at it.”

Izuku feels his cheeks flame red-hot at once. “It’s mostly them!” he says, trying to wave airily and almost knocking his pint over. “I can advise but they’re the ones who actually put the work in, you get me?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Todoroki says, more casually than Izuku’s ever heard him. “I don’t think they would have done that sort of work if you hadn’t advised them in the first place.”

Izuku’s just starting to smile at him when, in the corner of his eye, something catches his attention. Squashed amongst their friends, Katsuki is giving him a look of great disgust. When he meets his gaze Katsuki turns his back on him, then engages in rapid fire sign language with Eijirou. “Hey,” Izuku calls, irritated, “I know what you’re saying.” But Katsuki ignores him whether through the noise of the bar or out of sheer spite, and Izuku turns back to his drink with a sigh. 

“You know sign language?” He’d briefly forgotten that Shouto was there, facing him once more with a shrug.

“Oh, yeah. Kacchan got his hearing aids when we were little kids - we’ve known each other since we were babies, see - and I begged to go along with him to classes.” Katsuki’s mother had once commented that his willingness to learn alongside her son had probably helped him to cope with the devices he had so loathed, or else simply stirred up his competitive streak in a need to learn faster than him. He daren’t voice something so personal to Todoroki, though. “Eijirou learnt it when they started dating. Or, well, when he was first trying to convince Kacchan to date him: it was a whole process of trying to wear him down and impress him all at the same time.”

“It’s a good skill to have.” One of Todoroki’s fingertips circles the rim of his glass, and Izuku watches the condensation drip down the side of it. “I should really learn it sometime.”

He chokes on his immediate offer to teach him, trying to pass it off as clearing his throat instead. He doesn’t know what the hell is wrong with him - thirstiness, he’s afraid Ochako would say - but firmly tells himself to get a grip. “Do you speak any other languages?” he says instead, which seems a great deal more safer than offering him private lessons.

“I speak four altogether,” Todoroki says offhandedly, as if being a polyglot was no big deal at all. “Japanese, English, Korean and Spanish. I know some German, but I don’t think it would be enough to hold a conversation.”

Izuku stares at him, open-mouthed. “And I thought having an English degree was good,” he manages. “Wow. That’s incredible.”

A flush begins to creep its way up the pale column of Todoroki’s throat like poison ivy, and he ducks his head to focus it on his drink. “I remember seeing your degree on your resume,” he says to the ice clinking within it, rather than the man beside him. “Did you always want to work in a magazine?”

Most definitely not, but he thinks it’s wise not to voice it. “When I was younger, I wanted to be a paramedic. My vision without my glasses is too bad that I can’t be, though.” Dimly, he realises that this is the first time he’s seeing Todoroki through a pair of contacts instead. He looks better without the smudge of a fingerprint blurring his image. “The irony that staying up late and reading books by torchlight for my studies only worsened my eyesight.”

“You would’ve been a good paramedic, I think. You’re very - ” Todoroki hesitates. Izuku never finds out what he is, as his boss changes the subject at lightning speed. “How’s the column going?”

“It’s fine. I’m getting more submissions than ever, actually, so the hardest part is choosing which ones to reply to. I can’t reply to them all, but there seems to be a lot of people who need advice.” He sighs to himself, while Todoroki nods slowly.

“Does it - ?” he begins, before abruptly stopping. Izuku blinks at him.

“Does it what?”

Looking greatly uncomfortable, Todoroki raises his beer to his lips. “Forget I said anything. It was a strange question.”

“Well, now my interest is piqued,” Izuku says, feeling his mouth twitch. “Go on, you started it. What were you going to say?”

Todoroki opens his mouth, then closes it again. It seems like a great struggle for him when he finally forces the words out. “Does it ever - put you off getting into a relationship?” he manages, voice stilted. “Reading all the different relationship struggles people go through?”

He thinks for a moment, frowning to himself. While it’s true that he often frets over the contents of the letters and loses some faith in humanity with the worst ones, he wouldn’t consider them jading him when it came to any future relationship. “No,” he says at last, the answer coming quite easily. “Because while I’m sometimes only reading negative stories, I know how positive relationships can be. I see how happy my friends are in their relationships - and people write into me because they want help, you know? They want to put the effort in to fix things because they know it’s worth something. Besides,” he adds, almost as an afterthought, “it’s not all romance. There’s a lot of platonic relationships in there: sometimes people just want to know how to introduce themselves to their neighbours.”

Izuku takes a drink when he finishes, resisting the urge to turn around and see what his friends are up to. Based on Katsuki’s reaction, he doesn’t want to know what the rest of them are making of his conversation with Todoroki. “I see,” the man says beside him, and the grave tone of his voice has Izuku stiffening.

“Why? Does it put you off being in a relationship?” He doesn’t know if Todoroki’s in a relationship or not, yet can’t help but feel alarmed at the implication.

“Not at all,” Todoroki says at once. His eyes are on Izuku’s again, face carefully set. “Actually, I think your advice is invaluable. It’s really helped me.”

“What? Really?” He brightens considerably. “How so?”

Todoroki opens his mouth, then freezes. His gaze has slid away from Izuku and to someone in the crowd behind him. Turning around, he sees that he’s staring at a tall, broad man in a polo shirt, who’s white-knuckling his beer as he glares back. “Who - ?”

“Oh, hell.” And before Izuku can question him - before he can do so much as open his mouth - Todoroki seizes his jacket and strides for the exit, going into an all out run by the time he throws the door open and escapes through it.

“Hey!” The tall man barrels past, almost knocking Izuku off his stool in his race to catch up with Todoroki. Gripping onto the bar for support, Izuku watches open-mouthed as the guy ducks through the door and sprints off into the car park. Considering the furious expression carved into the other man’s face, he can only pray that he doesn’t catch up to Todoroki.

“Where did he go?” Ochako says a moment later, joining him at the bar with a frown. “He absolutely sprinted out of here. Who’s the guy who followed him?”

“No idea.” Despite not having the faintest clue what’s going on, unrest stirs in Izuku’s stomach. They’d finally, finally been having a normal, pleasant conversation for the first time outside of the office, where Todoroki had seemed to enjoy his company and even smiled at him. Then, at the sight of the other man, the easy smile had dropped to be replaced with nothing short of horror.

Ochako nudges him, head dipped and voice lowered. “Don’t do it right now,” she murmurs, eyes on her glass of orange juice, “but look at Yaoyorozu and Utsushimi. They know something we don’t.”

Counting slowly to five, Izuku turns his head as he mimes scratching his neck. The two women have their heads together on the other side of the clubhouse and are talking fast, glancing towards the exit. Camie’s eyebrows are raised, drink still held aloft, but Momo looks more stressed than Izuku’s ever seen her. He was pretty sure she had an iron grip on her nerves, resolutely refusing to let them get the better of her. Judging by her pale face, they have on this occasion. After a moment she gets to her feet and hurries off towards the door Todoroki disappeared through, pulling her coat tight around her neck.

“Do you know who that other guy was?” Ochako demands as Eijirou joins them at the bar, hair pulled back in a high ponytail. It swishes as he shakes his head, looking perplexed. “He came along with the other team, didn’t he?”

“Yeah, but he wasn’t playing in the match. I haven’t a clue who he is. It looks like he wanted to rip Todoroki’s head off, though.” Unconcerned, he shrugs and orders a beer. “Maybe Todoroki was making huge bets against the other team and he found out?”

“Doubtful,” Ochako says, smirking. “He only bought you all a round, and not huge buckets of beer. I suppose he could afford them anyway, even if he wasn’t celebrating a betting win…”

Unconvinced, Izuku finally orders Hitoshi’s beer and fights back against the growing discomfort in his chest, even as his gaze refuses to stop drifting to the empty doorway.

Chapter Text

Izuku doesn’t have to wait long to get his answer. Just after nine o’clock on Monday morning, he’s watering the plants on his desk when the huge man from the rugby match storms into the office, slams the door behind him, then makes a beeline for Todoroki’s personal office. By the time Izuku’s glanced at Ochako and back again, Todoroki’s on his feet and the fighting's started.

“I can’t believe you!” the huge man bellows. “Sprinting off like that when - ”

“Can’t believe me?" Todoroki yells back, with more emotion than Izuku's ever seen from him. "What the hell are you doing in my office?”

“Since you couldn’t even give me the decency to stay and talk - ”

The door is kicked closed and the blinds yanked shut, effectively cutting them off from the show. They weren’t the only ones watching: every head in the office is turned in the same direction, a tense silence settled over them. Staring at the silhouettes of the men gesturing wildly at each other, Izuku realises he’s overwatering a plant only when water brims over the edges of a pot and begins to form a puddle on his desk. “What the hell?” he whispers, setting the watering can down and gripping onto the edge of his desk. “Who is that guy?”

“I know someone who’ll know,” Ochako says suddenly. She turns, scanning the office, then zeroes in on her target. “C’mon.” She seizes Izuku’s wrist and tugs him through the desks, gripping tightly onto him until they reach the blonde woman who seems more interested in her frappuccino than the drama with their boss. “Camie! Do you know what’s going on with - ?”

“Course I do, hun.” Camie sets her drink down and jerks her chin towards Todoroki’s office. “That’s Inasa he’s arguing with.”

“And who’s Inasa?” Ochako demands.

Stretching and yawning hugely, Camie seems entirely nonplussed at it all. “His ex.”

Izuku turns and stares at the blinds as if somehow able to see through them to the room beyond. He’s not entirely sure why he’s gone cold all over and feels rooted to the spot, but he has a pretty good idea why. Judging by the silhouettes, they’re still arguing: Todoroki and his ex, that is. His ex.

Todoroki must like them big and muscular, he decides. Sure, he’s muscular himself, but he’s also only five-seven when this giant must be close to seven feet tall and looks like he’s carved from rock. He could easily rip his head off, on the rugby pitch or off. The jury's out on whether or not he’s about to do exactly that to Todoroki. Izuku raises his hand to his mouth, chewing on his thumbnail as Ochako’s jaw drops and she clasps her cheeks. “His ex?” she hisses, leaning in closer to Camie. “You can’t be serious! I thought Eijirou was the biggest guy in Tokyo, but he’s like a mountain.”

“You shouldn’t be gossiping about this,” Tenya says hurriedly, joining them with a terse expression. On the other side of the room, Katsuki, Eijirou and Sero look as though they’re doing exactly that. “Not when he’s our manager and deserves - ”

“Gossip is rumours,” Camie tells him, “and this is fact. I’ve known Inasa even longer than I’ve known Shouto. Anyway, what do you expect us to do? Put our heads down and pretend they aren’t screaming at each other? Pft, good luck.”

“Why’d they break up?” Ochako demands, ignoring the agonised look Tenya gives her. “When did they break up?”

“Ages and ages ago. It was a whole ass scandal.” Camie’s eyes are glittering, clearly revelling in sharing the drama. “They dated for two years when, all of a sudden, Shouto turned around over breakfast one morning and told him he didn’t love him anymore. Not only that - that he didn’t think he’d ever loved him. I know!” she adds as Ochako gasps, hands flying to her mouth. “Ice cold! Inasa was furious, mostly ‘cause he was heartbroken. I’d always kinda suspected it, though: there was some drama about Shouto’s father being involved, and Shouto always looked like he was phoning it in. That, and I know Inasa’s shit at sex. He just claps his hands, rams it in, and thinks foreplay is something to do with tennis and aftercare is something you put on sunburn.”

“Maybe you should do a sex column,” Ochako says, turning to Izuku as Tenya splutters. “Explain to imbeciles that cuddles are important. I think it would do really well.”

“Sames. Make your heading Don’t Listen to 50 Shades of Grey,” Camie says, before returning to her frappuccino.

Izuku can’t muster up even the smallest of smiles in response. With how the chills are spreading through his body, Camie might as well have dumped her drink over his head. He pulls his thumb away from his mouth and hugs himself, turning on his heel and returning to his desk without another word. The second he’s sitting down again, his glasses are off and his head is buried in his laptop screen, determinedly avoiding looking anyway near Todoroki’s office even as the argument continues.

He wishes he never went along with Ochako and prodded for an answer; that he’d ignored what was happening in Todoroki’s argument and focused on his work instead of finding out something that’s left him so disconcerted. Yes, he’d found his boss terrifying, but he didn’t think he’d be so cold. Certainly not to someone he’d dated for years, at the very least. He’d be fuming if he received a letter from someone who’d been broken up with in such a way, and the fact Todoroki added insult to injury by saying that he might never have loved him?

Izuku had thought that, at twenty-five years old, he’d matured and experienced enough in life that he’d have a pretty good grasp on people. The fact he’d been nursing a crush on someone capable of that was a clear indication that he didn’t have the slightest clue.

Ochako pads back over to him, hands clasped in front of her. Judging by how quiet she is as she sits down again, she knows he isn’t in the mood to chat. Silence spreads out between them, until she speaks in a low, cautious voice. “Look, you can’t listen to Camie,” she tells him, as if she hadn’t been feeding on her every word five minutes before. “She loves over exaggerating things. Honestly, some of the stuff I’ve heard her say - ” She doesn’t elaborate and merely shakes her head, sighing. “I reckon we only got half-truths from her there.”

“What?” Izuku says, more stiffly than he intended. “So you think Todoroki didn’t tell him that he didn’t love him anymore, then twisted the knife further by saying he possibly never did? I don’t think she could exaggerate that to make it worse than it already sounds.”

“Well…” Ochako trails off, and Izuku follows her gaze. There’s another argument going on, but almost entirely in whispers: having joined Tenya at Camie’s desk, Momo is talking quietly and furiously to Camie, hands on her hips. “She’s clearly not happy with whatever she said.”

“She’s Todoroki’s best friend,” Izuku says automatically, “so of course she’d back him up.”

“But wouldn’t she be on her girlfriend’s side over his?” Ochako raises her eyebrows, leaning back in her chair. “I’ll ask Tenya what was said, and then we’ll know better.”

It takes a great deal of her wheedling and pleading with him over text before Tenya crumbles and gives in to her need for information.

[Tenya] @ 10:12: This is none of our business, but Yaoyorozu told Utsushimi to stop telling people Todoroki’s personal business. She also said ‘you told them what? How could you say something like that?’ when Utsushimi recounted what she told us and seemed aghast at the whole thing.

[Tenya] @ 10:12: I love you but this is inappropriate. Please let’s not discuss this any more.

“See?” Ochako says, triumphant as she waves her phone under Izuku’s nose. “It looks like Camie was exaggerating! God, I would love to be a fly on the wall in their house tonight.”

“Hm.” He doesn’t bother pointing out that maybe Momo was just aghast that Camie had spilled Todoroki’s secrets. Squaring his jaw, he focuses on his laptop once more. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Oh, Deku - ”

“What?” Izuku twists to face her, unable to stand the sympathetic expression she’s wearing. “Why are you trying to make a big deal out of this? So what if Todoroki was an asshole dumping his ex or not? It’s got nothing to do with us.”

Ochako opens her mouth, then closes it again without a response. It’s a relief when she returns to her own laptop, leaving Izuku to focus on the first letter he’s received and not on the two men still audibly arguing in the office opposite him.

Dear Deku,

My daughter has recently given birth to my first grandchild, but I was aghast to find out that she hadn’t named her after me. I’ve done everything for her her whole life, and always assumed she’d name her first child after me in thanks. Giving her a completely random name with no familial significance behind it came as a huge blow, and I think I'd rather devote my time and energy to people who appreciate me. How would you suggest approaching this?

Thank you,

Concerned Mother

If he wasn’t being petty and avoiding Ochako, he’d have spun around and demanded she read the letter so they could rant over it together. As it is, Izuku rereads it twice more just to be sure he isn’t wrong in thinking that he’s received a letter from a narcissist. Then, blood beginning to boil, he starts his response.

Dear Concerned Mother,

What’s in a name? Not naming her child after you isn’t the massive slight you seem to think it is. Based on the last sentence of your letter, I’m not sure what other advice I can give you as it seems your mind is already made up. My view on the matter is that you’re not entitled to have a grandchild named after you, that it’s selfish to consider cutting your daughter out because of it, and that she’s in a very vulnerable place right now and deserves your love and support rather than pettiness.

Best,

Deku

It’s a hell of a lot harsher than his usual responses, but he’s in too bad a mood to dress it up any nicer than he has. Surely this woman was trolling him, sending in something so tone deaf and arrogant? He thinks of his own mother, and how inconceivable it would be to imagine her acting in a similar way. She’d be grateful just to have a grandchild, not ready to throw a fit and cut him off if he didn’t use her name. He’s suddenly reminded of his mother despairing over his string of failed relationships and her fear that she’d never have a grandchild, and closes the window with his response as quickly as he can.

A door’s wrenched open, and every head in the room lifts. Stony faced, the huge man - Inasa - steps out of Todoroki’s office and heads for the exit without looking at any of them. In the long, tense silence, there comes the quiet sound of someone closing Todoroki’s office door again. 

Spine stiff, Izuku stares at the door. It’s all silent within and he wonders what Todoroki’s doing in there, hidden behind his blinds. Is he angry? Stressed? Upset? Surely to God he wouldn’t react like Izuku would in such a situation - surely he isn’t alone in there, fighting back the tears yet unable to end to stop them trickling down his cheeks as misery overwhelms him. 

His hands are trembling at the mental image, the possibility of it despite the gossip Camie’s spilt. Even if he’s being dramatic - even if stone-faced, unsmiling Todoroki let his facade crack - why does he seem to be the only one concerned by it? Eijirou and Sero whispering together definitely looks more gossipy than concerned, and even Ochako beside him has returned to her work, seeming determined to focus on her notes rather than stare at Todoroki and risk Izuku’s ire.

The sight of Momo sweeping past them, back arrow straight and head held high, is that of an angel on stilettos. She enters Todoroki’s office without a backwards glance, and Izuku sags back in his seat in the knowledge that she, at least, would be of some support. Camie’s sulky expression and the sideways glances she throws at the door to Todoroki’s office all but confirm it, and Izuku forces himself to return to the letters and pick through them. When there’s no sign of the elegant, swooping handwriting of Himura, he merely plucks one at random and begins to read. 

Dear Deku,

I’ve been in a relationship with my boyfriend for five years, and he’s the love of my life. However, there’s a guy who’s just started at my job, and I can’t help but notice how handsome he is and I get flustered every time I speak to him. How do I put these crazy thoughts out of my head??? Is this emotional cheating??

Thank you,

Anxious Girlfriend

He leans back, tapping his chin. How to word it? He imagines the girlfriend agonising over what Ochako referred to as window shopping.

Dear Anxious Girlfriend,

Emotional cheating is where you establish a close, intimate connection with someone who isn’t your partner, often with sexual tension between you. I wouldn’t count admiring how handsome a colleague is as emotional cheating - you’re allowed to look at someone and acknowledge they’re good looking! There’s no harm in that!

My advice is to remind yourself that, in your words, your boyfriend is the love of your life, and that this is probably just a passing fancy. Once you work with this man a little more, you’ll probably feel yourself settle down when you get used to him. Also, considering you work with this new man, a good friend of mine has a phrase that would come in handy here: don’t shit where you eat.

Best,

Deku

A hand settles upon his arm, and then Ochako’s quiet voice is in his ear. “Would you like to come over for dinner tonight? Tenya and I were planning on having katsu curry, and he always says I make too much of it. Better it goes to you than us bringing it in for lunch every day for the rest of the week.”

He recognises the olive branch immediately and turns to smile at her, slightly sheepish. “That would be really nice of you. Thank you.”

“No problem,” she says lightly, and with that the tension dissipates. “Can I see what you were writing? You were furious when you were typing.”

“Oh, shit. Have a look at this.” He pushes himself away from the desk, chair spinning back as Ochako takes his vacant position and begins to read. “Do you think I was too rude?”

“You weren’t rude enough! If my mom did that to me - ” She breaks off, shaking her head in disbelief. “It’s so callous.”

“Right.” He glances at the clock on his desktop and is pleased to see it’s almost five. “Do you need to go to the store and get anything for dinner, or do you want me to bring anything?”

“No, no. Just bring yourself and come along with us - I’m hungry, so I don’t want to wait on you going home first then us twiddling our thumbs until you arrive.” She grins at him and reaches for her handbag, starting to gather her things together. 

They’re at the back of the slow exodus, with Kirishima having been the first to grab his bag and sprint for the door with a sour Katsuki in his wake. Shuffling along, Izuku’s eyes slide to Todoroki’s office where the blinds have been opened just slightly, allowing him a glimpse inside. The sight of Todoroki sitting with his head in his hands stirs something in him, some deep, buried sympathy as he freezes in place. Momo’s already out the door and he lingers, uncertain, as he stares at the top of the red-and-white head, then swallows hard. “You go on,” he tells Ochako, who’s hanging back by his side and arches her eyebrows at his words. “I’ll catch up, okay? If I miss the subway, I’ll just get the next train.”

“If you’re sure.” He nods and she squeezes his arm comfortingly before she heads off after Tenya. Squaring his shoulders and summoning up all his courage, Izuku knocks on the door to Todoroki’s office.

He doesn’t wait for a response and instead pushes it open, sidling into the room. “Hey,” he says, without preamble, and hopes he won’t be shouted at for the insubordination. Todoroki lifts his head, blinking, and seems to falter at the sight of him.

“Midoriya.” Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea to let himself in, judging by his alarmed expression, but Izuku figures that he’s already committed at this point. He steps in fully, closing the door behind him.

“Are you okay?” he says quietly. “That looked… unpleasant, earlier.” He can’t think of a better way to put it, and thinks that ignoring the situation altogether would make things even more awkward. Izuku isn’t sure if the small smile that accompanies his words is comforting or not. 

“It’s - fine.” The words are stilted, and clearly untruthful. There’s deep shadows beneath Todoroki’s eyes and his hair is rumpled, as if fingers have raked through it over and over again. Something in Izuku’s chest aches at the sight of him, so tired and exhausted.

“I just - ” Izuku swallows, steeling himself. “I just wanted to make sure you were alright. Because - I mean, I’m not going to act stupid and pretend I didn’t see or hear what was going on, but I’d be upset if someone stormed into my job and started yelling at me. Actually, if it were me, I probably would’ve cried myself into a coma, so you’re a lot tougher than that - but I still thought I should see how you are, because it wasn’t a nice thing to happen, and I hate when bad things happen at work because I take it home with me and stew over it instead of just getting over it, and my mom’s always said it’s one of my few bad traits - and, like, she’s biased, she’s my mom, I’m not saying I’m the most virtuous and wholesome person in the world, and I suppose being irritated over work isn’t a terrible trait to have, but it’s still annoying to sit at home and be too annoyed over what happened to concentrate on The Great British Bake Off and have to - ”

He falters the second he realises he’s been speaking for a long, long time, and that Todoroki’s staring at him with his mouth ajar. “So,” he whispers, cheeks burning, “yeah. I - yep.”

Todoroki clears his throat, a hand moving to the back of his neck. Leaning against the door, Izuku watches his long fingers rub over his skin, and realises he’s seeing a flaw in his perfectly composed image: judging by his cuticles, Todoroki’s a nail biter. It lightens his heart, somehow, seeing his boss share the same bad habit as him. 

“Thank you for your concern. It means a lot.” Still rubbing at his neck, Todoroki’s mismatched eyes meet his. The corners of his mouth spasm. “It’s - ” He breaks off.

“It’s what?” He feels the smooth wood of the floor beneath his fingertips, finding its hard to meet Todoroki’s prolonged gaze. His eyes settle instead on his desk: the three coffee cups; the framed photo of the woman and child; the plants that are, in the current moment, drooping slightly. Perhaps they’re reflecting their owner’s current gloom.

“It’s just - it’s silly, really.” His hand drops to the desk, clasping around the other. It seems to take a great effort for him to force the words out. “I was just thinking that it’s just as well I didn’t send you a letter.”

Izuku’s heart aches for him. For Todoroki to come to him for help? To consider his advice so worthwhile that he’d actually reach out for it? His hands fist behind him, and he has to swallow hard to contain his emotions as Todoroki stares solidly into his lap. “Well,” he says at last, slightly hoarse, “you’re always welcome to send me a letter. Anytime. I’d be happy to receive one from you.”

For a second, he doesn’t know what odd expression Todoroki is wearing and thinks he might be having a facial spasm, until he realises that it’s an attempt at a smile. “Thank you,” he murmurs, and manages the smile.

“Anytime,” Izuku says in a rush, because now his hands are trembling and his heart feels as though it’s about to explode. “I - well, must be getting on. There’s katsu curry waiting for me, and I don’t want it getting cold - have a nice evening! I’ll see you tomorrow!”

“Thank you, Midoriya.” He bares his teeth in what probably looks more threatening than friendly to Todoroki, then slams the door behind him and sprints for the stairs.

He misses the subway and ends up sitting alone on the next one between groups of giggling teenagers, clutching his bag to his chest as his heart pounds against his ribs. Staring at the floor between his feet, it proves difficult to calm down. The way Todoroki wanted his help, out of everyone’s - the way he looked at him - the way he smiled at him - 

It’s a relief to arrive on Ochako and Tenya’s doorstep and immediately be engaged in a conversation not about their boss. “Help?” Ochako echoes, frowning, as he kicks his shoes off at the door and follows her into the large, spacious living room. “Don’t be silly! You don’t need to help!”

“You’re cooking me my dinner,” Izuku points out, admiring the high ceiling as he always does when he’s here while Tenya noisily bangs about in the kitchen. He can all but imagine Hitoshi’s reaction to the expense of the apartment, considering they have a bowl under the sink to catch the water when the tap drops. “It feels a bit rude to sit down and wait for it without giving you a hand.”

“You’re our guest!” Ochako says fiercely, shoving him towards the table until Izuku lets himself be pushed that way, “that’s how it goes! It’s basically ready as it is, so just sit there and behave.”

Cowed, he does as he’s told. “Why a fourth portion?” Tenya says, and Izuku glances over to see that Ochako’s turned her back on three laden plates to scrape the remainder of the curry into a small container.

“For Deku to take home with him for Hitoshi.” She closes the lid of the container with a satisfying snap. “I thought he was really nice when we met him.”

“Aw, thank you. I’m glad you think so.” He knows Hitoshi’s automatic reaction is to be dry and closed off, so feels pleased at the thought he charmed Ochako enough to get free food from her. “Especially since Katsuki’s held a grudge against him from the first time he set eyes on him.”

“Oh, you know what Katsuki’s like,” Ochako says dismissively, setting a plate and drink in front of him as Tenya brings up the rear with theirs. “He doesn’t think you can meet anyone nice on Craigslist, so I suppose he’s still being weird around Hitoshi just out of badness. Even though,” she adds, frowning at Tenya, “some people on there are generous, not perverts.”

“I just didn’t want you to go alone to meet a stranger,” he replies, with the air of it being an age-old, often repeated disagreement. “And we didn’t know if it would have woodworm in it.”

“Well, it didn’t,” Ochako says, pouring a glass of water for herself then pushing a beer towards Izuku, “and now we have a lovely, free coffee table.”

As Izuku hides his smile behind his beer, Tenya swallows his mouthful. “On the topic of Hitoshi, Kaminari was wondering if he was single on Saturday. You two had already gone by that time.”

“Yes,” Izuku says, stretching, “but that’s because he wants to be single. I’ll tell Denki at our next practice that he’d be better crushing on a guy who isn’t aroace.”

“Poor Denki,” Ochako says sympathetically. “He’s got no luck when it comes to his dating life, does he? Though talking of dating lives…” She swills her drink to clink the ice together, and Izuku’s stomach sinks at her expression. “How’s Todoroki doing?”

“Darling,” Tenya interjects, pained, but he’s quelled by one fierce look from her. 

“He’s - alright.” Izuku pushes a piece of chicken around his plate, finding his words are distorted slightly as he chews on his lip. “I think he’s embarrassed about what happened earlier, and I don’t blame him. He seems a little better now, though.” He thinks of Todoroki’s small, tentative smile, and feels his ears getting hot.

“Well, that’s good.” Ochako sets her drink down again, and her chin makes its way into her palm. “You can’t blame him for being embarrassed, his ex showing up like that in front of everyone - don’t look at me like that, Tenya, how could we not talk about it?”

Slowly chewing, Izuku swallows and clasps his hands between his thighs before he replies. “I think,” he says, voice low, “well. I think he just needs a friend.”

“A friend?” Ochako echoes, eyebrows raised. “He’s got Momo.”

“Yes,” Izuku says impatiently, “ one person. Maybe he’s got more friends outside of work, I don’t know. But today he… he just looked…” He trails off, swallowing hard. It feels wrong, somehow, to point out to them how lonely Todoroki looked; how sad his eyes looked. And there was nothing wrong with friendship, was there? 

“Well,” Ochako says after a pause, “it’s very kind of you to think like that, Deku.” Her eyes flicker to Tenya, then back again. “But you’re a very kind person as it is, looking out for other people like you do.”

He’s not sure if he likes the undercurrent he hears in her words, but decides it’s best not to voice it when they’re feeding him. “She’s right!” Tenya booms, standing suddenly and sweeping their glasses together. “Everyone could do with a friend, and it’s very good of you to reach out to Todoroki like that, Izuku. I should really do the same, though not to overwhelm him…”

He disappears off to get them refills, and Ochako seems to be making a deliberate effort to shovel as much food as she can into her mouth. Izuku can only imagine what she’s holding back from saying on the topic of him trying to befriend Todoroki.

The next day, Izuku comes to work determined. He'll smile at Todoroki. He'll ask him how he is; smile at him; be perfectly friendly and polite in a way that involves acting like a human being, not asking any personal questions, and definitely not thinking about how attractive the other man is.

His plan is derailed slightly when he runs for the lift, throws himself into it between the sliding doors and collapses against the handrail, panting, only to realise that Todoroki's the only other occupant. "Oh!" he gasps, righting himself and trying to smooth down his hair as Todoroki watches him, silent. "Oh, good morning! I thought - well, I didn't think I'd make the lift."

"Just as well you did." Todoroki looks better than he did the day before, but not by much. There's still dark shadows beneath his eyes and an exhausted air hanging about him, despite the sharp tailoring of his suit. "I hate how the stairs creak."

"Oh," Izuku repeats, having never realised that they creaked at all. He's surprised by Katsuki - who saw picking the lifts over stairs as an act of weakness - has never griped about it. "Yeah. Creaky stairs are... annoying."

He's going to rip his tongue out if it doesn't prove at least slightly helpful to him. Creaky stairs are annoying. It's only by God's mercy that his friends aren't here now, who would surely mock or cringe in an instant at such a phrase. Izuku chews on the inside of his cheek, thinking hard, then starts when Todoroki speaks again, quite aburptly. “Would you recommend The Great British Bake Off?"

“You’ve never seen it before?” Izuku says, alarmed, and his boss shakes his head. Safe territory at last. “I’d definitely recommend it! It’s such a lovely show - all the bakers are so supportive of one another, and there’s no fighting or backstabbing or drama. Everyone just wants to do their best and lift everyone else up at the same time - and the baking. Ugh.” He sags back against the handrail, casting his eyes skyward. “I wish I could bake like that. You wouldn’t believe the talent some of them have.”

He looks back to Todoroki to see that he’s watching him, the barest ghost of a smile on his lips. “I’m no baker, either. To be honest with you, I’m not much of a cook at all.”

Izuku pictures him employing a private chef, and decides it probably isn’t too far off reality. “I’m not bad at cooking. My mom taught me when I was younger: it was a really fun way to spend my free time, and she’s an amazing cook.” Considering he grew up with few friends - Katsuki being more of a bully than a friend until they brawled in the street at sixteen - it was pretty much the only way he spent his free time, but he thinks it’s wise not to voice it.

“That’s nice you’re so close to your mom.” Todoroki’s still watching him, head tilted back. He’s studying him, a slight crease at the corners of his eyes. For a moment, Izuku wonders if he should ask him about his mother, perhaps tease him about accepting her cooking without learning from her - but there’s something about his expression that makes the words catch in his throat, that makes him hold his tongue. The elevator dings, and they're at their floor and he's being gestured ahead before he can come up with anything coherent. "After you."

"Thank you," Izuku tells him, managing a smile - and decides that, no matter Camie's gossiping, he'll base his opinion only on how the man acts now.

Chapter Text

If someone told Izuku that he’d be sharing lunch with the manager he was convinced hated him, he would’ve considered them mad - and yet here he is, regularly knocking on the door to Todoroki’s office and poking his head in with a hey, what’s on the menu? 

It doesn’t feel as weird as it should be, sitting facing him across his desk as they chat over their food. Actual conversations, too: Izuku’s found that he’s stuttering less, Todoroki’s talking more, and even in the silences, things feel a great deal more comfortable than before. As for the food, he’s decided that Todoroki definitely hires someone to make up his bento box for him. No self-confessed bad cook could produce such intricate, nicely presented sashimi, coupled with carrots thinly sliced into little flowers. Izuku actually had to bite his tongue the day Todoroki opened the box to reveal carrots cut into tiny rabbits, hopping across a pale field of boiled rice.

He catches Momo looking at him sometimes, a shrewd, pensive look as she shuffles papers or fiddles with the printer. Perhaps she’s suspicious of his intentions, getting close to the boss like this. Izuku can’t imagine that it comes from jealousy, or a fear of him usurping her role as his confidante. There’s little doubt Todoroki would pick him over Momo and her immaculate, polished wardrobe.

Her nails are always in a perfect manicure, but he’s come to discover that Todoroki’s nail biting wasn’t just the result of stressing over his ex’s appearance. It’s been weeks since then, and they’re remained as short and ragged as the day Inasa burst into their office. It really shouldn’t make him smirk, but Izuku takes some small amusement in the two of them not being all that different.

“Did you know,” he says one lunchtime, bemoaning his own lack of nails as he struggles to pull the lid from his lunchbox, “that the fingernails of your dominant hand grow faster than the others?”

“Do they really?” Todoroki transfers his chopsticks to one hand and holds the other up to his face, frowning as if able to see a difference in the bitten stumps. “I suppose I chew mine too much to notice.”

“Onychophagia,” Izuku says at once. “That’s the medical term for the habit. Of biting your nails, I mean.”

Todoroki blinks at him. “How on earth do you know that?”

“I saw it on a quiz show: my roommate and I watch them together.” Shrugging, Izuku finally pries the lid free and takes a great inhale, relishing in the mere smell of the tonkatsu within. “Hence knowing the weirdest, most useless facts that probably won’t benefit me in daily life.”

“Hm.” Perhaps he’s thinking of the lunchtime where Izuku told him that competitive art used to be an Olympic sport, but Todoroki doesn’t voice it and instead goes right back to the previous topic. “It’s a horrible habit. I’ve done it ever since I was a child: my mother used to take my hand and hold it every time she saw me at it. It was a nicer reaction than shouting at me, anyway.”

Something about his tone makes Izuku think that someone else did the shouting. He refrains from commenting and merely smiles ruefully at him. “My mom used to despair over me doing it, too. Have you ever had that nasty tasting polish that’s meant to deter you from biting? She bought it for me, but I just ended up scraping it all off then getting right back to biting. I’m a lost cause, I swear.” He pauses, and can’t help the sudden laugh. “How did we get onto this topic?”

“I’m not sure myself.” Todoroki isn’t looking at him, too focused on pushing grains of rice around his bento box instead of actually eating them. “You’re easy to talk to about anything.”

“I think it’s because I talk too much,” Izuku says truthfully, but smiles all the same. He takes a huge bite of the tonkatsu, and it’s only after he’s swallowed it down and reached for his water that he realises Todoroki’s still staring at his rice.

“I find it hard to speak to people sometimes. A lot of the time, actually. Especially the people here.” His mouth twists. “It doesn’t help that they don’t seem to particularly want to speak to me in the first place.”

They’re just scared of you, Izuku thinks, then almost bites his tongue off. “Maybe,” he manages, his thick words making Todoroki blink at him again, “it’s because you’re their boss and very, ah… very atmospheric. A little imposing.”

“Intimidating, you mean,” Todoroki says flatly. Izuku hesitates, then decides honesty is the best policy.

“A little. Just a little bit. Which isn’t a bad thing!” he quickly adds, his chopsticks dropping into his lunchbox as Todoroki looks utterly defeated. “Being intimidating means scammers will never try to trick you into donating money to a fake charity or joining their multi-level marketing company, that’s for sure.” 

“I’m not - ” Todoroki makes a strangled sound in the back of his throat. “I’m not trying to be intimidating. It’s more that I don’t know how to speak to people. I get nervous and just go quiet and stare at them, which makes me seem intense. The only reason I know it does is because my sister’s told me enough times.” 

This conversation is certainly the most he’s ever said in front of him, and Izuku quietly revels in the fact that he’s now found out that Todoroki has a sister as well as a brother. “Well,” he says bracingly, scooping up his chopsticks again, “you don’t need to be nervous of everyone out there. They’re lovely! You hired very nice and kind people.” Except for Katsuki and his propensity to be nasty, he supposes, but decides it’s wise not to voice it. 

“Hm,” Todoroki says again, clearly unconvinced. Taking a mouthful of rice himself, he seems more morose when he brings up what seems to be a more comfortable topic. “Have you had any interesting letters recently?”

Izuku shrugs, grinning sheepishly. “They’re all interesting to me - but if you mean crazy ones, I got one from a woman who said she’s thinking of breaking up with her boyfriend because she’s sick of him constantly doing Borat impressions.”

“I see.” Todoroki wrinkles his nose, then pauses. “You get repeated letters from the same people sometimes, don’t you?”

“Oh, yeah. Sometimes people are lonely, and just want someone to talk to… that’s hard, because I can’t exactly reply to them in the pages of the magazine, when it’s meant to be just for advice.” He sighs deeply. “The worst is when they tell me personal things they can’t tell anyone else. Ones about people coming out always make me ache inside.”

Todoroki’s watching him, something carefully guarded about his expression. “I’ve read those responses before,” he says, and Izuku finds his gaze sliding to the cupid’s bow of his mouth. “You’re very kind and sensitive in them. Not that you aren’t normally - you’re just particularly so, in those.”

“I work from experience, I guess.” His fingers creep their way along his throat until he can rub the back of his neck, the skin beneath burning with embarrassment as he forces himself to look away from Todoroki’s mouth and to the plain wall of his office instead. “It was daunting telling my mom I was bi, but she’s always been my number one supporter and came through for me in exactly the way I’d hoped she would. Other people… aren’t so lucky. It’s horrible.”

“My mother was supportive of me, too: when I told her I was gay, she hardly blinked. She’d suspected it from the time I was a child, apparently, but my friendship with Momo did have her second guessing herself.” His mouth twitches, so briefly that Izuku can’t be sure if he imagined it or not. “Ironically, we were each other’s beards in high school.”

So he was gay, then. A strange thrill goes through Izuku at Todoroki confiding the information in him, despite it being a natural addition to the conversation, and despite the fact he already knew he wasn’t straight. His eyes go to the framed photo on his desk at the mention of his mother again - and of the conspicuous act of not mentioning his tycoon father. “Moms are the best,” he says, and a faint smile of agreement ghosts over Todoroki’s lips.

He returns to his desk after lunch with a spring in his step, making a concentrated effort not to meet any of the eyes following his way. Somehow, he isn’t sure he wants to know what they make of him stopping by their boss’ office to eat with him when he terrifies most of them. Pulling his laptop towards him, Izuku hums cheerily as he begins to filter through his files, and only a little embarrassed at Todoroki thinking him to be kind.

“It’s crazy, isn’t it?” Ochako says, who seems to have lost all her hesitance at discussing their boss with him as she scoots her chair in close to his. “You, having lunch with Todoroki when we used to cower every time he looked at us. Does he eat really expensive food?”

“Yep.” Pushing his glasses higher up his nose, Izuku drags an email promising to leave him in the sender’s massive will into his junk folder. “I’m pretty sure the beef tataki he had last week was wagyu.” Ochako moans with longing, hands pressed to her cheeks. “I know, right? It was all I could do not to ask him to try some.”

“I bet he would’ve shared if you’d asked,” she says at once, eyebrows raised. Abandoning his emails, Izuku turns to frown at her.

“I was not asking our boss to share his lunch with me. That would probably - I don’t know, imply he doesn’t pay us enough so I can get my own lunch.”

“Or it would show interest in what he’s eating,” Ochako tells him, “and, by extension, showing interest in him. Oh, Todoroki, I didn’t know you were a fan of beef! I prefer pork - there’s this restaurant in Musutafu I just love. Blah blah blah, blah blah blah.”

Izuku frowns at her. “I once again find myself suspicious about your intentions.”

“There’s no need for you to be. I’m simply a friend who wants the best for you.” Tossing her hair back, Ochako gives him a look of deepest disgust. “You’re the one who said you wanted to be friends with him. I’m only encouraging your relationship.”

Rather than saying oh God, not this again, or interrogating her on what she means by relationship when he knows full well what she means, Izuku decides to maintain a dignified silence. Sighing deeply, he busies himself with looking through a new stack of letters.

“And he’s nice to you,” Ochako says after a pause, voice thoughtful. “All we can hope is that it continues.”

“Hm,” is his only response, as he tries to pretend to be interested in the woes of someone fighting their ex for custody of the dog

His refusal to talk about Todoroki comes back to bite him that evening, sitting at his mother’s kitchen table. Dinners with his mother always feel like an event, even when she cooks the most basic of meals and doesn’t bother with the fancy cutlery. It’s just nice to visit the little home she shares with his stepfather, warm and cosy with an immediate hug upon entry - and, even if that night’s menu is plain and simple, her cooking is great. Izuku doesn’t think he’ll ever be in a position where he turns down her katsudon, spiced and so tender he could cut it with a spoon.  

He’s lulled into a false sense of security by said katsudon, and his mother’s surprising cheer when it comes to discussing his job. “Well, it’s just lovely that you’ve helped people enough for them to send you thank you letters,” she says brightly, setting plates before them and shooing Toshinori’s hands away when he tries to help. “But you’ve always liked helping people, sweetie, so that’s no surprise.”

“It’s nice to feel helpful,” he says reasonably, smiling up at her as his plate lands before him. “I suppose it’s a good thing I haven’t had anyone tracking me down in a rage that my advice didn’t go well.”

“Yes,” his mother agrees, shaking her head slightly. “It’s lovely you’re getting along with your boss, too.” She hesitates, and Izuku leaps on it at once.

“But?” he presses, well aware that the awkward smile she’s wearing means she’s cut her words short. “There’s a but in there, Mom. What is it? Actually, how did you even know I’m getting along with my boss?”

His mother’s mouth opens and closes several times before the words come to her, gaze firmly focused on the rice as she dishes it out onto their plates. “Katsuki was here a week or two ago, dropping off some fabric from his mother - he stayed for a cup of tea, and when I asked about work he said he didn’t think much of your manager but thought that you - ”

“Mom!” Izuku cries, aghast as she jumps and drops the ladle. “You’ve been gossiping about me with Kacchan?!”

“Not gossiping!” she says defensively, picking the ladle up again and dumping another load of rice onto his plate. Toshinori’s deep set eyes dart between them, expression weary. “We were talking, that’s all!”

“Talking about my personal life, you mean.” He makes a mental note to confront Katsuki about it - preferably in the presence of Eijirou, who would no doubt back him up in his indignation at Katsuki gossiping with his mother. “I can’t believe you! You know how judgemental Katsuki can be!”

“I just don’t want you getting hurt, that’s all.” Lips pressed together, his mother sets the dish aside and sits down heavily in her chair. “I know what you’re like, sweetie, and so does Katsuki.”

“How can becoming friendly with my boss lead to me getting hurt?” He turns to look at Toshinori, tone wheedling. “Did you know the two of them were discussing me? Don’t tell me you were there with them, going along with it.”

Toshinori shakes his head, slowly chewing a mouthful of rice and swallowing before he speaks. “I wasn’t,” he says calmly, “but I did know your mother was worrying about you. It’s hardly a new thing - ” The ghost of a smile crosses his face as Izuku’s mother clucks beside him, “ - but it’s because she has your best interests at heart.”

“I don’t see what’s so bad about me becoming friendly with my boss,” Izuku gripes, clenching down on his chopsticks and glaring down at a smear of sauce on the edge of his plate. If Katsuki was sitting across from him, he’s pretty sure the chopsticks would go straight in his eyes. “Kacchan’s probably just bitter because he doesn’t like him.”

Eyes flickering between him and her own plate, his mother starts up again in a small, hesitant voice. “Katsuki seemed to think - he thinks you have a crush on your boss - and, baby, I know how you get, and how you don’t really - go for the best people - ”

“Mom!” he wails, chopsticks clattering to the table as Toshinori winces. “Are you serious? How many times do I have to say it; he’s my boss! And yes, I’ve had some pretty bad relationships, but I’m twenty-five! I know better now!” 

“I Googled him,” his mother murmurs, words distorted as she chews on her thumbnail. “He’s a handsome boy, and I know you like them handsome, sweetie.”

“He is my boss,” Izuku says through his teeth, regretting coming over altogether. “Just my boss - and why do you always have to bring up my past relationships? Can we stop talking about this, please? Please?”

“Izuku’s right,” Toshinori says, before his mother can open her mouth. “He can look after himself, Inko: we don’t need to fuss over him. We certainly don’t need to get involved in his work life.”

The rest of their dinner is spent mostly in silence, with his mother seemingly chewing on her tongue more than her curry and rice. Izuku’s bad mood hasn’t much improved by the time they have a frosty goodbye and he gets back to his own apartment, stomping through the front door and kicking his boots off so forcefully that one goes skidding across the floor.

Slumped on the sofa with a book hiding his face, Hitoshi’s voice drones out from behind it. “What happened? Did your mom feed you until you were sick again?”

“Ugh. I wish.” He pads over to an armchair, sagging back into it and scrubbing at his face. “I know this sounds horrible, but I sort of wish I didn’t go. Is that horrible?” 

“Not necessarily.” Hitoshi sets his book aside, peering at him over the rims of his reading glasses. “Why was it so bad?”

“Because my mom started interrogating me,” Izuku says gloomily, “about me being friendly with Todoroki. Kacchan’s got her convinced that - that I have a crush on him.” He tries to convey the ridiculousness of it in his scoff, but isn’t so sure it lands.

Hitoshi clicks his tongue, pushing his glasses back into his hair. “Typical Katsuki.” 

He has little desire to defend Katsuki right now, though Izuku sighs all the same. “Why do you two not like each other so much?”

“Because he’s an asshole,” Hitoshi tells him, “and I don’t like the way he throws tantrums and sulks at every little thing that doesn’t go his way. I don’t know how his boyfriend stands him, if I’m honest with you.”

“They balance each other out.” He decides not to mention the time at a bar where Katsuki went too far with his insults and truly pissed Eijirou off, and how terrifying the redhead's expression was when he told Katsuki to shut his mouth and got an immediate apology in return. Ochako still reminisced about how weak-kneed she felt merely being in his presence, and not on the receiving end of it.

“If you say so,” Hitoshi says, clearly not believing him. “So, what? Your mom doesn’t like the thought of you liking Todoroki?”

“You know what she’s like.” He tilts his chin up to stare at the ceiling, dodging the question altogether. “She thinks I’m determined to continually get into bad relationships, and that I’m - I’m trying to get together with Todoroki, just because we’re friendly now.”

“Mm.” Hitoshi’s back to thumbing through his book and Izuku looks at him, slightly insulted. 

“What does that mean? Don’t tell me you’re about to start lecturing me, too.”

“No,” Hitoshi says calmly, eyes on the pages, “because you’re old enough and wise enough to make your own decisions. Your boss sounds like a spoilt little rich kid and I think I’d hate him on sight, but I’m not going to interrogate you on whether or not you find him attractive. So what if you do?”

“He’s not,” Izuku lies, but he smiles gratefully at Hitoshi and decides to switch the subject while he’s ahead. “You did see him, though. Remember that night at the rugby club?” 

Hitoshi’s mouth twitches. “Ah, yes. The night he ran like a bat out of hell while his ex chased after him.”

“Wouldn’t it be fly, rather than ran?” Izuku muses, then shakes his head. “Well, yeah. I try not to ask about the ex.”

“Even though you’re the nosiest person I know?” Hitoshi says, deadpan. “Very thoughtful of you. I would’ve known exactly what to do to get the story out of him.”

Izuku chooses to ignore him, unsure he’d like Hitoshi’s methods. “You can’t judge people on their exes, though. You don’t judge me on mine, do you? I’d be horrified if you did.” 

Hitoshi purses his lips. “No. I wouldn’t. You’re a better person than them.”

“You can’t say that,” Izuku tells him without much force behind it, but Hitoshi shakes his head and sets the book aside.

“I’ve only met the last of your exes, and what he did?” His mouth tightens. “You’re nothing like that, Izuku. You’d never do that. How could I judge you based on what he did?”

There’s a sour taste upon his tongue at the reminder, the still smarting pain of what Hitoshi has left unsaid. Izuku clears his throat, one hand rubbing the other as he looks anywhere but at his roommate’s face; tries to think of anything he can to distract himself from the ache in his chest.

He knows Hitoshi’s watching him, but doesn’t look up from the spot on the carpet he’s fixed on even when he speaks up. “C’mon. Let’s not talk about it.” Patting the spot beside him, Hitoshi scoops up the television remote and begins channel flipping. “What do you want to watch: Catchphrase, or Paranormal Home Inspectors?”

“Uhh…” Izuku makes his slow way over to take the offered spot, lips pursed as he puts all his focus on whatever programme will numb his feelings more. “Paranormal Home Inspectors. I want to see the psychic cry over signs of demonic possession that turn out to be blocked air ducts.”

“Excellent choice.” Hitoshi sets about finding what episode they left off on, and Izuku spends the rest of the evening with his gaze boring into the television screen, willing himself to focus on the programme and not on anything else. He isn’t so lucky when they retire to bed and he spends hours on end staring at the ceiling, unable to clear his mind of his mother’s fretting and the unwelcome thoughts of Rody Soul.

Tired and moody, he’s the first one in the office the next morning. Dragging himself over to his desk, it’s through bleary eyes and his second cup of coffee that he sorts through the newest pile of letters, the rhythmic shuffling of papers being the only break in the silence until he finds the smallest of silver linings in almost a full day of gloom: a letter with all too familiar handwriting.

Dear Deku,

I don’t expect a response from this - you have more important things to be replying to, and I’m not exactly asking for advice - but I just wanted to share my gratitude with you. Thanks to your advice, I’ve been speaking to and spending time with the man I have feelings for, and it’s going wonderfully. He’s so kind, and bubbly, and funny - I’ve never felt so calmed and reassured by someone else before, bar with my oldest friend, and there’s certainly never been anything romantic between us. 

I find it hard to be happy, and have felt this way for a long time, but being around him is breaking the gloom that seems to have surrounded me for as long as I can remember. For the first time in years I’m enjoying things again, and feel like I can get close to someone when it’s something I’ve been afraid of for a long time. I’m taking your advice about going slowly and not confessing my love, but there’s no doubt in my mind that this is love. Right now, though, I’m just happy to be his friend and can only hope he can call me one, too.

Thank you, for everything.

Himura 

Chapter Text

Too impatient to leave it until Monday, Izuku takes matters into his own hands and turns up on Katsuki and Eijirou’s doorstep first thing on Saturday morning. The latter opens the door in only his boxers, a bowl of cereal in one hand and face brightening when he sees who’s on the Chewie, We’re Home welcome mat. “Hey! I thought you were the postman!”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Izuku says, deciding not to ask him if he was in the habit of opening the door almost naked. “Is Kacchan about?”

“Yep! He’s watching TV - come in, come in.” Eijirou steps aside, grandly sweeping him through. “You want something to eat? Toast? Rice?”

“No, no, thank you. I’ve already eaten.” Slipping his shoes off, he pads into the living room. He normally likes visiting their apartment, thanks to Katsuki’s overzealous interest in interior decorating and Eijirou’s multitude of crocheted throws, but he isn’t interested in the colour theory or Eijirou’s wobbly workmanship today. He finds Katsuki lounging on the sofa, only slightly better dressed than his boyfriend in a vest and shorts. Gaze sliding away from Gordon Ramsay wildly gesticulating on screen, his eyes narrow at the sight of him.

“What do you want?”

“Charming. I’ve got a bone to pick with you,” Izuku says at once, standing in front of him with his arms folded and holding firm when Katsuki’s lip curls at him blocking the television. “Why were you gossiping with my mother?”

Eijirou gasps dramatically somewhere behind them, and Katsuki gives him a very ugly look as he props himself up on his elbow. “I wasn’t gossiping. She was complaining she never hears from you, so I just filled her in because I respect her.”

“You told her I have a crush on Todoroki! That’s the very definition of gossiping!” He twists around at the choking sound to find that, this time, Eijirou gasped so dramatically that he choked on his cereal. Izuku waits until he’s finished coughing and wheezing to glare at Katsuki again. “Why on earth would you tell her that?”

“Come the fuck on, Deku,” Katsuki snaps, sitting up properly and glowering at him. “It’s so obvious you have a crush on him, you idiot. All those little lunchtime dates? You think you’re so slick.”

“I’m just being friendly,” Izuku says, trembling with indignation. Why did Katsuki always have to be confrontational about the littlest of things? He’s acting as though he grabbed Todoroki and stuck his tongue down his throat in front of everyone in the office, instead of simply being nice to the man who paid his bills and turned out to be surprisingly good company. And so what if he did find everything Todoroki did inexplicably attractive? “Stop looking for things that aren’t there.”

“I’ve known you my whole life,” Katsuki tells him sourly, “and I know when you’re flirting with someone, even if you don’t. Batting your big eyelashes, laughing at his stupid, unfunny jokes - yeah, I can see you through the blinds, dickhead.”

“And you’ve been an asshole our whole lives,” Izuku retorts, certain he does not bat his eyelashes at anyone, let alone their boss. Behind him, Gordon Ramsay’s shouting all the words he’d love to use on Katsuki. “What do you think?”

They both turn to Eijirou who freezes, spoonful of cereal raised halfway to his mouth. He lowers it into the bowl again, shrugging as he leans back against the kitchen counter. “Does it matter if people think you have a crush on him?”

“Yes,” Izuku and Katsuki say together, one a great deal more desperate than the other.

“We-ell…” He sets the bowl aside, bracing his hands back upon the counter. “You guys spend a lot of time together, don’t you? Every lunch, actually. And you’re a lot more smiley recently, Izuku, which says something since you smile, like, constantly. People have wondered why you’ve been spending time together - not necessarily that you’re crushing on him!” he says hastily, as Izuku’s heart drops into his stomach. “But Todoroki isn’t very friendly, is he? Of course people are going to talk if he’s suddenly spending every lunchtime with the same person.”

He feels faint at the thought of everyone in the office discussing him and Todoroki; fainter still at others thinking of them as a pair. Didn’t most of the staff leave at lunchtime to get food elsewhere? Why were they being watched like exhibitions in a zoo? He supposed he couldn’t blame them for gossiping over the magazine’s taciturn owner and advice columnist getting cosy every lunch - but they weren’t getting cosy, they were simply talking, but now everyone would think they were having a secret love affair. Oh, God. What if Todoroki found out? Would he be angry? Offended? Lock his office door every lunchtime and barricade himself in?

“You’re thinking too loud,” Katsuki sneers, back to lying down and watching Gordon Ramsay stomp around a restaurant. “Honestly, I don’t know why I’m surprised. You love dating people who make your life more difficult.”

“In fairness,” Eijirou says, while Izuku chokes on his breath, “I like Todoroki. He’s always been perfectly nice to me: he gave me a gift card for Mitsukoshi to say thank you for organising everyone coming to the rugby match.”

Katsuki snorts derisively. “What, the match where he ran into his ex? Like that makes him look any better. You heard what Camie said he did to him, right?”

Losing his composure and passionately defending Todoroki would only drive home his accusations, so Izuku forces himself to take deep breaths and keep his voice measured. “You can’t listen to Camie, and you know it. Besides, what do you think my exes say about me? What do you think Yo tells people?” Katsuki chews on his tongue, expression one of great distaste, which lets Izuku know he’s got him. “Exactly. Can’t we base our opinion of Todoroki on how he is now? And why can’t you accept the fact I don’t have a crush on him, and I’m most certainly not cosying up to him?”

Katsuki opens his mouth to argue back, but Eijirou beats him to it. “Why don’t we just take Izuku at his word, Kats? If he says he doesn’t have a crush on Todoroki, he doesn’t have a crush on him.” He smiles at him, and Izuku feels a twinge of guilt in his stomach at going along with the lie. “I’m going to fry bacon, so who wants some?”

“You’ve just eaten,” Katsuki tells him, clearly surly at the change in topic. “Don’t be greedy.”

Eijirou scoffs good-naturedly, already searching the fridge. “I’m not; I’m a growing boy. Bacon sandwich, Izuku?”

He takes the sandwich, and makes a conscious effort not to meet Katsuki’s stony stare across the kitchen table.

He tries his best not to think of Katsuki and Eijirou when he next lets himself into Todoroki’s office - then, when that fails, thinks about the time Katsuki willingly ate dirt when they were kids. “Hey,” he says bracingly, and Todoroki glances up from his notes. “Cold today, isn’t it?”

Todoroki’s smile is mild rather than blinding, but he’ll take it all the same. “I’ll ask Satou to turn the heating up. Is it lunchtime already?”

“Yep. Time flies when you’re having fun.” He grins at him, taking the seat facing his boss and cracking open his bento box. “What have you got for today?”

“Tomato soup. I’m not very hungry.” Nodding vaguely towards a thermos perched at the edge of the desk, he stretches back and sighs. Izuku eyes the pile of papers across the desk, and the numerous cups of coffee.

“On a liquid diet?”

Todoroki leans forwards again, brow furrowed. “No, I’m not.” He stills. “Do you think I need to lose weight?”

“No!” Izuku cries, horrified. “No, you don’t! It was just a joke, because of all the coffee! You’re lovely just as you are!” 

In describing his boss’ lean, athletic figure- which he had once daydreamed to be the result of the man being a keen runner, starting every morning with a five mile sprint - he hadn’t exactly meant to use lovely. He feels his face flame at once, embarrassment coursing through his veins as Todoroki stares at him, bewildered. It’s obvious the description is churning through his mind on repeat, and Izuku wonders if he should write up his resignation that very minute.

“Maybe,” Todoroki says after a pause, “I should eat something a bit more substantial.”

“Yeah,” Izuku whispers, humiliated. “Yeah, maybe.” He snatched his KitKat from its corner of the lunchbox and tosses it on the table between them. “Please.”

Picking it up, Todoroki inspects the packaging. “Sachertorte,” he says aloud, and Izuku prays that he’s just as willing to move the conversation on as he is. “Interesting.”

“I don’t know what that is, actually: I grabbed a pack of them when I was grocery shopping just because I’d never seen them before.” Which had led to a long conversation with Hitoshi over their different opinions over the best type of snack food, and Izuku being disgusted that his number one choice was dates.

Todoroki gives the slightest of shrugs, peeling it open with his long fingers. "It's a Viennese chocolate cake with apricot jam between the sponge and the icing. It’s very nice: I had some on a school trip to Austria."

“Ooh, lovely.” He files the information away in case it comes up in a future quiz. There’s no way Todoroki didn’t go to a private school, if their trips were international. Izuku tries not to smirk when he imagines how Todoroki might feel to hear he and Katsuki never went anywhere more exciting than the science museum. “Good choice by me, then.”

Todoroki snaps the bar in half, places a stick beside him, then pushes the other in its wrapper towards Izuku. “Please. I insist.”

“If you do,” he concedes, and wonders if they’re finally sharing lunch as Ochako had suggested they do. Cheeks flaming at the idea, he busies himself with stirring his karaage and rice.

Silence falls over them while they eat until, unexpectedly, Todoroki breaks it. “How’s rugby going?”

“Good, good!” It’s a small miracle he’s yet to turn up to the office with a bruised face, and he’s quite grateful that his jumper hides the purple marks on his chest where Denki accidentally stepped on him in a scrum. “I’m saving up for an N-Pro head guard at the minute. It’s the best one you can get for impact protection but they’re from Ireland, so shipping is insane on top of how expensive the head guard is itself…” He sighs, poking at his rice. “I’ll get there eventually, though.”

“Saving up?” Todoroki repeats doubtfully and Izuku nods. He pauses, then sets his food aside. As he leans in closer, eyes on Izuku’s, his voice is a great deal quieter when he speaks again. “If you’re struggling with money…”

The implication hangs in the air, uncertain, and Izuku feels his cheeks flood with heat. “I don’t want handouts,” he says, shocked. “I’m saving up for something expensive, not struggling! I can’t just drop thirty thousand yen in one go when I’ve got rent to pay!” The thought of his boss offering him a loan has him cringing so hard his spine almost snaps.

“You can’t?” Todoroki says, brow furrowed. “It’s only thirty thousand.”

Izuku opens his mouth to retort, then closes it again. Something about Todoroki’s expression tells him that he asked out of genuine cluelessness. “It’s a non-essential purchase,” he tells him, “and I have other, more important things to pay for, and a head guard to use in the meantime. I just put a little bit of money aside every month until I can justify buying it.” He pauses. “Have you… never saved up for something before?”

“No,” Todoroki says, as if the concept is completely foreign to him. “I just put it on my credit card.”

Izuku blinks at him, hoping beyond hope that Todoroki will say yes to the question he’s about to ask him. He presses the back of his hand to his cheek, feeling the heat still lingering there. “And you… remember to pay off your credit card, right?”

“Yes. Well.” He shrugs. “My trust fund does.”

“Ah. I see.” He tries to phrase it as politely as he can, aware of the fact that his boss is at least in his mid-twenties. “Not all of us have a trust fund. Most people don’t, actually. Kac - Katsuki’s parents are wealthy, but they wouldn’t set one up for him to dip into so he learnt the value of money.”

“The value of money,” Todoroki repeats, and Izuku nods. He looks suddenly shameful. “I’m not sure I do, actually.”

He studies him, contemplating. “How much does a banana cost in the supermarket?”

Todoroki frowns, thinks, then shrugs again. “I don’t know. My housekeeper does all my shopping.”

“I see,” Izuku says weakly. “And does Momo have a housekeeper, too?”

“She does, actually. Why do you ask?”

“No reason.” He’d like to imagine Momo having at least a little more common sense than him. Housekeepers. “You read my column, though. I get letters quite a lot from people asking about money.”

“I just figured they were bad with money,” Todoroki says blithely, “and that they needed financial advisors.”

If he didn’t know it came from genuine cluelessness, Izuku thinks he would be a lot sharper than he currently is. No doubt Ochako or Kacchan would’ve lost their patience long before now - and perhaps Eijirou, whose mothers sent him out to work in the local convenience store the moment he turned fifteen. “Tokyo is one of the most expensive cities in the world,” he tells him, “and not everyone is going to earn huge amounts of money. And very few people have families as rich as yours.”

Todoroki sits back in his chair, soup abandoned and looking thoroughly shell shocked. “I must sound completely disgusting and out of touch.”

“Just ignorant,” Izuku corrects, deciding not to agree with him on the latter point. “And at least you’re not looking down on the poor. Considering I’m very ‘eat the rich’, we’d have a big problem there.”

“Eat the rich?” Todoroki says, alarmed. “You don’t mean cannibalism, do you?”

It’s hard to fight back the laugh, and he knows he can’t disguise the way his mouth is twitching. “No. It’s a phrase from the French revolution - ‘when the people shall have nothing more to eat, they will eat the rich’. It’s about the super wealthy hoarding money while others starve, you know?”

“Oh, God.” Todoroki’s hands slide to his temples. “Is that me?”

“Um… I’m not entirely sure, actually.” As he thinks about it, a sudden, daring cunning seems to take him over. “Do you feel like being a good samaritan?”

Ten minutes later, Todoroki’s reeling off his card details as Izuku types them into the laptop he’s pushed in front of him. “There,” he says, satisfied, as he hits submit on the donation page. “That’s a food bank, the Red Cross and a cat sanctuary a lot better off. If you don’t mind me asking, why did you suggest a cat sanctuary in particular?”

Todoroki shrugs. It’s not as intimidating as he thought it would be, his boss leaning over him with a hand on the back of his chair as he watched him spend his money, but it’s probably because Izuku’s still high on the thrill of donating to charity. “I’ve got a cat.”

“You do?” He perks up, glancing up at him. “What’re they called?”

“Cashew. My sister gave her to me: she and her partner got her as a kitten, then they found out he was allergic to them. She cried her eyes out when she realised they couldn’t keep her… I suggested she get rid of her partner instead, but when she asked if I could take her I said yes straight away. I went straight to the pet store and bought every single cat item they had, though she prefers to play with elastic bands and bottle caps than actual toys…”

Izuku blinks, then feels a smile begin to stretch across his face at Todoroki so casually offering the information. “Typical cats. If reincarnation is a thing, I think I’d like to be a cat.”

“Why?” Todoroki’s mouth is twitching. “Do you play with elastic bands, Midoriya?”

A laugh bubbles out of him, and he beams as he refreshes the page to see their donation appear on screen. “You know,” he says, without thinking, “you can call me Izuku, instead of Midoriya.”

He feels rather than sees Todoroki tilt his head down to stare at him, the room suddenly silent as he meets his gaze. It shouldn’t be such a big deal, he thinks, to be called by his first name, given the fact they’ve been spending lunchtime together and swapping details about their lives - and yet a new atmosphere seems to have settled over them. Izuku isn’t sure he can decipher the look his boss is wearing. All of a sudden, he realises just how close they are, and how he can just about see the scarred texture around Todoroki’s eye.

“Izuku,” Todoroki repeats, slightly strained. “If - if you’re sure.” Izuku nods, feeling his cheeks flame again, and watches the motion of Todoroki’s throat with his swallow. The silence begins anew, until he finally gets the words out, voice strangled. “I think - I think it’s only fair if you call me Shouto in return, then.”

His name doesn’t come as a surprise to Izuku - he’d have been seriously worried if he didn’t know it, having worked here for so long now - and yet it’s unexpected. He’s so used to referring to and thinking of the man by his family name that the use of Shouto humanises him in a way. “That’s a nice name,” he says, thinking it would be odd to thank him for sharing it. “And less syllables than Todoroki.”

“I’ve never thought of that,” Todoroki - Shouto - says, still in that odd, dry voice. “But it’s embarrassing that I never thought of donating money to a charity, either.”

“We all need to start somewhere,” Izuku says bracingly. “If you ever feel like being generous again, just look at Cashew for a reminder.”

“I will. Do you have any pets?”

Izuku sighs. “I wish. My landlord doesn’t let us have any animals, not even small ones like rabbits or hamsters… I’d love a cat, though.”

Shouto raises his eyebrows, smiling slightly. “You can share Cashew, if you like.”

“Yeah?” Izuku grins up at him. “Like you bring her in every day as an office cat?”

There’s a small flicker in Shouto’s expression that makes him think the joke wasn’t something he considered; that perhaps he wasn’t so keen on the idea of sharing his cat with staff who’d probably ignore their work to pet her instead. A second later, his face has smoothed out again. “Something like that,” he says evenly, and doesn’t elaborate.

“That would be cool.” Turning away from him, his eyes drift to the clock at the corner of Shouto’s screen, and he jolts. “Oh, God! Look at the time!” He leaps to his feet, scrambling to put his bento box back together. “Sorry, sorry, I completely lost track - ”

“It’s not your fault,” Shouto says mildly, watching him trying and failing to slot the sections in place. “I’m the one who distracted you.”

He’s starting to distract him hourly, Izuku thinks, but decides not to voice it. Telling his boss that he stares at the way the lights reflect off of the white side of his hair would be the height of creepiness. “No, no, it’s me. I need to improve my timekeeping.” Box secured, he makes for the door and throws a smile back at Shouto over his shoulder. “Enjoy the rest of your day!”

“And you,” is the response, and it’s hard for Izuku not to beam as he returns to his desk, a spring in his step.

Ochako’s waiting for him, the remnants of her lunch long gone. “So,” she says, clearly having prepared for it, “what did you find out about our illustrious boss today?”

“He’s got a cat called Cashew.” For some reason he decides not to tell her that their boss asked to be called by his first name, even if the mere thought of it has him glowing with delight. Scooting his chair close to his desk, he opens his laptop with a flourish. “I always think you can trust someone if they like cats, and especially if they own one with a funny name.”

“Cashew’s a cute name! I wish Tenya wasn’t allergic to them.” Stretching, Ochako pulls a face while Izuku considers asking if he’s possibly related to Shouto’s brother-in-law. “Did you find out if he wants kids, too?”

Izuku blinks. “Excuse me?” 

“Did you find out if he wants kids?” Ochako repeats, slow and deliberate. “It’s one of the first things I asked Tenya to make sure we were on the same page, and I know you want two. How many does Todoroki want?”

“And why,” Izuku says, already knowing the answer, “would I want to know if he wants children?”

Ochako sighs so deeply that her shoulders slump, fixing beady eyes on him. “Because you should start making moves. I’m sick of nothing happening between you two.”

“What do you think is going to happen? Really?” He tries his hardest not to think of her talking to Katsuki about this, and the two bickering over what approach he should take. “Shame on you, using my love life as entertainment. And that’s not a joke,” he adds, scowling. “It’s not entertainment.”

“Entertainment?” she repeats, incredulous. “I don’t think of it as entertainment! I think of it as you desperately needing to accept your feelings for our boss, because I really don’t think they’re platonic, not when you’re spending your lunches together and talking about your lives and - ”

“Okay, fine,” he hisses, scooting over to her before he knows what he’s doing until they’re practically nose-to-nose. “You’re right: I have a crush on him. In fact, I think he’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen. Are you happy now?”

Judging by her gasp and the way her face lights up, it’s a yes. “Get in!” she cries, then slaps her hands over her mouth as Izuku shushes her. “I knew it, I knew it, even when you were lying through your teeth and saying you didn’t - Tenya didn’t believe me either, but he wouldn’t have known I had a crush on him even if I’d stripped down naked in front of him - ”

“You’ve been discussing this with Tenya?” he says, aghast. He’s already regretting his snap decision to confess to her, based on nothing more than finally losing his patience. “What did he say about it?”

“I discuss everything with Tenya,” Ochako tells him, eyebrows arched. “You’ll be happy to hear he didn’t have much to say, though. He doesn’t see anything between you and Todoroki, but again, I go back to his amazing ability not to notice anything.”

“That’s because there isn’t anything between us.” It’s hardly a lie: he can’t count staring at each other, sharing first names and awkward silences as something out of the ordinary. In contrast to lunchtime, he can feel the blood draining on his face, and makes sure to keep his voice hushed. “So what if I have a crush on him? He doesn’t have a crush on me.”

“I wouldn’t be so sure,” Ochako says sagely. “Maybe he counts all the times you’ve had lunch together as dates - and maybe that’s why he’s been staring at you all these months! He wasn’t planning to fire you, but was just admiring you from afar!”

“Doubtful.” He refuses to entertain the idea, sure the two of them would get carried away before long. The very last thing he needed was to convince himself that his boss had a crush on him, then humiliate himself by getting it completely wrong. “If he was, wouldn’t he have made a move before now? And in the very, very slim chance he does, he’s a professional. He wouldn’t want to open himself up to a lawsuit of workplace harassment or something.”

“Technically Tenya is one of our managers,” Ochako points out, “and that didn’t stop him from dating me.”

“Well, he didn’t really have a choice in the matter. He couldn’t exactly say no to you, the way you demanded he take you out for dinner.”

“It’s called being proactive.” They fall silent as Sero walks past, whistling, and Izuku peers over the partitions to check that Momo - and, more importantly, Katsuki - are nowhere nearby. When he looks back, he flinches when he realises how close Ochako’s leaning in, expression determined. “Why don’t you ask Todoroki out to dinner?”

“Because,” Izuku says, voice tremulous no matter how much he tries to keep it steady, “his idea of dinner is probably something that would cost my monthly salary. Maybe I should try to impress him with my home cooking instead and make him expiry soup.”

“Well, that would be a good way to vet him: if he throws up, you throw him out.” She shrugs. “At least think about it. Best case scenario, you start dating your rich, hot boss.”

“Worst case scenario, I lose my job.” He tries to picture Shouto with a disgusted expression and an order to get out of his office after a confession but somehow isn’t able to think of anything more than an abstract, foggy image, as if trying to peer at a scene upon a mirror after a hot shower. Thinking of him telling the big, burly rugby player that he never loved him and wanted to end their relationship produces a similar result. Unfortunately, what he can imagine all too well is Shouto sitting across from him at the Indian restaurant near his mother’s house, and his favourite chicken makhani dish.

“I have way too much work to be getting on with,” he says instead of asking her whether or not she thought their boss would like tandoori, and buries his head in his pile of papers before she can respond.

It’s an hour or two later before a familiar click-click of heels on the floorboards lets them know it’s Momo, even before she makes her announcement. “Can everyone please go to the conference room? I promise we won’t take too much of your time.”

“A snap meeting? I hope it doesn’t run past five,” Ochako says in an undertone, closing down a file before she pushes away from her laptop. “I can’t wait to get home.”

“Why? Have you been sent pieces to edit with too many spelling mistakes?” Definitely, if Eijirou had emailed anything to her.

“No, I want to get a bath. My boobs are sore.” She raised her eyebrows at his expression. “What? You did ask.” 

Having only been in the conference room once or twice since he was hired, Izuku had always viewed the room as somewhat of a waste of resources. Nevertheless, he files in alongside the other employees, taking a seat on the edge of the room. A few don’t seem too pleased to be pulled away from their work: Katsuki in particular is scowling, hands shoved in his pockets as Eijirou bounces in behind him.

Momo and Shouto are the last two into the room and, standing at the front, the former smiles at them all as the latter seems more interested in the shoes. “Management has decided,” Momo announces, clipboard held in front of her but eyes fixed on the staff, “that we send too many emails, and don’t hold enough team meetings. It’s creating a disjointed working environment, not getting all of us together in person away from our desks. So, going forwards, there will be a weekly run through of sales figures, reader feedback, any concerns or queries…”

“Are there issues with the sales figures?” Sero interjects, alarmed. 

“No, no - the opposite, in fact. Entrophy’s sales figures are eighteen percent higher than last year, so you’re all doing an exemplary job. You should be very proud of yourselves.” She smiles at them all, queenly and resplendent. Izuku wonders where her self confidence comes from and imagines her standing in front of her bathroom mirror every morning, repeating positive mantras to herself. Maybe he’d feel better about himself if he kept telling his reflection all the things his mother told him, despite how biased she is. “On the topic of sales, compared to other lifestyle magazines in circulation - ”

He probably should be concentrating on what she’s saying, whether out of respect for Momo or interest in his job, but it’s proving a struggle for Izuku when Shouto’s standing right beside her. In contrast to Momo’s warmth and charm, he’s silent and morose, gaze focused on a thin crack on the wall instead of upon any of them. Izuku can’t help but wonder if he’s relied on Momo to relay his messages for most of their friendship, and pictures Shouto wordlessly punching the arrow key to move a high school presentation to its next slide as Momo read off the script.

What was Shouto like as a teenager? Did he have braces? An emo fringe? Was he part of any clubs or societies? Probably not as many as Izuku was, but definitely ones that were more athletic and less nerdy, like the book club and chess group. Could Shouto play chess, actually? Izuku has the sneaking suspicion that he might, based on nothing more than his vibes. You needed to be good at strategising to run a successful magazine and beat out the competitors, right? Maybe he should bring in a board some lunchtime and challenge him to a match - but what if he beat him? Should he beat him? Izuku’s pretty confident that he could, but would Shouto be offended at an employee putting him in checkmate before he could blink? Maybe he wouldn’t be offended - maybe he’d be impressed, rewarding him with one of those rare, elusive smiles, curving the corners of his lips and creasing the skin around the edges of his eyes just slightly - 

Eyes finally focusing, Izuku snaps out of his daydreaming when he realises that Shouto’s looking his way and smiling. Smiling at him, with no reason to be doing it other than simply wanting to. Without hesitation, Izuku smiles back. 

Behind him, Katsuki gives an exaggerated retching sound. Momo stops speaking, glancing his way with alarm. “Is everything alright, Bakugou?”

“No,” Katsuki says, voice thick with disgust while Izuku stops smiling at Shouto to glare at him instead. “I think I’m going to be sick.” He stands up and slopes unhurriedly from the room, Momo watching him go with obvious confusion.

“Should someone - ?”

“No, no, he’s fine,” Ochako interrupts, weary as Izuku seethes. “Best just to leave him to it.”

He can tell by Momo’s expression that she isn’t so sure, but she returns to her clipboard. “As I was saying… yes, Tokoyami?”

“Are we going to be discussing such things as the office being closed over national holidays?” he says from behind Izuku in his usual sombre tone.

“As usual, the office will be closed over national holidays,” Momo says smoothly, “but we’ll be offering extended holiday leave this New Year’s, and some days for Christmas if anyone would like to celebrate it. Paid, of course.”

An excited murmur goes around the room. “What about staff parties?” Camie pipes up, legs crossed and one bouncing atop the other. “Y’know, for holidays.”

“Yes, well, we’ll be allocating a monthly budget for that.” Odd, Izuku thinks, that Momo didn’t fill her in before now. Maybe they tried to keep their work and personal lives separate, despite working in the exact same room. “And making an effort for staff birthdays. We want you all to know how appreciated you are.”

“I hope that includes cake,” Ochako hisses in his ear, but Izuku’s distracted by the buzzing in his pocket. Sliding his phone out, he takes one glance at the screen then scowls.



[Katsuki] : YOU ARE THE SADDEST, MOST PATHETIC PERSON I HAVE EVER HAD THE DISPLEASURE OF KNOWING

Glancing up at Shouto to make sure he’s still reading Momo’s notes over her shoulder, Izuku hides his phone behind his crossed legs and furiously types back a response.

[Izuku] : did it really take you ten minutes to think that up? i'm embarrassed for you

He feels Ochako’s gaze on him and angles the screen towards her as he looks towards the front of the room and Momo flicking through her notes. “Typical Katsuki,” he whispers, and she doesn’t try to disguise her snort. One sideways glance from Momo silences them at once, lips pressed tightly together.

“We’re looking to get a social committee together, so please send me an email letting me know if you’re interested in being a part of it. Their main role will be to plan events both inside and outside of the office, so - ”

“We should do karaoke,” Eijirou says at once, and a few people around him nod in agreement. In contrast, Izuku feels cold all over at the thought. The last thing he needs is to have a few drinks too many and stumble his way through ‘Life Is A Highway’, which was always his go-to karaoke song but now would probably end with hysterical sobbing and traumatising every single one of his coworkers -

“No. No karaoke.” Tenya - Izuku’s unexpected saviour - is at the opposite side of the room, sitting ramrod straight and breaking his composure with the most unsettled of expressions. “What about bowling?”

Ochako scoffs beside him. “Just because you hate karaoke and can hit strike after strike! You’re not even that bad a singer!”

“Is there such a thing as a bad singer with karaoke?” Ojiro muses from the corner, then glances at Momo. “Are maintenance staff included in your plans?”

“Of course,” she tells him, with Shouto nodding solemnly behind. “You’re essential to the running of our business, after all.”

“Some singing skills are essential to being good at karaoke,” Jirou from the music column interjects, chin tilted slightly. Having only heard her speak a handful of times since they started working together, Izuku’s mildly surprised at the input. “But I suppose you don’t have to be good at it.”

“Of course you don’t! It’s just meant to be fun!” Katsuki slopes into the room again, expression surly, and Eijirou turns to him with a wheedling tone. “You’d be up for karaoke, Katsuki, wouldn’t you?”

Slumping back into his chair, Katsuki crosses his arms across his chest and stares resolutely at the floor. “I hate karaoke.”

“No, you don’t,” Eijirou corrects him. “You always pick ‘Islands in The Stream’ to sing with me. ”

“Yeah?” Camie’s making no attempt to hide her smirk. “Is he Dolly?”

Eijirou fixes her with a look of great distaste. “Don’t ask silly questions. I’m Dolly.”

“We can take a vote,” Momo says loudly, as Camie giggles and Katsuki’s lips pull back from his teeth, “just like we did when we last organised a social event. Everyone can suggest something, and we take a collective vote on which one to pick. Events involving alcohol are allowed again, but we strongly discourage drinking to excess.” 

More murmuring goes around the room, and Izuku makes eye contact with Shouto. Do you like karaoke? he mouths, and has to cover his mouth to smother his laugh when the response is an automatic shake of his head.

After Momo’s reminder of the fire evacuation and smoking policies, she seems to run to the end of her clipboard. “That’s all we have for you,” she says, glancing at Shouto then back to her board, “unless - ?”

“You can all clock off early today.” It’s the first time Shouto speaks up, and Izuku can feel the shift in the atmosphere of the room as his words settle. Even Momo looks taken aback, blinking at him. If their boss notices it he doesn’t react, face remaining as smooth and neutral as ever. “As a small token of appreciation for your hard work.”

There’s a pause, then Eijirou leaps to his feet. “Thank you!” He’s out of the room in a second and, as if spurred on by his confidence, the others begin to follow, murmuring their thanks to Shouto and Momo as they pass. Izuku smiles at them as he goes, returning to his desk to find Ochako shoving everything in her back at lightning speed. She stops quite abruptly when Izuku doesn’t follow her example, instead sitting down and opening his laptop again.

“You’re not going home?”

“Not just yet: I’ve got a couple of responses to write.” She doesn’t need to know that he spent a solid forty minutes on Tetris instead of actually working, cheerily ignoring the remaining letters before him. In any case she shrugs it off, hoisting her bag onto her shoulder and waving her goodbyes as she meets Tenya at his desk. If anyone else notices him staying, they say nothing: Eijirou offers him a wave, but Katsuki’s gaze seems firmly focused on the door as he strides his way towards it.

The room slowly darkens, and Izuku switches his desk lamp on as the silence settles. It’s a great deal more peaceful than usual, working in solitude instead of the hustle and bustle of whatever his colleagues were up to. When he finishes the last response - an earnest appeal to the sender that, yes, she should try and repair the relationship with the best friend she’s grown distant from but misses daily - Izuku leans back in his chair and sighs. There’s something that’s been niggling at him for the last half an hour at least, all throughout his suggestions on how to reach out and speak to someone who knows you better than anyone else - advice, sadly, that he can’t apply to his current situation. Sighing through his nose, he pushes his laptop aside in favour of a pen and gets to work.

Dear Deku,

I have a problem: a crush on my boss. It’s a problem because I’m pretty sure he hated me, but we started talking to each other in passing (kind of out of nowhere, actually) and I’ve come to realise he’s actually a pretty nice guy, if a bit introverted and socially inept. Is that the right term? He’s great at business, but not so much with people. Maybe that’s too rude. Why am I wondering about the semantics in a letter to myself????

Anyway, I’ve got a crush, and I’m not sure what to do about it because HE’S MY BOSS. Kind of an HR conflict, right??? Despite the fact our HR lady is pretty much invisible, and I can’t remember the last time I actually saw her. What can I do?? Ignore it?? It seems like the safest option, and the most sensible, but my stupid brain won’t stop telling me that he’s so handsome, and so funny, and now I’ve found out that he likes CATS. He’s giving me so many green flags that there HAS to be skeletons in his closet, other than whatever the hell happened with his ex, but we’re not touching that particular can of worms.

I don’t even know what I’m trying to achieve, writing a letter to myself. Maybe it’s the first sign of madness.

Hopelessly,

Izuku

He chews his pen, staring at what he’s written. He’s not sure what he thought writing a letter to himself would do, but it certainly didn’t provide him with any more clarity. Stop being stupid, is his first thought, and probably the most sensible he could come up with. There’s no doubt in his mind that it’s the first thing Katsuki would say to him.

There comes movement from in front of him, and Izuku glances up to see Shouto closing his office door behind him. He turns to leave then catches sight of him, the person still at their desk in the loneliest corner of the room. It seems to take Shouto a second to recognise who it is, and Izuku can’t help but wonder if it’s because of his desk lamp being the only light source, and if his scarred eye struggled in low light sources. “Oh. Mi - Izuku. I thought you would’ve left by now.”

“I’ll be away soon. I’m just messing around, really - but thank you for the early finish.” He smiles up at him as Shouto approaches, his beige cashmere trench coat buttoned up to his neck. “My words per minute speed used to be way faster, both writing and typing.”

“You’re still probably quicker than me.” Most unexpectedly, Shouto lowers himself into Ochako’s empty seat, and Izuku makes sure his paper is angled in a way that he can’t read what’s been written. As it is, the man’s mismatched eyes flicker to it. “Anything interesting?”

“No,” Izuku says gloomily. At one curious look from Shouto, the words are spilling from his mouth before he can stop them. “How would you advise someone on something you’re not sure of yourself? Something which is silly, and irrational, and foolish, and all that in between, and that you’re pretty sure might cost them their job?”

“Cost them their job?” Shouto raises his eyebrows. “How so?”

“You don’t want to know,” Izuku tells him. “Really, it’s best if you don’t know.”

“Hmm. Alright.” He sits back, contemplating. In the low light, Izuku can see the scarred texture around his eye better than ever and realises that it extends down to his mid-cheek. He tries not to think about what might’ve caused it and forces himself to look at Shouto’s eyes instead, steel grey and sky blue. “I think that I’d advise them to be absolutely sure of what they’re doing before they go for it. If it is as irrational and foolish as you say it is, they’d need to act with caution - though I’m not sure I can advise you much further when I don’t know what the situation is. I’m sorry,” he adds, and looks genuinely regretful.

Izuku can’t help but smile at him, even if his chest is suddenly aching with an emotion he can’t quite put his finger on. “No need to apologise. You’re being very sensible, I think.”

“I suppose sensible is better than foolhardy.” Shouto tilts his head to one side and though his eyebrows draw together, Izuku doesn’t think he’s frowning. “Will I see your advice in the next issue?”

“Nah. I think this one is for the bin.” He looks down at his own handwriting, then folds the letter twice over without thinking. “I’m sorry, I’m keeping you from getting home. You’d best get back to feed Cashew, before she falls out with you. Isn’t it funny how temperamental cats are compared to dogs?”

Shouto hesitates, and for a moment looks like he’s going to say something else. Then he swallows, nods, and stands. “It is. I’d best be off.” He pauses again, as if still searching for what to say - but it never comes, and he’s hitching his bag further up his shoulder before Izuku can question it. “Goodnight, Izuku. I’ll see you in the morning.”

“See you,” Izuku echoes, watching him go - and, as the door closes quietly behind Shouto, thinks he really ought to have asked him to see a photo of his cat.

Chapter Text

Dear Deku,

I started a new job a few months ago and everyone is lovely, but I’m painfully shy and don’t know how to ask them if they want to hang out outside of work. I’ve never spent time with any of them outside of work, but there’s some I really would like to form friendships with. 

Thank you,

Anxious 

Dear Anxious

Would you believe I’m writing this during a work trip? Well, a train to a work trip which, funnily enough, is in a train museum. Try getting your head around that while I type one-handed! 

I’m bringing it up because that’s exactly what I think you should suggest to your colleagues. Ask the one you feel most comfortable around if there’s ever any work trips or outings, then suggest somewhere you could all go as a group. They’ll be pleased you made the suggestion as you’ll be the one putting in the effort, and being in a fun group environment might take some of the pressure away that you’re putting on yourself. Think of an activity you’d like to do and go from there! You’ve got this! 

Yours,

Deku

Signing off his response, Izuku resists the urge to add an addendum of ‘let’s just hope you don’t have a crush on any of them, too’. “I got a letter that was very relevant to what we’re doing now,” he explains to Fumikage, who’s squashed next to him in the crowded train and had been doing his best to look away and give him privacy while he typed. “I’m not sure how many workplaces take trips to train museums, though.”

“No,” Fumikage agrees, voice muffled behind his thick scarf. “But I like museums.” 

“Me too.” He saves the document and tucks his phone back in his pocket. “Have you ever been to the Sunshine Aquarium? I love the penguins.”

“I prefer the Kakegawa Bird Park.” Izuku doesn’t get a chance to respond before the train judders to a halt, and they glance up at the station name. “That’s us.”

They step out together and Izuku cranes his neck in search of their colleagues. They’d been together then got separated when they boarded, but he’d been mildly surprised that they’d even taken a train at all. When Momo had announced to them via email that she’d arranged the trip, he’d assumed that a fleet of cars had been booked for their convenience. Maybe Shouto had listened to his explanations about wealth and spending responsibly, and he tries not to grin at the thought. It isn’t long before he spots Tenya waving or hears his shouts for everyone to follow him, and he and Tokoyami tramp after him down the sloping path in the direction of the museum.

Most of the office went along on the trip, but there’s only one person he’s looking out for as he pushes through the crowd. “You’re very quiet today,” he says in a low voice as he catches up with Ochako. “It’s not like you. Is everything okay?”

She shrugs listlessly as they walk into the entrance hall, not meeting his eyes. “I’m fine. I’m just feeling under the weather.”

Izuku feels his eyebrows knit together. She’d hardly been at her desk for most of the half day they’d worked, and when she had she’d been glued to her laptop with her headphones on and signifying she didn’t want to be interrupted. “Are you sure? Do you need any water, or painkillers, or - ?”

“I’m fine,” she repeats, giving him a tight smile. “Nothing to worry about.” She strides off after Tenya and leaves Izuku standing alone, bewildered. 

“You could at least try to enjoy yourself.” He turns at the sound of Momo’s low voice and sees her walking alongside a scowling Camie, Shouto bringing up the rear. “Can you just try to have fun? Please?”

“Yeah, right,” Camie says scornfully. “How the hell am I meant to have fun in a train museum?” If Izuku had to guess, the thought of doing loops of the museum in her skyscraper heels was only exacerbating her bad mood.

He catches Shouto’s eye and smiles at him as Momo sighs. “Well, Iida’s having fun.”

“Yeah, and Iida is like no human being I’ve ever met before.” They pass him but Shouto holds back, hands in his pockets and watching them go.

“Have you heard many complaints about the choice of venue?” he asks Izuku, who blithly wonders how much his Burberry scarf cost. “I’ve only heard Camie’s moaning, but I think other people might’ve only said something when I wasn’t around.”

“No, actually! It was Ochako’s suggestion on Tenya’s behalf - Sero and Katsuki like museums, and Eijirou likes anything practical - Fumikage would rather do something educational than entertaining - Ojiro was happy to be included - ” He rattles off through the employees and Shouto nods along until he runs out of steam and has to stop for breath. “So, yeah. And they didn’t have to go if they didn’t want to, did they?”

“I think the promise of a half day was too strong a pull to resist,” Shouto says, smiling slightly. “I’ll be honest and say that this wouldn’t have been my first choice, but I think it’ll be interesting. Plus, you never know: you could always learn something about railways that’ll come up as a quiz question.”

“Ooh, nice thinking!” Beaming up at him, Izuku bumps their arms together and tries to disregard the jolt of electricity it sends up his spine as a result. They’re definitely the stragglers of the group as they meander into the first exhibit, but he finds he doesn’t mind being left behind. “Imagine trying to get around without public transport. I don’t think I’d fancy a horse and cart.”

Shouto shrugs. “I like horses, so I wouldn’t mind. I don’t actually use much public transport as it is.”

“Are you a car fan as well as a horse fan?” Shouto nods. “What do you drive? I’ve never actually seen your car.”

“An Aston Martin DB11,” Shouto says casually. “I saw the DB10 in a James Bond movie and loved it, but it was a model only made for the film, so I preordered the next one as soon as I could - though I took ages to decide whether I wanted a blue or silver one. I went with silver, in the end.”

“Oh,” Izuku manages, voice weak. “I see. I don’t even have a car.”

“You don’t?” He hopes beyond hope it doesn’t mean another offer of money from Shouto, and toys with the idea of telling him just how much Toshinori is worth - and how much they’d fought last year over his stepfather trying to replenish his empty bank account - before deciding it would only make him seem like a loser. 

“Nope. I can drive, but I don’t need a car right now. If I can’t cycle, get public transport or get my roommate to give me a lift, he lets me borrow his but since it doesn’t happen very often, getting one myself would be a waste of money.” He waves it away and smiles at him. “Would you take me for a spin in yours sometime, though?”

Shouto’s lips part as he stares at him, then nods jerkily. “Of course I will. Gladly.” 

As they walk through the exhibits, Izuku tries not to get ahead of himself. Friends gave each other lifts all the time, he rationalises, and Hitoshi would probably be physically sick if he ever implied that picking him up from rugby matches meant there was something romantic between them. Besides, Shouto would probably leap at the chance to show his car off to anyone. He’s never come across as the showy type, though, and definitely not the type to deliberately rub his wealth in someone’s face - just accidentally, and cluelessly.

“Have you ever been on a steam train before?” he muses aloud as they reach an exhibit of them. “I think I was on one when I was a kid, but I can’t really remember it.” 

“Not for years and years. I don’t think we’ll get the chance to, anyway.” He’s definitely smirking as he nods towards the driving simulator, and Tenya seated squarely in the driver’s seat in white conductor’s gloves.

Izuku covers his mouth in an attempt to smother a laugh. He’s not sure he’s ever seen Tenya look as joyous as he is now, fiddling with the control panel and narrating his every move to Ochako. “I’m not even surprised - something about his grandfather being a conductor and buying him a matching uniform when he was a kid sparked his interest in it. You should see his spare room: it’s full of model trains and little tracks.”

“Does Uraraka hate it?”

“Nope. She encourages him, actually: she bought him a Glacier Express set for his birthday.”

“Hm.” Shouto nods to their left. “She doesn’t look very happy.”

He looks over Shouto’s shoulder to see that Ochako’s hugging herself, mouth downturned as she watches Tenya pull the rope to sound the horn. Izuku feels a frown of his own forming at the sight of her. “Oh. No, she doesn’t. That’s not like her.” He makes a mental note to check in with her later. “Something’s up with her today.”

Shouto glances at her, then back at Izuku. “She doesn’t seem herself, does she?”

“No,” Izuku says, the words distorted as he chews on his lip. “No, not at all.”

“Can you get married on a train?” Eijirou’s voice cuts through the worry, and he cranes his neck to see him and Katsuki on the other side of the exhibit, examining a display. “Like, have everyone sitting in a carriage while you stand at the top to say your vows?”

Izuku doesn’t have to see his face to know the expression Katsuki will be wearing. “I don’t know why you’d want to.”

“Why not? It could be fun. People would always talk about it, wouldn’t they? Like, hey, the best wedding I ever went to was one where the whole thing was on a train. Unique or what?”

“Let me make one thing very clear to you,” Katsuki says, poking Eijirou in the chest. “I am not marrying you in a train, and I get final decision on the venue. Got that?”

“I’d marry you in an alleyway, or in the desert, or in your mom’s tennis court,” Eijirou says solemnly. “Wherever it is, I’ll always choo-choose you.”

Katsuki rolls his eyes but doesn’t comment, and the two pass by towards the next exhibit. Shouto leans in closer, dropping his voice to a murmur. “Are they planning a wedding?”

“They’re not even engaged. Katsuki talked about eloping when they eventually get around to it because he wouldn’t want a fuss, but Eijirou’s got a big family so I think he’d put up with the fuss for him.”

“Hmm. I don’t think I’d like to get married on a train.” Reaching out, Shouto trails his fingertips over the glossy surface of the carriage Eijirou had been admiring. “Especially one in motion.”

“People put too much stress and money into weddings, and that stress would probably be exacerbated in a shaky carriage.” He imagines Ochako having motion sickness; his mother losing her balance and falling into the wedding cake.

“You don’t sound like a fan,” Shouto says, smiling wryly. “Have horror stories from the column put you off weddings?”

Izuku can’t help his hollow laugh. “Something like that.” He knows Shouto is looking at him, but he isn’t in the mood to elaborate. Izuku stares at the reflection of the overhead lights upon the carriage surface, chewing on his tongue, until he feels Shouto move slightly closer.

“My sister is getting married next year, actually. Her fiance’s been working on quite a beautiful journal with all his plans in it, and one of my brothers is giving a speech, but…” His cough sounds more like a laugh in disguise. “He’d rather focus on what she's doing for the food and entertainment than his role in it.”

One of his brothers. It seems he’s finding the information about Shouto’s background out like a leaky faucet, one drip at a time. “Is this your brother who’s the ice hockey player?” Izuku asks, and Shouto nods.

“He’s a professional. Did I ever tell you that?”

“No, you didn’t! Let’s see a picture of him.” Shouto swipes through his phone and offers it to him. Izuku takes it to see that he’s zoomed in on a picture of a hockey team so that one crouched figure fills the frame, helmet under his arm. Studying him, he can see that Shouto’s brother is broad and beaming, radiating cheer in a way he’s never seen from the man standing quietly by his side. “Wow. What position does he play?” 

“He’s a defenceman,” Shouto says, taking the phone back and slipping it into his pocket once more. “He’s got a big build, so I think that helps.”

Izuku’s eyes flicker over him, but it’s hard not to stop them from lingering. “You’ve not exactly got a small build yourself. Did you ever try it, too?”

“No.” He hesitates. “My brother… had a lot of extracurricular activities. He’s a jack of all trades, but ice hockey was what he gained a real mastery of.”

“I’m no good at ice skating,” Izuku gripes. Ahead of them Tenya’s paying five hundred yen to use the shinkansen simulator again, and he wonders how many extracurriculars the other brother had, too. “I’m a million times more coordinated on a rugby pitch than on ice.” 

“I’m okay at it. Well, I can stay standing,” Shouto says, which Izuku takes to mean he’s just being humble. “We should go some time.”

“I’m not sure everyone would want to go, with the risk of falling and humiliating yourself and all that.” 

“I meant…” Shouto stops walking, and Izuku turns to see him standing there with a slight crease between his brows. “I didn’t mean everyone. I meant us. Together.”

He falters to a stop, not sure if he’s understood him correctly. “Just - me and you?”

“Yes.” Shouto’s expression doesn’t change, eyes on his as his heart begins to thud against his ribs. “If you don’t - ?”

“No,” Izuku interrupts. “No, that would be - that would be fun. I’d like that.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” 

They stare at each other for a second longer then, without another word, keep walking. There’s a glow spreading through Izuku’s chest, warming him from the inside out. Really, it’s something he shouldn’t be looking into - friends hung out together one on one all the time, after all - but he can’t help but feel delighted over Shouto wanting to spend time with him.

“What hobbies do you have, if your brother had a ton?” he says as they reach the next exhibit, scanning a board with information about trains in the Meiji period and trying his best not to get his hopes up about an ice skating date.

“Uh… running, if you call that a hobby. I go for a run every morning,” Shouto tells him, and Izuku quietly revels in the fact he’d already guessed it. “Tennis… pilates… I used to snowboard, but I don’t have the time for it now.”

“Very nice,” Izuku says, trying not to salivate at the thought of Shouto on a yoga mat, or sweat running down his jaw as he took a serve. “Lovely.”

“I’d quite like to - ” Shouto hesitates then glances at him, and there’s something shy about it. “Promise you won’t laugh?”

“Promise,” Izuku vows, holding his hand up with his little finger raised and allowing Shouto to link his with it. It’s disappointing when he finally pulls away instead of seizing his hand.

“I’d quite like to get into…” Shouto pauses, but he thinks it’s less for dramatic effect and more for trying to work out how to word it. “Growing vegetables.”

Izuku blinks at him. “Pardon?”

“Growing vegetables,” Shouto repeats. “I’ve been watching videos of people being self-sustainable - you know, growing their own food, baking their own bread… I don’t think I’d go as far as raising chickens myself, but still.” He pauses, and seems to find one of the information boards exceedingly interesting. “This must sound rich, coming from someone who doesn’t even do his own food shopping.”

“No, no, I think it’s cool! I love cottagecore. Good on you for broadening your horizons.” He beams at him and they continue through the museum, Shouto trying to hide his smile in his scarf all the way. 

They don’t meet up with the rest of their colleagues until the end of the tour, and Camie’s the first one to catch sight of them. “Where were you?” she says as they approach, hip popped and arms crossed. The rest of them are huddled outside the gift shop, and Izuku isn’t surprised to see that Tenya’s holding two bags. “Slow walkers or what?”

“Just taking in the sights,” Shouto says mildly, and Izuku disguises his laugh as a cough.

“The sights of trains?” Camie says, voice full of scorn. “Well, whatever. We’re gonna go to a bar a couple of streets away - you coming?”

“Sure!” Izuku says brightly, then realises that Ochako, on the very fringes of the group, is shaking her head. “You’re not?”

“No,” she says and her usual cheer is still absent as she hugs herself, suddenly small. To her right, Tenya looks down at her with a frown.

“Is everything okay, darling?”

“Everything’s fine.” Her expression doesn’t reflect it, but she pats his arm and forces a smile on her face. “You stay out and have a few drinks with everyone, okay?”

They all stay silent, watching as Tenya turns to face her fully. “If you’re not feeling well I don’t want to - ”

“I think I’ve got a migraine coming on,” she interjects. “Some peace and quiet to myself is all I need. I’ll see you at home, yeah?” Tugging him down and going on her tiptoes she presses a kiss to his cheek, then turns on her heel and makes a beeline for the exit. Tenya opens his mouth then looks at the rest of them, lost for words. 

“I think she just needs time on her own,” Momo says kindly, stepping forwards and patting his arm. “If anything, she probably needs a break from us. Have a drink with us and then check in on her, okay?”

Tenya presses his lips together but nods. Looking around, Izuku can see that Katsuki’s frowning in the direction Ochako disappeared in, but realisation seems to have dawned across Eijirou’s face. “C’mon, big guy. Let’s get you a drink.” Clapping Tenya on the back, he winds an arm around his shoulders and marches him in the direction of the bar. Katsuki slowly follows, throwing glances over his shoulder at Ochako’s departing figure, and Izuku glances up at Shouto.

“Are you coming for a drink?”

Hands in his pockets, Shouto shrugs. “Why not?”

“Why not indeed,” Izuku says, and tries to hide the spring in his step as they head after their colleagues.

The bar’s surprisingly busy for the early evening, filled with chatter and laughter as they enter. His gaze zeroes in on his friends squashed around a table but he’s barely moved towards them before Momo shakes her head. “Sorry, Izuku. There’s not enough room here.”

He frowns, glancing around as Shouto looms behind him. “Can you guys not move up a little?” He doesn’t want to voice it but thinks that Momo, in her sensible trouser suit, looks like she’s doing what can only be described as manspreading. “I’m sure we could - ”

“There’s not enough space,” Momo says, and Izuku wonders why she’s being so firm about it. “Once the others come back from the bar we’ll be practically sitting on top of each other, so you both won’t do. Look, there’s a table for two in the corner. Here - ” She scrambles for her purse, producing a few notes and shoving them in Izuku’s hands. “Have the first round on me. Please.”

“There’s enough for at least two here,” he says weakly, but smiles at her. “Thank you. We’ll catch up at some point, won’t we?”

“Of course.” She waves him away, smiling graciously, while Camie watches them go over the top of her phone through raised eyebrows. 

“There was definitely space,” Izuku hisses as they head to their table, tossing his bag under the seat. “I think they overestimate how big Eijirou and Tenya are.”

“They’re pretty big,” Shouto says reasonably, “so maybe she had a point.”

“Maybe.” Leaning back in his chair, Izuku grins at him. “You’ll be sick of me by the end of the night.”

“Oh, I don’t think so.” Shouto offers him the briefest smile that sets Izuku’s pulse racing. “What would you like to drink?”

“A cider, please.” He drops Momo’s money into his outstretched hand and watches him head up to the bar. At this angle he can just about make out the top of Tenya’s head on the other side of the bar, but can’t see any of the rest of their colleagues. He briefly considers texting Ochako to check in on her, but puts it off to later and leaves his phone in his pocket as Shouto returns with their drinks. 

“So,” he says as he lifts his cider, smiling up at him while Shouto unwinds his scarf from around his neck, “how’s Cashew?”

“She’s good. I have to take her to get her annual vaccines soon, so she might not be friends with me afterwards.” He folds his scarf over once, twice, then sets it aside. Izuku resists the urge to ask if the rest of his outfit has designer labels, too.

“I never asked you for a photo of her,” he says suddenly. “Can I see one?”

“Of course.” 

It takes everything in him not to collapse when Shouto pulls his phone out to reveal that the cat is his lock screen photo, a blue-eyed bundle of white fluff lazing back on a rug. “Oh my God.”

“Yes, she’s very cute,” Shouto says fondly as Izuku takes the phone from him, loathing his landlord more than ever for banning pets. 

“The cutest ever.” He hands the phone back, glowing. “I expected her to be brown or cream, since you called her Cashew.”

Shouto shrugs. “Well, her ears are brown - but it’s mostly because I just like cashews.”

He can’t help but laugh as Shouto smiles into his drink. The cat was a sure fire way for Hitoshi to soften towards Shouto, but in the next moment he’s wondering why the thought came to mind at all. “You weren’t speaking to Tenya at the bar, were you?” he says, deciding to ignore all thoughts of why he wants Shouto to get along with his roommate.

“Not talking-talking, but I did ask him if he enjoyed himself. He did, obviously.” Shouto tugs his coat off, and Izuku does his best to subtly check out the flex of his biceps as he does so. “They’ve ordered a bucket of beers to their table, so I think they’re starting early.”

“Typical.” It’s probably a good thing he’s not sitting with them and running the risk of getting humiliatingly drunk in front of his colleagues. Then again, he’s running the risk of humiliating himself directly in front of Shouto, and quickly takes a gulp of cider to try and wash away the unwelcomed thought. His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he lifts it out to squint at the screen.

[Hitoshi] : Vacuum broke again. Took it apart to try and fix it but it’s as dead as Hector. What do you think of this one?

Hitoshi sent a link. 

“Typical,” Izuku mutters. “Sorry, Shouto, just give me a sec.”

[Izuku] : >:(((((

[Izuku] : i trust ur judgment. sending my half for it now 

“Everything okay?” Shouto asks when he sets his phone between them, money sent and cursing how useless their extended warranty was.

“Our vacuum cleaner broke - and definitely not for the first time - so my roommate was asking me my opinion on a new one.” He rolls his eyes. “I hate vacuuming, but maybe a new one that actually works properly will help me get over some of my bitterness.”

“I don’t mind vacuuming,” Shouto says, taking him by surprise. “I think it’s because I like listening to rock and synthpop while I vacuum, so it passes the time quickly.”

The laughter splutters out of Izuku before he can help it. “Synthpop? Vacuuming? I thought you had a housekeeper!”

“Just because I have a housekeeper,” Shouto says, corners of his mouth lifting in a shy smile, “doesn’t mean I never do chores. I quite like vacuuming, actually - though I thought you’d focus on the genre more.”

“Well, it’s surprising - I would’ve put you as someone who listened to, like, a lot of classical music - but I’m not judging. I like pretty much every genre.” He hopes against hope that Shouto won’t ask to see some of his playlists. “What artists do you like?”

“The Weeknd. Queen. The Killers. You?”

“My favourite of all time? Elton John.” Izuku grins sheepishly at him. “This is kind of embarrassing but, growing up, most of my favourite music was my mom’s favourite music, which meant I was a huge fan of Elton and Billy Joel before Marina or Lil Nas X. It was only me and my mom growing up, so we’re super close.”

Shouto’s smiling again. “Would you believe me if I told you that my mother is a huge fan of Elton John, too?”

“Really!” He can’t help but beam at Shouto. “It just means she has great taste, then.”

“I’d agree, if only she hadn’t married my father.” Shouto’s smile has faded, expression grimmer. “Who, coincidentally, hates Elton John.”

Izuku studies him, and realises that it’s the first time Shouto’s brought him up in conversation. “You don’t get on with your father, do you?”

“I can’t stand him. He’s a terrible person,” Shouto says flatly. “It was already awful to live in the same house as him and be struggling with my sexuality before the comments about that gay shit started.”

His heart clenches the same second his hands go cold with horror. “Oh, Shouto. I’m so sorry.”

He shakes his head with the briefest of motions, as if deflecting his concern. “I’m getting a drink. Do you want the same again?”

“I - yes. Do you - ?” Shouto disappears before he can offer to help him and Izuku slumps back. He’s burning with questions: how is Shouto’s relationship with his father now? Do they talk at all? Do his siblings? Staring at Shouto’s back as he hunches over the bar, Izuku bites down hard on his tongue and keeps his questions to himself.

Shouto’s mood doesn’t seem much improved when he returns with their drinks, face impassive. It isn’t until he sets them down that Izuku realises he had a shot glass tucked in each palm. “I didn’t think you’d drink shots.”

“I do on occasion,” Shouto says darkly, which Izuku takes to mean those occasions where his father is brought up. “Go ahead.”

They take a glass each and neck the shots, and Izuku fights not to gag at what feels like lighter fluid coursing down his throat. “Tequila! Ugh! I don’t want to be ungrateful, but - ” He breaks off in favour of grabbing his cider, downing half of it one go to try and rid himself of the remnants of tequila.

“I didn’t buy it for the taste.” Expression similarly disgusted, Shouto shakes his head. Izuku can at least be glad the conversation’s moved away from his father. “How do people drink glasses of it straight?”

“They don’t know how good cocktails are, or they’re too proud to drink them. I know some guys who think it’s somehow too feminine to have a cocktail. Jokes on them when they’re missing out on Sex on the Beach.” Shouto’s beer bottle slips in his grasp, and he fumbles with it while Izuku ineffectually sits and watches. “You okay there?”

“Yes,” Shouto says, and Izuku figures it must be the embarrassment of almost dropping it that has his voice so strained. “I wasn’t prepared for it - the condensation, I mean.”

“I see.” It’s hard to resist smiling at him, so Izuku doesn’t fight it. There’s something so pleasant about Shouto, effortlessly charming in his approach to just about anything. The background music at the bar changes, and he’s reminded of something. “Do you like Fall Out Boy? Ka- Katsuki and I were obsessed with them when we were growing up. We used to fight like cat and dog, but he at least let me borrow his CDs every time a new album came out.”

“I’ve heard a few of their songs,” Shouto says delicately.

“A few? Is that more or less than five?” His expression tells him all he needs to know, and Izuku is aghast. “Shouto! You like rock but you don’t listen to Fall Out Boy? You’ve been seriously missing out! Ugh, I wish I had my headphones - you’re going to get an education with me, I swear.”

“Yeah?” Shouto says, smiling at him in a way that makes his heart skip a beat. “I’m up for that.”

A few more drinks, another shot each and a discussion of Infinity On High later, only then does Izuku realise that they’ve been left surprisingly alone in their corner of the bar. Craning his neck, he can’t make out any of their colleagues in the throng of people. “Have we been abandoned?” he wonders aloud, thinking he should surely be able to hear Eijirou even if he couldn’t see him. “Everyone’s gonna be wondering where we are.”

“They’ll be wondering where you are,” Shouto corrects. The alcohol has brought a warmth to his pale cheeks, and Izuku finds that he likes it. It’s just another thing to add to the growing list of things he likes about the man.

“Of course they’ll be looking for you, too,” he argues, remaining stout even as Shouto raises his eyebrows. “Oh, come on. Won’t Momo? Camie?”

He lets out a short huff of humourless laughter. “The former, maybe. The latter, definitely not. Besides, they wouldn’t want me to be a third wheel.”

“Tell me about it. If I’m not Eijirou and Katsuki’s third wheel, then I’m Ochako and Tenya’s.” He thinks of the eclectic mix of designs in their apartments; the wobbly crochet, the thrifted tables and the room full of model train tracks. “It’s - hard, sometimes. Not to be jealous of them.”

Silence settles between them as Izuku mulls over his words and Shouto watches him. The hubbub of the bar continues while Izuku traces shapes in the condensation of the glasses upon the table. “Hard in what way?” Shouto says at last, voice low. 

He’s not sure how to word it in a way that doesn’t make him sound so bitterly jealous. “They’re so - they’re so settled, you know? They’re all so happy - and I’m happy for them too, I really am! Eijirou’s the only person who can smile in the face of Katsuki’s bad temper and gets rewarded with Katsuki’s home cooking, which most people would give their left leg for - Tenya treats Ochako like a queen - but - but they’ve all met their perfect person. It makes me wonder what’s so wrong with me. Why I’m left behind.” 

“I don’t think anything is wrong with you,” Shouto says quietly. “There’s nothing wrong with you at all.”

He tries for a smile, but it doesn’t go far. “I just keep… picking the wrong people. People who hurt me, or take advantage of me, or leave me feeling like shit.” 

“I’m sorry.” They sit in silence for a moment, staring into their drinks, before Shouto sighs heavily. “It’s not much consolation, but it could be worse. One of your exes could’ve stormed into work to shout at you.”

Izuku winces. “True. I’m not sure I could imagine any of them being so angry.”

“It wasn’t about him being angry. That wasn’t the worst part.” Shouto rubs his forehead with a palm, sighing again. He looks suddenly exhausted, as if the topic has aged him ten years in a single moment. “He was hurt. Because of me. Because of what I did.”

He longs to ask Shouto what he did, to put the barely buried, niggling fear to bed, but something stops him. “Did you mean to hurt him?” Izuku says instead, voice hushed.

Shouto shakes his head. “Never. I didn’t want to hurt him - he didn’t deserve it.” Head cradled in a hand, he addresses his beer bottle when he speaks again. “It kept me awake every night for a week straight, thinking about it. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to make up for it.”

Izuku swallows. “When did you break up?”

“Eighteen months ago, maybe,” Shouto says gloomily. “I didn’t leave the house for an entire month and delegated everything to Momo, until she physically dragged me out and told me to stop feeling sorry for myself because I wasn’t the worst person in the world by any stretch of the imagination.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better,” Izuku says, before his brain catches up with his mouth, “I heard that your ex was terrible at sex, so you can’t be all to blame for your relationship failing.” He goes cold all over at the realisation that he said it aloud - that he just brought up his boss’ sex life directly to his face - just as Shouto chokes on his drink. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry, that was so, so inappropriate - ”

Shouto emerges, beer drops from his chin, and bizarrely, inexplicably laughing. “Where on earth did you hear that?”

Heart still fluttering with nerves, Izuku swallows as he passes napkins to him and decides to dance around his source. “Is it wrong?”

“No.” Wiping his jaw, Shouto shakes his head. “God forgive me, but it’s not wrong.” Dropping the sodden napkin, he rubs his forehead with his palm. Izuku has the distinct feeling that Shouto wouldn’t be talking about this so candidly had he not asked it in the middle of a drinking session. “Sex with him was - it wasn’t good, no matter what I did or suggested or tried. The first time - well. It didn’t matter that time, what with what was going on, but afterwards - when we were together, it always ended with him instantly falling asleep and me getting a shower and contemplating my life as I stared at the drain. A chore, if you will.”

“It’s not meant to be a chore,” Izuku says, “it’s meant to be fun.”

They stare at each other, suddenly silent. The lights of the bar have gotten brighter since they first sat down and Shouto is almost ethereal in the unnatural blue-purple, a sheen of cyan cast over the moonlight parting of his hair. Izuku watches his every motion: the brush of his eyelashes against the curve of his cheek with each blink, the way his fingers curl more tightly around the neck of his beer, bitten nails digging into his thumb. His gaze remains steady on him, though, and all amusement has left his voice when he speaks. “So I’ve heard,” Shouto tells him lowly, “but I wouldn’t know.”

It feels like he’s treading into dangerous territory, but the alcohol has lowered his inhibitions. It doesn’t take much for Izuku to gather his courage, tilting his chin up and meeting Shouto’s mismatched eyes. “Was he your type?”

It’s clearly not the reply he was expecting, and confusion flickers across his face. “What?”

“Your ex,” Izuku says, staring at him. He wonders if Shouto’s vision is poorer in his left eye; if the scar he’s so painstakingly hidden has affected it. “Is that your type? Big and muscular?”

“Not necessarily.” The words are stilted. A memory of Camie speaking comes to mind, revelling and salacious. Shouto always looked like he was phoning it in. “He was, well - ”

“Enormous,” Izuku interjects, and Shouto slowly nods.

“He hits his head off door frames constantly. But, yes, I thought he was attractive. I always did. I suppose someone muscular is my type.” There’s something calculating in his stare this time. “What’s your type?”

One shoulder rises and falls in a shrug. “I don’t really have a type. I’ve dated men and women who were all very different from each other. Melissa and Himiko were both blonde, I suppose, but that’s the only similarity they shared. Melissa’s a robotics professor at MIT, and Himiko is… somewhere a lot less prestigious than there. Yo was - well, everyone I know was glad when we broke up, so the less said about him the better. And then - then - ”

He grinds to a sudden halt, the words catching in his throat. To Izuku’s horror, there’s a pressure on his shoulders as if someone’s placed their hands upon him and is pushing down, down, forcing him to curve in on himself as his mouth dries and tears begin to well up in his eyes. Shouto’s brows pull together and he seems about to reach out to him, so Izuku forces the words out just as he lifts a hand. “I’m going to say something that sounds really pathetic,” he whispers, and hates the way he’s being forced to blink so hard to stop the tears falling.

“What?” Shouto murmurs. Hand still in midair, he settles it on the table beside Izuku’s, the very edges of their fingers brushing. 

“I want - ” He tugs his glasses off, and the sudden haze helps with the ache. “I just want someone who’ll be kind to me. Who doesn’t - who doesn’t take advantage of me and let me down. I know that’s pathetic - ”

“It’s not pathetic at all,” Shouto interrupts, and there’s a new intensity to his expression that makes Izuku shrink back and stop himself from arguing. “It’s sad that people have done those things to you, and made you seek out basic decency instead of it being something they automatically bring to the relationship.”

“Yeah,” Izuku manages after a moment, voice hoarse. “Yeah. I guess you’re right.”

Shouto’s still watching him, but he can’t meet his eyes. He grabs a coaster instead, folding the flimsy cardboard over itself and thumbing the rough edges to give his hands something to do. His head’s starting to feel light, the room blurring around the edges, and the man beside him shifts in his seat. “Why are we talking about our exes?” Shouto says at last, and Izuku lifts his head to study him.

“I don’t know.” He’s sure his smile looks more like a grimace. “Not exactly the cheeriest of subjects, is it?”

His phone vibrates on the table between them, and Shouto’s eyes flicker to it when Izuku doesn’t move to pick it up. “Shouldn’t you get that?”

He shakes his head. “It’s probably just Katsuki complaining about something and demanding I buy him a drink.”

“Probably complaining he hasn’t seen you and wondering what you’re doing with me instead.”

“I’m sure he can live without me for tonight.” Izuku hesitates, then speaks before his courage fails him. “I’d rather be spending time with you.”

Shouto’s eyebrows draw together. “You would?”

“Of course. I like spending time with you.” He watches each tiny flicker in Shouto’s expression; the curious mix of disbelief and hope. Izuku doesn’t think he can ignore what he’s been suppressing for too long now and, emboldened by the alcohol, speaks his mind. “I like you.” 

“I like you, too,” Shouto says softly. Staring at him, nearer than they’ve ever been before, Izuku can see that there’s none of the usual hesitance or uncertainty in Shouto expression. He moves closer to him, just slightly, and Shouto does the same in turn.

“What are we doing?” Izuku asks him. His hand finds Shouto’s on the table but he daren’t hold it and instead settles for brushing their fingers together in the barest of touches.

Shouto hesitates, and at first he’s not sure he’s heard him over the music and chatter of the bar. “I don’t know,” he says at last, and lapses into silence to simply watch Izuku instead. 

In the absence of his glasses and with alcohol buzzing in his veins, Shouto’s frame is blurred in the low light. Izuku tilts his chin up for a better look, and marvels at just how white his eyelashes are. “You’re really close.”

He can make out the motion of Shouto’s throat as he swallows, but the man’s eyes remain on his. “Is it bothering you?”

“No,” Izuku whispers, and shivers when he feels Shouto’s cold breath against his cheek. Their noses are almost brushing. “You know, you have really pretty eyes.”

Shouto blinks, those white eyelashes brushing against his cheek again. “What?”

“Really pretty eyes,” Izuku repeats, wishing his tongue wasn’t so heavy in his mouth. “I’ve never seen hetro - heytaro - two different coloured eyes before.”

“Heterochromia,” Shouto murmurs, and Izuku raises a hand to wave it away.

“That thing. Better than boring old green.” His phone buzzes again, but they both ignore it.

“Green’s my favourite colour.” There’s mere centimetres between them now. Shouto’s expression is imperceptible now as he gazes down at him, and a jolt of electricity courses up Izuku’s spine when Shouto’s hand finally settles over his. “I’m hardly pretty, but you - I think you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

“You’re definitely pretty,” Izuku says, then freezes. “I’m what?”

“The most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Shouto repeats - and, despite the slight thickness the alcohol has brought to his words, they’re spoken with conviction. “Everything about you. Your smile - God, your smile is so blinding that sometimes I can’t even - I just - ”

He can’t manage it and Izuku stares at him, open-mouthed. “Me?” His next inhale is tremulous, and sees what can only be incredulity in Shouto’s eyes.

“Of course you,” Shouto whispers, hand closing down on his. “Of course you.”

He isn’t sure which of them moves first; whether he grabbed a fistful of Shouto’s jumper before or after Shouto’s hand found its way to his jaw. They’re both moving towards the same goal, and the next thing he knows is that Shouto’s mouth is on his.

It’s been so long since he kissed someone, and it’s unlike any first kiss he’s had before. Instead of being shy or tentative there’s a desperation to their kissing, the culmination of so many weeks of longing and shying away. One of Shouto’s hands cradles his face while the other winds around his waist, drawing him in close. The motion pulls his jumper up and Izuku gasps as cold fingers brush his exposed skin, and Shouto takes advantage of this as his tongue trails Izuku’s lower lip and dips into his mouth.

His jaw is aching when they break apart, foreheads pressed together and panting hard. Shouto’s breaths are hot against his skin, palms splayed at the junctions between his neck and collarbone. “You have no idea,” he gasps, eyes on his and pupils blown wide, expression unlike any Izuku’s seen him wear before. “No idea how much I’ve - for so long - ” 

He could ask him what he means, or confess to how much he’s been pining over him all these weeks, or simply confess to the fact he doesn’t want to let him go - but Izuku doesn’t. Instead he slides a hand into Shouto’s hair, anchoring his fingers within the silky strands and dragging him back to kiss him anew. Shouto responds in kind, cupping his face and almost pulling Izuku into his lap, and he disregards the fact that they’re in public entirely as he straddles Shouto, thighs bracketing his as he tugs at his hair. He doesn’t care if they’re seen, or by who; the thought simply doesn’t cross his mind. There hasn’t ever been another moment in his life where he’s focused on something so wholeheartedly, intent on kissing Shouto for as long as he’ll let him. By the way Shouto’s gripping his waist and responding in kind, it won’t be anytime soon.

He only pulls away when his lungs are screaming for oxygen, chest heaving as if he’s run a marathon. He keeps his grip tight on Shouto, holding him close as their breaths mingle and their eyes remain closed - and, as he strokes back Shouto’s hair and feels his arms tighten around his waist, Izuku tries desperately to get his muddled thoughts in order to remember if his apartment is empty tonight, and how quickly they could get a taxi back to it.

“Izuku, I’ve been looking for you! Katsuki’s had too much to drink, and - wow.”

He opens his eyes and turns away from Shouto to see the blurry image of someone, made foggy by the lack of his glasses, the alcohol, and the adrenaline coursing through his veins. Blinking, he makes out red hair and a huge build, and as the man steps forward to grab his shoulder, Eijirou’s face comes into view.

“And I thought Katsuki was the only one hitting the shots,” he says, gently easing Izuku upright. “Todoroki, are you - ?”

“Oh, God. I’ll take him,” says a new, hurried voice that Izuku’s befuddled mind thinks might be Momo. “I’ll get him home.”

“Cool. Come on, lover boy. I’ve got your glasses.” Head swimming, Izuku tries to take a step and stumbles. He reaches out blindly for support - to Shouto, he thinks - but it’s Eijirou who takes his arm in a steady grip. “Whoops - ah, you and Katsuki are way more similar than you think. Here - ”

The next thing Izuku knows he’s being hoisted over Eijirou’s shoulder in a fireman’s lift, and has the last bleary image of Katsuki being sprawled across the other and Momo helping Shouto to his feet as Eijirou carries them out of the bar, away from Shouto.

Chapter Text

When he comes to, Izuku feels as though he’s died and been vaguely reanimated by someone microwaving him on high heat. 

A groan of pain escapes him as he blinks blearily at the ceiling. Sunlight is beaming into the room through slotted blinds, casting strips of gold across the room. It takes a moment or two to realise it’s not his room, and that there’s a weight on his torso. Looking down, there’s a blond head laid upon his chest and someone spooning him in a way they absolutely wouldn’t do when conscious. Katsuki must be dying from a hangover of his own, then, if he was clinging onto someone who wasn’t Eijirou for comfort. 

Izuku drags his gaze back to the ceiling, eyes half-closed. It’s been a long time since he’s felt this fragile. He hasn’t even the strength to lift his arm and check his watch for the time, not when his stomach’s in pieces and every bone feels as though it’s made of concrete. This is it, then, he supposes: this is where he dies by his own hand and stupidity, withering away to nothing. Katsuki shifts against him, mumbling something under his breath.

The door creaks open and, flat on his back and glasses free, Izuku identifies the visitor by voice and not sight. “Good morning, party rockers - or afternoon, I should say. Sleep well?”

“No,” Izuku moans, head falling to one side as Eijirou huffs with laughter. Katsuki lifts his, peeling one bloodshot eye open. 

“Stop talking,” he pleads, raspy and weaker than Izuku’s ever heard him before. “My head’s about to split in two.”

“You’re not even wearing your hearing aids!” Izuku heaves his head up to watch Eijirou push his way into the room with a laden tray, shaking his head in dismay. “Here, I’ll get them for you… though maybe at the lowest volume.” The tray’s set down beside Izuku who squints at it, making out pint glasses of orange juice and what looks like half a loaf’s worth of toast. On his other side, Eijirou cups the back of Katsuki’s head and gently loops the hearing aids over his ears, tucking them into place while Katsuki lies limp. “There? Better now?”

“I’m gonna be sick,” Katsuki slurs, and Eijirou snorts. 

“No, you’re not.” He strokes the hair at Katsuki’s temples back with his thumbs, smiling down at him. “You’ve nothing left in your stomach to throw up.”

“Huh?”

“Did you not notice the two of you aren’t in your own clothes?” Eijirou says, slightly pitying. “I dressed you both.”

Lifting himself up further, Izuku realised that he’s practically swimming in the unfamiliar shorts and shirt that must be at least three sizes too big. “You could’ve just left me,” Katsuki says groggily, eyes closed again.

“No, I couldn’t have,” Eijirou tells him patiently, “because you were sick down yourself when we got in last night. Do you not remember being sluiced down in the tub? You got a little bit of it on Izuku too - I’ve never seen either of you so bad! Oh, Izuku, your glasses are on the bedside table.”

Katsuki moans, and Izuku uses every fibre of his strength to heave himself into something resembling a sitting position and grab his glasses. Humiliation’s already itching at him, despite the teasing tone of Eijirou’s voice, and revulsion stops him from asking just how much Katsuki was sick. “Were you not drinking?”

Eijirou shakes his head. “No, I was. I just know my limits.”

“Your limits are higher ‘cause you’re a freak of nature,” Katsuki mumbles, still limp in Eijirou’s lap.

“Hey! I am not a freak of nature, and that’s a cruel thing to say. You know my moms got me checked out for gigantism,” Eijirou says, frowning down at him. “I’m just a big boy who can sink a lot back, unlike some people. Eat your toast.” He reaches over Izuku and grabs a slice to stuff into Katsuki’s mouth, the blond choking at the sudden intrusion. “And as for you…”

Izuku’s the next recipient of a slice of toast being shoved past his lips, and speaks through a mouthful of butter and crumbs. “Was I sick, too?”

Eijirou looks his way, and there’s something sinister about his smile. “Oh, no. No, no. You were far worse.” 

Katsuki tilts his head to look at him, brow furrowed as his heart begins thumping, sudden tension twisting at his insides. “What? Why?”

“Eat your toast and I’ll tell you.” Eijirou arms himself with another slice, and Izuku obediently lets himself be force fed. 

The toast tastes like cardboard in his dry mouth, but he doesn't dare spit it out under Eijirou’s watchful eye. Chewing valiantly, he wracks his brains to try and remember what happened the night before. It seems to be a vast black hole in his memory, crinkled and curling at the edges like a burn in a roll of film and not willing to offer the beginning, middle or end. “We all went out for a drink together,” he says slowly, wiping a smear of butter from the corner of his mouth, “right?”

“Yep.” For some reason there’s a smirk playing around Eijirou’s lips. “And then what?”

Izuku shrugs helplessly. “I dunno.”

“You really don’t remember?” With difficulty he shakes his head, and Eijirou’s smile is pitying as he smoothes Katsuki’s hair back with a palm. “Oh, you poor man. You poor, poor man.”

“Stop talking in riddles,” Katsuki says, some life returned to him after a few slices of toast. “What did the idiot do?”

“You - well.” His smile is more like a grimace now as he gazes at Izuku. “You made out with our boss, didn’t you?”

Izuku stares at him, bewildered. He can’t have just said what he thinks he said. There’s no way. The drink must have addled his senses, made it so that something perfectly sensible Eijirou said came out garbled. “What?”

“Oh, yeah,” Eijirou tells him, nodding solemnly. Katsuki has gone very still in his lap. “Properly going at it, too. You were straddling him in the corner of the bar - his hands were on your thighs!”

The memory hits him like a freight train, dragging him along the tracks behind it. The way Shouto cupped his face, his touch burning hot - the way he kissed him with so much longing, so desperately, as if trying to make an ephemeral moment last a lifetime. Izuku chokes on his breath, hands clapping over his mouth as horror fills every particle of him.

“You what?” Katsuki screeches. “You stupid, stupid - ” He scrambles up, launching himself at Izuku before he realised what’s happening and seizing a handful of his hair. “I can’t fucking believe you!”

“Get off me!” The wrestling starts at once, Izuku shoving the heel of his palm into Katsuki’s chin as he tries to yank his hair out. Driving his knee into the blond’s stomach only temporarily winds him, and doesn’t stop him trying to snap his teeth down on his fingers as they tussle. “You’re an animal! You need a muzzle!”

“Hey!” Eijirou winds his arms around Katsuki’s chest and yanks him back, impervious to his flailing limbs. “Stop it, both of you! You were sleeping together like little cherubs, and now you’ll make yourselves sick again!”

“He’s going to make me sick!” Katsuki snarls, fingers grasping at the air as if trying to close them around Izuku’s throat. For his part, he’s pressed himself flat against the headboard to put as much distance between them as possible. “Who the hell does he think he is, doing disgusting shit like that?!”

Splayed against the cold metal of the headboard, Izuku swallows hard. “Did everyone see us?” he manages, hoping against hope that they found the darkest corner of the bar to - that surely no one saw him and Shouto - 

“Yes,” Eijirou says promptly, “everyone. Sero spotted you guys kissing and me and Camie didn’t believe him, so I went over to check and found you with Todoroki’s tongue down your throat. Yaoyorozu took him home, but we all heard him rambling about how warm your hands were.” 

“No,” Izuku whispers. His hands are trembling now while Katsuki makes another attempt to break free of Eijirou’s grip, teeth bared. “Nonono - ”

“If it’s any consolation, you were both all over each other,” Eijirou tells him over Katsuki’s shoulder. “It’s not like you jumped on Todoroki. He was really into it, hence sticking his tongue down your throat.” 

“That makes it worse,” Katsuki spits as Izuku whimpers. “You should sue him for sexual harassment, Deku. Drain the pervert’s bank account.”

“What the hell did I do?” he wails, slumping back against the pillows and clamping his hands over his face, muffling his words. On a list of the stupidest things he’s ever done, there’s nothing that could possibly compare to this. “What am I going to do?” 

Eijirou shrugs, releasing Katsuki who flops onto the mattress and glares balefully at them both. “Pretend like it never happened?”

“That’s not going to work.” Izuku starts chewing at his thumbnail, other hand still splayed over his face. “I don’t know. Maybe Ochako will - ” He freezes, dropping his hands and staring at them. “Ochako. Where did she go?”

“Home,” Katsuki grunts, rolling himself in the blanket until he’s a burrito with only his eyes and nose above the fabric. “She was acting weird. I didn’t get it.”

Attention focused on brushing the crumbs into a little pile on the tray, Eijirou shrugs. “Maybe it’s ‘cause she’s pregnant.”

“What?” Katsuki says sharply. Izuku gapes at him, Shouto and his tongue instantly forgotten about. “No, she’s not.”

“She’s not,” Izuku agrees as he finds his voice again, as hoarse as it is at Eijirou’s bombshell. “She would’ve told me - when did she tell you?”

“Yes, she is, and she didn’t tell me.” He raises his eyebrows at their expressions. “I have five little brothers and sisters. My moms were pregnant a lot. I know the signs, okay?”

“Like what?” Katsuki snaps. 

Eijirou sighs. “She’s moodier than normal, she keeps complaining about her chest being sore, she wouldn’t come for a drink with us last night, she heaved at the smell of the carbonara I had for lunch last week when you know she loves it - need I go on?”

Katsuki’s eyebrows arch. “You’re sure?” Eijirou nods stoutly, and Izuku thinks it a testament of how much Katsuki respects him that he instantly accepts it. On the other hand, he’s still reeling. “Right. Fuck. Wait - then why was she acting so weird about it? And why did - ?” Katsuki’s frown suddenly changes to shock, but Izuku beats him to it. 

“Oh, shit,” he breathes. “Tenya doesn’t know, does he?”

Eijirou shakes his head. “Nope. Don’t think so. He would’ve gone home with her last night instead of staying out drinking, wouldn’t he?”

“Why hasn’t she told him, then? And why’s she upset?” Katsuki interjects, still wrapped in the duvet. “She’s always wanted a baby.”

“Because Tenya always wanted to get married before having kids,” Eijirou says patiently, “and now that plan’s out the window and she doesn’t know how to tell him. She obviously didn’t plan to get pregnant and she’s shocked that the contraception failed - we all know Tenya’s ridiculously strict and paranoid about using, like, three forms of contraception at a time, so it’s even more surprising to her that it didn’t work. Plus, her hormones are probably going berserk on top of the normal worry about the fact she’s, y’know, growing a tiny little human she’ll be responsible for for the next eighteen years. That’s why she was acting so weird and unlike herself yesterday: she’s probably under the most stress she’s ever experienced in her life.”

They sit in silence, digesting his words. “How do you have the mental capacity to work that all out?” Katsuki says at last, sounding slightly awed.

Eijirou shrugs again. “Like I said: two moms. You learn a lot.”

“I’m gonna go see her,” Izuku says the second the thought hits him, swinging his legs out of bed. The second he lands on his feet he wobbles like a newborn fawn and, judging by Katsuki and Eijirou’s expressions, he’s doing little to impress. “I need to see how she is.”

“You need a shower first,” Eijirou tells him, not unkindly. “This whole room stinks of alcohol. I don’t think eye drops would hurt, either.”

Stumbling to the closest mirror, Izuku examines his reflection and groans. It looks like he’s been dragged through a hedge backwards with how tangled and knotted his hair is, eyes bloodshot as if he’s done an all-nighter. “I look disgusting.”

“Nothing new there, then,” Katsuki says tartly. Izuku looks back at him with a scowl to see he’s closed his eyes and burrowed back into the duvet, apparently intent on sleeping again. 

“You’re not going to check and see how she is?”

“Nope,” Katsuki says, voice muffled and only his forehead visible now. “The last thing she needs is a load of people fussing over her and becoming overwhelmed about her health being everyone else’s business.”

Izuku bites down on his tongue, deliberately. “I’ll not bring it up straight away,” he says at last, “and I’m worried about her. If she hasn’t told Tenya and she thinks she’s on her own right now, panicking about how to tell him - ”

“You’re right,” Eijirou interrupts, voice soothing as he resumes stroking Katsuki’s hair back. “She needs a friend right now - and, hey, you’re probably the best qualified for it. I’d take your advice any day.” 

Izuku offers him a watery smile, tries not to use all of their papaya shower gel, and gladly accepts the jeans and jumper that Eijirou pilfered from Katsuki’s wardrobe while the man was having a shower of his own. There comes a knock at the door just as he’s lacing up his trainers and, a moment later, Eijirou’s letting Hitoshi into the apartment. “I used your phone to call him and say you were here,” he explains as his roommate loiters in the doorway, raising a hand. “I figured you’d prefer a lift to taking the subway, considering the fact the shakes haven’t hit you yet.”

“They might never hit,” Izuku argues, but he smiles at Hitoshi all the same. “Thanks for coming. You don’t mind if we stop off at Ochako’s house on the way, do you?”

“Nope.” Hitoshi tilts his chin, gaze boring into him. “I heard you had a wild night.”

Izuku feels his cheeks flame at once. “I didn’t - I didn’t set out to - ”

“Make out with your boss?” Hitoshi deadpans, Eijirou snickering beside him. “As long as he didn’t force you to, or you’re at risk of losing your job.”

“Oh, Izuku was definitely up for it,” Eijirou says, smirking, while Izuku’s stomach shrivels up at the one thing he hadn’t considered: that climbing into Shouto’s lap after so many months of trying to stay under his radar might be the thing that gets him fired after all.

Miraculously, Hitoshi doesn’t want to continue the conversation in the car. Izuku suspects that he might not want to hear all the gory details, but something else seems to be his main point of interest. “Is it true Eijirou carried you and Katsuki out of the bar over his shoulders?” he says at a red light, tapping his fingers on the wheel as he waits for the signal. “And that Katsuki threw up all down himself?"

“Yep,” Izuku says, fingers twisting in his lap, and watches a grin wider than he’s ever seen stretch across Hitoshi’s face. 

It’s Ochako who answers the door to them and at once Izuku notices how pale and wan she is, hair scraped back into a low ponytail. “Oh. Hey, Deku. Hi, Hitoshi.” She steps aside, waving them in, and Izuku tries not to stare at her stomach as he kicks his shoes off. There’s no sign of a bump there, but the oversized shirt she’s wearing isn’t helping matters.

“Hey. Is Tenya about?” He finds he has to hold onto the wall as his head spins, the cursed shakes finally hitting him at last. 

“No, no. He’s with his parents: they needed him and his brother to move a wardrobe.” Arms wrapped around herself, the lack of her usual bubbly cheer has discontent stirring in Izuku’s chest. “Come in through to the kitchen.” 

Izuku shares a look with Hitoshi as they follow her, his roommate turning away to admire the surroundings. “Can I smoke on your balcony?” he says the instant he spots it, and Izuku thinks it’s more of an attempt to leave them alone rather than an urge for a cigarette.

“Sure,” Ochako says distractedly, waving him towards it. “Just don’t leave the butts lying around.”

“Don’t worry, I’m house trained.” He disappears towards the glass doors and Izuku makes for the sofa, patting the spot beside him and smiling as encouragingly as he can at Ochako.

“It’s good to see you. I was worried about you yesterday.” He really ought to have checked in with her last night, and tries not to think of what had preoccupied him instead.

Ochako shrugs as she takes a seat beside him, arms still crossed protectively over herself. “I’m fine. There’s no need to worry. Is that why you called by? Tenya said you guys went a little hard last night, so I didn’t think you’d be up and about.”

He can’t help but grimace, hoping he can leave the details of the evening until later. “Yeah. I wanted to see how you were. Because you - well, you weren’t acting like yourself, and - ” He hesitates, deliberating. Ochako’s watching him, eyebrows slightly raised, and Izuku isn’t quite sure how to word it. In the end, he simply blurts it out. “And I know you’re pregnant.”

Shock spreads across her face. “How did you - ?”

“Eijirou,” he says at once. “Something about knowing the signs ‘cause he has so many younger siblings. And you’ve… just inadvertently confirmed it, with that reaction.” His hands fist in his lap, staring at her. 

Ochako’s throat bobs with her swallow. She’s even paler now than she was when she met him at the door, hunched in on herself and opening and closing her mouth. “Does everyone know?” she says at last, voice tiny. 

“No. Only him, me and Kacchan. You know him: he won’t go spreading it around. Eijirou only brought it up in the first place because he was wondering if you were okay.” He hopes his words will cause her shoulders to relax but they remain tight and tense, whole body rigid. “So you are, then?” She nods, biting her lip. Though his first instinct is to grin with delight, Izuku fights back the urge and keeps his voice soft. “Have you told Tenya?”

She closes her eyes, then shakes her head. “No.”

“Are you worried about what he might say?” Izuku presses. 

Hand lifting to her forehead, Ochako’s eyes are still closed as she presses her palm flat against it. “I don’t know how to tell him,” she whispers, and his heart aches at her expression. “It’s not - you know how he gets.”

“Yeah, and I know he won’t get angry,” Izuku soothes, clasping her arm with both hands and stroking her wrist with his thumb. “He won’t, Ochako.”

“I know, but - but we haven’t been planning to have a baby.” Eyes open again, she’s blinking hard. “It wasn’t something that was supposed to happen anytime soon, and it’ll be a huge upheaval to all his plans - and I hate that I haven’t told him yet, but my mind’s been so muddled and distracted that I don’t know how to actually tell him.”

“Do you know how it happened?” Izuku asks her, fingers trailing down so he can grasp her hand and hold tight. “Not, y’know, where babies come from, I know that - but you use a few forms of contraception, don’t you?”

“Tenya’s super strict about it, yeah,” Ochako says miserably. “It’s like a military operation to him sometimes; we’ve never not used it. I’m on the pill and he always insists on condoms - would use two at a time, if he could - but a while back I forgot to take my pill in the morning and took it that night instead, except it was the same night Tenya’s dad sent us a case of wine and we tried way too many bottles out, so we were drunk and in the mood and Tenya thought it was a treat not to use the condom or grab the spermicide because he never gets to - ”

“I get it,” Izuku interjects, not sure he wants her to go on about Tenya’s preferences. It’s a small mercy Hitoshi is still on the balcony, probably down to his last few cigarettes. “Okay. Wow. First time having unprotected sex?” Ochako nods, mouth downturned, and Izuku shakes his head. “Wow . And how long ago was that?”

Ochako presses her lips together, looking up at him through her eyelashes. “Fourteen weeks ago.”

“Fourteen - !” He almost chokes on his own breath, astounded. “How did you not notice you were pregnant before now?!”

“Some women don’t know they’re pregnant until they give birth! It happens!” Ochako says defensively. “My period has always been all over the place! There’s no use going to the doctor: I’ve tried, and they just shrug off you being irregular as not a big deal. I’m terrible at keeping track of it, but when I realised it had been ages since I’d had one, everything suddenly clicked into place. I’d been sick a little bit, but I thought it was from a dodgy takeaway one night. That, and the rest was just being under the weather,” she finishes, hands bunching into fists in her lap. “But then I took eight tests to be sure. Just, y’know. Ruling out false positives.”

“So there’s going to be a baby here in six months,” Izuku says, trying to wrap his head around the idea. “Wow.” He falters. “I mean - you are - ?”

“Of course I am!” Ochako cries. “Oh, Deku, I’ve wanted a baby for so long - and I know Tenya wants one too, but not enough to get married first, and I just - I don’t know what to do.” Eyes shining with tears, her breath hitches on her words. “I’ve been in bits trying to work it out and he’s realised something’s up, but you know how kind and attentive he is, so he hasn’t been pushing me and - ”

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” he says soothingly, wrapping an arm around her and drawing her in close as her shoulders shake with sobs. “This is Tenya we’re talking about! He loves you more than anything, doesn’t he? And he wants kids with you, right?”

“Yes,” she chokes, face pressed into his chest and tears already soaking through Katsuki’s borrowed jumper.

“So he’s not going to be angry, or disappointed, and he’s the very last person you’d think of who’d run off and abandon his pregnant girlfriend.” She gives a small hiccup of what might be laughter, and his hand finds hers again and clasps down tight. “We’ll work out how to tell him together. You haven’t been drinking or anything since, have you?”

“No, no. Probably just as well I started doing that stupid clean detox with Mina right after it, even if I didn’t stick to only eating eggs and vegetables.” Pulling away, she wipes her eyes and offers him a wobbly smile. “I’ll have to tell him when he gets back: I don’t want to leave it any longer. Will you stay here with me?”

“Of course I will.” He squeezes her hand, feeling the smile spread across his face. “I’ll let Hitoshi know.” 

Seemingly unburdened by sharing her news, Ochako busies herself with making tea while Izuku heads to the balcony. As he suspected Hitoshi’s down to his last cigarette, leaning on the railing and staring out at the surroundings. “Nice view,” he says as Izuku approaches, vaguely impressed. “Imagine bringing your laptop out here to work in the summer.” 

“I know, right?” He joins him, squinting in the sunlight reflecting off the neighbouring buildings. So much for his glasses having anti-glare lenses. “Mind if we stay a little longer? Ochako wants some support when she, um… well, she’s pregnant, and she wants someone there with her when she’s telling Tenya. Unplanned pregnancy, y’know.”

Hitoshi raises his eyebrows, but doesn’t pass judgement. “That’s fine. Does she have any coffee going?”

“The second thing I came to ask you,” Izuku says, grinning, and Hitoshi drops the last cigarette into the box and slopes in behind him. 

It’s a relief to see Ochako’s eyes aren’t so pink and she isn’t radiating despair when she sets the mugs and saucers in front of them at the table. “I didn’t know how you took it,” she tells Hitoshi, sitting beside Izuku, “so there’s milk and sugar, if you want it.”

“Thank you.” Hitoshi ignores them, just as Izuku suspected. “Congratulations, by the way. How far along are you?”

“Oh.” Ochako blinks, stirring sugar into her own mug. “About three, three and a half months. I need to make a doctor’s appointment to get the actual dates worked out.”

They jump at the sound of the key in the front door, a voice calling through from the hallway. “Ochako? Are you awake, darling? I got us pastries - that wardrobe took some moving, and Tensei thinks he’s strained a muscle in his arm - ”

“It’ll be fine,” Izuku tells her in a low voice, and reaches out to squeeze her hand. Gnawing on her lip, Ochako squeezes back. Tenya appears around the corner, bright eyed and swinging a paper bag. He looks as though he didn’t touch a drop of alcohol the night before, and a million times more awake than Izuku feels. He couldn’t imagine lifting a wardrobe at the same time he and Katsuki were collapsed in bed and at death’s door; one falling on top of him to crush him would’ve been preferable.

“Oh! Good morning, Izuku! It’s nice to see you looking better.” Tenya beams at him, then his gaze slides to Hitoshi. “Hello, Hitoshi. I’m not sure the pastries can stretch to four people, but I’ll certainly have a go at it.” 

“Don’t worry about me. I’m going to get some air.” With a fleeting smile and mug in hand, Hitoshi heads for the balcony again. Watching him go with a bemused expression, Tenya turns back to them. 

“Well, I think we’ll have enough for you, Izuku. Ochako, I got you the strawberry shortcake puffs and yuzu tarts you like.” Ochako doesn’t respond, inhaling deeply, and Tenya’s smile fades. “Darling?”

There’s a pause. “Ochako’s got something she needs to tell you,” Izuku says, picking his words carefully, “and I’m just here for moral support.”

Tenya’s gaze flickers between them, brows knitted. “Okay,” he says slowly, setting the pastries on the kitchen counter and moving to take the seat opposite them. He reaches for the hand Ochako has splayed upon the table, dwarfing it in both of his. “Is it something I should be worried about?”

“No,” Izuku says at once, and Tenya’s confused expression only deepens. “It’s not. And before you ask, she didn’t tell me. I guessed.” It’s probably best to leave Eijirou’s sixth sense out for now. 

“Right.” Tenya looks at Ochako again, and his voice softens. “I’m sorry it’s something I didn’t guess. What is it, love? You can tell me.”

From the corner of his eye Izuku can see Hitoshi watching the proceedings from the balcony, hands cupped around his mug and nose almost pressed to the glass. He can’t pay him any attention, not when Ochako’s shifting next to him and swallowing hard. She glances at him and he nods encouragingly, then looks back to Tenya. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you before now,” she says, voice tiny. “I just - I didn’t know how.”

“Okay.” Tenya squares his jaw, nodding to himself and eyes never leaving hers despite how often Ochako has to look down into her lap. “That’s okay. Whatever it is, it’s nothing we can’t - ”

“I’m pregnant,” Ochako says in a rush, shoulders stiff.

Silence settles over them, sudden and tense. It takes Tenya a moment to react. In the wake of Ochako’s revelation he simply stares at her, then blinks. “What?”

“I’m pregnant,” she repeats, still in that whisper but seemingly spurred on by revealing the truth. “I took the tests on Thursday night, when you were at Tensei’s house. I’m - I’m a few months along. I think it’s from the night where we had all those bottles of wine. When… you know…” She trails off.

Tenya opens and closes his mouth wordlessly. It’s not often that Izuku sees him struck dumb, unable to bluster his way through something that’s shaken him, and his gaze darts between his face and Ochako’s tight, tense one. He can’t be sure if Tenya’s mind is racing through every momentous change to their lives that her news has brought, or is simply blank from shock. The tension only exacerbating in the meantime, it seems like a long time before he’s able to gather himself. “You’re serious?” Tenya says at last, voice hoarse. “You’re having a baby?” Ochako nods, lips pressed together, and it’s as though Izuku can actually see the gears working in Tenya’s head. “We’re going to have a baby?”

His voice cracks and he pulls a hand back to press it to his mouth, blinking hard. Ochako looks as though she can barely believe his reaction, lips parted. “You’re not mad? Or disappointed?”

“Mad? How could I ever be mad with you? And disappointed - we’re going to have a baby,” he repeats in wonderment, and Izuku doesn’t think he’s ever seen him look or sound so overjoyed. “Ochako - ”

In a second he’s out of his chair and crouching down to pull her into a hug, arms tight around her as his huge frame dwarfs hers. “But - we weren’t planning for a baby,” Ochako says, voice muffled against him. “You wanted to get married first.”

“Well, the best laid plans of mice and men often go awry. That doesn’t matter now.” He draws back, glasses askew and beaming at her even as his eyes shine with tears. “I can’t believe - you’re sure? You’re definitely sure?”

“I’ve got eight tests in a box under our bed saying so,” she tells him, smile watery, and it proves too much for Tenya. With a barely suppressed sob he pulls Ochako in for another hug, hand cradling the back of her head as she clutches him.

“That’s probably our cue to go,” Izuku says in an undertone, sliding his seat back and standing up. There’s a definite shaking to his limbs as he does so, knees unsteady beneath him but a smile finding its way to his lips regardless. “I’m really happy for you guys.”

“Bye,” Ochako manages thickly, while Tenya seems incapable of speech altogether. Waving to Hitoshi, Izuku feels his presence behind him as he reaches the front door, holding it open for his roommate and making a beeline for the lift.

“All’s well that ends well, then.” He beams, hugging himself even as his body begins to turn on him for the night before. Hitoshi is silent as they take the lift down to the ground floor, hands in his pockets and a crease between his brows. It isn’t until they’re in the car and reversing out of the parking lot that Izuku addresses it, more than a little wary. “What are you thinking about? You’re not bothered at spending so long there, are you?”

“No, no. It was okay.” Shaking his head, the frown deepens. “Tenya’s a big guy, isn’t he?”

“Uh-huh.” Sliding back in his seat, Izuku puffs out his breath and tries to ignore the nausea rolling through his stomach. 

“And Ochako’s tiny,” Hitoshi goes on, fingers flexing over the wheel. “She’s practically half his height and width.”

Back practically on the seat, Izuku squeezes his eyes shut and wills himself not to vomit over himself. “Yeah. What about it?”

Hitoshi clicks his tongue. “God help her if the kid takes after him in size, is all I’m going to say.”

“If - Hitoshi!” Cracking an eye open, he glares up at him. “Don’t say things like that!”

“What?” he says irritably. “It’s the truth. You can’t blame me for having eyes.”

Scowling, Izuku closes his own again. If he falls asleep now, he hopes Hitoshi will have the grace to leave him to his dreams in the car. Katsuki’s surely back to sleep himself, hopefully without realising one of his jumpers is missing. Izuku wouldn’t put it past him to call and scream abuse down the phone if he found out Eijirou was lending out his possessions, especially when he refused to even look at him after finding out -

“Did you tell Ochako about what happened last night?” Hitoshi asks him, and Izuku balks. 

“Oh, shit. I completely forgot.” Sucking his teeth, he tries to push the betrayal from his mind. “She’s more important things to think about right now, anyway. No need for me to bother her with something silly.”

It comes back to bite him a few hours later, in bed and trying desperately to sleep off the hangover that’s returned with a vengeance. Sprawled on his side and contemplating whether or not death would finally bring him peace, Izuku peels an eyelid open when his phone lights up and reaches for it, glasses free and squinting desperately at the text.

[Ochako] : YOU KISSED TODOROKI?????????????????

[Ochako] : YOU DIDN’T TELL ME?????????????????

Tossing his phone to the mattress again, Izuku plants himself face-first in a pillow and decides death is definitely the preferential option. 

The rest of his weekend is a write-off. Izuku spends the rest of Saturday in bed, sleeping on and off, and Sunday wallowing. Despite the delight of his best friend being pregnant, his mind refuses to stop drifting away from his joy and replacing it with fear and the awful, horrifying thought of seeing Shouto on Monday.

How could he have kissed him? How could he have been so stupid? Every time the memory of Shouto’s hands on him returns he full body cringes, thinking he’s close to snapping his spine through it by the end of the day. It’s too sickening to even consider how Shouto must be feeling about it, and Izuku tries desperately to distract himself every time the thought comes to mind. How had they even started kissing? It had to be his fault, he decides. Surely he threw himself at Shouto and caught him unawares, a thought that has the cringing starting all over again. Surely Shouto’s tongue only found its way into his mouth by accident, hands inadvertently ending up on his thighs. He was probably readying himself to throw him off when Eijirou appeared, an unexpected saviour to the threat of Izuku in his lap.

He doesn’t get much sleep on Sunday night. Most of it seems to be tossing and turning then fighting to free himself of the sheets he’s entangled himself in, a sick feeling lying in the pit of his stomach as he stares at the ceiling. Mind and body both are working against him as a million thoughts crash over him, numerous different scenarios playing out in his head. A security guard meeting him at the door with a box of his belongings; Shouto himself calling him into his office to coldly fire him, shocked by the idea he’d be attracted to someone like him when sober - 

After barely an hour of sleep, cut unfairly short by his earliest alarm, Izuku pulls himself out of bed and forces himself into the bathroom. There seems only one, awful certainty of what’s to come, and he dully supposes that he may as well look presentable for his last day working at Entropy. Even if the thought of it makes him want to vomit, telling Shouto to his face that he’s resigning rather than handing over a letter or waiting for him to make the killing blow himself is the only way he’s going to drag up an iota of self esteem. It’s quickly destroyed when his comb gets tangled in his hair and, scowling, Izuku wrenches it through his hair as best he can and practically stomps out of the apartment.

The irritation’s turned back to terror by the time he arrives at the office. With the sun barely dragging itself over the horizon, he has to be one of the first people here: and, stomach sinking, he realises that the light in Shouto’s personal office is on. Heart pounding fit to burst, Izuku lingers in the doorway, blinking owlishly. Can he just let himself in? Will Momo be there? The lack of a security guard isn’t much comfort, and he dithers over what to do. It’s hard not to look longingly towards his desk and seek comfort in the sight of his plants, not when he might soon be handing over custody of them to Ochako and leaving without ever seeing them again. Squaring his shoulders and seizing the last of his courage, Izuku strides towards Shouto’s office and flings the door open.

By some small mercy, he’s alone. Head in one hand and idly doodling on a scrap piece of paper, Shouto’s head lifts at the sight of him and he freezes at once, mouth slightly ajar. Coupled with his wide eyes, it’s not an expression Izuku’s seen often on his face, and yet his sudden terror at the sight of Shouto - so effortlessly handsome, even if his hair is rumpled and sticking up on one side - doesn’t stop the words from escaping him. “I just wanted to say,” Izuku begins before he can be stopped, voice trembling, “that I am so, so sorry for what I did on Friday. I was just - I was so drunk. I was a mess. I know it’s no excuse for - what I did - but if you want to fire me, I have my resignation already put together, so - ”

“Hold on.” Shouto raises a palm and Izuku is silenced at once, mouth snapping shut as he stares at Shouto. His manager is staring back at him, expression utterly bewildered. “Why would you think I want to fire you?”

It’s more than a little disconcerting that he isn’t instantly asking for the resignation and Izuku swallows, hands clenching into fists. “Because I, um.” He swallows. It doesn’t help that he’s standing in the middle of the room and trembling while Shouto remains sitting, gripping onto the arms of his chair and watching him. “Kind of climbed all over you on Friday. And you’re my manager. And I climbed into your lap, so - so, yeah. Yeah.”

There’s a pause. Shouto looks as if he’s going to rise from his chair then seems to think better of it, hands flexing around the arms and knuckles bone-white. “If anything,” he says at last, voice slightly strangled, “it reflects worse on me. I should be the one apologising to you.”

Izuku blinks at him. “Huh?”

“I’m your manager. I shouldn’t have let myself get so drunk and - and kissed you like that.” Briefly, Izuku wonders if Shouto would consider it less of an issue had they had a chaste, well-behaved kiss, or else a crisp high five. His boss finally gets up from his chair to stand, distractingly tall. “I’m the one who’s sorry, Izuku. It was wrong of me to do that to you, and I shouldn’t have - ”

“I didn’t mind you kissing me in the slightest,” he says in a rush. Shouto stares at him, wide-eyed, and he swallows again at his expression. “But - if you minded - ”

“I’ve been wanting to do it for months,” Shouto interjects, looking as though he can’t quite dare to believe they’re having this conversation. “For a very, very long time.”

“Oh.” His hands are trembling so badly that he’s forced to clasp them in front of him. There’s a strange, yawning feeling in his chest, as if anticipation has given way to shocking confirmation; as if he’s gotten something he’s been secretly hoping for, a desire squirrelled away inside of him. “That’s - wow. Really?” Shouto nods stiffly, and Izuku lets out a great puff of air. “That’s… a huge relief, actually.”

There’s a pause. Izuku rocks on the balls of his feet, unsure of what to say next - but then Shouto, face tense and jaw set, speaks first. “Can I take you to dinner tonight?”

Izuku splutters, feet planting in the carpet in an attempt to ground himself. “You - what?”

“I’d really like to take you out to dinner tonight,” Shouto says, still wearing that oddly determined expression. The only other time Izuku thinks he’s seen it is when they all had to stay late one night to push an issue to publishing after a fire drill had them shivering outside the office for a good chunk of the day. “If that’s okay with you.”

“Romantically?” Izuku clarifies, hardly daring to hope.

“Yes.” Shouto’s jaw tightens further still, eyes boring into him, while he tries to wrap his head around just how he’s ended up here.

“So it - ” He flounders, shrugging helplessly. “You’re not annoyed by what happened on Friday night?”

“Why would I be annoyed?” Shouto says, dropping the serious expression and instead sounding baffled. “If anything I was worried, in case I was the one who took things a step too far. I was going to reach out to you on Saturday - get your number from your application or something - until I thought it might make me seem like a stalker.”

He doesn’t think he would’ve minded the call, if only to set the record straight before now. “I’m the one who climbed into your lap,” Izuku points out, “so I’m the one who took things a step too far. Everyone saw us.” They stare at each other for a second longer - until, just like Shouto, Izuku can’t hold back his sudden, sheepish smile. “Everyone saw us.”

“I don’t care.” Joy sparks in Izuku’s chest at the sight of the tension leaving Shouto, the tightness replaced by easy, open relief. “What type of food do you like?”

“Indian,” Izuku says, voice hoarse, before clearing his throat and trying again. “I like Indian food.”

Shouto nods. “Okay. I’ll make a reservation.”

The silence is comfortable this time, simply smiling at one another. Shouto lifts a hand to run it through his hair, and finally Izuku realises why it looks so rumpled: that it’s the result of him repeating the action over and over, perhaps out of stress. “I spent all weekend worrying about it,” Izuku says in an undertone, prompted by Shouto’s motion. “Wondering what you must be thinking.”

“Me, too.” Shouto’s smile is small and embarrassed. “Wondering if you hated me for it.”

“Never,” Izuku says at once, and curses himself for being so hasty.

If Shouto notices, he doesn’t comment. “Good,” he says instead, then hesitates. “Do you want to know something really embarrassing?”

His smile’s back again, try as he might to fight it from breaking out. “Go on.” It can’t be any worse than Katsuki, he thinks, vomiting down himself and having to be washed off by his long suffering boyfriend.

Shouto’s fingers flex, and he leans against his desk. “I was horrendously hungover on Saturday. I spent most of the day in bed, apart from when I got up to answer the door for a food delivery, and turned my phone off because Momo kept texting me to tell me how I’d probably just lost our advice columnist.” He huffs out what might be a laugh. “And I only turned it back on so I could lie and listen to Fall Out Boy.”

Izuku’s jaw drops. “You did?”

“Yeah. Call it wallowing.” Shouto shrugs. “Or expanding my musical horizons. Whatever’s less humiliating.”

There’s no way he can fight back his beaming smile now. “No way! What’s your favourite album? I don’t know if I can choose between Save Rock And Roll or Folie à Deux - I know Katsuki’s favourite is the former, but there’s no way he was up for doing anything on Saturday, since he was just as drunk as we were and maybe only slightly better behaved - you know, I think it is Folie, because the transition from America’s Suitehearts to Headfirst Slide Into Cooperstown On A Bad Bet always gets me, and I don’t think there’s a single track on the album that doesn’t hit, so it might just take the top spot - you should really try running to them sometime, because my workouts go by way quicker when I have their music blasting, and - ”

Izuku rambles until he loses steam, forced to take in a huge breath and steady himself. If Shouto was perturbed by his motormouth, it isn’t showing: he’s still leaning against his desk, arms folded and face soft, and something about it has Izuku’s heart inexplicably racing. “Are all their song titles so long?” he says, and Izuku snorts.

“Their earlier ones, yeah. Oh, yeah. Some of the newer ones only have one word titles, if you can believe it.” He’d happily drone on about the band for the rest of the day, but movement outside Shouto’s office freezes him in place. Tokoyami’s trailed past in the direction of his desk with Kyouka on his heels, yawning hugely and bringing Izuku back to reality. “Oh. I should probably - before someone - ”

“Yeah,” Shouto agrees, standing straight and clearing his throat. “I’m sure people will have enough to talk about without seeing you in here.”

“Uh-huh.” Taking a step towards the door, Izuku pauses again, looking over his shoulder at Shouto. “You - will you let me know what time you make the reservation for? Please?”

“Of course.” Shouto hasn’t moved, hand still braced against his desk, still watching him. “I’m looking forward to it.”

An unintelligible garble isn’t what Shouto deserves, but it’s all Izuku can give him right now. He closes his office door as quietly as he can behind him and slinks to his desk, head down and hoping desperately no one noticed where he came from. It’s a relief that both Tokoyami and Kyouka have their heads down, focused on their work rather than what he’s up to. 

His mood only gets better when Ochako and Tenya arrive with matching, enormous smiles, Tenya heading into Shouto’s office while Ochako bounces towards him. “He’s letting him know our news,” she says as she sits down, glowing, “and we’ll tell everyone else later. I’ve got something for you.” Reaching into her bag, Ochako pulls out an envelope and hands it over. When he opens it, Izuku tugs out a photo and gapes at it.

“No way. How’d you - ?”

“Tenya paid for us to go to a private clinic yesterday,” she says cheerily as Izuku examines the sonogram, turning it this way and that to try and distinguish it. “There’s the head, and their feet - I’ve got another one to pass around, but I thought you might want to have one of your future niece or nephew.”

“Thank you,” he manages, throat thick and forcing him to clear it. “You don’t know what you’re having, then?”

“No, we want to keep it a surprise for now. I think I’ll end up phoning them and begging them to tell me before long, though. Tenya’s the same: he can’t make his mind up whether he wants a girl or a boy and changes his preference every twenty minutes.” Ochako grins at him, then scoots her chair in close. “Now. Are you gonna tell me what exactly you and Todoroki did? I’m assuming you’ve already spoken to him, ‘cause you’re sitting down and not all flustered.”

It’s hard not to smile himself, so delighted he is at how well the day’s going. “A very embarrassing rendezvous on Friday turned into him taking me out for dinner tonight. I know!” he adds as Ochako gasps, hands flying to her mouth. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you on Saturday, but I was too occupied by baby Iida. Unless you’re giving them your surname?”

“No, Tenya’s. He filled me in with a few details, though.” She leans in, voice dropping to a whisper. “Did you really climb into his lap?”

He feels his cheeks flame with heat. “Um. Maybe.”

“You dirty, dirty man,” Ochako says, smirking. “Well, it worked, didn’t it? All this staring, then - it must have been him crushing on you the whole time. He obviously didn’t want to fire you.”

“True.” He muses over the idea, rubbing his fingers over his knuckles and watching Shouto move around his office watering the plants. “What made him make a move, do you think? He stared at me for weeks - no, months - before he actually spoke to me about something that wasn’t work.”

Ochako shrugs, signing into her laptop as Sero walks in, whistling. “Maybe you wore a really tight pair of jeans one day, and Todoroki was powerless to resist your big ol’ rugby thighs and realised he had to make a move on you before someone else did.”

“Mm. Maybe.” The smile can’t be fought back before it breaks out across his face, smug and satisfied. “He had his hands on my thighs that night. And - ” He glances around to be sure no one’s listening in or Katsuki’s lurking nearby, and leans his head in closer. “It did cross my mind to invite him back to mine, until Eijirou lifted me off him.”

She claps both hands over her mouth to smother her giggles, then drops them and sits up straight mere seconds later. “Katsuki! Good morning!”

Izuku swivels around to see the blond standing behind them, lips pressed in a thin line. At his own desk on the other side of the room, Eijirou is whistling tunelessly as he unpacks his backpack. Katsuki moves further into their desk space without acknowledging Izuku. “Congratulations,” he says to Ochako, and very deliberately turns so that his back is to Izuku, blocking him out. “You’ll make a great mom. Tenya take it alright, then?”

“Oh, yes. He’s very excited about our happy little accident.” Ochako’s gaze flickers to him, and Izuku holds his hands up in bewilderment. “Reckon you’ll be up for babysitting at some point?”

“Definitely.” Izuku frowns at Katsuki’s back, hands shoved in his pockets and still ignoring him. “Eijirou’s already brought it up - you know how much he loves babies.”

“Kacchan?” he says timidly - but, without a word, Katsuki nods to Ochako and turns on his heel, stalking off to his own desk and leaving an age-old sense of hopelessness to wash over Izuku. Blowing out a breath, he meets Ochako’s sympathetic gaze.

“He’s pissed off at you, isn’t he?”

“That obvious?” Izuku says dully, running his finger back and forth along his keyboard’s space bar. “He’s angry about the whole Shouto thing. Probably about the whole ‘I tend to date people who hurt me’ thing, too. You know how he gets.”

“Hmm.” There’s a crease between Ochako’s brows. “I do know that he should give you more credit, though. He should give Shouto a chance as well, shouldn’t he? You are, so I am.”

“You were prepared to give him a chance before now,” Izuku tells her, grateful for at least one ally - but then he catches sight of Sero and Kyouka whispering and glancing his way, hands held over their mouths to disguise their speech, and feels some of the hope fade.

He hadn’t expected the day to pass without comment, but he hadn’t expected so many of them to act so strangely. Tokoyami could barely look at him, greeting him more stiffly than ever before; Sero seemed to be holding back a laugh every time he looked at him; and Camie was looking at him almost constantly, eyebrows raised and smirking over her laptop every time he caught her eye. Katsuki, meanwhile, maintained a stony silence with the occasional dirty look thrown his way, lip curling every time he passed his desk on the way to the coffee machine. Things had seemed unbearable after even Ojiro was awkward and avoiding eye contact when dropping up the latest bunch of letters, only for Ochako to come to his rescue.

“Can I - well, Tenya and I - make an announcement?” Izuku looks up from behind his laptop to see her in the middle of the floor, grinning, with Tenya joining her a moment later and slipping an arm around her waist. It’s hard not to smile at seeing such open affection from a man who’d normally balk at doing it in the workplace, even if he’d been despairing over every colleague judging him only moments before. “We’ve got some news.”

“Are you getting married?” Sero pipes up, and a murmur goes around the office. 

“Not quite.” She pulls the sonogram from her pocket and holds it up, beaming. There’s a few gasps and cries of delight, Momo’s hands finding her cheeks while Eijirou’s on his feet at once.

“Lemme see that!” He strides over, taking the offered picture and squinting at it with an enormous grin splitting his face. “Aw, man - I’m so happy for you!”

“Is this a congratulations moment?” Camie pipes up, legs crossed and one bouncing atop the other. “Or do I need to look sad for you?”

“Camie!” Momo cries, aghast, and Ochako’s smile falters slightly.

“Well, we’re very happy about it. No need to be sorry.” There’s a definite frostiness to her tone, though Camie doesn’t seem to have noticed.

“Good for you guys. I’d hate a kid - do you know pregnancy makes your feet bigger?” She rolls her eyes and shudders. “Ochako, are you gonna keep working, or are you going to become a housewife now since Tenya’s loaded?”

“I’ll keep working. This isn’t the dark ages.” Dropping the smile entirely, she stalks back to her desk and leaves Tenya to pass the sonogram around, dropping into her chair with her voice a hiss. “I can’t stand her sometimes.”

“Tact isn’t her strong point,” Izuku says, not untruthfully. “Forget about her. Do you want a coffee?”

Ochako sighs, sliding down in her seat. “I’m not allowed much caffeine - Tenya, unsurprisingly, has raided our cupboards and thrown out anything that could affect the baby. He’s doing it with me in solidarity, at least, but he’s ordered a whole stack of pregnancy and baby books.”

“I’ll look for decaf tea,” he tells her, grinning, and heads to the coffee machines. Gaze focused on the hot water tap, he feels the presence at his side before he sees his colleague, and glances up to see Momo to his right, arms folded across her chest.

“Hello, Midoriya.” Despite his trepidation at seeing her, Momo’s smile is nothing but pleasant without any inferring of judgement or derision. “How are you?”

“I’m fine.” He tries his best to replicate her smile, poking at the tea bag before scooping it out. “And you?”

“Oh, no complaints,” she says mildly. Her dark eyes drift over the heads of the other employees still pouring over the sonogram before she leans in, a few inches taller than him even without her heels. “I’m very, very glad that things worked out after Friday night. I hope you enjoy your dinner together.” Pulling away and smiling again, she turns and heads back to her office without another word. Returning to his desk with his and Ochako’s drinks, Izuku takes some comfort in the interaction: that, despite Katsuki’s coldness and the awkwardness of everyone else, there’s at least one other person on his side.

It proves difficult to focus on his work when his mind keeps drifting elsewhere. If he isn’t distracted by thoughts of a niece or nephew - and all the spoiling and babysitting he’ll do - then Izuku’s thoughts wander to Shouto, holed up in his office with his head buried in a stack of papers. Did he get a restaurant booked after all? Will they go there straight after work? He probably could’ve dressed himself better this morning, but at least he’s in a red jumper and his nice jeans instead of a t-shirt and sweatpants - though nothing compared to Shouto, of course, dressed in a sharp suit as always and effortlessly elegant. Sighing to himself, Izuku tears his gaze away from the crown of Shouto’s head and stares at the newest bunch of letters instead until the words stop dancing across the page and start to make sense.

Dear Deku,

I’m really starting to become irritated by my husband’s brother and his wife. They have very high paying jobs, but they won’t stop talking about what they earn and what they’re spending their money on! My sister-in-law in particular won’t stop boasting about luxury holidays and spa retreats they’ve booked, which feels like an insult when my husband and I sometimes struggle to get by and go on picnics in the park as dates. How do I deal with all these feelings of resentment and jealousy?

Thank you,

Irritated In-Law

Despite the author’s woes, Izuku can’t help but smirk. He knows far too many rich people to make a sweeping judgement either way and, fighting the urge to glance Momo or Tenya’s way, sets to work with his reply.

Dear Irritated In-Law,

It could be that your relatives genuinely don’t mean to rub it in… but it could also be that they have no personalities outside of money. It’s hard to ignore them waving their money under your nose, though you have to wonder if that’s the only thing they’ve got going for them. Grey rock them and show zero interest in the boasting and they should get tired and move on to someone else who’ll show them more attention - and enjoy your sweet picnic dates and spending quality time with your husband that doesn’t involve burning money!

Yours,

Deku

Ochako stretches beside him, yawning hugely, then starts when she checks her watch. “Only ten minutes left!” She bounces up, grinning. “Excited about your date?”

“A little,” Izuku says demurely, then crumbles at one look from her. “I’m half-excited, half-terrified. What if he only likes me when he’s got alcohol in his system?”

“Unless his coffee cup is full of vodka, he was sober when he asked you out,” Ochako says, scowling at him. “You two went around the museum together, just the two of you, and you were both stone cold sober - and I want details this time, you hear me?”

“Aye aye, captain.” He mulls over the museum trip, and Shouto’s suggestion of the two of them going ice skating together. Smiling to himself, he puts his head down and focuses on saving his work for the day, counting down the minutes until five o’clock.

He’s thankfully left alone the second it hits, as everyone packs up and heads out the door without interrogating him. Izuku’s heart sinks slightly when Katsuki leaves without a backwards glance but Eijirou, hot on his heels, throws him a grin and a thumbs up as he steps out the door. Ochako squeezes his shoulder on her way out with one last whisper of ‘gossip, please!’, and Izuku’s left sitting alone in the empty office, staring at Shouto through the blinds of his. The moment they make eye contact, Izuku feels his lips tugging in a smile identical to Shouto’s own. His manager makes it to his desk as he’s shoving his laptop in his bag, leaning against the partition with his hands in his pockets. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He swings his backpack over his shoulder, surveying him. Shouto’s hair is tidier now, and he pictures him meticulously combing it as he stared at his reflection - or else asked Momo to do it, sitting ramrod straight as she fussed over the parting. Judging by her own hair, it was probably the latter.

“Are you ready to go?” There’s the jingle of keys as Shouto produces them, a small metal cat keychain swinging and catching the light. “I thought we could head straight there.”

“Yep.” He tightens his grip on his bag, trying to calm the heart that feels like a hummingbird in his chest. His outfit wasn’t so plain that Shouto didn’t want to avoid being seen in public with him, then. “Did you get somewhere booked?”

“Yeah, I did.” Shouto gives him a cautious, sideways look. “I don’t eat Indian food often but my brother does, so I called him asking for a recommendation. We’ll be having strong words if it turns out to be a disappointment.”

Izuku laughs, bumping their arms together as they make their way out of the office. “You have a brother and a sister, don’t you?”

Shouto shakes his head. “A sister and two brothers, actually.” 

“That’s cool! I’m an only child,” Izuku gripes, thinking of the lonely days when Katsuki was being particularly horrible to him and he was cooped up at home without a sibling to play with. Pushing their way out of the double doors on the ground floor, they make in the direction of the car park. “Was it the ice hockey player who recommended this place, or the other one?”

“It was Natsuo, yeah. The ice hockey player. I - ” Shouto hesitates, chewing the words in his mouth before he spits them out. “I’m… not really in contact with my oldest brother.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” Izuku offers him a sympathetic grimace. “That’s sad.”

Shouto shrugs, though it seems more awkward than careless. “We were never close. He’s the oldest, I’m the youngest, and I think I was the bane of his existence from the moment I was born. It’s just how it’s always been.”

“Still.” Privately wondering just what the dynamics of his family are like, Izuku stops in his tracks as Shouto pulls his keys out of his pocket and the lights flash on a luxury car parked across two spaces. “That’s yours?”

“Yep,” Shouto says, looking at the car with a warmth that Izuku’s rarely seen him direct towards anything else. Feeling weak-kneed at the sight of it, Izuku tiptoes towards the car with trepidation. It probably costs more than he’s made in his life.

“Why have you parked it across two spaces?” he manages, resisting the urge to run a hand along its glossy bonnet for fear of leaving fingerprints and getting told off.

Shouto gives him an odd look. “So no one parks too close to me and scratches or dents it getting out.” He opens Izuku’s door and, feeling the heat sear right down to his chest, he throws himself into the passenger seat.

“Okay,” he says as Shouto gets into the driver’s side, staring at the dashboard with a mix of awe and shock, “but are you not afraid of someone keying it out of badness, for you parking across two spaces? Someone did it to Katsuki’s once.”

Hands on the wheel, Shouto balks. “Are you serious?”

“Uh-huh. I’m sure the car park has CCTV, though!” he adds hastily at Shouto’s expression, clamping his hands between his knees and wishing he’d kept his mouth shut in the first place. “And I’m sure most people will appreciate it as a thing of beauty and not want to spoil it!”

Shouto doesn’t reply, but Izuku can’t help but notice he carefully parks within the confines of a single space outside the restaurant.

It’s a relief it isn’t too fancy, and he’s comforted by the fact it’s more homely than Michelin star. Settling into a table near the back, he cracks open his menu merely to confirm that chicken makhani is on it. “Are you in the mood for anything in particular?” he asks Shouto as he sets it aside, smiling at him.

“A lamb biryani, maybe.” Studying his own menu, Shouto’s frowning at the small text. Not for the first time, Izuku wonders if he needs glasses. “Please, get as much as you’d like. It’s my treat. I insist,” he adds at Izuku’s splutter, fixing a stern look on him. “I invited you for dinner, so I’m paying for it.”

Izuku dithers, then accepts defeat. “Only if you’re sure. But no alcohol,” he says suddenly, the fear returning to him at the thought of Friday night. “I don’t think I’ll ever drink again.”

Eyes still on his menu, there’s a definite smirk playing around Shouto’s lips. “You’re not the only one: I think my future is full of water and caffeine.”

“It’s safer that way,” Izuku says solemnly, and orders a bottle of water between them. “Talking of caffeine, poor Ochako’s going to have to avoid it for… oh, at least six months. Horrible.”

“Very,” Shouto agrees, tilting his glass from side to side and watching the water trickle to either edge. “They seem happy, though.”

“Yeah, they are. I was there when Ochako told him she was pregnant: I thought he was going to cry.” Izuku beams, even at the thought of Tenya studying parenting manuals right this very moment as if preparing for an exam. “They’ll be brilliant parents!”

“I think so, too. Tenya couldn’t stop rambling about it when he told me about it this morning.” They’re interrupted by the arrival of a waiter, effectively cutting short any burgeoning plans Izuku had to follow through on Ochako’s suggestion of asking Shouto if he wanted kids, too.

It’s a lot less stilted than he’d feared. The only real break in conversation comes when they’re almost finished their food, and Izuku’s run out of superhero movies adaptations to ramble about. He’s not entirely sure Shouto wanted to hear about his opinion of the best depiction of the physicality of Spider-Man swinging through New York City, but the man patiently listened all the same. “So,” Izuku says, out of breath and slightly embarrassed. “Your turn: I feel like I’ve just talked over you for ages.”

“I like listening to you talk.” Shouto smiles at him, then falters. “I’m sorry. I’m not very good at this - it’s been a long time since I’ve been on a date.”

Izuku knows his smile is nothing if not rueful. “It’s fine - it’s the same for me.” He hesitates, the thought of his last date slowly being replaced. There’s an unpleasant, yawning sensation in his chest: an inevitable conversation he’s been pushing away, unwilling to discuss. Feeling Shouto’s curious gaze upon him, Izuku swallows. “I - need to ask you something. About your last relationship.” 

There’s a pause. Shouto sets down his cutlery, and there’s a new wariness about his voice. “What about it?”

“What happened between you two. Why you broke up with him.” He takes a deep breath, steeling himself.  “I need the truth, because Camie said - ”

“Camie?” Shouto interrupts sharply. “What did Camie say?” Izuku flounders, unsure of how honest to be, but he’s relieved of speech by Shouto’s sigh. “I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s always been a horrible gossip.”

He’s not wrong. “Have you known her for a long time?” he manages, squeezing his knees so tightly that his hands ache. 

“Her mother used to work for my father. Despite all her drama and theatrics, she was the first person I thought of when Momo suggested the magazine have a fashion editorial.” He sighs again, rubbing his jaw. “But, yes. We’ve known each other for a while, though I think she’s probably greatly exaggerated some things she knows about me.” Studying him, there’s a crease between Shouto’s brows. “What did she say?”

Steadying himself with another deep breath, Izuku thinks back to Camie’s gleeful story; the way his blood ran cold at her tale of Shouto’s apparent cruelty. “She said you suddenly turned around one morning and told him that you didn’t love him anymore,” Izuku whispers. “Out of nowhere. That you weren’t sure if you ever loved him.”

Shouto opens his mouth, then closes it again. Heart careening against his ribs, Izuku watches every tiny flicker in his expression - the mingled emotions playing out across his face, culminating in what he can only call shame. Shoulders heavy, there’s a definite dullness in Shouto’s tone when he speaks.

“I started dating Inasa when I was twenty,” he says quietly. “I didn’t go to university; didn’t have the magazine then, either. I worked for my father’s newspaper, and Inasa was in the meteorology section. My father fired him after a massive argument between them - not their first, either - and I just happened to run into him in a bar a few days later, when we were both on our own. I didn’t mean to. I just sat down and realised he was beside me.”

Izuku can picture it: the enormous man curled over a drink at the counter, tie loose around his neck, only for the tall, lithe Shouto to slide into the seat beside him. “Okay,” he says, and wonders why his voice is so small. “Then what?”

“He wasn’t happy to see me, of course,” Shouto continues, and his tongue presses against the inside of his cheek. “We started arguing before I’d taken so much as a mouthful of my drink. I was there to watch him wallow, to report back to my father about how pathetic he was… of course I wasn’t, I wouldn’t have said a thing to my father, but it got my back up. The final straw came when he said I was just like him, and was so angry that I got in his face, and… and…”

“And?” Izuku repeats, almost breathlessly.

“And then we were kissing,” Shouto says, and his voice lilts as if disbelieving his own story. “All of a sudden, we were kissing. Before I knew what I was doing I was back at his apartment, then…” He trails off, and Izuku isn’t sure which of them is more embarrassed as Shouto clears his throat and he downs most of his glass of water. When he emerges, lips wet, Shouto’s eyes are on him once more.

“I knew my father would be furious if he found out, and that’s what gave Inasa the idea. He suggested we pretend to be in a relationship to really piss him off.” Shaking his head, Shouto pushes his hair back from his face and blows out a huge breath. “A stupid plan only two stupid men without fully developed frontal lobes could come up with. It seemed like a great idea at the time, because my father was furious. Threatened me with cutting me off, swore I’d regret it - really, it’s just lucky Natsuo had wrangled his way into keeping his trust fund years before, and that I was the only one of his sons he was still in contact with.” Hand moving from his hair, Shouto pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes. “It was all a performance at first, but then it - it became something real.”

The remnants of their food must be stone cold by now, but his appetite is the last thing on his mind as Izuku stares at him, lips parted. A thousand questions settle upon his tongue - mostly centred around how - but he swallows them back and focuses on Shouto, watching, waiting.

“My parents had…” Shouto can’t finish the thought, jaw tightening, before trying again. “Their marriage was loveless at best and horrendous at worst. But Inasa was kind to me. We had fun together. I liked spending time with him, so when he asked me if I wanted to make it official, I said yes. What is love, if it isn’t comfort? Inasa didn’t treat me like my father treated my mother. He couldn’t be any different to him - couldn’t do enough for me. And I - there was never a spark there, not like people always say there is. There wasn’t a deep longing to be with him, for him to be the one and only - but it was comfortable. I thought I could make what we had work.”

“But you couldn’t,” Izuku says in an undertone and, slowly, Shouto shakes his head.

“I tried. I swear, I tried. We were together for two years, and - yes I enjoyed being with him. I enjoyed spending time with him. He looked after me. He loved me,” Shouto says, and there’s a crack in his voice. “And I loved him, too, but not how he wanted to be loved. Not how he deserved to be. But I kept it going, through every date, through - through moving in together. I tried my hardest. I truly did. I tried to make myself love him in the way he loved me, but - but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.”

Running a hand through his hair, Izuku sees that it’s trembling when Shouto settles it against the table again. He resists the urge to grab it, stomach tight with the tension of knowing how the story ends.

“It came out of nowhere,” Shouto whispers, and his hand tightens into a fist. “One morning, he was talking about our plans for the day and I just - I just told him I couldn’t do it anymore.” Shouto’s face finds its way into his hands. “It hit me all of a sudden that this was my life, that I’d be going through the motions for the rest of it. It was overwhelming, and I blurted it out before I knew what I was doing, before I could stop myself from saying it.”

Izuku only realised he’s biting down on his tongue when he tastes blood in his mouth. “And how did he react?”

“He cried,” Shouto says dully, words muffled by his hands. “He shouted. He tried to talk me out of it. It blindsided him to hear it, but then I told him how I’d been feeling all this time. And not in the way Camie said,” he adds, emphasis on the words. “I swear. The last thing I wanted was to hurt him, but my heart was pounding fit to burst and I thought I was going to vomit, and I - told him that I wasn’t sure if I’d loved him in a romantic sense. He pushed me on it and asked if I’d ever been in love with him, and - I told him no. I said no.” His hands slide down until they’re in his lap, and Shouto’s face is exhausted. “He packed his stuff up and was gone that afternoon - and I somehow managed to be very successful in avoiding him, right up until the rugby match.”

There’s eating and laughter going on all around them, the air punctuated with the sounds of cutlery and conversation, but together they’re silent as Shouto focuses his attention on his drink and Izuku watches him, mulling over what’s been said. “Well,” he says at last, “your communication skills throughout your relationship could’ve been a lot better.” If he’d said the same to anyone else he knew - Katsuki, Hitoshi, even Eijirou - he would expect a snapped rebuttal. But Shouto says nothing, staring into the depths of his drink, and he softens his tone. “It sounds like it was a tough situation. I’m sorry.”

“Do you think less of me for it?” Shouto mumbles, still not meeting his gaze.

Izuku shakes his head. “I don’t think there’s anything I can tell you that you haven’t beat yourself up about already.” He hesitates, then pushes on. “And - and I feel sad for you. That your base line for a relationship was just something happier than what your parents.” He finds himself chewing on his lip again. “Was their relationship - really that awful?”

Shouto lets out a long, low sigh. “You have no idea,” he says in an undertone, and doesn’t elaborate.

The silence starts anew. Izuku lifts his fork to start stirring the remnants of his dinner without much intention of finishing it. There’s a question niggling at the back of his mind, but he isn’t quite sure how to word it without offending Shouto, or else making him feel worse than he already is. Debating over it, he’s just setting his fork down when Shouto speaks up again and does it for him. “I promise you, I’d never do something like that again.”

“Oh.” Izuku blinks owlishly at him, not sure how to continue. “I didn’t - ”

“Because I wouldn’t blame you for being put off after hearing that,” Shouto interjects, as if desperate to get the words out before his courage fails him. “It’s not something I’m proud to talk about, especially not on a first date. I’m ashamed of what I did.” Despite the conversation and his trepidation, a thrill goes through Izuku at the reminder that this is a date. Shaking himself out of it he meets Shouto’s eyes, mismatched and serious. He has the strange feeling that there’s desperation there, too. “And I know it’s not something you want to hear on a date. I’m sorry.”

Izuku dithers, then sighs, hand nudging the fork as he crosses one over the other. “You don’t have to apologise. I doubt it’s something you’d want to do again - it’s not as though you got a kick out of doing it the first time.” Shouto shakes his head at once, and Izuku’s smile is rueful. “Your communication’s better now, right?”

“I’m working on it for sure.” Jaw set, Shouto’s back to studying him. Then, all of a sudden: “I’ve been attracted to you since the moment I first saw you.”

Izuku nudges his fork off the table entirely. “Huh?”

“You know Momo was the one to hire you. I was away during the interview process and left it up to her to make the decision, since I trust her judgement.” Fork retrieved, Izuku slowly nods and watches Shouto press his lips together. “I didn’t have much interest in who the new advice columnist was, if I’m honest with you, so I didn’t do any research on who she’d hired. It was only when I got back to the office a week after you’d started that I saw you. You were running late and came charging in with papers flying everywhere, your glasses hanging off, shoelaces untied and shirt not buttoned correctly - but as you scrambled around trying to get everything sorted, bright red and messy, all I could focus on was how attractive you were.”

If he wasn’t scarlet while Shouto spoke, he certainly is now. Swallowing hard, Izuku tries to push the embarrassing memory from his mind and ground himself in the present. He knew Shouto had been watching him that day, coffee in hand and open mouthed behind the safety of his window as he tried desperately to sort his life out. The thought that he’d been admiring instead of judging him is baffling. “Um,” is all he can manage, blinking hard. “But I was a mess.”

“You were…” Shouto seems to be struggling with the description before he blurts it out, hands clenched. “Endearing. You were so endearing. There was something about you that seized my attention in a way no one has before, something I’ve never been able to put a description to but which awed and intimidated me all the same. I hadn’t a clue how to approach you, so I sat and pined and mulled over it for months, until - ” He breaks off, cheeks flushed.

“Until?” Izuku repeats. Heart racing, he’s almost excited at hearing what caused the switch to flip in Shouto; what it was about him that forced his hand, as potentially embarrassing as it may be. The thought that Shouto was intimidated by him is staggering. “Why’d you approach me, in the end?”

Shouto’s visibly struggling, opening and closing his mouth. Just when Izuku thinks he’s about to keel over from the strain, the words escape from him in a torrent. “There was a day when I was stuck in a meeting that lasted nearly three hours, well into the afternoon. I saw someone had ordered in a bakery delivery and that you’d all divided the sandwiches and cakes between yourself for lunch, which did nothing for my hunger. I’d assumed it had all gone, but when I finally got out, there was a parcel waiting for me.” Shouto swallows hard. “Someone had set aside a baguette and a cream cake, wrapped them up and left a little post-it note on it, saying that they didn’t want to see me going without and hoped it would make up for missing lunch. There was a little smiley face at the bottom, but no name. You’d already gone home for the day, and I assumed it was Momo, but - but she told me it was you. That you’d fought off Kirishima trying to take seconds because you didn’t want me to go without. And that’s when I realised how kind you were: that you were kind to me in the same way as you were to everyone else, even when I hadn’t done anything to deserve it.”

Izuku feels like a sinkhole’s about to open beneath him, dragging him and his chair down into its inky depths. Hopefully to the core of the earth to incinerate him, if he’s lucky. For Shouto to be bowled over by something so miniscule he can’t even remember it happening - for Ochako to be right that it would be something so silly as kindness that sparked Shouto’s attraction to him - has his skin hot with humiliation, heart jackhammering against his ribs as if ready to burst through them. “It was just some food,” he manages, voice hoarse, but Shouto shakes his head.

“You didn’t have to do it. You didn’t have to think of me either, but you did.”

“It - you - you don’t have to do something in order to be treated kindly!” Izuku bursts out. A few diners at neighbouring tables look his way and, embarrassment growing, he drops his voice to a hiss. “You - that really wasn’t a big deal!”

“It was to me,” Shouto says simply. “You wanted to know, and that’s the truth.”

Izuku presses his hands to his cheeks, feeling the heat beneath his palms. “It’s not like - I was asking only because I thought you’d been getting to know me only to realise you didn’t like me romantically but string me along all the same - ”

“I’d rather walk into oncoming traffic than string you along,” Shouto says without a hint of amusement. “Or in front of a train. Whatever.”

“Okay,” Izuku says, unsure if he should be concerned or flattered. “No need to put yourself through mortal danger at the hands of transport vehicles. The hands? The wheels?” He shakes his head, cross with himself for the distraction but determined not to return to Shouto’s flash point of attraction. “Ignore me. My point is, you - definitely want something romantic with me. Right?”

“Definitely,” Shouto says at once, and Izuku tries not to crumble.

“And it’s not - not like you’re immediately declaring you’re in love with me - ”

“I’ve been told it’s not a good idea to do that, no,” Shouto says, and a splutter of a laugh escapes Izuku. 

“You’re funny, you know that?” Shouto’s eyebrows draw together, and Izuku shakes his head. “You just wouldn’t expect you to be so funny. I’m not - it’s a compliment, okay? But, anyway.” He hesitates, and it isn’t helped by the frown still creasing Shouto’s brow. “I, uh… well. Is this us… dating, then?”

“If you’d like to.” He suspects Shouto is biting on the inside of his cheek. “If you feel you can trust me. Because I’d like to date you, more than anything.” 

“Of course I trust you,” Izuku says, without hesitation. The vulnerability Shouto showed him is seared on his heart, his resolution to trust him absolute. “You mean - proper dating? In a relationship?” he clarifies, and Shouto nods. His heart rate is definitely increasing again, palms sweating at the thought - but it’s excitement and exhilaration this time, not fear. “And it won’t be an issue at work, will it? We can do it?”

Shouto arches his eyebrows. “I own the place. Of course we can.”

“Of course we can,” Izuku repeats, fighting the urge to laugh out of embarrassment. “Yeah. True. And - and you don’t mind everyone talking about it? Because they will talk, since gossip is such a hot commodity, and maybe you’d rather avoid that.”

Shrugging, Shouto takes another drink. “I’m sure they talk about me anyway. It doesn’t bother me.”

“No.” He clasps his hands in his lap, electricity thrumming through his veins. “Well. Well. I’ve kind of been - crushing on you for a while now? Months, maybe. Around the time we started talking properly.” He grins guiltily at him. “And I told myself it was a bad idea to have a crush on my boss in case it got me in trouble with you, but all’s well that ends well, right?” 

He’s not even thinking about an awkward potential breakup right now - there’s no way he can, not when every nerve is fired up with delight and Shouto’s smiling at him like that, the edges of his eyes soft and creased. “I promise I’ll make you happy every day.”

“Oh, you don’t need to promise something like that,” he says hastily, the heat back in his cheeks again. “But I’ll do the same for you - I’d offer to pack you your lunch every day, but you’re already doing a good job of it yourself.” 

“About that.” Tilting his chin, Shouto purses his lips. “I get them delivered, actually. I pay a company to prepare them for me and drop them off weekly.”

“I knew it!” He dissolves into giggles, one hand over his mouth, but Shouto watches him with amusement rather than offence. “Well, I thought maybe a private chef - but that’s kind of the same thing! What’s the fridge-freezer situation like in your apartment?”

“I’m not sure if my idea of a normal refrigerator is the same as yours,” Shouto says, still smiling. “You can come back and see it, if you’d like.”

Izuku stills. The sudden daring is back again, just as it was when he convinced Shouto to spend his money on charitable causes, but his thoughts are decidedly less altruistic in this moment. “Yeah? How about now?”

Shouto stares at him, lips parted. Izuku can almost see the gears working in his mind, deciphering what he’s said and maybe, just maybe, reading between the lines - but, just as he’s preparing himself for the rejection, Shouto lifts his hand to get the attention of the nearest waiter. “Check, please.”

Doing this is definitely going to get a mixed reaction from his friends. Ochako would fervently support him; Tenya scold him; Eijirou clap him on the back; Hitoshi be indifferent; and as for Katsuki - well, Izuku doesn’t want to imagine how he’d react. He doesn’t care, either: Katsuki’s derision is the very last thing on his mind as he and Shouto stumble out of the restaurant, hand-in-hand and laughing. It feels like the most natural thing in the world when Shouto tugs him in, kissing him until he’s breathless and the pavement feels unsteady beneath him; his fingers tangling in Shouto’s silken hair an all too easy motion, maximum ease and minimal effort behind it.

He at least has the self-control and preservation to keep his hands off of Shouto during the drive to his apartment (which is just as well, because he’s a horrible driver. Izuku can’t help but imagine Hitoshi’s reaction to Shouto running two red lights and hitting every speed bump without even an attempt to slow down). If he leans into the arm slipping around his waist on the way up to his apartment, then that’s his business - it’s a distraction from how huge and luxurious the building is, anyway, the monthly rent surely as much as a year’s worth for his place. 

He tries not to let his jaw drop as Shouto lets him into his apartment, holding onto the wall for support as he slips his shoes off. If he thought Tenya and Ochako’s was humongous, then this dwarfs it. Craning his neck back to see the ceiling, Izuku tries to focus on the pale walls and high windows, and not the fact the apartment looks like something from a catalogue that isn’t intended to actually be lived in. “It’s beautiful,” he tells Shouto, which isn’t a lie. He could just be more impressed if there was actually a sign Shouto spent time here, and enjoyed doing so. 

His judgement is interrupted by the soft clicking of nails against the hardwood and a white cat appears around the kitchen island, brown ears perked at the sight of him. “Is this Cashew? Hello, baby.” He crouches down and holds his hand out. After a moment of deliberation, the cat pads over to him and bumps her hand against his palm, purring. “Oh, Shouto, she’s lovely.” Scratching underneath her chin, Izuku glows with delight. “I think I prefer her to you, actually.”

“I don’t blame you.” Shouto’s standing by his side, smiling down at them as Izuku strokes along the length of Cashew’s back. “My sister was insane to pick the husband over her.”

“Completely, certifiably insane.” Out of the corner of his eye he can see toy mice and elastic bands scattered here and there, disturbances in the otherwise clean and clinical apartment. After another minute of petting Cashew grows bored and wanders in the direction of her food bowl, and Izuku rises to his feet so that he’s eye to eye with Shouto again. “Hey.”

“Hey.” The awkwardness is back as they smile at each other, but it isn’t tense. Hesitantly, Shouto takes a step closer to him so that they’re mere inches apart. “Can I - ?”

Izuku answers him by slipping his arms around his waist, tilting his chin up so Shouto can meet him in a kiss. It’s slow and relaxed, a world away from how frantic their first kiss had been, and Izuku sighs into his mouth as one of Shouto’s hands pushes into his hair, fingers threading through his curls. “Can we go to your room?” he whispers when they break apart, thumb skirting over Shouto’s jaw. The man hesitates, and he scrambles to explain himself. “If you don’t - ”

“No, no. I do.” Shouto hesitates again, and his tone is almost embarrassed when he eventually finds the words. “It’s just - I haven’t had sex in years.”

“Me neither. It’s okay.” He cups Shouto’s face, smiling kindly at him, but the man doesn’t relax under his touch. 

“No, I - ” Shouto breaks off, sighs, and steadies himself. “I’ve only ever had sex with one person before.” For the first time he looks wary, almost embarrassed. Izuku, deciding to keep quiet about his own history, merely rubs the hollow beneath Shouto’s ear until the tension slowly begins to leave him.

“That’s fine. It’ll be fine.” His other hand trails down Shouto’s arm until he can clasp his hand, intertwining their fingers. “We really don’t have to. I mean, we’re kind of moving a little fast here as it is.”

Miraculously, mercifully, the edges of Shouto’s lips lift in a smile. “I didn’t make a move on you for months. This may as well be making up for lost time. I want to.” He squeezes Izuku’s hand, warm and reassuring. “Really, I can think of nothing better.”

"Not even a pillow fight?" Izuku suggests, and gets a blank look in response. "It's surprisingly fun for foreplay, actually. Or just establishing dominance." He grins at Shouto and watches his expression change from confusion to age-old, undeniable competitiveness.

"You're on." Shouto 's hand tightens around his, pulling him along in the direction of his bedroom - and, laughter bouncing off the high walls and ceilings, Izuku wonders if there'll be any pillows left by the time they're finished.

Chapter Text

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Wednesday 11th July
Subject: Letter Submission

Dear Shouto,

Please see attached a letter I received from a reader. I thought you’d appreciate it as it’s from someone who wants to date a coworker, but isn’t sure how to go about it and is worried about the possible ramifications of doing so. Be rest assured that I’ll use my life experience in constructing my answer while also remaining impartial and sensible.

Also, the reason I’m emailing this to you instead of walking into your office and showing you is because it has been brought to my attention that I do that a lot already. No need to stoke the flames of gossip, right?

Best wishes,

Izuku

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Wednesday 11th July
Subject: RE: Letter Submission

Dear Izuku,

Thank you for sending the letter through: I found it very interesting, and a good distraction from budget reports. There’s no doubt in my mind that you’ll answer it with your usual kindness and professionalism intact, though I did find the part about him failing to see the hints she’s dropped amusing.

On the subject of gossip, I personally have no issues with people talking about us. Also, as much as I enjoy the emails from you, I prefer seeing you in my office, even when you inevitably have to go back to your desk. As the old saying goes, I hate seeing you leave, but I love watching you go.

Regards,

Shouto

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Wednesday 11th July
Subject: RE: Letter Submission

Dear Shouto,

I am shocked and astounded at such an inappropriate statement from you. Did I come into the workplace expecting my boss to stare at my ass as I leave his office? NO. This is truly eye opening, Todoroki Shouto. Now I know exactly the type of man you are!

Speechless,

Izuku

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Wednesday 11th July
Subject: RE: Letter Submission

Dear Izuku,

In relation to your concern, I have two assurances for you. The first is that you should stop wearing such tight jeans (the tightness of which, may I add, you have never worn before), and the second is that you should’ve known exactly the type of man I am after our time in the shower on Saturday night.

Warmest regards,

Shouto

Several times a day Izuku has to remind himself that, despite maintaining highly professional working standards, he’s in a relationship with his boss - and it’s going surprisingly, exceedingly well.

The trick, he thinks, is acting as though they aren’t dating whenever they’re working. He’s making a point of not spending every single lunchtime with Shouto, or hanging around his office all day, every day - as much as he can, anyway, Izuku can imagine nothing worse than his colleagues seeing him as Shouto’s favourite and turning on him, finding it better to keep to themselves and ice him out of conversations and social events. It’s working so far: the initial whispering and giggling has died down to the usual niceties and conversations, even if he always feels several pairs of eyes on him anytime he’s anywhere near Shouto’s vicinity. He has the distinct suspicion that a lot of the gossiping has been interrupted purely because of the presence of Momo and Tenya, lurking around desks and throwing fierce glances at anyone they suspected of chattering about them. And outside of work -

It’s been a long time since he’s been so effortlessly happy, or so happy with another person. It’s not like he needed a relationship to be happy, but it certainly doesn’t hurt when he wakes up to see a text from Shouto suggesting that they go to the coast together that weekend, or a picture of Cashew up to no good - and kissing him? Getting to kiss and cuddle the man in front of the television late at night, a blanket thrown over them and sprawled back on the sofa that was half the size of his living room? It warms Izuku from the inside at the mere thought of it, let alone the reality.

Shouto hasn’t brought up the scar, so Izuku’s kept his own mouth shut and burning questions at bay. He’s become aware of the fact Shouto’s actively concealing it: every time he’s stayed over at his apartment he’s been the first to get up and slope into the bathroom after a night’s sleep, returning fresh and showered with a seemingly blemish-free face. It’s not something that bothers him - really, it’s none of his business, even if he is spending multiple nights a week at Shouto’s apartment and mooching off his food deliveries - but still the curiosity itches at him, the desire to see it in full and how exactly he got it. Also, where on earth he got waterproof concealer from, considering the fact it didn’t budge despite all the time they spent in the shower on Saturday night.

“Well, you’re still here half the time,” Hitoshi had said in a casual tone when Izuku fretted about abandoning him in favour of Shouto. “I don’t mind being on my own. I was debating on hotboxing the living room a few days ago but figured you wouldn’t appreciate the smell getting into the furnishings, so I just smoked while I was lying on the living room floor with all the windows open, surrounded by food.”

God, he’d won the roommate lottery with Hitoshi. If only all his loved ones were so understanding.

He hasn’t told his mother that they’re dating yet. Izuku knows for a fact that she would’ve called him immediately to demand all the details, and maybe tell him off for doing exactly the thing he swore he wouldn’t. He will tell her… eventually. Hopefully only when his stepfather and his calming presence are in the same room. It’s not like he can blame her for her worry, but it’s slightly irritating in the way only a loving mother could be - and thinking of her that way only makes him feel guilty, so Izuku is choosing to simply put it out of his mind and chatter to her about the weather whenever she calls. It’s a good thing Katsuki hasn’t spoken to her, but the double edged sword is that Katsuki hasn’t spoken to him in weeks, ever since he went on his first date with Shouto. Izuku would admire him for his tenacity, if it wasn’t directed so coldly towards making him feel uncomfortable.

“Just talk to him,” Ochako says gently one Wednesday morning, scooting her chair in close to his. Having already had to switch to clothes with elasticated waistbands, her cheeks are even rosier than normal and skin practically glowing with vitality. It doesn’t, according to her, make up for the heartburn or mood swings. “I can tell it’s bothering you, you guys not speaking.”

“Yeah, well, that’s Katsuki.” Gloom settling over his shoulders, Izuku shuffles the papers on his desk to give his hands something to do, which occupies him for all of forty seconds. “How does he find it so easy to completely blank someone?”

“Because he’s an asshole who’ll keep this up for months if you don’t intervene.” She pats his arm, but it doesn’t provide much comfort. “I hate having to be the bigger person, but you might have to here. If Eijirou hasn’t been able to talk him round, you’re probably the only person who can.”

He looks over to Eijirou’s booth, the big redhead’s tongue clamped between his teeth as he types frantically, clearly close to a deadline. “You reckon they’ve talked about it?”

“Oh, yeah.” Ochako stretches, wincing and rubbing her stomach. “God, this baby’s taking after Tenya in size for sure. Ugh. But, yeah, there’s no way he hasn’t brought it up. I don’t think Eijirou’s capable of holding a grudge, so I bet he’s told Katsuki to get over himself.”

“He has a grudge against a guy called Neito, actually. He was rude to Katsuki one too many times for Eijirou to let slip.” Mindlessly rearranging his pencil pot as his eyes move to the top of Katsuki’s pale head, Izuku sighs out his resignation. “I’m going to have to do it, aren’t I?”

Ochako’s response is a sympathetic smile and a hand patting his bicep. Sighing again, Izuku gathers himself then pushes his chair back from his desk, meandering over to Katsuki. Unsurprisingly, he doesn’t look up as Izuku approaches, but he knows he’s been noticed as the line of Katsuki’s shoulders tightens and his typing speed quickens. “Hey.”

No response. If Katsuki’s fingers fly over the keys any faster, Izuku thinks that the whole keyboard’s in risk of catching on fire. He lingers, counts to twenty, then feels his patience dissipate away as Katsuki continues to steadily ignore him. Leaning in with a hand braced against the back of his chair, Izuku drops his voice. “The silent act is getting old, Kacchan,” he says in an undertone, staring at the back of Kyouka’s chair and not at the man beneath him. “When are you going to give it up?”

He half-expects Katsuki to refuse to open his mouth out of spite, but gets a noise of disgust instead. “When you come to your senses and stop dating people who hurt you,” he hisses, hands balling into fists and sending a trail of garbled text along his text document. “And just when I thought you couldn’t get any worse. Seriously? Todoroki? After Rody? You’re a fucking masochist.”

Heat flares in his cheeks and down his neck. “This has nothing to do with him,” he snaps, fighting to keep his voice down. “They’re nothing like each other - why would you even bring him up? That’s a dick move!”

“Is it?” Katsuki rounds on him with his lips pulled back from his teeth in a snarl, eyes alight with fury. “Who was the one who came by every day to make sure you were eating? Who made you most of that food and brought it in to you because you were so depressed you couldn’t get out of bed? Why do you think I’m not overjoyed that you’re dating someone who broke his ex’s heart when I’ve seen the same fucking thing happen to you?”

Izuku opens his mouth to retort, then flinches when large hands clap down on his and Katsuki’s shoulders. “Take this outside,” Eijirou says in a low voice, eyes on the rest of the office. Following his gaze, Izuku sees that a few of them have stopped writing or typing, heads bowed and clearly listening hard. “You don’t want everyone hearing your argument, do you?”

Katsuki seizes his jacket from the back of the chair and storms off, leaving Izuku to scramble after him. A combination of his head start, long legs and taking the stairs two at a time mean that Katsuki’s already outside the building and in the parking lot when Izuku catches up with him, panting. The day’s a lot brighter and sunnier than it had been when he’d first traipsed into the office, but his focus is less on the weather and more on the packet of cigarettes Katsuki is fumbling with. “Oh, don’t tell me you’ve started smoking again,” he says, aghast, as he jams one in his mouth. “You hated yourself for starting in the first place!” 

“I’m not,” Katsuki says around the cigarette clamped between his teeth. “It’s for the taste. Putting it in my mouth and sucking on it almost convinces my brain it’s the real thing.”

“That’s what she said,” Izuku blurts out before he can stop himself, then slaps his hand over his mouth. Fingers closing around the cigarette, Katsuki slowly pulls it free from his lips and drops it to his side.

“I hate so many indescribable things about you,” he says flatly, never breaking his stare. “About the things you choose to do and say. Sometimes I think I hate you on a molecular level, as if it’s a biological reaction to bullshit. You honestly and truly sicken me.”

Izuku purses his lips but says nothing. Katsuki’s anger is the type of fire best left to burn out on its own rather than be stoked further, unless he wanted a fight on his hands. He waits until he’s turned away and tossed the cigarette to the ground, grinding it under his sole, before he sits down on the side of the curb and sighs. “I know you’re doing this out of concern,” Izuku tells him, fingers twisting in his lap, “but - ”

“But nothing.” Katsuki rounds on him again, mouth twisted in a sneer. “Since you love pleading ignorance let’s go through your history together, shall we?”

Izuku’s heart sinks. “Don’t, Kacchan. Please.”

“First there was Shindo,” Katsuki says, undeterred. “I told you I didn’t like him, but you didn’t listen to me, did you?”

“Because we were barely friends then!” Izuku bursts out, furious. He scrambles to his feet, glaring at Katsuki. “You were horrible to me! No wonder I didn’t listen to you!”

“Well, you should’ve,” Katsuki says, skimming over the topic entirely. “Because he was controlling, and hated you spending time with other people, and thought he could scream at you and call you a piece of shit in front of them. You don’t do that to your partner.” Izuku’s surprised that steam isn’t rising from his nostrils when he breathes out. “So you broke up with him, and then you started dating Toga. She was odd and she was all over you, but then she stabbed a guy. You had to testify in court. She’s the most batshit insane person I’ve ever met in my life.”

“Mm,” Izuku manages, hands twisting so hard they ache and unable to truly argue with him.

“So, Melissa,” Katsuki continues, undaunted. “Now, as a person, she was fine. She was smart, independent, etcetera, etcetera. You were finally dating someone normal. Great, right? But then she got her offer to study robotics and long distance proved too difficult, and you cried so much when you broke up that you had to be hospitalised for dehydration. You were on a drip. And just when I thought it wouldn’t get any worse - ”

“Stop,” Izuku tells him, and hates the tense edge to his voice. “Please.”

Katsuki’s hands flex in and out of fists, neck strained. “If I ever see that little rat again,” he hisses, “that little fucking sewer rat, I’ll kill him. I’ll kick him to death. I’ve fantasised about it dozens and dozens of times, what I’d do if I got my hands around his scrawny neck.”

“In fairness,” Izuku says, voice strained and knowing Katsuki well enough to know that he might just be serious. “Shouto is rich. Like, mega rich. They couldn’t be any more different from one another. So he wouldn’t - you know.” He swallows. “He’s not like that.” 

“Yeah?” Hanging by his sides, Katsuki’s hands are firmly in fists now. “Explain the thing about his ex, then.”

Having known it was coming, Izuku squares his jaw. “I asked him about it. On our first date. I’m not - I’m going to keep his privacy, but he was young, and stupid, and it all spiralled out of control. He never meant to hurt him and he regrets it very much. It’s not like Camie said, either. You know what she’s like.”

Katsuki’s eyes are narrowed, clearly unwilling to admit that he knows how unreliable she can be. “I think you’re making a huge mistake.”

“I think I’m twenty-five and can make my own decisions,” Izuku replies, hands clasping together once more. “And you have to respect that.”

“And you think I’m prepared to sit back and watch you date someone who’s going to hurt you again?” Katsuki snaps. “To have to drag you out of bed and wash your hair for you? To make sure you’re actually functioning?” 

Any attempt at a rebuttal sticks in Izuku’s throat as he stares at him, the words lost. Katsuki’s mouth tightens under his gaze, shoulders stiffening. It's less that he’s prepared to, Izuku thinks, and more that it’s something he wishes he doesn’t have to do again. “I didn’t know you felt like that,” he whispers, chest tight. “That you - you cared so much.”

“Fuck off,” Katsuki says, surly, which is as good as a confirmation for Izuku. Swallowing hard, he blinks back the tears and pushes away the sentimentality.

“Look, you have to trust me. Please, Kacchan.” He clasps Katsuki’s wrist with both hands and holds on tight, even when the blond tries to throw him off. “I know what I’m doing with Shouto. He’s kinder, and gentler, and sweeter than you could imagine - ”

“I don’t want to imagine it!” Wriggling furiously against him, Katsuki twists his arm until Izuku’s forced to release him lest he be bitten. “The pair of you are horrible together. You sicken me.”

“Well, that’s just mean.” Hands on his hips, he glares at Katsuki. “Would I ever say something like that about you and Eijirou? No, I wouldn’t.”

“You wouldn’t,” Katsuki agrees, “because Eijirou and I are the best couple you’ve ever met. Eijirou could snap Todoroki like a fucking twig without breaking a sweat.”

“Not really the point, but okay.” He watches Katsuki scuff his foot against the ground, hands shoved in his pockets and expression irritated. It feels a relief to be talking to him again, even if Katsuki would clearly rather be anywhere but here. Swallowing hard, Izuku’s arms slip around his own waist once more. “Just give me a chance. One chance. If it doesn’t work out, you can throw the biggest ‘I told you so’ party in history. Okay?”

“Whatever,” Katsuki mutters, eyes narrowed, then huffs out his breath. “I’m going back to work.” He turns on his heel and stomps into the building, shoulders hunched, but moody enough that Izuku knows he’s moving past it. 

Ochako raises her head from her laptop at the sound of him returning, perking up. “Did you guys sort everything out?”

“Yeah, thankfully.” He notices that she’s moved a filing block beneath the desk so she can prop her feet up atop it. “Are your ankles giving you trouble again?”

“They’re swollen as hell,” she says miserably, lifting a foot and rotating it with a wince. “Putting them in cold water helps, but only a little. I cried when Tenya tried to massage them the other day, which made him almost cry, so I’ve cut out everything salty trying to help.” She huffs out a breath, ruffling her bangs. “My kid hates me already.”

“No,” Izuku says comfortingly, “just the vessel they’re trapped in. If anything, they’re ungrateful for you going to all the effort to make the experience comfortable for them, so you’ve got to make sure you intervene early and raise them humble.” 

Ochako grins, lowering her foot again. “I’m relying on you, too. Just how often do you think you can babysit for us?”

“Pawning off your child to babysitters before they’re even born? Shocking behaviour.” Grinning, Izuku opens his laptop again and sets about finishing his half-written response to a letter, heart a great deal lighter than it had been just twenty minutes ago.

Dear Deku,

When I first moved into my flat, I left a door open while I was moving furniture in, and a neighbour started yelling at me and wouldn’t give me a chance to explain what I was doing before he stormed off. We’ve ignored each other ever since, but the tension is really getting to me - how can I resolve the situation?

Thank you,

Tenement

He isn’t about to push his luck, otherwise he would’ve shown the letter to Katsuki to see his reaction. He hadn’t been much of a fan of Monoma himself, but he hadn’t gone to Katsuki’s lengths of ripping up his vegetable garden and kicking the head off every single one of his tulips after their neighbour ‘accidentally’ took one of Katsuki’s parcels in and then lost it.

Dear Tenement,

Sometimes we just don’t get on with our neighbours, and that’s that. As long as there’s no active fighting or bad blood, you might have to be happy with what you’ve got - but, if you really hate the tension that much, why not go over with a box of cookies and try and introduce yourself properly? He might be feeling as awkward as you about it and this could prove a way to bury the hatchet!

Yours,

Deku

“I forgot to ask,” Ochako says as he saves the file, hoping the box of cookies won’t get thrown back in the addressee’s face, “but have you heard from Himura recently?”

“Not for months now. The last thing I got from him was a thank you letter, saying how he was getting close to the man he’d got a crush on and how happy it was making him.” Smiling to himself, he goes for the next letter. “I’m only gonna assume it’s all worked out for him. Nice, right?”

He doesn’t get a chance to speak to Shouto until the end of the day, when the rest of the employees have left and he’s trailing into the boss’ office. “Hey.” Smiling at him, he closes the door behind him and leans against it. “We’ve haven't seen much of each other. How was your day?”

“Long. Tiring.” He punctuates his words with a huge yawn, rubbing his forehead. Despite the exhaustion, Izuku notices that he takes care to avoid rubbing the area covered by concealer. “I hate dealing with advertisers. They’re like the smallest, yappiest, most demonic handbag dogs.”

“I’ll bet.” Sitting down in the chair opposite him, he rolls it over until it bumps against Shouto’s. “Need a hug?”

“Yep.” He opens his arms and Shouto slumps against him, cheek against his sternum. “Thank you.”

“No problem.” He presses a kiss to Shouto’s parting, smiling into his silky hair. “What do you want to do tonight?”

“Eat,” Shouto says against his jumper, voice muffled. “Sleep. Not sure which one I want to do first, though.”

Izuku hums, stroking his hair back from his forehead. “Why don’t we call by the grocery store on the way back to yours and I can cook us something? Whatever you want.”

Shouto shakes his head against him then sits up, sighing. “You don’t need to worry about that. I’ll just order in.”

“We’ve ordered or gone out for food every time we’ve eaten together,” Izuku tells him, mouth twitching. Shouto’s expression makes him pause, smile faltering. “You do cook for yourself, don’t you?”

“Yes.” Shouto can’t maintain his facade as Izuku stares at him, then lowers his voice. “Mainly things you can make within five minutes. Or in the microwave.”

“I’m cooking for us,” Izuku declares, mind made up and making a note to sit him down some weekend with a playlist of Gordon Ramsay’s basic cookery tutorials. “Anything you want in particular?”

“Cold soba,” Shouto says at once. “If you don’t mind. I’ll eat anything you make me.”

“Aw, I love people who aren’t picky eaters.” Izuku beams at him and watches the pink of Shouto’s cheeks turn roaring red, as if he’s about to catch alight. “Sure, soba’s not that difficult. You don’t mind pre-made noodles, do you?”

“Not at all.” There’s a strain to Shouto’s voice that he puts down to his embarrassment and, shrugging it off, Izuku grabs his backpack again while Shouto goes for his coat, red all the way up to the tips of his ears.

He thinks he’s gotten away with being asked about his day until Shouto, stuck at a red light, bypasses the niceties and goes straight for the kill. “What were you and Bakugou arguing about?”

His heart sinks. “How did you know we were arguing?”

Shouto gives him a sideways, sympathetic look. “Your body language. It was obvious the two of you were fighting by the way you stormed out of the place.”

Gnawing his lip, Izuku contemplates just how honest he should be, then sighs and gives in. “You,” he admits, wincing as Shouto raises his eyebrows. “Or, well. Us. Dating.”

“Right.” He doesn’t seem to be perturbed as the light changes and he steps on the accelerator. “He has an issue with it?”

“Mostly an issue with me. I don’t, um… have the best track record when it comes to dating, so he has no faith in me. He was kind of… the one who was always left to comfort me, after a breakup.” His spine aches with how hard admitting to it makes him cringe, fighting not to bend double over himself.

“Huh.” He’d expected Shouto to balk, but his expression remains neutral. “I wouldn’t expect that from Bakugou. Emotional support, I mean.”

“He’s not that bad, deep down,” Izuku says wearily. “Sometimes it just takes weeks and weeks of excavation to find it.” 

By Shouto’s expression, he’s reluctantly taking his word for it. “You sort of implied you had a bad track record of dating. That night at the bar,” he adds, at Izuku’s frown. “When we were talking about what we wanted in a partner.”

“Oh. I did?” He doesn’t have the foggiest memory of anything that happened that night, other than sitting in Shouto’s lap and tugging at his hair. Cheeks hot, Izuku clears his throat. “Well. No. My dating history is terrible, actually, but you don’t want to hear about it.”

“You heard about mine.” It’s a statement, not a demand. Pulling into the supermarket car park, Shouto kills the engine then looks his way, a sympathetic set to his mouth. “If you don’t mind talking about it, I’m here to listen to it.”

Izuku puffs his cheeks then sighs out his breath. “Just - ugh. Don’t judge me for it, okay?” He undoes his seatbelt and scrambles out of the car so he doesn’t have to see Shouto’s expression, nerves alight.

“Judge you?” Shouto echoes, slamming his own door and expression perplexed. “Why on earth would I judge you?”

“Everyone else does,” Izuku moans, arms wrapped around his waist and hugging himself as they head into the supermarket. He hopes pushing a trolley around and slumping over it in despair will provide him some relief, but Shouto grabs a basket before he can get there. “Even my mom. Especially my mom. She’s probably my biggest critic, after Katsuki.”

“Your mom?” Looking perturbed, Shouto stops in his tracks at the first display of fruit and vegetables. “I didn’t expect them to have such a big range.”

“Where do you think your housekeeper shops?” Izuku says, mouth twitching despite his gloom. “Honestly, Shouto, I don’t know how you’ve avoided going into supermarkets for so long. It’s so fun to go super late at night and get snacks, or see what’s gone on sale to clear, or just play hide and seek in the aisles.”

“Hmm.” Drifting over to the shelves, Shouto picks up a packet of pak choi and examines it. “It’s very cheap.”

“That’s a normal price for it, actually.” He watches Shouto drop the vegetable into his basket, making a mental note that he’s a fan of it. “But, yeah. Maybe critic’s the wrong word for my mom: I think she’s just lost all hope in me ‘cause of all my exes. I know she only wants the best for me, though, so I can’t hold it against her.” Sighing, he slips a packet of spring opinions into Shouto’s basket.

There’s a small crease between Shouto’s brows, though he thinks it has little to do with the spring onions despite how he’s examining every shelf with interest. “How many exes do you have? That your mom’s met, I mean.”

“I’m going to sound like a serial dater who can’t stay single,” Izuku whines, fingers threading through his hair as they meander down the aisle. He’s avoided it long enough, he supposes. “Four.”

Shouto’s jaw drops. “Four?”

“We’re going back through, like, nine years of history!” Izuku says defensively, jutting his chin up. “I’ve been single for well over a year now!”

“I’m not shaming you,” Shouto says at once. “I’m just - I didn’t expect four.” Clearing his throat, he pretends to be engrossed at the price of beef. “How long was your longest relationship?”

“Two and a half years.” Izuku stares at a packet of prime rib without really seeing it. 

“I see. Okay.” Nodding, Shouto looks contemplative rather than judgemental. “When did that end?”

“That was my last relationship.” Izuku presses his lips together. “I’d rather not talk about it, if you don’t mind. My… the person I was with really hurt me. More than all the rest put together.” It feels unfair not to indulge Shouto’s curiosity, especially when he was so open about what happened with Inasa, but in no way does he feel ready to explain everything to him. Not unless Shouto wanted to end the night mopping up a puddle of tears, anyway. Running a hand through his curls with a sigh, Izuku files it under his ever-growing list of things to eventually share with his loved ones.

The crease between Shouto’s brows is deeper now, matching the ones around his mouth. Grocery shopping seems to be the last thing on his mind as he turns his back on the shelves of dried noodles, facing Izuku completely. “I’m sorry.”

“There’s nothing for you to be sorry for.” He flashes a brief smile up at Shouto, then nods vaguely to their left. “Will we get fruit for dessert? Melon, maybe?” 

“I can see if I can get us Yubari melon,” Shouto offers, mercifully accepting the change in topic. “I’m not sure they’ll have them here.”

“No,” Izuku says, balking at the thought of the price, “no, I don’t think so. Honeydew will do me just fine.” 

Shouto nods and turns away, then pauses at his quick inhale. “Yes?”

“I just…” It seems unfair to leave Shouto completely in the dark, when he’s been so patient and honest with him. Fixing a smile on his face, Izuku hopes it isn’t wobbly. “They weren’t all bad. One of my relationships ended because she got an offer to study robotics at MIT with a job to follow afterwards, and long distance was too much. That was a long time ago, though.”

Shouto twists to face him fully, and there’s sympathy in his expression that wasn’t there before. “I wasn’t judging you,” he assures him, voice soft and basket swinging from his arm. “Relationships don’t always work out, and you’ve yet to give me any indication that you’re a nightmare to date.” His lips twitch. “Yet.”

“You - ” Rolling his eyes and huffing, Izuku pushes past Shouto as the man’s shoulders shake with silent laughter - but, despite the cheek, the words have lessened the load on him, just slightly.

His exes are the last thing on his mind when Shouto lets them into his apartment, arms laden with shopping bags. Izuku only just manages to dump them on the kitchen counter before Cashew appears, the bell on her collar jingling as she trots over to him. “Hey, sweetie. Did you miss me?”

“She loves you,” Shouto says, leaning against the wall and watching Cashew get onto her hind legs to bump her face against Izuku’s hand. He’s watching them with a smile that softens his whole expression, his usual frown replaced by something so gentle that it leaves Izuku suddenly breathless, struck by its beauty. “Always a green flag.”

Izuku swallows hard, plastering a smile on his face as he tries to wrap his head around just how beautiful he finds Shouto. It’s daunting, to say the least. “I read a post online once that you shouldn’t trust people who hate cats,” he manages, scratching behind Cashew’s ear, “because it means that they might have control issues, and hate that you can’t control how independent cats are and that they don’t give you the boundless affection dogs do. Maybe.”

“Huh.” Shouto pushes himself off the wall, trailing towards the kitchen. “Interesting. I like how independent they are, actually: I wouldn’t like a dog being all over me, all the time.”

“Cats are my favourite but I like dogs too, don’t get me wrong,” Izuku babbles, fully aware of the fact he’s babbling. “I like all animals, really - pets, strays, wildlife, wild animals - I think there’s something so gentle and majestic about giraffes - do you know giraffes have black tongues? They’ve got extra melanin in them so they don’t get sunburnt. Polar bears have black tongues, too, though they’re born pink and get darker as they get older.” 

Midway through unpacking their shopping bags, Shouto pauses with a packet of noodles in one hand and stares at him. “Why haven’t you been on a quiz show yet?”

Izuku squirms, hiding his face in Cashew’s fur. “I don’t want to see myself on television. It would be embarrassing.”

“You’d be very good,” comes Shouto’s voice, rustling around in the bags. “Why don’t you do a weekly general knowledge quiz for the magazine?”

“Ooh, that would be fun.” Giving Cashew one last regretful pat, he stands up and wanders over to where Shouto’s frowning at the noodles. “C’mon, it’s easy to make them. I’m no master chef, but you’ll be in a better place when I’m done with you.”

“I’ll hold you to that,” Shouto says, smiling down at him - unfairly, Izuku thinks, considering how it makes his heart skip a beat.

Chapter Text

“So.” Ochako’s eyes are gleaming as he slides into the cubicle beside her, yawning and ruffling back his hair. “Our workplace’s newest drama. What’s your verdict?”

“What drama?” he says, cracking open his laptop and hiding a new yawn in the crook of his arm. He’s running on fumes at the moment, sacrificing sleep for staying over at Shouto’s place or else sitting up for just one more game of Mario Kart with Hitoshi, who barely slept as it was and proved a terrible influence. To his left, Ochako’s eyebrows arch.

“Oh, come on. You haven’t discussed it with Shouto? Seriously?”

“I seriously don’t know what you’re talking about.” There’s a fingerprint smudged into one of the lenses of his glasses, and Izuku pulls them off to polish them on the edge of his shirt. “Did someone steal the coffee machine again?”

“Come on,” Ochako whines again, shaking his arm. “Momo and Camie! Them breaking up!”

“They what?” Wheeling round to face her, Izuku almost swipes his keyboard off his desk. “No they didn’t!”

“They absolutely did!” She jerks her chin to their right. “Why do you think Camie’s been sitting with headphones on and ignoring everyone for a week? Why do you think Momo’s been absent for a week?”

They turn in unison to stare at Camie, her back to them but headphones firmly fixed over her ears. Chewing on his tongue, Izuku can’t quite bring himself to believe her. “There could be a perfectly reasonable explanation for it.”

“Yes,” Ochako says, frustrated, “that they broke up. Shouto didn’t tell you? He’s bound to know, since he’s Momo’s best friend as well as editor.”

“Hmm.” Twisting back to his laptop, Izuku cracks his knuckles and gets back to a very different type of work. 

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Tuesday 14th August
Subject: Colleagues

Dear Shouto,

Did Momo and Camie break up? This is less for gossiping and more out of concern, and in the interest of avoiding fake news (sorry, it made me cringe to type out that phrase).

Best wishes,

Izuku

“Why don’t you just text him?” Ochako says, laying her head against his shoulder.

“I like the thrill of the email notification sound,” he tells her, mindlessly stroking her hair back and gazing at his inbox as if it’ll make Shouto’s response materialise at once. “Also, this way, it looks like I’m working instead of slacking off and texting my boyfriend.” He beams when it appears, leaning in to read. 

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Tuesday 14th August
Subject: RE: Colleagues

Dear Izuku,

Yes, they did a week or so ago (hence Momo’s sudden “trip to visit her mother”). I didn’t tell you because Momo begged me not to say anything to anyone, but I almost blurted it out when you were showing me how to chop ginger. I’m sorry: I hate keeping secrets, but this wasn’t my news to tell. How did you find out? 

(I also hate that phrase, especially working in the publishing world, but sometimes we’re forced to say things that make us physically recoil. Mostly whatever I have to say to my father whenever he calls me) 

Yours,

Shouto

“Well?” he says, glancing at Ochako as she finishes reading the email over his shoulder. “How did you find out?”

She shrugs, rubbing her stomach. “Camie hid all the photos of them on her Instagram and she’s got a new boyfriend that she’s spamming pictures of.”

He gapes at her. “You’re kidding me. Seriously? Already?”

Ochako nods, lifting her phone and beginning to scroll. “I saw it last night. Look - ”

She twists it around to show him a photo of two people squashed into frame together, Camie’s arm thrown around the man’s neck as he holds onto her waist. It’s impossible not to grimace when Ochako scrolls through the rest of the photos and he’s confronted with the sight of Camie in the stranger’s lap with her tongue clearly down his throat, but Izuku freezes at the last photo of the two. There’s something familiar about the white haired man, big and broad grinning at the camera as Camie pouts. “What’s his name?”

Ochako flips the phone back to peer at the screen. “Natsuo.”

“Shit.” Dread trickles through Izuku’s veins. “Shit.” He wheels around to his laptop again, heart pounding and typing so frantically that his keyboard’s in danger of losing a few keys. 

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Tuesday 14th August
Subject: Urgent


Shouto,

Do you have Instagram?

Izuku

He waits, chewing his nails, while Ochako peers over his shoulder. “What’s up? Do you and Shouto know him?”

“I have a horrible feeling we do,” Izuku says grimly, then jumps when the response pings through.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Tuesday 14th August
Subject: RE: Urgent

Dear Izuku,

No, I don’t: I couldn’t work it out and the filters frustrated me, so I never bothered with it. Is this about you wanting us to take more photos together?

Yours,

Shouto 

“Can I borrow this?” he says at once, grabbing the top of her phone. Ochako releases it and he launches himself out of his chair, striding towards Shouto’s office. He could care less about how it looks, or Katsuki watching him over the top of his desktop with narrowed eyes. Let them think he was running to see his boyfriend instead of the awful reality of the revelation he’s about to drop on his lap, the horror he’s about to inflict upon him. 

It isn’t surprising that Shouto’s alone in his office, Momo’s desk empty. He’s bent over a pile of papers, scribbling away, and Izuku can’t even let himself be warmed at the fact the first thing Shouto does at the sight of him is smile. “Hey, Izuku.” 

“Hey. I have - some news for you,” he begins, words awkward and stilted. Clasping his hands together, the phone digs into his palms. “And you’re not going to like it, but you need to know.”

Leaning back in his chair, Shouto looks nonplussed. “Know what?”

There’s no way he’d be so calm if he knew, and Izuku’s teeth gnaw at his lower lip. “Have you heard Camie’s dating again?” he manages.

“No, I didn’t.” Shouto clicks his tongue, clearly irritated. “I thought she would’ve had more consideration for Momo’s feelings, but I suppose - ”

“It’s not that,” Izuku blurts out, advancing further into the room. “It’s who she’s dating. It’s why I asked you if you had Instagram, because - because - oh, just look.”

He thrusts the phone into Shouto’s hands and, frowning, he examines the screen as Izuku chews on his thumbnail. Several beats of silence pass as Shouto stares at the picture, and Izuku has front row tickets to the sight of the blood draining from his face. 

“No,” he whispers, horror in every line of his expression. “No, no, no - ”

He tosses the phone back into Izuku’s hands and sprints from the room, throwing the door open and thundering down the stairs. Open mouthed, it’s after only a second’s hesitation that Izuku runs after him, colliding with the opposite wall and haphazardly shoving Ochako’s phone in his pocket as he goes. Shouto’s legs are far longer than his on top of his head start, so it isn’t until the parking lot that Izuku catches up with him with the pain of a stitch tearing through his side as Shouto’s voice reverberates around the garage. 

“How could you?” Shouto is shouting into his own phone, knuckles white. His other hand raking through his hair, leaving it standing on end and voice more emotional than Izuku’s ever heard before. “She’s my employee! She’s my best friend’s ex! And you - you’re - ” He breaks off, breathing hard as he listens to who Izuku can only presume is Natsuo, then lets out a great noise of disgust. “You are vile. Don’t contact me.” He wrenches his phone away from his ear and shoves it into his pocket, hands coming to fist in his hair as he groans in agony.

“Honey?” Izuku says tentatively as Shouto sinks into a squat, arms folded over his head and moaning into them. “It’s okay: there’s no need to get yourself upset over this.” Crouching beside him, he smooths down Shouto’s mussed hair. “Did… Natsuo confirm it was him, then?”

It’s another minute of Shouto rubbing his head into his arms before he emerges, face wan. “Of course it was. He’s completely unrepentant, too,” he mutters, trembling beneath Izuku’s touch. “He was too busy trying to tell me about his sex life. Who the hell wants to hear that from their brother? He’s disgusting, and so is Camie. They’re well suited to each other.” He dry heaves and Izuku winces.

“In fairness,” he says, quite sure Shouto won’t snap at him, “he’s doing nothing wrong in this scenario. He was single, right? I mean, telling you about his sex life is a step too far, but I don’t think he started dating Camie to mess with you. I hope not, anyway.”

“I can’t put it past her,” Shouto says darkly, mouth pressed to his sleeve and words muffled. “She knows he’s my older brother, she hangs around a sports bar he goes to sometimes - no, I bet she did this deliberately to fuck with me. It’s exactly the type of thing she would do.” He stands suddenly, hands balling into fists. “Is she trying to get me to fire her? She’s going the right way about it if she is.”

“You can’t fire her for something unrelated to work,” Izuku sighs, rising to join him on his feet, “no matter how you try to spin it. I’m not sure there’s anything we can do about it, is there?”

“Except make Camie’s life so miserable that she quits,” Shouto mutters, and Izuku frowns at him. 

“Stop that, now. Don’t get involved in anything beyond a professional level, okay? And a friendship level with Momo outside of work, but nothing more. I’m not having someone else’s breakup be the reason I lose my job.” Not when that would surely only come from a breakup between him and Shouto, though he’s smugly confident in being sure it won’t happen. Wrapping his hands around Shouto’s bicep, Izuku tugs gently at him. “C’mon, let’s go back in. We’ve got other things to worry about that don’t involve those two.”

“It’s the first time in my life that I’ve ever had to worry about Momo,” Shouto points out, but obediently lets Izuku trail him back to the office. 

“Don’t tell anyone,” Izuku says under his breath when he returns to Ochako, handing her phone over, “but Natsuo is Shouto’s brother. He’s understandably upset about it, so please keep it to yourself - and Tenya, obviously.”

Ochako stares at him with her mouth hanging open for so long that Izuku has to lean forwards and gently close it for her, commiserating in her shock.

Momo returns to work the next day, huddling in her office and refusing to set foot outside it save for hurried breaks to the bathroom. Izuku can’t help but wonder if she timed it for whenever Camie is at the coffee machines or getting lunch, giving her the widest berth possible. Shouto makes no mention of it and so he focuses on his pile of letters, giving advice on dealing with sneaky colleagues and reconciling with arguing siblings.

There’s a handwritten note midway through the pile and he frowns at it, examining the penmanship. It’s messy and hurried, and clearly thrown in as a last minute addition to the collection. Sliding it open, he skims it and groans.

“What?” Ochako says, immediately dropping the little watering can she’s sprinkling over their monstera. “What is it?”

Shaking his head, Izuku hands it over. “Just read.”

Dear Deku,

Please help me. I’ve lost the love of my life and I need to know how to get her back. I have no idea what to do. 

Yours faithfully,

Yaoyorozu Momo

He slowly looks up from the letter to see Momo staring at him through the window of her and Shouto’s office, cheeks flushed and expression desperate. Reading over his shoulder, Ochako keeps her head bowed and barely moves her lips. “She can’t be serious. Couldn’t she just walk over and ask you?”

“Heartbreak makes you do crazy things.” Like crying so hard that you ended up in hospital on a drip, he supposes. So much for not getting involved. Sighing, Izuku beckons her over and Momo launches herself out of the office, striding to them and falling at his feet. It’s hard not to flinch when she grasps hold of his arm with both hands. 

“You have to help me get her back,” Momo whispers, grip tightening on him and nails digging into his arm. “Please, Midoriya. I have to get her back.”

“Okay, okay.” He’s slightly terrified of her in this moment, more so for her smudged eye makeup and tangled hair than the nails cutting half-moons into his skin. Having never thought it was possible for her to look anything other than polished and highly professional, to see her falling apart is a shock to the system. “I’ll help, I promise.” 

Momo’s lower lip quivers, and he settles a hand on her arm in what he hopes is a kindly manner. “Come on, sit down. You can have my chair.”

He crouches on the floor in front of her as Momo sinks into his chair, sniffing. Ochako produces a box of tissues, expression disturbed, and scoots her own chair back to allow Izuku to pat Momo’s knee. “Thank you,” she chokes, dabbing at her eyes. He decides the kindest thing to do is not to tell her that she’s making more of a mess with her makeup, now resembling a panda more than a professional.

“Of course,” he says soothingly, smiling at her. “Just focus on getting your breath back, then we can discuss things.” With Ochako eyeing her behind him, he can’t resist. “Why did you send me a letter instead of just asking me outright to help?”

Momo freezes, eyes hidden by her tissue. Raising his eyebrows at Ochako, he looks back at Momo to see that her face is strangely expressionless, eyes darting towards her office. “Your responses work. I thought you knew that.”

“Well, I suppose,” he blusters, trying not to sound too pleased with himself. “You don’t need to send me a letter to ask for my advice, though.”

Her eyes slide back from her office and onto his again, face still blank. “I see.”

“Yep,” Izuku says, squeezing her hand. “Now: first off, you’re going to have to tell me why you broke up.” Momo balks, but he isn’t deterred. “I can’t help if I don’t know why it happened, can I?”

“No. No, I suppose not.” Swallowing hard, Momo’s hands clench beneath his. “I - well. Camie was the one who broke up with me.” Tears spike her eyelashes as she tries to blink them away. 

Given the fact she’s falling apart at the seams, he’d guessed as much. “Right,” Izuku says, “okay. And why did she break up with you?”

Momo’s breath shudders from her. “We were having a silly argument and - and then she lost it and said I was putting her down and making her feel stupid.” No amount of blinking can stop the tears from falling this time, Momo’s voice growing more and more strained by the word. “And that she was sick of me and she was done with us. She grabbed all her stuff from my apartment and stormed out the same night.” 

“Okay,” Izuku repeats, eyes flickering up to frown reproachfully at Sero as he sticks his head over the divider to see what’s going on only to dive down at the sight of Momo’s quivering shoulders. “And what was it that she felt you were putting her down about?”

“She - she said - ” A tear rolls down her cheek and drips into her lap, and her words splinter with her sob. “She said that Eminem was the modern day Shakespeare!” Pulling away from his grasp, she buries her face in her hands and begins to cry in earnest. Sero can’t be the only person listening in, but it’s a small miracle that everyone else seems to be doing their best to ignore Momo howling even if Eijirou not-so-subtly slides on a pair of headphones.

“That’s it?” Izuku says, disbelieving. “That’s why you broke up?”

“Yes!” Momo wails, words muffled by her hands. “I thought she wasn’t being serious and laughed, and when I realised she was being serious I said surely not, because Eminem was so much more gauche and crude than Shakespeare - ”

“Shakespeare slipped a lot of raunchy stuff into his writing,” Izuku points out, unable to help himself. Momo chokes on her next sob, which makes him clamp his lips together at once.

Meeting Ochako’s eyes, she shakes her head and mouths I like Eminem, to which Izuku shrugs helplessly. “Come on,” Ochako says kindly, standing up and wincing. She wraps an arm around Momo’s shoulders, coaxing her out of her seat and out of their cubicle. “Let’s go for a walk: it’s a lovely day, and I don’t want to develop deep vein thrombosis sitting for too long.”

She leads Momo away and, bewildered, Izuku returns to his laptop.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Wednesday 15th August
Subject: ???

Eminem. Seriously??????

The response doesn't take long.

From: [email protected]
To: [email protected]
Date: Wednesday 15th August
Subject: RE: ???

 

Dear Izuku,

Don’t. Just don’t.

Yours,

Shouto

P.S. I don’t want to know either of their opinions on Elton John. 

Camie returns before Momo and Ochako do, flouncing through the office and sitting down at her desk with a toss of her hair. At a complete loss for how to help Momo Izuku counts to one hundred, then pads over to Camie. “Hey.” He leans against the edge of her desk, keeping his voice as jovial as he can. “Can we talk?”

Camie doesn’t look away from her screen, nails clacking against the keyboard as she types. “I’m busy. Soz.”

Considering the fact she’s never passed up the opportunity to stop working and chat instead, Izuku frowns at her. “It won’t take long. It’s about Momo.”

Her full mouth tightens, typing speed picking up. Izuku reckons she could give Katsuki a run for his money if she ever tried to beat his speed record, and lost the acrylics. “I don’t want to talk about her.”

“Yes,” Izuku says patiently, “I gathered that, but - ”

“And I’ve moved on,” Camie continues, voice stiff despite how airy her words are. “Me and Natsuo are totally in love. Like, crazy in love. He can bench press me, you know, and he’s way hotter than Shouto."

“Not true,” Izuku snaps, then reigns himself in. “You’ve only been dating for - what, a week? Two? I highly doubt you’re in love.”

“When you know, you know. For an advice columnist, you’re super judgement.” Frowning at him, Camie gets back to her typing with another shake of her head. “Now go away and leave me alone.” 

Opening and closing his mouth, Izuku accepts defeat. When Ochako and Momo return it’s with a heavy heart that he meets Momo’s hopeful expression with a grimace. “Maybe try giving her a bit of distance,” he suggests gently, and it pains him to see her face crumple. “We can hold off for a while until we work out the best way to approach things.”

“Okay,” Momo whispers, and it seemingly takes a great effort to pull herself away from Ochako’s grip and trudge back to her office. Pulling a face, Ochako returns to her seat. 

“She’s really going through it, isn’t she? I had no idea they were that serious.”

“And I had no idea Momo could be so rude, let alone about music tastes,” Izuku says, eyebrows raised as he watches Momo through the gaps in the office’s blinds, head bowed over her laptop.

The next week proves almost unbearable. The tension in the office lies thick between Camie and Momo, the former ignoring her completely while the latter trails around the building with unbrushed hair and an expression of misery. Having never seen someone have a breakdown right before his eyes, Izuku is both fascinated and horrified.

“We really ought to do something,” he hisses to Shouto when they meet at the coffee machines, Shouto only greeting him after he’s stabbed down on the button for an Americano. “Offer her a hairbrush, even. Are you not concerned about her?”

“Of course I’m concerned about her.” Watching the cup gradually fill, Shouto shrugs. “She won’t accept help from me, though: she’s too proud. I know her better than anyone,” he adds, seeing the jut of Izuku’s chin, “and trust me when I say she’s too proud. I’m shocked she even sent you a letter in the first place. You still haven’t worked out how to help, have you?”

“Hmm.” Undeterred, nudging Ochako under their desks has her heading into the bathrooms after Momo armed with a comb, the two emerging with Ochako grinning in triumph and Momo dragging her heels behind her, head bowed but hair tamed.

“You’ve tried talking to Camie, right?” he asks Katsuki at lunchtime, dropping off the slice of cheesecake his mother had given him with strict instructions to see it safely to Katsuki. Lifting the lid of the container, the blond’s eyes light up before he can smooth his expression out again.

“Unlike some, I don’t meddle in other peoples’ relationships,” Katsuki tells him, stabbing a fork into the cheesecake, “but, yeah, I asked if she was okay. She refused to talk about Momo, which was a first, and she would’ve rabbited on all day about Todoroki’s brother if I’d let her. And that’s all you’re getting from me.” 

He shoves a mouthful of cheesecake in to prove his point, and Izuku accepts it’s all he’s getting. He’s just turning away with Katsuki audibly swallows and punches his arm, making him hiss. “What was that for?”

Katsuki rolls his eyes and ignores him. “For someone who gives relationship advice, you really need to stop being so dense.” He fixes him with a narrow look. “Why do you think she was so insistent on telling me how obsessed she is with her new man?”

Realisation hits him. “Because she’s not over Momo and she’s trying to prove to herself as much as you that she’s moved on,” Izuku says in a rush, brightening at once. “Amazing! Thank you so much!”

He just about makes out Katsuki’s tut as he strides to Shouto and Momo’s office, knocking only once before he pushes it open. They’re sitting around Shouto’s desk, Momo listlessly pushing rice around with her chopsticks and not lifting her head until he stands in front of her. “I don’t think Camie’s as in love with Natsuo as she pretends she is, and I don’t think she’s over you.”

Momo slowly looks up at him, mouth quivering. “Really?”

”Here’s hoping,” Shouto mutters, “because she won’t stop posting pictures of her and Natsuo in bars together.” Momo blinks hard, and Izuku squares his shoulders alongside his resolve.

“I think you should put all your feelings down in a letter,” he tells Momo, crouching down before her, “and tell Camie exactly how you feel about her. If she feels the same way, excellent. If she doesn’t - well, it’ll at least be cathartic.” He squeezes her arm, smiling bracingly at her. “It’ll help you start to move on.”

Momo studies him, a crease between her thin brows. “You think it’ll work?”

”Either way, it’ll help.” He looks up at Shouto, who produces paper and a fountain pen at once. “Thanks, honey. Now - ” Izuku takes them and brandishes them at Momo, smiling grimly. “Your best calligraphy, please.”

After lunch he takes the finished letter and surreptitiously slips it into Camie’s bag while she’s in the bathroom, sitting back at his desk just in time for her return. Momo’s watching them both from her office, eyes darting between them - but the letter remains in Camie’s bag until the end of the day when she slings it over her shoulder and strides out without a backwards glance the moment it hits five o’clock.

“What a day," Tenya sighs as he reaches their cubicle, smiling jovially at them both. "Do you want a bath tonight, darling?"

"My hero. How did you know?" Beaming at him, Ochako bumps Izuku's arm as she goes. "See you, Deku."

"Night." He makes his own way to Shouto's office, gaze automatically sliding to Momo even when he leans against his boyfriend's desk. She's got her head bowed and face hidden by her hair as she slowly packs her bag, and his heart pangs with sympathy. “We should invite her to dinner,” he whispers, jerking his chin at Momo. “Look at her, Shouto. I bet she’s too depressed to eat, so shouldn’t we make sure she does?”

“Oh, no, she’s eating,” Shouto says mildly. “She comfort eats when she’s stressed, and when I went to her apartment a few days ago there were empty wrappers and takeaway cartons everywhere. If anything, she’s eating enough for three people.”

“Yikes. Well, maybe we can show her some portion control.” Izuku makes his way towards her, voice soft. “Momo?” She turns to face him, and he fights the urge to wince at her deadened expression. “Would you like to have dinner with us? We were going to make karaage.”

“Oh, you wouldn’t want me to intrude,” she says flatly. “Enjoy your dinner.”

Shouto joins them, hands in his pockets. “Come on, Momo,” he says, voice quiet but kind. “Of course you wouldn’t be intruding. We’d like you to come.”

Her eyes flicker between them, uncertain, before her shoulders slump in defeat. “Thank you,” she whispers and Shouto pats her back as she trails out between them, head bowed and sniffing. Knowing Shouto’s propensity to reach out and grab his hand while driving, Izuku takes the executive decision to let Momo have the passenger seat so as not to rub salt of his happy relationship in her wound.

She huddles on Shouto’s sofa as they get dinner ready, heavy blanket tenting around her. It's a mild relief that she neatly folds it and leaves it behind when dinner is served, smiling wanly. Shouto catches his eye when she digs in to her portion and he has to fight to hide his smile behind a hand. “This is the first time we’ve spent together outside of work since the train museum,” Izuku says, looking up at Momo instead of her food with a smile. “Tenya really loved it there, didn’t he?”

“Yes, he did.” Mercifully, miraculously, Momo’s lips twitch into a proper smile. “Do he and Ochako know what they’re having yet?”

“No, they’re holding off for as long as possible. I’m surprised Ochako hasn’t cracked and phoned the doctor to find out, if I’m honest with you: I wouldn’t be able to go nine months without knowing.” He decides that they don't need to know about all the times he and Ochako have ignored their piles of work to Google lists of baby names, throwing suggestions back and forth instead of advice letters.

Momo hums, pushing her food around her plate. “Do you want children, Midoriya?”

“Um.” His gaze darts to Shouto who meets it, eyebrows slightly raised. “Yeah, I’d like a couple.”

A frantic knocking at Shouto’s front door makes them all jump, the man half-rising to his feet. “Who on earth - ?” 

He crosses the room to open it and blond woman stumbles through, righting herself and zeroing in on Momo at once. “Babe,” Camie gasps, striding in and halting a metre away from the table, hands clutching in front of her. To his right Momo’s gone stiff, cutlery clutched in an iron grip and back ramrod straight. “You weren’t at your apartment, so I thought you’d be here.” Camie’s voice hitches, another black tear sliding down her face and smudging her mascara further. “Momo - baby - I can’t be without you.”

“I thought you were dating my brother now?” Shouto says, a definite note of sourness in his words. Camie shakes her head frantically, dragging the back of her hand across her cheeks.

“I broke up with him. Earlier tonight. We - we’d just had sex and I went to get my purse and I found your note, and when I read it I realised I couldn’t do it any more, I couldn’t be with him and not you - "

Izuku thinks he’s the only one who hears Shouto’s gag.

“ - and he was totally understanding,” Camie babbles, tears coming thick and fast. "He was so nice about it and wished me luck and said if I loved you I should go for it, and I do, I'm so sorry I freaked out like that and upset you so much - "

"I'm the one who's sorry." Momo's leapt out of her seat, cutlery clattering to the table to seize Camie's hands and shake them. "I'm so sorry I was so condescending - I never meant to upset you, or make you feel bad, or - "

She's cut off by Camie's sob as she pulls away then throws her arms around her, clinging to Momo as she strokes her hair back and quietly shushes her. "Can we go home? Please?"

"Of course we can." Pulling away and scrubbing her face, Momo looks from the dinner table to Shouto and Izuku. "I'm sorry - "

"No problem," Shouto says, though Izuku has the suspicion he's deliberately keeping his voice calm and controlled. "See you tomorrow?" Momo nods, eyes full of tears and smile wobbling, and leads a sniffing Camie out the door. When it slams shut behind them, silence stretches out between them until Shouto lets out a huge breath. "Oh my God."

"Just be happy for them," Izuku advises, returning to his karaage with a sigh, "and don't think of all the details. At least Natsuo sounds like a nice guy."

"He's no brother of mine," Shouto says flatly, and Izuku decides to quit while he's ahead.

It's a relief the next day that, despite the fact both of them have their heads down at their desk and are working, Momo and Camie are visibly cheerier - and Momo's hair is back in its sleek, shiny ponytail, makeup expertly applied once more.

“The happy couple are back on, then?" Ochako asks, leaning back in her chair and propping her feet up as she squints at Camie. "I’m assuming the letter you helped with had something to do with it?” 

“Maybe just a little,” Izuku tells her, grinning. “All’s well that end’s well, right? It’s just a relief they’re back together and there’s not all this horrible tension.”

“Oh, Tenya was really irritated,” Ochako says, popping the lid of her water bottle. “He said it was unprofessional to bring it into the office, he expected better of Momo, and that I should spend as little time around them as possible to avoid picking up their stress and passing it on to the baby. He wasn’t happy at all.”

“I wouldn’t like to see his reaction if you guys broke up,” Izuku muses, more to himself than her. “If Momo was that messy, how bad would he be?”

Ochako shrugs, returning to her keyboard and wincing as she stretches out her legs. “I highly doubt you’re ever going to see that - besides, we don’t get that heated about music preferences.”

As guilty as he feels about the mocking, Izuku can’t help but grin at her as he pulls his laptop closer and gets back to work.

Shouto is surprisingly melancholic when he arrives at his office at the end of the day, spinning listlessly in his chair and staring at the ceiling. Closing the door behind him, Izuku leans against it and frowns at him. “What’s up?”

Foot knocking against one of the table legs, Shouto sighs. “Why do you think? Camie and Momo.”

He feels his eyebrows raise. “I thought you’d be happy for them.”

“I was,” Shouto says grudgingly, frowning at a crack in the plaster, “until Camie kept making excuses to come in here all day and kiss Momo every time she left. And the drama of it all - this is why some workplaces ban office romances.”

“Oh, don’t be so negative,” Izuku says lightly, coming to perch on the edge of his desk and smile at him. “I mean, we’re an office romance, and Ochako and Tenya wouldn’t be having a baby if you banned romances, right?”

Shouto sighs again. “You’re right. I suppose the problem’s less with romance and more with Camie.” Mouth pressed in a tight line, he looks more mutinous than Izuku’s ever seen him before. “She’s a liability.”

“You’re only saying that because Natsuo was involved - and don’t forget Momo upset her when she laughed at her,” Izuku reminds him. “I know you’re loyal to Momo, but let’s just focus on the positives. They’re back together, calm is restored, we have an evening free and no plans…” He grins down at Shouto, head to one side. “How do you feel about coming back to mine tonight?”

Shouto turns his gaze away from the ceiling and to his face instead, eyes wide. “You’re serious?”

Nodding, Izuku can’t contain the size of his grin. It had only made sense for them to always go back to Shouto’s apartment - for the privacy, and for fear of exploiting Hitoshi’s good will if they claimed the sofa every night. Now, though, with the weekend bearing down on them and Hitoshi blithely wondering whether he’d ever meet Shouto properly, he can’t help but ask. “If you’d like to.”

Sitting straighter in his chair, Shouto’s eyes are brighter than Izuku’s shitty, leaking apartment deserves. “Are you sure?”

“Course I am. I'm sure there's an oversized sweater somewhere that'll stretch to fit you.” He leans in and taps his mouth, expectant, and Shouto's grinning when he leans in to meet him in a kiss.

After a white-knuckle ride home they’re arm-in-arm and barely through the elevator door into his corridor when they’re waylaid by someone, seizing hold of Izuku at the first sight of him and making him yelp. “Izuku!” It’s disconcerting to see Hitoshi flushed and agitated, so different from his usual cool, collected persona. “I’ve been calling you and calling you, trying to - ”

He breaks off at the sight of Shouto, eyes flickering over him. “What is it?” Izuku says in the silence, stomach twisting. Hitoshi’s fingers are digging into his shoulders hard enough that they’re sure to leave bruises. “My phone must’ve died. What’s wrong?”

He watches the motion of Hitoshi’s throat as he swallows, releasing him as a pale hand pulls back to rub at his neck. “He’s been here for hours, even before I got home - he’s insisting he won’t leave until he gets a chance to speak to you. I threatened to call the police and report him for stalking, but he listed off all these bylaws and reasons for why they wouldn’t listen to me and how I’d be the one arrested if I put my hands on him - I even thought about calling Katsuki, but then he’d probably attempt murder - ”

“Who?” Izuku interrupts, bewildered. “What are you on about, Hitoshi? Who’s waiting?”

Shouto presses closer to his side as Hitoshi swallows again, and there’s nothing but trepidation in both his expression and voice. “Let’s just call Katsuki,” Hitoshi says quietly, jaw set. “You don’t have to do this.”

Staring at Hitoshi, an odd sensation is washing over Izuku. It’s so unlike his roommate to not only be flustered by a situation but to suggest Katsuki as a solution that it seems to kickstart something in his brain, a realisation sliding into place. As he takes a step forwards, Hitoshi reaches out as if to hold him in place - and, heart hammering, he pushes past him and into the corridor of their apartment.

There's a man leaning against the wall, battered suitcase at one side as he types listlessly at his phone. Izuku jerks to a halt, breath catching in his throat, and the man looks his way and straightens at once. Eyes huge, his first instinct seems to be to smile -but he fights it back, shoulders squaring and hands shoving into his pockets. Staring at him, Izuku can hear the blood pumping in his ears, feel the trembling of his hands.

"Hey, Izuku," the man says softly, eyes on his - and, oh, his voice. He's had both dreams and nightmares of that voice for so long now, fading away in the last few months but still lingering in the back of his mind to haunt him. Izuku blinks hard in a vain attempt to clear his blurry vision, unable to produce a response.

There's footsteps somewhere behind him, people by his side. “Izuku?” He can feel Shouto behind him, a hand pressing against the small of his back, but there isn’t a hope in hell he can move an inch let alone twist to face him. “What’s wrong? Who is he?”

He swallows once, twice, trying desperately to rid his throat of the cloying dread that’s settled within it. “This is Rody,” he manages at last, and doesn’t recognise his own hoarse voice as he stares at the man who's just waltzed back into his life. “My ex-fiancé.”

Chapter Text

This can’t be happening.

Rooted to the spot, Izuku can only stare at Rody. He’s hardly changed in the last year and a half: hair still messy and long enough to pull back into a ponytail, still wearing that red headband he used to think was surgically attached to his head. Hands in his pockets, Rody’s smiling at him now, so gentle and familiar that every part of Izuku aches.

“Ex - ?” Shouto doesn’t manage more than the single, shocked syllable, the rest of his words cutting off in his throat. Rody doesn’t even look at him, gaze still focused on Izuku.

“It’s so good to see you.” His voice is softer than he remembers, quiet instead of teasing. Dimly, Izuku feels like a wounded, guarded animal that Rody’s trying to win the confidence of. “You look really well.”

He opens and closes his mouth wordlessly, unable to conjure up a response. What can he say in response? Rody isn’t here because of how he looks. It had been something that plagued him for months and months following their breakup, obsessive thoughts that something about his appearance had turned Rody off him, had made him do what he did, even when his con surely couldn’t have been down to his looks. Too short, too stocky, hair perpetually a tangled mess, glasses always slipping off his nose -

“Stop with the niceties.” Hitoshi steps forwards, hand clenching down on Izuku’s shoulder and voice colder than he’s ever heard from him before. “He doesn’t want you here; neither of us do. You’ve seen him, so now you can go back to whatever hole you crawled out of.”

“I’m not just gonna go now I’m here.” Rody moves towards them and Izuku stiffens at once, pressing against Shouto’s hand that’s remained at his back. Stopping in his tracks, Rody holds his palms as if in surrender. “Izuku - please. Can we talk? Can I explain everything to you?”

Izuku’s stomach tightens at his wide, pleading eyes, the light grey that seemed so unique to him. Rody had shrugged it off when he’d first brought it up (“it’s not that uncommon where I’m from - maybe our next road trip should be outside of Japan?”), and he’d always wondered if he’d be able to see it for himself when they eventually took their long-discussed trip to Rody’s home back in Portugal. The trip never ended up happening - for Izuku, anyway. His eyes fill with tears at the thought of it, no matter how hard he tries to blink them away.

“Explain?” Hitoshi snaps, fingers digging into Izuku’s shoulder. “There’s nothing to explain. You scammed him and you ran like a coward before he could find out. I don’t know what excuse you could’ve come up with in the last year to try and justify that but it’s too little, too late. He’s moved on.” Out of the corner of his eye he sees Hitoshi jerk his thumb at Shouto who’s remained silent this whole time, taking it all in. “That’s his boyfriend. He’d probably be able to give you a few pointers on actually showing respect to the person you’re meant to love.”

Rody’s eyes slide to Shouto and at once Izuku knows that he’s appraising his expensive suit, the Rolex glittering on his wrist. Shouto - in all his rich kid, trust fund cluelessness - is exactly the type of person Rody loathes the most, and he feels a sudden wave of protectiveness towards him. Rody’s mouth tightens, but the barbed comment he expects about the wealthy never comes. The door to the corridor swings open, a sing-song voice coming through.

“Izukuuuu! We have a gift for youuuu!” Ducking under the doorway, Eijirou appears with a huge grin and a box in his hands. He does a double take at the sight of them in the hallway, gaze flashing to Shouto. “Oh! Todoroki! I didn’t realise you were here - what are you all doing out here? Katsuki made way too much lemon meringue pie, so - ”

Eijirou catches sight of Rody and stops, mouth ajar. Behind his bulk comes the irritated sound of Katsuki, shoving his way past him to the hallway. “Move, idiot. Why would you stop here, of all places?” Scowling, Katsuki emerges from around Eijirou, glancing around the hallway then freezing. His eyes slide from the tears rolling down Izuku’s face to Rody, suddenly pale and stiff, and his pupils dilate. 

“Katsuki, no!” Eijirou moves the same second he does, dropping the box with a squelching thud and seizing hold of Katsuki as he bolts forwards, yanking him off his feet and against his chest as his screech of fury echoes around the hallway.

“I’ll kill you, you fucking bastard!” Katsuki howls, one hand trying to yank Eijirou’s arm away and the other clawing at the air in a desperate attempt to reach Rody. The sad remnants of the pie lie behind them as he fights, more vicious than Izuku’s seen him in years. “I should’ve done it the second you screwed him over, you evil, evil - !”

Izuku watches, stricken, even as Hitoshi’s hand moves to wrap his arm around him fully and draw him close. Katsuki looks deranged, teeth bared and almost foaming at the mouth as he tries to free himself from Eijirou’s grasp. Rody takes a step back in alarm as Katsuki fights tooth and nail to get loose and launch himself his way as if possessed.

“Katsuki!” Despite having almost a foot of height and double the weight on him, Eijirou is visibly struggling to control Katsuki as he writhes against him. “Stop it - don’t spit at him, don’t lower yourself to his level - ”

“I would never!” he snarls, lips pulling back from his teeth again. “I would never, never do to you what he did to Deku - I’d never be such a selfish piece of shit - ”

“Hitoshi,” Eijirou begs, locking his arms around Katsuki’s chest and clenching down on his wrists, throwing a desperate look his way, “help me with him.”

“Normally I wouldn’t condone violence,” Hitoshi says flatly, staring at Rody's pale face with his lips pressed firmly together. “But I reckon you should stand back and let Katsuki have a go at him.”

“See?” Katsuki screeches, and Izuku hasn’t a clue how his neighbours haven’t poked their heads out the door to see what the commotion with; has no idea how Shouto hasn’t taken the chance to escape and is instead merely standing there, face drained of colour and eyes fixed upon Rody. Bucking against Eijirou’s grip, Katsuki jerks his chin at Hitoshi. “Get over there, Shinsou - break the fucker’s nose then kick him to death - ”

“Leave,” Eijirou tells Rody, voice brittle while Katsuki continues to try and wrestle out of his grip and Hitoshi remains at Izuku’s side. “I’m not having him get into trouble with the law because of you.” For as affable and friendly as Eijirou is, there’s nothing but disgust in his voice as he addresses Rody.

With all eyes on him, Rody swallows. He looks to Izuku who shrinks back, tears still trickling down his cheeks, and his mouth tightens. “I’m staying at the Central Inn,” Rody tells him, voice measured, “if you want to talk, just us two - ”

“No, he doesn’t!” Katsuki bellows, trying and failing to wrench Eijirou’s arms away from his waist. “He doesn’t want a thing to do with you! If you come anywhere near him I’ll tear you limb from limb - ”

“Ask at reception for me,” Rody says urgently, ignorant to Katsuki’s threats as he pleads. “I’ll stay there as long as I have to, Izuku. There’s an envelope under the door for you - please, just think about it - ”

“Go!” Hitoshi barks, his own teeth bared, and Rody seems to realise when he’s defeated. Seizing his suitcase, he throws one last, desperate look at Izuku before he heads for the exit, Izuku shrinking against the wall as he passes and Eijirou taking a step back to avoid Katsuki’s kicks from landing.

The hallway is silent when the door swings shut behind him, save for Katsuki’s grunts and curses. Eijirou continues to hold him until the elevator begins to rumble then releases his arms, grimacing. “I think you bruised my ribs, Kats.”

Straightening, Katsuki ignores him and focuses on Izuku, breathing hard. “How the fuck did he find out where you live?” he says at once, voice tight. “How’d he know where to find you?”

“I don’t know,” Izuku whispers. “I don’t know.” His breath is escaping him in gasps, the question ricocheting around in his mind - and then he’s swaying, head spinning and unsteady on his feet, hands instantly on him and supporting him.

“Shit, shit - move, let’s get him inside, let’s get him sitting down - ”

“Get the door - it’s okay, Izuku, we’ve got you - ”

The tears are falling thick and fast, sobs shuddering through him as he stumbles into the flat, unsure of who helps him on his way. Eased onto the sofa, he clumsily wipes his face with his hands until someone grabs the back of his neck, pulling him into their chest. “It’s okay,” comes the gruff voice, kinder than normal as a hand strokes back his hair. “Let it out. I’m here. I’ve got you.”

He begins to sob in earnest against the soft wool of Katsuki’s jumper, fingers combing through his hair as arms tighten around him. “It’s probably better you go,” he hears behind him - Hitoshi’s voice, low and guarded. “We’ve got him. Give me your number and I’ll call you - ”

He’s not sure what happens after that; how Shouto makes his escape, or if he says anything to him. The only thing Izuku can focus on is the pain tearing through his chest and Katsuki holding him while he cries, cheek pressed to his head and murmuring comforting words in his ear.

Izuku doesn’t remember falling asleep.

He wakes up in the middle of the night with his eyes dry and head aching and lifts it to realise he’d fallen asleep nestled against Katsuki, head tucked under his chin. Even in the gloom he can see that Katsuki’s awake, sitting upright against the headboard and staring straight ahead. “You didn’t have to stay.” His voice is the barest rasp, every syllable making his throat ache. Eyes flickering down to him Katsuki tuts, hand slowly rubbing his back.

“Yes, I did.” It’s more quiet and measured than he expected from him, especially given his screeching earlier. “I wasn’t leaving you when you were in that state.”

Izuku swallows as Katsuki returns to staring at the wall, mouth set. “Where’s Eijirou?”

“Home. He wouldn’t fit on the sofa and wouldn’t let Shinsou give up his bed for him, so he headed back.” The hand keeps rubbing his back, quietly soothing. “How are you feeling?”

“Awful.” He isn’t in the mood to try and be positive about it. Izuku stares at a worn patch in the blanket, eyelids heavy. “I can’t remember the last time I felt this awful.”

Katsuki lets out a long, low breath before Izuku hears the audible sound of his teeth grinding together. “I’m going to kill him.”

“Kacchan,” he says, voice heavy, “don’t.”

“I am,” he vows, “I swear I am. How dare he think he can just waltz back into your life after what he did? How dare he?” Venom like he’s never heard it before is lacing his words, pure hatred within them.

“I don’t know why he came back,” Izuku whispers. It’s the truth: he hasn’t the faintest idea what Rody could want from him, or what else he could take. They haven’t spoken in over eighteen months. For all he knew, Rody could’ve been dead that whole time.

A scoff comes from above him. “Because he wants you back,” Katsuki says in an undertone. “He wants you to take him back. Well, over my dead body. He’s never getting near you again.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Izuku says wearily, lifting his head and meeting his eyes. “Go home to Eijirou. I’ll be okay.”

Katsuki’s jaw tightens. “I don’t want to leave you.”

“I’ve got Hitoshi. It’s okay.”

He stares at him, deliberating, until he makes a noise that Izuku knows is one of acquiescence. “I’ll stay until you fall asleep. Okay?”

“Okay,” Izuku says again. He hates how tiny his voice is. “Thank you, Kacchan.”

“Shut up,” Katsuki murmurs, and Izuku scrunches up his eyes as tight as he can as a large, warm hand slowly strokes his hair back. 

Katsuki’s gone by the time he wakes up for real, light filtering through the curtains. Head spinning, he’s unaware of the time as he struggles out of bed, wheezing, only for Hitoshi to appear at his door. “I’m late - ”

“You need to get back into bed,” Hitoshi says firmly, hand coming down on Izuku’s shoulder and pushing him back to the mattress. He folds like a stack of cards, flopping onto the tangled sheets. “You don’t look well at all. Scratch that - you’re not well. I’ll call into work for you.”

“No,” Izuku protests, though his attempt to sit up doesn’t go far with Hitoshi’s hand still pressed against his collarbone. His head is spinning, but surely it’s just because of his breakdown the day before. “No, I can go to work - ”

“You look like you’ll hit the deck before you even make it past the front door,” Hitoshi tells him, voice flat. “Listen to yourself, Izuku: you sound like a death metal singer. I think you’re coming down with something.”

He tries to tell him that, no, his rasping throat and all his aches are because he’s just cried out all the hydration in his body - but exhaustion overwhelms him and he lets his eyes slide closed, mouth trembling. “I’ll bring you a cup of tea,” Hitoshi says, softer this time. “Something herbal to soothe your throat.” He nods and Hitoshi vanishes, closing the door quietly behind him.

He spends the next few days in a tired, confused haze, hacking and coughing or else dozing, not quite awake, not quite asleep. Hitoshi grimly diagnoses him with the flu on day two of his isolation, tutting at the reading on the thermometer he jammed in his ear. “I’ll call in for the whole week for you,” he says, lip curling at Izuku’s whine. “Oh, yeah, ‘cause your colleagues really want you coughing all over them. Very considerate of you.”

Wheezing, Izuku accepts defeat.

On the rare occasions where his mind is clear and not in a fugue state Izuku stares at the ceiling or a corner of the room, heart pounding, head miserable. Over and over again, he can’t help but wonder why. After nearly two years of silence, why did Rody return? Why did he think he could explain himself - how on earth could he explain himself? More than once Izuku is startled to find tears trickling down his face, seeping silently into the pillow beneath his cheek. It’s only exhaustion that ends up sending him to sleep, mind too active to left him drift off of his own accord.

Katsuki occasionally stops by after work, wearing a face mask and latex gloves as if Izuku’s plagued with something a lot deadlier and more contagious than the flu. Mercifully, he doesn’t try to shove food down his throat and instead brings in thermoses of soup or smoothies, pushing a straw into Izuku’s mouth and waiting until he’s finished at least half of the glass. “I promised your mom I’d call by,” he says bluntly one day when Izuku questions why he’s being so dutiful, midway through Katsuki ripping a hairbrush through his curls. “She’s fretting over you being sick but can’t risk coming by and picking up something in case she’d give it to Toshinori, so I said I’d make sure you weren’t on death’s door.”

“It’s just the flu,” Izuku rasps, only for Katsuki to take advantage of his open mouth and make him choke on a spoonful of medication he shoved in.

On day six he’s finally able to heave himself into a sitting position, head tilted back and staring at the ceiling. His phone’s discarded somewhere on his bedside cabinet, long dead and unchecked all week. He’d rather not charge it again and confront what he’s been ignoring for a week - or, worse, open his messages to see that Rody’s found out his mobile number, too. Eyes sliding closed, Izuku curls his hands into fists in his lap and swallows hard, desperately trying to think of anything other than his ex.

“Izuku?” After a while there comes Hitoshi’s voice and a soft knock on the door, though it sounds as though it’s a sledgehammer to his aching head. “There’s someone here to see you.”

“What?” he says groggily, eyelids feeling as though they weigh a ton each as he fights to lift them and reaches for his glasses. “Who?” He hadn’t announced Katsuki’s arrival any day this week and he imagines Ochako, or perhaps Aoyama, who arrived back in Japan a few weeks ago after gallivanting around Europe for months.

“Hitoshi approved, I promise.” He mumbles in assent and the door creaks open, his roommate’s head appearing around the frame. Face creasing with sympathy, he steps aside to allow the visitor through - and Izuku’s heart plummets at the sight of Shouto, clearly fresh out of work in a tailored suit and a bowl clutched in his hands.

“Oh, God - ”

“No, no!” Shouto says hurriedly, transferring the bowl to one hand so he can hold the other out as Izuku sits up, hacking and coughing. “Don’t get up.” He collapses back against the headboard and Shouto takes a tentative step in, glancing back at Hitoshi. “Are you sure he’s - ?”

“Well, there’s no better medicine than homemade food and the presence of a loved one,” Hitoshi says mildly, as if he’d been starving him and refusing all contact for a week. “Try not to cough on him now, Izuku.” He vanishes, closing the door behind him, and Izuku’s left staring at Shouto with trepidation scratching at his skin.

“Hello. I, um…” Clearly awkward, Shouto clears his throat and holds up the bowl. “I made you soup.”

Izukui blinks. “You what?”

“I made you soup,” Shouto repeats, voice more strained. “My mom used to always make me this when I was sick - well. When I was very little. I got the recipe from my sister, and I just thought that even if it was a placebo effect sort of thing, it might help.” There’s a tinge of hope in his words.

“But - you can’t cook,” Izuku says blankly, thinking of the time Shouto tried to make them toast and set his toaster on fire.

Shouto’s looking more uncomfortable by the second, shifting from foot to foot. “This is my second attempt,” he admits, voice low. “I messed it up the first time, so I called my sister and asked if she’d be able to go on a video call and talk me through it. She ended up coming over instead to help me, and she tried it and said it was good, so - so it won’t give you food poisoning or anything. If that’s what you’re afraid of.”

It feels hard to breathe under Shouto’s anxious gaze; hard to stop his vision blurring and his voice from hitching, hands fisting in his sheets. It’s somehow all too easy to picture Shouto stressing over a pot, poking at its contents while an older, female version of him gently guides him along the road to success - all for him. “Thank you,” Izuku croaks, jaw trembling, and scrubs his eyes with the back of his hand. The tense line of Shouto’s shoulders relax, his grip on the bowl loosening as Izuku clears his throat. “You’d better not come too close, though. I’m super gross right now.”

“You’re not gross just because you’re sick.” Izuku meant a more I’ve barely slept or showered for days thing, but he’s sitting down on the edge of his bed before he can voice his disgustingness. “Oh, love,” Shouto says, voice soft and brow creased as he gazes at him. It’s the first time he’s used a term of endearment for him and, humiliatingly, Izuku feels his eyes fill with tears again. “I’m sorry I didn’t come by before now. Your roommate said you weren’t well at all and it was better leaving you to rest, but he texted me last night and said you were on the mend.” His hand finds Izuku’s, threading their fingers together. “I hope you didn’t think I was upset with you.”

“I didn’t think much of anything,” he says truthfully. “I mostly slept this week, so you didn’t miss much.” Blinking hard, he tries for his most valiant smile. “I’m really glad to see you. Thanks for coming.”

“Of course.” Shouto smiles at him, and Izuku feels heat flare in his face and neck the moment he smells his cologne. That, and the lingering reminder of the last time he saw Shouto, feel like a weight pressing down on his shoulders.

“I’m going to get a shower, because I really am gross. Then we can… well.” He swallows. “We can talk.”

If he picks up on the tension, he says nothing. “Okay. I’ll go wait in the living room.” Getting to his feet, Shouto awkwardly raises the bowl. “Do you want me to heat this up for you?”

Staring at the bowl, Izuku’s heart aches again. “Yeah,” he says softly, lips lifting in a smile. “I’d love that.”

Part of him wants to shower as quickly as possible out of courtesy for Shouto, but the other part of him is well aware of the fact he’s hardly showered for a week and he’s dating the most handsome man in Tokyo. Izuku spends a good ten minutes just scrubbing himself down then shaves, exfoliates, then double shampoos his hair to be safe. Sparkling clean and sprayed with the expensive aftershave Toshinori bought him for his birthday, Izuku pads out of the bathroom in a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt, feeling vaguely human again. There’s an awkward, stilted atmosphere in the living room, Hitoshi and Shouto sitting on opposite armchairs and clutching mugs of coffee with clearly no idea of what to say to one another. At the sight of him, Hitoshi visibly relaxes.

“There’s your soup.” He jerks his chin towards the coffee table and the bowl slowly issuing steam upon it. “Our freezer’s full of meals Katsuki dropped ‘round, so you can have one of them for your dinner.”

Both hands wrapped around his mug, Shouto blinks. “I didn’t know Katsuki cooked.”

“He’s a very good cook,” Izuku tells him, taking a seat on the sofa and lifting the bowl with a sniff. “Is this vegetable?”

Shouto nods, looking apprehensive as Hitoshi shrugs. “His boyfriend said he cooks when he’s stressed or angry, and I guess he was both this week. Which isn’t your fault,” he adds emphatically as Izuku wilts. “It’s your awful ex who’s to blame.”

Silence settles over them, the tension returning. Shouto’s staring at his shoelaces, the shoes themselves so polished that Izuku’s pretty sure he could kneel down and see his reflection in them. For his part his tongue feels too heavy in his mouth for speech, too awkward to conjure up a decent response.

“I’ll leave you two alone.” Heaving himself to his feet with a horrible crack of his knees, Hitoshi wanders off towards his bedroom. There’s another beat of silence before Shouto speaks up, voice low.

“Do you want to finish your soup first?”

Izuku shakes his head, hands fisting in his lap. He’s put it off for long enough. “No, no. I’ll finish it after. Let’s just - let’s get it out of the way.” Swallowing hard, he meets Shouto’s sombre eyes and tries to calm his racing heartbeat. “Where do you want me to begin?”

Shouto’s mouth creases at the edges. “Why did you never tell me you were engaged?” he says quietly, and Izuku cringes. “I knew you had bad exes, but I didn’t realise… well. You were planning to marry one of them. That’s… kind of a big deal.”

He wonders how much Shouto’s thought about it this last week; how many times he’s turned it over in his mind. “I’m sorry. I know I should’ve told you before now, and I wanted to, but - but I didn’t know how. I don’t like talking about him, and talking about him would mean explaining everything, which is…” Izuku trails off and shrugs helplessly. “Horrible. It’s horrible.”

Shouto sighs, rubbing his jaw. He seems in no mood to argue, or mull over the fact it was kept from him. “If talking about him gives you the flu, I can see why you avoided it.” 

“It was probably already in my system,” Izuku points out, then lapses into silence. Gnawing on his lip, he watches the little crease form between Shouto’s brows as humiliation itches at his spine. “But - yeah. You saw how I was when I saw him again.”

“Yeah,” Shouto echoes. He studies him, something in his expression that Izuku’s never seen before. “Would you tell me?” he says quietly, without it being a demand. “About what happened between you? Only if you feel like you can. I just - I want to know everything about you, Izuku, and I want to be able to support you in any way that I can.”

He’s smiling before he realises it, wistful and sad. “You’re too nice, you know,” Izuku tells him and Shouto huffs out what isn’t quite a laugh.

“It’s what you deserve,” he mumbles, and something about his steadfast conviction gives him the strength he needs to unstopper his throat and reveal what he’s kept buried for so long.

“I met Rody when I was twenty-one,” Izuku says quietly, hands clutching together in his lap. “It was stupid, really, the way we met: we bumped into each other on the subway and accidentally switched backpacks, so we had to track the other down to get our own bag back. We met up at the station and laughed about it, he asked me if I wanted to grab a coffee… we ended up sitting there for hours just talking.” He smiles wistfully, thumb rubbing over his knuckles. “I’m the one who suggested our first date, and I’ve always wondered how things would’ve been different if I’d just kept my mouth shut.”

There’s pity in Shouto’s eyes, so Izuku does his best not to meet them. “It sounds silly now, but our relationship was great. We barely argued, let alone fought - we just always had a laugh together, you know? I was living with Hitoshi at the time but me and Rody moved in together after nine, ten months. My mom adored him, my friends liked him, and I thought - ” He swallows, smile wavering. “Well. I thought I’d found my person, you know? The person I’d grow old with, have a family with.”

Breath escaping him in a shudder, Izuku’s hand comes to rub at his face, hiding it from view. “I’m sorry,” Shouto says quietly, no doubt watching him struggle to keep his composure. “I don’t want to imagine - ” He breaks off, and Izuku sighs.

“Yeah.” He knows his smile doesn’t reach his eyes, hands back in his lap. “That’s what you get for being young and stupid.”

“You aren’t stupid,” Shouto says at once, then pauses. Opening and closing his mouth, it seems to take him a moment to work up the nerve to say what’s on his mind. “Katsuki and Hitoshi said different things about him, so I… I didn’t know what to think.”

Izuku feels his mouth twist. “We used to go on a lot of road trips together. We didn’t have a huge amount of money - Rody’s dream job was to be a pilot, so he was saving for a licence, and I was mostly saving for a house deposit. So, whenever our friends went abroad for a holiday, we’d fill the tank of his truck and drive out somewhere. He’d plan the routes, I’d make the playlists. I think I’ve listened to Life Is A Highway about three thousand times.” He swallows. “It was on one of the trips that he proposed. We were watching the sunset at Kochi in Shikoku when I turned to look at him and… and he had a ring. And I said yes.”

“Which is probably why you don’t like letters that talk about marriages,” Shouto murmurs, making him huff with humourless laughter.

“We started planning it right away - well, I did. He was happy to sit back and let me decide on a venue, on the food, the entertainment… we had a joint account, see, where we’d put all our savings into. Most of the bookings needed paid just before the ceremony so we kept topping up the account, ready to have it sitting there.” His heart’s pumping harder, head lighter. “Toshinori gave us some money towards it - a lot, actually, more than I wanted to take, but he insisted on it being a gift. Rody insisted we take it.”

Comprehension is dawning across Shouto’s face but he can’t look at him, can’t meet his eyes. “Two weeks before the wedding, I came home to find he’d taken all his stuff - every single item of clothing or possession - and vanished. His phone was disconnected; his boss said he’d handed in his resignation with immediate effect. All he’d left was a note saying he was sorry, and - ” Blinking hard and a hand coming to cover his mouth, his words are tremulous. “And, when I checked, our bank account was cleared out. He’d taken every last penny.”

“Oh, Izuku,” Shouto whispers, and embarrassment courses down his spine. “How much was there?”

Izuku’s hand moves from his mouth to his eyes, hiding from view. “Eight million yen.” His eyes scrunch tighter. “I know it might not seem like a lot to you when - ”

“No,” Shouto interrupts, and he looks up to see cold fury in his expression. “No, Izuku, that’s a hell of a lot of money. To steal that from you and leave you at the altar - ?” He can’t manage it and cuts himself off with a noise of disgust.

Pressing his fist against his chin, Izuku speaks into his knuckles. “Is it leaving you at the altar if it’s a few weeks before the wedding? He’d cancelled the bookings, anyway. When I called the venue they said he’d already let them know the wedding was off, so… I guess he never wanted to get married in the first place.” He tried to smirk but it crumples halfway through, tears spilling down his cheeks. In an instant Shouto is on his feet, sitting beside Izuku and wrapping his arms around him to pull him against his chest, automatically soothing.

“It’s okay,” Shouto murmurs, fingers combing through his hair as Izuku begins to sob against the soft fabric of his shirt, soaking it through. “I’ve got you. I’ve got you, Izuku.”

He cries until the tears run dry, trembling against Shouto as he gently rocks him and strokes his hair back from his forehead. It feels like a long time before he lifts his head again and pushes his glasses into his hair, sure he’s puffy-faced and hideous. “Sorry,” he rasps, and Shouto shakes his head.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry for.” Sympathy creases his expression as he cups Izuku’s cheek, mouth twisted. “I’m sorry that happened to you; that he did that to you.”

Shrugging awkwardly, Izuku clears his throat. He’s vaguely embarrassed by crying in front of Shouto yet again, especially given the man’s own composure. “I moved back in with Hitoshi afterwards,” he says, trying to ignore the wet patch he’s left on Shouto’s shoulder. “I was lucky he had a spare room, at least. This is where I’ve been ever since - last night was the first time I’ve seen him since he disappeared.” He bites down on his tongue until he tastes blood. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.”

“It’s okay. There’s things I haven’t told you, either.” Izuku forces himself not to look to the scar he knows surrounds Shouto’s eye - the one he’s kept hidden from even him all this time - but Shouto’s pressing on before he can work up the nerve. “Now’s not the time for me, though.” He’s studying him, a crease between his brows, and presses on before Izuku can question him. “Are you going to speak to him? Your ex, I mean.”

He returns to biting down on his tongue, muffling his words. “I have no idea. I’ve tried not to think about him, or why he came back.”

“Did the envelope not have answers?” Izuku frowns at him, confused, until he suddenly remembers Rody’s almost throwaway comment about one.

“I completely forgot. Where is it?” Standing up, he walks to Hitoshi’s bedroom door and quietly knocks. “You in there?”

Hitoshi pokes his head out a moment later, eyebrows raised. “What’s up?”

“Where’s the envelope?” He doesn’t elaborate, but he doesn’t need to.

“I put it in here. I haven’t looked at what’s inside, though.” Meandering over to the cabinets beneath the television, he pulls it out and holds it aloft. It’s thicker than Izuku remembered, bulging and fit to burst. Fingers trembling, Izuku takes it off him. Lifting the flap, he peers inside then freezes. Hitoshi frowns at him. “What?”

Silently, Izuku tips the envelope upside down and lets the notes flutter to the ground, on and on until there’s a mountain of them piling atop one another. They all stare, open-mouthed, and Izuku swallows. “There must be - ”

“Millions,” Hitoshi says quietly, crouching down and examining a few ten thousand yen notes. “If they’re real notes.”

“They are.” Shouto picks one up and holds it to the light, frowning. “Look at the holographic strip. I’d get them checked at the bank all the same, just to be sure.”

Together they count out the piles until they’re stacked up neatly, little skyscrapers of currency here and there. Silently counting the collective, Izuku balks. “There’s ten million yen here,” he whispers, lips numb. Where the hell did he get so much money from? “He only stole eight million.”

“Only,” Hitoshi repeats sarcastically and, hands trembling, Izuku huffs his breath out.

“You know what I mean. He’s given me extra.”

“Compensation,” Hitoshi suggests, Shouto nodding along. “It’s your money, anyway. So what if he robbed a bank to get it back?”

“Don’t speak like that,” Izuku says, frowning at him. Gathering the piles together he unceremoniously shoves them back into the envelope, returning it to the drawer it came from. “I don’t want to look at it; I don’t know what to do with it.”

“Well, I like your company too much to suggest you immediately look for a house. Don’t worry about it for now.” Patting him on the shoulder, Hitoshi wanders back to his room. Looking at Shouto, Izuku sees that the crease is between his brows again.

“Don’t think about it,” he echoes, jerking his chin at the closed drawer. “I know what you’re like; you’ll worry yourself thinking about where it came from, or what you’re supposed to do with it.”

“I suppose.” It’s easier said than done: he knows for a fact that it’ll be the only thing on his mind when he’s trying to fall asleep, staring into the darkness and fretting over what his life has become. Sighing deeply, Izuku returns to sit beside him and smiles as best he can. “On a brighter note, I’ll be back to work tomorrow. Sorry I’ve taken so much time off.”

“There’s nothing for you to apologise about; you were sick ,” Shouto says, the beginnings of a scowl around his mouth. “Anyway, Ochako picked up your work in the meantime. The one-off Ask Uraraka segment proved very popular with readers.”

It’s hard to conjure up even the weakest of smiles now and so he gives up, jaw clenching. “I just want to get back to normal,” Izuku whispers, as if it’s an option. “Is that such a bad thing?”

Shouto studies him, lips pressed in a straight line. “No,” he says quietly, “no, it’s not.” His hand closes down around Izuku’s and squeezes. “Let me heat your soup up for you again, then we can do whatever you want for the rest of the day. I’m here for you.”

He wishes his eyes weren’t so wet, but Izuku successfully fights back the tears for the first time and smiles at him. “Have you ever played Mario Kart?”

He’s relieved when his return to work is greeted with little fanfare other than people stopping by his desk on the way past to enquire about his help. On the other side of the room, Katsuki is watching him from above his desktop, eyes narrowed even after Izuku gives him a jaunty wave and smile. Undeterred, he goes for his phone.

[Izuku] : thank you so much for all the meals :) we won’t have to shop for ages now hahaha

[Katsuki] : Shut the fuck up. Don’t expect it again.

Sighing, he sets his phone down just as Ochako walks in, gasping at the sight of him and almost dropping her bag. “Deku! Are you all better?” She rushes over, flinging her arms around him in a tight hug. “I wanted to come see you, but Katsuki said you had the flu so I was scared of catching it - ”

“It’s fine,” he says wearily, smiling into her shoulder. “I just lay in bed for a week, so you didn’t miss anything. It’s better you didn’t risk catching whatever I had.”

“Yeah.” She pulls back, eyebrows knitted and mouth downturned. “Katsuki told me about Rody,” Ochako whispers, and her hands move to clutch his. “How are you doing?”

“Mm.” He knew she’d ask about him and can’t blame her for it, but he also can’t help the automatic gloom that settles over him at the mention of his ex. Just as he’d feared, it was the only thing bouncing around his mind as he tried desperately to sleep the night before. “Trying not to think about him, or what I’m going to do.”

“Noted.” Taking a seat, her expression is nothing but sympathetic. “Want some good news?”

“Hit me with it.”

Grinning, Ochako reaches into her handbag and pulls out a photo, handing it to him. He automatically smiles at the sonogram, double the size of the last one he saw. “I just thought you’d like to see that everything’s going as it should be, and your niece is doing very well.”

Izuku jerks, staring at her. “Niece?” She nods and his chest constricts, almost dropping the sonogram. “You’re having a girl?”

“Yep,” Ochako says cheerily, beaming as Izuku’s eyes fill with tears. “We couldn’t wait any longer! Unfortunately she’s taking after her dad in size, so I might have to have a caesarean… I told them I’d rather not ‘cause of the recovery time, but let’s just see what happens.” 

“This,” Izuku manages, tears rolling down to his chin and dripping into his lap, “is the best news I’ve had in a long, long time. You having a girl, not a caesarean.”

“Aw, that’s exactly how Tenya reacted,” she says, grinning as she pats his knee. “He hasn’t stopped crying, actually; you’d think he’s the one who’s hormonal with how little it takes to set him off. His mom gave us a yellow dressing gown with ducks embroidered on it and he nearly gave himself a headache from all the sobbing!”

Tenya stops by to offer his own sympathies not long later, which leads to Izuku putting on his headphones and praying not to be disturbed as he tackles the pile of letters left for him. After one about a needy boyfriend, another about an overbearing mother and a third about a rent dispute, the fourth makes him falter as Fall Out Boy blasts in his ears.

Dear Deku,

Do people deserve second chances? My ex told me she’s changed and asked if we can make another go of things, but I’m just not sure I’m emotionally ready and I’m terrified to get hurt again.

Thank you,

Tove

He stares at it, heart pounding, as Patrick Stump belts about being just off the key of reason. It’s ambiguous enough to remind him of Rody, to have his hands sweating and a sour taste in his mouth. Swallowing it back, Izuku types his reply with shaking fingers.

Dear Tove,

I don’t know about your situation, or what caused the two of you to break up, so I can’t advise you on anything in particular. All I can say is to tread carefully: exes are exes for a reason.

Yours,

Deku

It’s a thousand times blander than the rest of his responses, but he can’t bring himself to write anything better. Misery permeating his veins once more, Izuku sorts through the rest of the pile in a deliberate attempt to find the most innocent and lighthearted of letters, mood dismal.

Shouto finds him at his desk at the end of the day, leaning against it as the rest of the staff filter out. “Hey,” he says in an undertone, smiling kindly as Izuku shoves his laptop out of sight. “How are you feeling?”

Honesty is the best policy and so Izuku groans as Ochako noisily sweeps her belongings into her bag. “I’ve been better.”

“Thought so.” Shouto’s lips press together while Ochako pats Izuku on the shoulder, throwing them both a smile as she shuffles out of the cubicle towards where Tenya is waiting at the door. In her absence, Shouto leans closer to him. “I don’t want to pressure you,” he says quietly, “but you can stay at my place tonight, if you don’t want to be at your own. Not when he knows where you live.”

It’s difficult to keep his composure when Shouto’s gazing at him like that, with nothing but concern and affection in his expression. “Thank you,” Izuku whispers, smile wobbly, and Shouto returns it with one of his own.

“Anytime.” Standing straight, he clears his throat. “I’m just going to run to the bathroom before we go. Why don’t you decide on what we’ll have for dinner tonight?” Shouto’s eyes crease at the edges as if remembering something humorous. “I don’t think you can blame me for wanting to get a takeaway instead of cooking.”

“Nah. Nah, not at all.” He smiles at him and lets Shouto press a kiss to his forehead before he turns on his heel, heading towards the bathroom. Izuku watches him go with unease stirring in his stomach, hand resting upon his phone. He hesitates, thumb hovering over the screen - then, heart thumping, scoops it up and searches for the address of the Central Inn.

Chapter Text

One of Shouto’s many positive attributes is that he isn’t the jealous type - not as far as Izuku’s seen, anyway. When they were dating Yo was wildly jealous, questioning him every time he hung out with his friends and convinced he was cheating. In hindsight he knows that Yo was simply projecting his own indiscretions, but the fact that Shouto has a legitimate reason to be jealous but isn’t comes as quite the shock.

“I’m not thrilled by the thought of it,” he’d said, a tense few minutes after Izuku tentatively pitched his idea to him over dinner. “I don’t trust him, Izuku, and I don’t think you should either.”

“I don’t,” he’d agreed, pushing the last grains of rice around his plate while his shoulders hunched over himself with the stress of it. “But I think it’ll give me closure, and maybe an actual explanation. Put it all behind me, you know?”

He’d seen in Shouto’s expression that he was unconvinced, but said nothing and only patted his arm. “Do what you need to do,” he’d simply said, leaving Izuku once again grateful to be dating someone who actually trusted him.

Sitting in a cafe around the corner from the Central Inn, legs crossed and one erratically bouncing atop the other, Izuku can’t help but think of Shouto despite the situation at hand. He’d offered to come with him to meet Rody but he’d politely declined, unsure how honest Rody would be if Shouto was sitting with them. That was on top of the fact Shouto is intimidating simply in his demeanour, and he does not need it to come across as if he needs a bodyguard for a boyfriend. He’d let the person at the reception desk know where he was going, asking for the message to be passed on to Rody, and now there’s nothing else to do but sit and wait for his arrival, heart pounding against his ribs all the while.

He arrives in a flurry of activity while Izuku is stirring his second green tea, coat flapping around him and panting as though he’d sprinted the whole way here. Izuku stiffens at the sight of him but forces himself to relax as Rody walks over to meet him, hands shoved in his pockets and no doubt balled into anxious fists. “Hey,” he says, voice soft, and Izuku swallows.

“Hi.” It’s a lot stiffer than he meant it to be and he jerks his chin at the chair opposite, inviting Rody to sit down. He does so slowly, staring at Izuku as if he never expected to see him again. In fairness, he probably didn’t.

“How are you?” He sits with his knees slightly apart, lounging back in his chair in a gesture achingly familiar to him. “Thank you so much for agreeing to see me.” His eyebrows contract slightly. “I wasn’t sure if you would.”

“I almost didn’t.” Izuku wraps his hands around his mug in an effort to try and hide how badly they’re shaking. “You turning up again isn’t exactly what I need right now.”

Rody’s throat bobs with his swallow but he doesn’t lose his nerve, eyes still on Izuku. “I’ll bet.” He pauses. “Who’s the boyfriend?”

He’d expected it, given the way Rody’s eyes raked over him and took in everything about his appearance. “Shouto. We work together.” It’s perhaps best not to mention that Shouto is his boss, or anything else identifying about the man.

Rody hums, arms handing over the sides of the chair. “He looks like he’s got money.”

Izuku bristles at once. Of course he’d focus on that above all else. “That’s not why I’m dating him,” he says sharply, hands tightening around his mug. “I don’t care how much money someone has. You of all people should know that.”

It’s a low blow and Rody shifts in his seat, his discomfort obvious. “Still,” he says, and Izuku knows him well enough to know he’s deliberately forcing the airy tone of his voice. “It must be nice for him to spoil you.”

He resists Shouto spending money on him as much as he can - a difficult job when Shouto’s love language is very much giving gifts - but doesn’t tell Rody this. Pressing his tongue against his cheek, he surveys the man across the table. “We’re not here to talk about Shouto.”

“Well, you’re dating him.” He shrugs helplessly. “You’ve moved on. Why not talk about him?”

“Of course I’ve moved on!” Izuku snaps, frustration heightening in a way he should’ve expected. Rody loved to wind him up; why should now be any different, after so long apart? “It’s been nearly two years, Rody! What, did you expect me to wait around forever? Stay loyal forever when you cancelled our wedding and disappeared?”

“No. No, I didn’t. I don’t.” Rody’s teeth dig into his bottom lip and he sits up properly, back straight. “I can explain, Izuku - or, well. I’ll try. I know it was unforgivable what I did, but I want to try and make up for it.”

He forces himself to calm down, letting out a shuddering breath and depositing his mug onto the table only so he can wrap his arms around his middle. “Why did you do it?” he says stiffly, forcing himself to look Rody in the eye. “And I want the truth. Don’t you dare lie to me.”

Rody falters. Whatever preplanned speech he had seems to have dissipated, replaced by an awkward fidgeting in his chair and his gaze dropping to the floorboards. Just as Izuku’s prepared to call him out on his attempts to avoid the truth, Rody swallows and comes out with it. “My dad died.”

“What?” he breathes, losing his irritation at once as he sits forward in his chair. Despite the fact he doesn’t trust Rody, what he thinks he knows about the man and the ashen look on his face tell him that he isn’t lying. “When? Rody, I’m so sorry - ”

“A few weeks before our wedding. Roro called and told me while you were at work. It was a hit and run.” Rody meets his eyes again, expression stiff. “Roro wasn’t eighteen yet and our mom had died when Lala was born, so there was no one to look after them. And - and my dad had racked up massive debts before he died. There were creditors at the door every day, threatening legal action against them, and Roro was freaking out and had no clue what to do. He was a kid - there was nothing he could do.”

A sense of dawning comprehension is washing over him, however much Izuku tries to fight it back. “How much debt?” he whispers.

He knows the answer even before Rody sighs out his breath, steadying himself. “In yen, almost eight million.”

Silence stretches out between them as Rody rubs the back of his hand and Izuku stares at him, trying to come to terms with what he’s just learned. “You could’ve told me, Rody,” he says at last, voice hoarse. “I would’ve understood - you wouldn’t have had to go through that on your own.”

Rody shakes his head, lips pressed in a thin line. “That’s the problem, though - you’re too understanding. You’re a fixer, Izuku. You would’ve dropped everything and gone straight back to Portugal with me, no matter who or what you have here. You would’ve prioritised me above the rest of it.”

“And is that such a terrible thing, prioritising your fiancé?” Chest tight, he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing. “You didn’t even give me the choice to help, Rody! You made all those decisions for me and left me in the lurch for two years before you showed up again and turned everything upside down!”

“I’m sorry, Izuku. I can’t tell you how sorry I am. The minute the plane landed in Lisbon I realised I’d made a mistake, but it was too late then.”

“No, it wasn’t,” he snaps. “You could’ve called me from the airport. You could’ve explained - anything, anything other than what you did.”

Rody nods, expression miserable. “You’re right, and I’m sorry. I’ll never stop being sorry.”

Izuku swallows, hand rubbing at the back of his neck. He doesn’t know why it’s so uncomfortable to have Rody apologising over and over when it’s all he used to want, but he’s fighting the urge to squirm in his seat. “How are Roro and Lala now?” he says, voice tight in an effort to keep things civil.

“They’re doing good. Roro’s in college and Lala got a scholarship to a really nice boarding school, so they’re good and settled.” He pauses, eyes flickering over Izuku’s face. “They asked about you a lot, you know.”

“Did they?” He’d never met Rody’s siblings in person but he’d joined in on most of his video calls home, chattering away to the children and teasingly informing them of all Rody’s misdeeds while he huffed and rolled his eyes behind him. “What did you tell them?”

“That I messed up. That I let you down.” Rody smiles, but there’s no warmth in it. “Not any specifics, though. I didn’t want them thinking it was their fault.”

Izuku shrugs, playing with the edge of his napkin. He can’t blame him: he knows that, if he were in their position, he would’ve thought the breakdown of their engagement was solely his fault. He can’t fault Rody’s love for them, anyway. “You should’ve spoken to me. You should’ve been honest.”

“I know, and I’m so sorry.” He can’t stand the way Rody’s gazing at him, nothing but sincerity in his voice. “I got my pilot’s licence while I was away, you know. I worked every hour I could to make the money to pay you back. I would’ve returned sooner, but I wanted to pay you back in full and then some.”

“Why are you back, Rody?” A sudden weariness overtakes him, setting the napkin aside and staring him in the eye. “Could you not have just told me all this in a letter? An email?”

Rody’s eyebrows arch. “Would you have read them?” Izuku shrugs and he huffs, leaning forwards. “You might’ve, if Katsuki didn’t get to them first. But I’m not just here with explanations.” He presses his lips together, eyes wide, and Izuku’s stomach drops.

“No, Rody,” he says at once, vehemently shaking his head. “You can’t be serious - ”

“I am,” Rody tells him, and Izuku wrenches his hand off the table when he makes a grab for it. “Izuku, listen to me - ”

“No!” he repeats, and several customers turn around to stare as his voice crescendos. “I can’t believe you’re even asking me this! You can’t just waltz back into my life after what you did and expect me to give you another chance, Rody!”

“I don’t! I know it’s not something you can forgive in an instant, but please.” He reaches for him again and Izuku stands up this time, heart pounding and head spinning as Rody looks up at him. “Let me make it up to you. Please, give me the opportunity to prove myself to you.”

“I don’t want to!” he snaps and, to his horror, has to fight back the tears welling in his eyes. “I’ve moved on, Rody. You need to accept that. Go back and be with your siblings.”

“I’m not gonna up and leave again!” Rody’s on his feet now too, ignoring the fact that every single person in the cafe is staring at them now. “I’ll stay as long as it takes, Izuku - I promise you, I promise I’ll make this right.”

“How can you make it right when I’d never be able to trust you again?” Izuku tells him, voice quivering - and, turning on his heel, makes a run for the exit before Rody can hope to counter him.

What his legs lack in length they make up for in speed and he’s six streets away before he takes a break, panting and sagging against the closest wall. He doubts Rody will catch up with him, if he’s even tried: he was always terrible at directions compared to him, bemoaning Izuku having the advantage of growing up in the city. Once he’s got his breath back he plods back into his apartment with a heavy heart, trying desperately to think of anything other than Rody’s expression and his wide, pleading eyes.

With Hitoshi working overtime today, he’s stunned to see that there’s three people in his apartment and making themselves at home. Toshinori’s in the kitchen, washing out a coffee cup, while his mother and Katsuki sit on opposite armchairs, deep in discussion. They break off at once at the sight of him, blinking back at them as he slides off his shoes. “Mom? What are you doing here?”

“Katsuki called me.” There’s no pet name, none of the usual affection in her voice as she stares at him, lips quivering. Beside her, Katsuki’s arms are folded so tightly across his chest that Izuku thinks it’ll take a year to unravel them. “We’ve been waiting for you to get back. I hoped it wasn’t true, but - but I can’t believe you, Izuku. Why did you go and see him, after what he did to you?”

His stomach drops. “Mom,” he says, taking a step towards her, “I had to - I was trying to get closure - ”

“While he was probably trying to get you back!” his mother cries, wringing her hands. “After he robbed you - robbed Toshinori! Don’t forget that was some of his money he stole!”

“This isn’t about me, Inko,” Toshinori says, a deep crease between his brows, but Inko waves his words away like an errant fly.

“And to find out you’ve got a boyfriend you neglected to mention. Your boss, who you swore you weren’t attracted to!” She shakes her head, eyes wet. “Why are you keeping secrets from me, Izuku? What have I done to lose your confidence? Why on earth are you letting Rody back in when he hurt you so badly?”

“You haven’t, Mom,” he says wearily, resolving to throttle Katsuki the moment her back is turned. “I’m twenty-five: you can’t expect to know every detail about my life as soon as it happens. As for Shouto, I was going to tell you in good time, and didn’t expect my friends to run telling tales to you.” He glares at Katsuki, the blond staring right back at him. “Why did you have to interfere? How did you even know I was going to see him?”

“Because you like to bottle everything up and keep it to yourself,” Katsuki retorts, lip curled, “and Todoroki was evasive when I asked were you were today, so I knew what you were up to. For the record, I thought you’d already told your mom about Todoroki. I only contacted her because you were stupid enough to go running after that bastard Soul - ”

“Don’t you dare call me stupid, asshole!” His temper spikes and Izuku strides towards him, Katsuki leaping out of his seat to meet him as they stare each other down, nose to nose and breathing hard. “Why can’t you just be supportive instead of treating me like a kid?”

“We’ve had this conversation before, or are you too thick to remember it?” Katsuki snarls, seizing the front of Izuku’s shirt and fisting his hand in the material. “I’m always the one picking up the pieces!”

“Boys!” his mother pleads behind them, but they both ignore her.

“And I’ve told you that you need to trust me! I’d rather not have your help if you’re just going to patronise me!” Teeth bared, he can feel Katsuki’s hot breath on his cheek. “God help Eijirou if you ever have an argument, because you’ll never stop making him feel like he did something wrong - ”

Katsuki responds by headbutting him and Izuku goes down, seizing Katsuki’s leg and dragging him along with him. The second they hit the floor they’re wrestling, Katsuki’s fist aiming for his nose while Izuku seizes a handful of his hair and bangs his head off the floorboards.

“Stop it!” He dimly makes out his mother shouting behind them, she and Toshinori making the wise decision not to get involved in the fight themselves, but focuses on the man snarling and snapping underneath him instead.

“Don’t you say a word about Eijirou!” Katsuki bellows, fingers wrapping around Izuku’s wrist and raking into his skin. “His balls are ten times bigger than yours!”

“I don’t want to know about his balls!” The doorbell rings but they continue tussling, Izuku sinking his teeth into Katsuki’s hand and the man retaliating by driving his elbow into his temple. He can’t hear what Toshinori says as he opens the door, but the response is crystal clear.

“Hello, sir. You must be Izuku’s stepfather.”

Izuku spits out Katsuki’s hand and looks up at the familiar voice, heart pounding. Katsuki takes advantage of his distraction to knee him in the gut and he wheezes, rolling off him and onto his back as Shouto stares down at them, open mouthed.

“Yes,” Toshinori says, unfazed after more than ten years of dealing with their fighting and instead focusing on taking Shouto’s offered hand. “Shouto, I presume? It’s nice to meet you.”

“And you.” Izuku scrambles to his feet, breathing hard as Shouto steps inside, toeing off his shoes and seemingly trying to act as though he didn’t just watch Izuku try to take a chunk out of Katsuki’s hand. His mother is glancing between Katsuki crouched on the floor and Shouto standing in the doorway, eyes huge. Looking around at her, Shouto bows his head. “Todoroki Shouto. It’s lovely to meet you - I’m sorry I haven’t before now.”

He can see his mother wavering at Shouto’s impeccable manners and low voice but she holds herself together, clearly unwilling to let herself be taken in by another of his partners. “It’s very nice to meet you too. I’m so, so sorry about them - boys, how could you?”

“He started it,” Izuku says sulkily, wiping under his nose to be sure it’s not bleeding. Beside him, Katsuki’s examining the teeth marks in his hand. His mother glares at him, making him feel about three feet tall.

“You are adults. Why don’t you act like it? I’m so disappointed in you both.”

“Sorry, Auntie,” Katsuki grunts and, clicking her tongue, his mother turns to Shouto again.

“I’m so embarrassed that you saw your employees acting like this. They’re not normally like this outside of work, I promise.” It’s a blatant lie if ever Izuku’s heard one but she pauses, eyeing Shouto. He’s remarkably less formal today, wearing a t-shirt and slacks instead of a suit, and if his family weren’t around then Izuku would be salivating at the way his hair is swept back from his forehead and just slightly ruffled. “With being Izuku’s boss, what happens if the two of you break up?”

“Mom!” Izuku cries, aghast, but Shouto shakes his head.

“That’s a valid concern to have as his mother. I’ve absolutely no intention of breaking up with Izuku or hurting him in any way, but if it did happen, it would entirely be his choice what happens next. Whatever the reason, I won’t make him uncomfortable in his workplace.” Toshinori nods behind him and, Shouto staring her in the eye, his mother’s defensiveness seems to waver.

“Well, that’s good,” she says, a crease between her brows. “He’s my only child, so he’s very dear to me.”

“I understand,” Shouto says smoothly, as Izuku tries his best to evaporate into nothingness out of the humiliation of it all. “I’m very close with my own mother, and she did absolutely everything she could for us when we were growing up. I sometimes feel guilty about all the stress the four of us put her through.”

“Four?” his mother echoes, interest piqued. “Are you all boys?”

“No, no - my older sister Fuyumi was practically a second mother to three boys.” Smiling wryly, Shouto pulls his phone out of his pocket. “She just picked out her wedding dress, actually. Would you like to see it?”

“I’d love to!” As she crowds around Shouto, Izuku rounds on Katsuki.

“I suppose you called him too?” he hisses, arms wrapped around his stomach.

“No, I didn’t.” Katsuki’s words are muffled around his hand in his mouth, glaring balefully as he sucks down on the bite. “I called your mom because I know exactly what Rody’s like. Let me guess - did he ask you to take him back?” Izuku is silent, and the blond scoffs. “I knew it. Piece of shit. What did you tell him?”

“That it’s too late,” Izuku whispers, the spike of adrenaline he experienced after their fight fading to misery again. “That he can try all he wants, but it’s too late for me. I’m not putting my faith in him again, not after what he did.”

“Good for you,” Katsuki says, surprising him. “That’s exactly what the dick needed to hear.”

Toshinori moves over to them as his mother oohs and ahhs at Shouto’s phone, a hand settling atop Izuku’s shoulder. “How are you really?” he says under his breath, looking at him so significantly that it makes Izuku squirm. “I would’ve come with you, if you’d told me you were meeting him.”

“No, no. I had to do it on my own.” Izuku swallows, hand moving to rub the back of his neck. “I’m fine. I don’t feel good, obviously, but it could’ve gone a lot worse. He had a reason for leaving, but he went about it in the wrong way.”

Nodding slowly, Toshinori doesn’t push him. “I see. Well, it was brave of you to meet him. I’m proud of you.” He squeezes down on his shoulder, glancing at Katsuki. “I hope he didn’t leave any lasting damage.”

“I’ll live,” Katsuki says mutinously, glaring at Izuku as he cringes and mouths I’m sorry. “I hope you’re up to date on your tetanus, asshole.” He grabs his coat and throws it over his shoulder, sidestepping Inko and Shouto and striding out of the apartment. His mother watches him go, blinking.

“He didn’t even say goodbye,” she notes, as if Katsuki is famous for his manners. She glances between Shouto and Izuku, cheeks colouring as if realising where she is. “Well, we’d best be getting on. I’ll call you later, Izuku.” Her stern look lets him know that she isn’t through with her reprimanding just yet, but her voice is remarkably warmer when she turns to Shouto. “It was so nice to meet you, sweetie. Why don’t we arrange something properly so we can get to know each other better?”

“I’d love that,” Shouto tells her, and Izuku sees his mother practically melt at the sincere smile. “Why don’t we arrange to have dinner sometime soon? If you let me know your availability I’ll get it organised.”

Izuku loses some of his tension when his mother crushes Shouto in a hug and Toshinori shakes his hand, even if his mother’s hug with him isn’t quite so firm. He sees them out then leans against the door when it closes behind them, hands pressed to his back and staring at Shouto. “Hey.”

“Hey.” He’s leaning against the sofa, the smile he offered Izuku’s mother faded into neutrality. “I just thought I’d come by and see how you are.”

His own smile doesn’t last long. Treading over to him, Izuku squeezes his arm before he settles down on the sofa, Shouto joining him a second later and sitting upright while Izuku slumps backwards. “Could be better, could be worse.”

“I was meaning more about what happened.” Shouto studies him and Izuku can’t quite meet his eyes, unsure of what he’d see there. “How was it? Meeting Rody again?”

“Not good. Not good at all.” Izuku stares at his clasped hands, noting their trembling. “He wants to get back together with me.”

He hears Shouto’s quick inhale of breath and turns to look at him, seeing that the other man’s lips are parted. “And you don’t - ” Shouto begins, then seems to struggle with the rest of it. “You don’t want to get back together with him, do you?”

“No!” Izuku cries, seizing hold of his arm. “No, not one bit! I told him as much - Shouto, I would never. It doesn’t matter what he says or does, I’m not getting back together with him.” He gazes up at him, feeling his mouth trembling. “And I don’t want to leave you.”

Shouto sighs out his breath, and there’s more relief in it than there should be. “Good,” he says, hand coming to cover Izuku’s. “Not to be dramatic, but us breaking up is probably the worst thing that could ever happen to me.”

Izuku can’t help but laugh, some of the tension dissipating between them as Shouto’s mouth twitches. “It’s the last thing I want, believe me. Especially when you’ve clearly won my mom over.” He smiles up at him, sudden affection swelling in his chest. “Who knew you could be so charming?”

“Oh, I have my moments,” Shouto says mildly. “I know when to be polite, and your mom seems lovely.”

“She’s the best. Even if she’s overprotective as hell.” He sighs, sinking back into the cushions. Shouto joins him, head to one side and watching him as Izuku pinches the bridge of his nose. “She’s doubly upset about Rody because some of the money he stole was Toshinori’s.”

“I remember you saying that.” Shouto links their fingers together, thumb stroking the back of his hand. “Did he give you a reason for why he stole it?”

Izuku sighs again. He can’t help the sympathy filling him, the pity for Rody’s situation despite his actions. “His dad died and left his two little siblings in a ton of debt. He took the money and went back to Portugal to sort things out there, just… thinking it was best not to tell me, apparently.”

Judging by Shouto’s expression, his sympathy’s limited. “Surely you would’ve understood him having to help his family out if he’d only asked you.”

“Of course I would’ve. Families can be complicated, but if you love them, you’ll do anything for them. Especially in times of need.” Crossing his legs, Izuku gazes at the ceiling. It’s Shouto’s turn to sigh this time.

“I’ve got the most complicated family out there, but I’ll do anything for my mother or my siblings.” Shouto eyes him and Izuku raises his eyebrows, waiting. “I wouldn’t rob you or betray you, though. I promise you that.”

“You don’t need to rob me with all that money you have sitting in the bank.” Grinning, Izuku shifts until he’s kneeling beside Shouto, cupping his face in a hand. He makes sure that his thumb rests just beside his nose and not upon his cheekbone, carefully avoiding the scar beneath the makeup. “I didn’t expect to see you today but you’ve really cheered me up, so thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me.” Eyes creased at their edges, the way Shouto’s looking at him makes Izuku’s chest ache with affection. “I wanted to see you. I was playing tennis earlier and I twisted my ankle running for a backhand - it’s fine, don’t worry, but it could always do with a kiss just to make sure it’s better.”

Shouto lifts his foot and, rolling his eyes, Izuku ducks down to press a quick kiss to his ankle. “Typical. All men do is take, and take, and take - ”

“Oh, stop it, you.” Shouto seizes him and pulls him back against his chest, making him shriek with laughter as he presses kiss after kiss along his neck. “So you won’t take my offer of the two of us going out tonight? I thought we could stop at that bookstore you like - you know, the one with the armchairs upstairs - and then have dinner, and go for a drive, and put the seats of my car right back - ”

“You are insatiable, you sex pest.” He pulls away from Shouto, beaming down at him. “You make me so happy. You know that, right?”

“That’s all I want.” Shouto’s smiling right back at him, warmer than Izuku ever thought possible from the man who used to stare menacingly out at him from the confines of his office. “You have no idea how happy you make me every single day.”

“Sap,” Izuku tells him, in an effort to control the emotions swelling in his chest.

He arrives at work the next day to find a bento box on his desk, a note pinned to the top.

Rolling his eyes, he cracks the box open to find gyudon atop a bed of white rice, pickled ginger and broccoli tucked in at the side. Izuku glances at Katsuki to see that his head is down, focused on his work in the way only he can be, and pushes the bento to the top corner of his desk with a smile. “Morning!” he calls to Ochako as she slowly makes her way over to him, yawning.

“I wish it wasn’t,” she gripes, sinking into her chair and sighing. “Tenya borrowed Tensei’s telescope and took me stargazing last night, and it was so romantic. He was obviously feeling inspired because he suggested Hikari as a baby name, but I said I didn’t really like it and I don’t think she agreed with me, because she kept me up all night.” Ochako glares down at her stomach. “You better stop beefing with me when you get here, little lady.”

“Not long now,” Izuku remarks, grinning. “Hikari is cute, though!”

“It’s okay. I’ve heard nicer.” Shrugging, Ochako starts unpacking her bag. “I’m just looking out for her, and what do I get for my troubles? Kicked in the ribs at four in the morning.”

“Maybe she’ll be a footballer. You could be carrying the next Messi for all you know, you ungrateful woman.” Ochako splutters with laughter as they get to work, the office filling up around them. He’s got a smaller stack of letters today than usual, though what they lack in quantity they make up for in sheer insanity.

“Hi, Midoriya.” He finishes his last response and glances up to see Ojiro from the mailroom standing at his cubicle, smiling at him from behind a humongous bouquet of flowers. “You’ve got a delivery.”

“Me?” Beaming, he has to take the bouquet from Ojiro with both hands because of its sheer size. The blinds are pulled at Shouto’s office but he imagines him peering through the shades, watching for his reaction. “Thank you!”

“No problem.” Ojiro traipses away and Ochako moves her chair closer, open-mouthed at the bouquet as Izuku examines the contents.

“Wow.” She reaches out to stroke a plumeria with the very tips of her fingers. “Shouto loves spending money on you. Why’d he get it delivered here, though?”

“I told him not to show favouritism,” Izuku says, glowing with delight all the same. Shouto’s just guaranteed himself a long, long makeout session in his office as soon as he clocks off. “To brighten up my desk, maybe? There’s a note, so let me read it and - oh, Jesus Christ.”

He scoots his chair as far away from his desk as he can, cheer evaporating instantly. Blinking at him, Ochako reaches out for the note and reads it aloud.

Izuku,

I’m not giving up on us. Whatever it takes, I’ll do it.

If you want to talk:

XXX - XXXX - XXX

“He’s unbelievable,” Izuku says under his breath, glaring at the flowers he’d been grinning at only seconds before. “How the hell does he know where I work?”

“Probably looked you or Todoroki up and found the magazine from there.” Brow creased, Ochako lowers the note. “It seems like he wants you to call him.”

“He’ll be waiting a while.” Yanking the note off her, Izuku tears it in half and tosses it in his waste paper bin. It feels as though his very bones are trembling, anger coursing through him at Rody’s refusal to listen to him and accept that their relationship is as dead as Hector. “Do you have any suggestions for what to do with these flowers before I put them in the bin?”

“Um,” Ochako says, blinking, “are you sure? Even if he sent them, they’re still a beautiful bouquet - ”

Izuku scoops them up and strides to the bin by the coffee machines, unceremoniously dumping them in then pushing them down with his foot for good measure. “Oh dear,” Tokoyami says, stirring an Americano and eyeing the crushed and wilting flowers. “Have you got a pollen allergy that Todoroki doesn’t know about?”

“They weren’t from him,” Izuku snaps, turning on his heel and storming back to his desk without another word. 

Judging by the whispers and his colleagues giving him a wide berth, everyone soon knows that someone other than Shouto sent him the bouquet. Keeping his head down while he stews with anger, Izuku’s mildly surprised that Katsuki doesn’t come over to discuss it, or else fish the remnants of the note out of the bin and glue them back together to obtain Rody’s phone number. Still, he’s thankful to be left alone, ruminating over the delivery for the rest of the day until he can trail into Shouto’s office at home time, ripped pieces of paper in hand.

“So, the flowers?” Shouto says the moment he enters, head bent as he packs his laptop into his messenger bag. “Rody, I assume.”

“You assume right,” Izuku says gloomily, throwing a dirty look in the direction of their final resting place. "I looked up the meanings, you know. The hollyhock means nostalgia and remembrance, the Star of Bethlehem is atonement and reconciliation, the plumeria is new beginnings...you get the idea. The note didn’t help, either.”

He hands it over to Shouto who puts the pieces together and scans it, a crease between his brows. “Well,” he says at last, voice low, “he’s certainly not prepared to give up.” He pauses, glancing up at Izuku. “If you want to get rid of him, I can arrange that. I haven’t spoken to my eldest brother in a long time, but he knows people who he could - ”

“Shouto!” Izuku yelps, horrified. “I don’t want you to kill him! You can’t be serious right now!”

“I didn’t mean to kill him,” Shouto says, eyebrows raised. “I meant to have a word with him and tell him to leave you alone, to go back to Portugal. Did you really think I was suggesting a hit on him?”

“I didn’t know what to think,” Izuku says, sagging back against Shouto’s desk. Trying to think of anything other than Shouto ordering a hit on his ex, his mind settles on the mention of his brother. “You’d really contact your brother for me?”

“I’d do anything for you,” Shouto tells him without a hint of jest, and Izuku feels heat spread right down his neck at him saying something so tender after being accused of plotting murder.

“Right. Well. Um. When was the last time you spoke to him?”

For the first time Shouto falters, fingers flexing on the edge of his bag. “I’m not sure,” he says at last, gaze focused squarely on the smooth, polished wood of his desk. “A few years at least, but we didn’t keep in regular contact before then, so it’s difficult to say when exactly we stopped talking altogether.”

Chest a mixture of affection for Shouto and pity at his estrangement, Izuku decides it's kinder to change the topic than acknowledge it. “Ochako thought he’d sent me that box of chocolates, you know,” he says heavily, leaning against Shouto’s desk. “Remember, ages ago? The expensive one I handed out to everyone?”

“Yes.” Expression blank, Shouto’s eyes are on his. “Did you think he did at the time?”

“No, no. I thought he couldn’t afford it, since we were always so broke. Turns out he could, but still. It obviously wasn’t him.” He smiles bitterly down at the rug beneath his feet, toeing at the tufts. “I suppose I just have countless admirers out there, vying for my affection. Please don’t feel insecure about it.”

“No way.” Standing, Shouto makes his way over to him and winds his arms around his waist, a kiss pressed to his head and words mumbled into his curls. “How could I feel insecure when the most handsome man in Tokyo wants to date me? Most handsome in Japan, actually. No wonder you’ve got so many admirers.”

“If this is a competition about who’s the handsomest, you’re definitely winning. No!” he adds, jabbing his finger against Shouto’s lips before he can reply. “I won’t hear it. Stop arguing. Now, do you want to hear about some of the letters I got today? A few of the craziest ones yet, I’d say!”

“Always,” Shouto tells him, lips twitching and arms remaining where they are, which lets Izuku know that he’s prepared to cling to him throughout all his tales.

Chapter Text

As much as he hates it, Izuku has to give it to Rody: he’s persistent in his attempts to get him back.

With Ojiro on lunch break, the delivery man brings the third bouquet of flowers that week directly to his desk. Taking them from him, he’s sure the man can feel the waves of anger rolling from him. “The next time someone orders flowers for here,” he tells the delivery man, scowling, “reject their order.”

The delivery man raises his eyebrows. “Any particular reason?”

“That’s the business of our legal team,” Izuku says, deciding that there’s no way Shouto doesn’t have lawyers on standby with his family wealth. “Due to a harassment issue. You don’t want to help facilitate criminal activity, do you? I’ll take it now, but there’s to be no more after today.” 

Judging by the man’s face, he’s ready to accept it rather than question him. He hands over the bouquet and disappears, and Eijirou wanders over as he makes for the bins, arms full of the unwanted bouquet. “You’re really gonna dump them? Isn’t that a waste?”

“I hardly want to keep them,” Izuku gripes, stopping to look up at him. “Have you got a better suggestion?”

“Yep.” Eijirou scoops them out of his arms, plucking the note from the top and handing it back with a grin. “I’m gonna give them to Katsuki and pretend I bought them.” He heads off to the stairs and Izuku frowns down at the note, the handwriting slightly smudged. 

Remember when we took the road trip to Hokkaido and stopped by the Hokuryu Sunflower Village? I still have the picture of you standing in the middle of the field, grinning so wide your smile must’ve hurt.

(I’ve been staying at my hotel for so long that the cleaners know me by name now)

“And I’m sure you’re charming them relentlessly,” Izuku says aloud, scowling. He rips the note in two and tosses it in the bin, stomping back to his cubicle. When he passes Katsuki’s desk he pretends like he doesn’t see the man fighting a smile as he arranges the bouquet in a protein shaker-turned-vase.

They’re not the only ones with flowers on their mind. At lunchtime, Izuku lets himself into Shouto’s office to find him midway through making an order. “Blue bellflowers,” Shouto is telling Sato, who’s nodding to himself as he scribbles in a little notebook. “If they tell you they don’t do them, go somewhere else: you’ll find them eventually.”

“What about if they have them in a different colour?” Sato asks him, eyebrows furrowed as he writes.

“I told you to get blue, didn’t I?” Shouto says irritably. “If you bring me a different colour, I will send them back.” Sato mumbles under his breath and nods at Izuku as he plods away, closing the door behind him. Shouto sighs, rubbing his temples. “If someone asks you to get a specific colour, why offer to get something they didn’t ask for?”

“In case you couldn’t find what they wanted anywhere, and didn’t want to come back empty handed,” Izuku points out. “I don’t think it’s that unreasonable. Who are you buying flowers for, anyway?”

“My mother.” Leaning against his desk, he sighs again. “The florist I usually use said they couldn’t do deliveries to this address anymore, though it was apparently too much to tell me why.”

Izuku tries to hide his guilty expression as best he can but, judging by Shouto’s raised eyebrows, fails miserably. “Shiozaki Florists, right? That might be something to do with me: I confronted the delivery driver today when he brought a bouquet from Rody and told them to reject any orders to our office.”

“Oh, okay.” There’s a crease between his brows. “He’s still bothering you? Where was Ojiro?”

“On lunch.” He leans beside Shouto, puffing out his breath as Shouto shifts to give him space. “He’s bothering me indirectly, through: at least he hasn’t shown up at my front door again.”

“He shouldn’t earn much credit for that,” Shouto says, frown deepening. “It’s the very least he can do. If he does it again you should move somewhere else.”

“He won’t,” Izuku assures him, quite sure Rody would’ve done it long before if the price of the bouquets were any indication. “Besides, I spend most of my time at your place now anyway, and Rody hasn’t turned up at your apartment since I started leaving a toothbrush there.”

“No,” Shouto agrees, and Izuku can only imagine his smile is from the memory of Izuku presenting him with said toothbrush. 

Dear Deku,

I don’t know what to do about my relationship with my boyfriend. He recently got his dream BMW motorcycle, but now all he does is polish it, talk to it and take it out on long country drives. He’s even been telling our friends that it’s more enjoyable than having sex with me! I’m so embarrassed and don’t know what to do about it!

Desperate

Dear Desperate,

My boyfriend has a very beautiful, very expensive car. If he told our friends that driving it was more enjoyable than having sex with me, I’d run him over with it. Dump the loser and find someone who treats you with more respect.

Yours,

Deku

It comes as a surprise to them all when they're called into an HR meeting. The HR rep, Toru, is so rarely seen in the office that most of them, Izuku included, had forgotten she even existed. She's a pale, nondescript woman standing at the top of the conference room who smiles at them as they filter in and sit down, none of them seeming too excited by her presence. “Hi, everyone!” she says, voice bright, flanked by Momo on one side and Shouto on the other. “How have y'all been doing? How's your day going?”

A disinterested mumbling goes around the room. “My day’s good,” Eijirou says, smiling blandly at her. “Who are you?”

Her own smile wavers slightly. “Hagakure Toru? The HR representatitve?”

“Oh yeah!” He snaps his fingers, beaming. “I met you when I joined!”

“So did I,” Katsuki says from beside him, arms folded across his chest and squinting at her, “but I haven't seen you since.”

“Well, you're kept me very busy helping you all out,” she says off-handedly. Beside her, Izuku watches Shouto’s eyes glaze over in real time.

“You haven't helped me,” Camie tells her, expression sour. “You weren't around and I couldn't get in touch with you when I was complaining about the smell of Tenya’s sandwiches.”

“Oh, I'm sorry,” she says while Tenya twists around in his seat to frown at Camie in the row behind. “Did you get it sorted, though?”

“Yeah, no thanks to you,” Camie says, looking her up and down with her lip curled. Izuku can’t be sure if she’s judging her more for her inaction or her shoes. “I had to throw his lunch out every day for two weeks until he got the picture.”

“That was you?” Tenya cries, outraged. “I thought someone was eating them! Not throwing away perfectly good food!”

“Egg sandwiches are not perfectly good food,” Camie says stoutly. “They're gross, smell worse, and should be considered a freaking biohazard.” 

“Why don't you get on with the meeting, Toru?” Momo says, just as Tenya opens his mouth and Camie sneers back at him. A full head taller than Toru, she seems remarkably calmer than the woman whose smile now appears forced. “Why don't you tell everyone a little bit about why we've brought everyone together today?”

Toru clears her throat, tossing her hair back. “Well, first of all, I just felt like I should be seen more around the office and get to know some of you a little better. I thought we could do maybe a little ice breaker - ”

“No,” Katsuki says at once, “no, absolutely not. I know enough about these people - I don't need to know their favourite colour or whatever the hell they do on weekends. I hate it when people think you have to be friends with coworkers.” On Katsuki’s lips, the word sounds like the most disgusting of slurs.

“It would be nice to be friends with people you work with, though, wouldn’t it?” Toru says brightly, impervious to his scowl. “There’s nothing wrong with having new friends!”

“Yeah, except that's a problem in this workplace,” Jirou pipes up from the back, hands shoved in the pockets of her hoodie. “There's far too many friends here.” Just like Katsuki she enunciates the word with distaste, and Toru blinks at her.

“What do you mean?”

Jirou’s eyebrows look in danger of disappearing into her asymmetrical fringe. “Seriously? Maybe the fact there’s four separate workplace romances going on in here?”

“And what?” Katsuki fires back. “You’re only saying that because you're single and unloved and gonna die alone.”

“Whoa, whoa, stop that!” Eijirou tells him as Sero gasps and Jirou sits upright in her chair, narrowed eyes on him. “No need for that, Kats!”

“So what if I’m single? I mean, come on, it’s probably the best way to be here.” Jirou gestures around the room, finger landing on Camie and her fluffy beret. “We had all the drama with Camie and Momo - ”

“It has nothing to do with you,” Camie snipes. “Mind your own, weirdo.”

“Except you made it everyone's business,” Jirou tells her, chin tilted. “Then there's the fact our manager is dating an employee - ”

“Yeah, and there's no problem with that!” Izuku protests, feeling wounded at the fact someone he generally gets along well with seems determined to shove him under a double decker bus. “We’re extremely professional around each other!”

Jirou fixes him with a pitying look. “Sometimes you forget to pull the blinds down when you're kissing in Todoroki’s office.”

“Don't look, then,” Shouto says, leaning back against the wall and looking nonplussed while Izuku splutters. Point apparently proven, Jirou rolls her eyes.

“The portable vacuum Katsuki uses on Eijirou’s desk is so loud I can hear it over my noise-cancelling headphones - ”

“Oh, it must be so nice to hear well,” Katsuki retorts, teeth bared. “Keep talking and I’ll sue you for discrimination in the workplace.”

Jirou throws her hands in the air and slumps back in her seat. “You didn't say anything about us,” Ochako points out, sounding wounded by the exclusion.

“Yeah, well,” Jirou says, voice bored, “you two haven't done anything egregious.”

Ochako blinks. “We’re the most obvious office romance,” she says, gesturing to her stomach. “There’ll be an Entropy baby in, like, two months.”

“As long as it didn't happen on company property, it’s whatever.”

“No, it did not,” Tenya says emphatically, and Izuku gets flashbacks to Ochako’s story of his father’s wine delivery as she smirks. “And it’s seven weeks and a day.”

“Why don't we talk about things that could better the workplace?” Momo suggests, hands raised and conciliatory. Toru frowns at her, put out. “Anything management can do to make your lives easier?”

“More vacation time,” Eijirou says at once, and Momo sighs.

“Something slightly more realistic than more paid time off, Eijirou. We’re thinking more day-to-day activities.”

“Pizza Fridays?” Sero suggests as Eijirou sinks down in his chair, put out. “Todoroki orders in pizza for everyone?”

“What if some of us don't eat pizza?” Ojiro says, voice timid.

“It's not all about you,” Katsuki snaps, expression growing darker and darker with every conversation switch. “Stop being so self-centred.”

“Why don't we all write down what takeaway we like the most or put them in a ranking system, then we can correlate the results and see what one is the most popular?” Izuku says, one glance at Shouto’s glazed expression telling him that he really ought to step in and try to bring some order back.

“Or we can just order from a couple of places,” Eijirou says and a murmur goes around the room, several people nodding along with him. “It’ll keep everyone happy, right?”

“That'll be a waste of company time and money,” Tenya says at once, sitting bolt upright in his seat. “I mean the delivery costs, the tip for the driver - ”

“We could just not tip the driver?” Camie suggests.

“Spoken like someone who's never worked in hospitality or retail,” Ochako says under her breath, aiming a glare at her.

“Is fast-food delivery hospitality or retail?” Sero says aloud, pondering it. “I don't think so. What would you class it as, though?”

“I feel like we're getting very distracted from the topic at hand,” Toru says loudly. Judging by her expression, he suspects that she regrets coming into work at all today. “Why don't we start writing a list of things? Suggestions for the office, to improve things?”

“Bring your pet to work day,” Ojiro says aloud, ignoring her completely as he turns to look at the rest of them.

“Yes,” Shouto says at once, shaking his head to bring himself back to life, “yes, I'll implement that immediately. Cats only.”

Tenya’s hand shoots into the air. “What about those of us who have allergies?”

Shouto shrugs. “Then I'll also provide allergy tablets.”

“Well, that's not very fair,” Tenya says, frowning at him. “Why should we be expected to take medication just to get through our workday?”

“Or you could just grow up,” Katsuki suggests, “and stop ruining the fun for everyone.”

“You can't just grow up when you've got an allergy!” Tenya snaps, frown deepening. Katsuki shrugs and sinks down in his chair, arms tightly folded and expression bored.

“Guess you should just go die, then.”

“Katsuki!” Ochako cries, throwing him a scandalised look as Tenya blusters. “You’d see the father of my child die before she’s even born?”

Going by his expression, Izuku doesn’t think he’s about to disprove her point. “I’ll pay child support if it means I don’t have to listen to him.”

“This is not a productive meeting!” Toru shouts and they all jump, looking up at her. Hands balled into fists around her pages, her cheeks are pink with outrage. “We're supposed to be talking about ways to benefit the office and make our work days more enjoyable, not arguing with one another!”

“You’re hardly even here,” Katsuki says, glaring at her. “Why are you here now? Just to make our lives difficult? I have work to be getting on with that’s more important than this shit.”

“Go, then!” she barks and Katsuki rises to his feet, lip curled.

“Gladly. Waste of my goddamn time.” He slouches out of the room and Toru turns back to them, lips pressed together and hand shaking around her documents.

“Anything else, or are you all just going to criticise me?"

There’s a long pause. “What about employee of the month?” Izuku suggests, voice small. “We all vote for who we think is the best employee, or management chooses someone, and they get a little prize.”

A few people nod but Jirou is already sighing. “It'll be biased because of office romances.”

“Will you give up on that already?” Camie snaps, looking as though she’s two seconds away from following Katsuki’s lead and storming out.

“Oh, we could start an office dating program!” Eijirou suggests, bright eyed. “Jirou, you can go on a date with…” He trails his fingers over everyone’s heads before stabbing in the direction of the man who’s been silently sitting in a corner the entire meeting. “Fumikage?”

“Are you just putting us together because we're the only single people?” he drones, looking unimpressed.

“Yes,” Eijirou says promptly, “yes, I am.”

“I'm single, too,” Ojiro points out, voice quiet.

“Oh, are you?” Eijirou turns to him, reaching out and patting his arm sympathetically. “I didn't know. Sorry, man.”

“Maybe we should cut this short,” Momo says, glancing between the employees and Toru who’s white-faced and furious. “Why doesn't everyone send me a list of suggestions they have for the workplace? I mean, this isn't really a job for HR anyway.”

Toru turns to her, outraged. “Then what is my job?”

“You tell us,” Shouto says, voice bored and leaning back against the wall again. “I’m not entirely sure what I pay you for.” 

“The meeting is over,” Toru says, shaking with rage. “I need to get back to work: I suggest you all do the same.”

“What is your job, anyway?” She doesn't bother to respond to Ochako’s question, storming out of the room without a backwards glance. She turns to Izuku, eyebrows raised, and he helps her out of her chair as everyone begins to slowly filter out. “Now I know not to go to her if there's any conflict in the workplace.”

“What would you do if you had conflict in the workplace?” he asks her, thinking about Shouto’s solemn resolve to his mother that it would never happen between them.

Ochako shrugs, arm hooked through his. “Fist fight it out in the parking lot?”

“In your current state or postpartum?” Izuku says, mouth twitching.

“Oh, in my current state,” she says lightly. “This little girl's gonna be a fighter. Besides, I can make the first move. Who's gonna wanna hit a pregnant lady?”

“Katsuki probably would,” Camie chimes in beside them, looking marginally happier now the meeting is over. “He once said his hands are rated E for Everyone.”

“Yeah, but a pregnant lady?” Izuku says doubtfully, having seen Katsuki punch dozens of people throughout his life but never one with a baby bump. “Would he really hit a pregnant lady?”

“What if the pregnant lady hit him first?” Ochako suggests. “What if she had Eijirou at knife point and threatening his life, and the only way to save him was to roundhouse kick her to the head to make her drop the knife?”

Behind them, Tenya sighs. “Do you really think it's a statistical likelihood that a pregnant lady is going to get a seven foot tall man at knife point, where the only solution to escape is Katsuki roundhouse kicking her to the head?”

“That's the beauty of hypotheticals,” Ochako says, twisting to look back at him. “Besides, the truth is stranger than fiction. I'm just saying that if Katsuki ever has to kick a pregnant lady in the head, I have the gift of prophecy.”

“If a pregnant lady ever gets me at knife point, I'm going to hostage negotiate my way out of it,” Eijirou interjects, voice solemn. “I've watched a lot of detective programs, so I know how to appeal to her and what to say to get her to put the knife down. I'll ask her about her life and what got her to that point, then I'll console her… I’ll hold her while she cries until the police arrive and promise her I’ll not be too harsh on her in my statement.”

“If you have an issue with anyone in the workplace,” Momo announces, making them all jump, “then please bring it to myself or Shouto.” She looks less than amused at their speculating, hands on her hips and one heel tapping. “Please do not fight anyone in the parking lot, do not kick anyone regardless of their current health status, and please do not negotiate with a dangerous person.”

“This is why we need a competent HR person,” Eijirou tells her, sympathetic. “It shouldn't be on you to tell us what we have to do for conflict resolution.”

“Oh trust me, I know,” she says darkly. “My job is to edit a magazine, not to talk people out of violence and mischief.”

“Well, that was a brilliant waste of company time,” Shouto murmurs when Izuku helps Ochako to their cubicle then meets him at the coffee machines, inclining his head slightly so that the words brush Izuku’s ear for him and him alone. “How do you fire your HR person?”

“Sounds like a job for an HR person,” Izuku suggests, and quickly turns away to start making coffee at the look on Shouto’s face.

It’s much later the next night, curled up on the sofa together at Shouto’s apartment with Cashew pottering about their feet, that Shouto’s phone buzzes in his pocket and he pauses their movie to check it. Blinking the sleep from his eyes - because he only agreed to watch the Norwegian film Shouto picked out to not offend him, and has spent most of the runtime trying not to doze off and drool - Izuku lifts his head from Shouto’s shoulder and looks at the phone. “Anything important?”

“Good news, actually.” Shouto is smiling down at the screen, phone balanced in one hand while the other remains wrapped around Izuku’s waist, fingers trailing his ribcage. “Katsuki’s been shortlisted for best investigatory article at the journalist’s awards I submitted him for.”

“That’s amazing!” He’s awake at once, beaming at Shouto. “His one on pyramid schemes?”

“Multi-level marketing schemes, actually, but they’re the exact same thing. They’ll be giving us four tickets… me, Momo, Katsuki…” He pauses and looks up at Izuku, hopeful, but he shakes his head.

“Let Katsuki bring Eijirou. It wouldn’t be fair to go and leave him out. Besides, I don’t even have a suit: the one I wore for my mom and Toshinori’s wedding when I was eighteen definitely doesn’t fit anymore.” He grins at Shouto, remembering the way the shirt already felt uncomfortably tight around his biceps and trying to adjust it as surreptitiously as possible beside the altar.

“I’d buy you a suit,” Shouto says stoutly, glancing back at his phone. “I can just ask them if they’d give us a fifth ticket.”

“Then I’d make Momo a third wheel. Don’t worry about it!” he tells him, nudging Shouto. “I can just meet you guys after. There’ll be… oh, I don’t know, bottles of wine on the table. I can meet you after - maybe Camie will come along, and Ochako and Tenya if it isn’t too close to the due date. We’ll make a night out of it.”

“If you’re sure.” Shouto doesn’t look convinced himself but seems to accept it, typing up his response. Laying his head on his shoulder, Izuku smiles up at him.

“When you were a kid,” he says, imagining a smaller, shyer Shouto, “was it always your dream to run a magazine? Did you want to be just like your dad?

“Definitely not.” Shouto is still typing, eyes on the screen as he speaks. “When I was a kid, I wanted to be a forklift truck driver.”

“Really?” Sitting up slightly, Izuku tries not to laugh. “I can't picture it, just with how you are now. You do not seem like someone who would do manual labour.”

“Would, or could?” Shouto says wryly. “Oh no, I wanted to work on a building site. My mother used to buy me little toys and sometimes I thought I would want to operate a crane or a digger, but a forklift truck was my favourite. I always circled back to that.”

Head tilted to one side, Izuku smiles up at him as he pictures a small boy playing with toy trucks, chattering away to himself. “That’s so cute - I bet you were the cutest little kid. Have you got any pictures of yourself?”

“Maybe somewhere. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

“I’ll ask my mom.” Predictably, his request for photos gets him a response from his mother within two minutes, and it’s with embarrassment itching at his skin that Izuku shows Shouto a photo of him covered in paint, not much older than a toddler and smiling toothily as he holds up a splotchy piece of paper. “A self portrait, apparently.”

“Good likeness. Your head is four times the size of your body.” Izuku rolls his eyes and Shouto leans in, a small smile curving his lips. “You were definitely the cutest kid. I bet your mom was so proud of you.”

“I think so. I hope so. It was only the two of us when I was growing up.” He smiles down at his childhood picture then looks at Shouto. “Did you get one of you?”

“My sister sent some through a while ago; let me have a look.” Shouto scrolls through his phone, pauses, then blanches. “I'll have a look for a different - ”

“No, I want to see the one you’ve got!” Izuku makes a grab for the phone and they wrestle, Shouto trying to kick him away even as Izuku clambers on top of him and pins him down. Knees bracketing Shouto’s waist as he wriggles beneath him, Izuku wrenches the phone out of his hand and stares at the picture screen, and he can’t help but coo at what he sees. “Shouto, oh my God!”

“Don’t laugh at me,” Shouto says, voice surly and hands coming to cover his eyes.

“I'm not laughing! You're adorable.” The Shouto staring up at him can't be any older than four or five, dressed in a sailor suit complete with a tiny cap. Wide-eyed and nervous, he’s a great deal more charming than the man sulking beneath him. “Oh, look at you! You’re just a little darling!”

“I only wore that outfit because my mother asked me to,” Shouto says, clearly intent on holding a grudge against him forever. “I don't like it.”

“Well, I love it.” He zooms in on the bow around Shouto’s neck, sighing sadly. “So you'd never dress your kid up in this outfit?”

“Absolutely not.” Shouto peers up at him through his fingers, eyes narrowed. “I don't believe in embarrassing children.”

“I believe in making them look adorable. And this?” He waves the phone in Shouto’s face, holding it above his head when the man tries to snatch it out of his hand. “So, so adorable. I know my mom has saved a ton of my childhood outfits for if I have kids, but none as sweet as this!”

Still pinned beneath him, Shouto’s hands slide down to settle on his chest instead. “Do you want children then?” he says, voice low. His gaze is fixed on him, feeling as though it’s burning through Izuku’s sternum and out his back to bore a hole in the wall. “Didn’t you tell Momo that you do, that night she had dinner with us?”

“Yeah. I do.” He swallows, meeting Shouto’s mismatched eyes with difficulty. “Two, so they can keep each other company.” Izuku hesitates then lifts himself off of Shouto, coming to sit beside him again instead. It’s been a topic he meant to bring up before but never got a chance, yet now feels like he needs to seize the opportunity with both hands. “Do you want children?”

It takes Shouto a moment to answer - too long a moment for Izuku to remain calm and not let his heart begin racing. “It was a topic I always tried to avoid thinking about, if I'm honest with you,” he says at last. “You know I don't have a great relationship with my own father. I think every time I started to consider it or someone asked me I would always try to change the topic.”

“I see.” He doesn't really want to see where this conversation is going but forces himself to keep his mouth shut. Lying flat on the sofa, Shouto’s hair is spread out around him on the armrest, effortlessly ethereal.

“But,” he says, and Izuku’s heart gives a great leap in his chest, “I think about it sometimes, and I’m more for than against it as time goes on. I know it's nothing like raising a cat – God knows cats are a million times easier – but I think I'd like having someone to fuss over, to raise. Someone to love.” His mouth twists. “To do a better job than my father did.”

Relief floods through Izuku’s veins, mingled with the usual ache at the mention of Shouto’s father. Reaching out, he runs his fingers along the smooth inside of Shouto’s arm, fingers settling in the crease of his elbow. “For what it's worth,” he tells him, voice soft. “I think you'd be a great father.” He can’t help his lips twitching. “Especially since you actually know how to cook now.”

It's reassuring that he isn't too forward and that his words have Shouto huffing with laughter, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. “Well, perhaps they'd have to survive on a diet of soup, but it's better than nothing.” He smiles at him, eyes creased, then pauses. “Did you and Rody talk about having children?”

He feels a twinge of irritation at Shouto bringing him up but Izuku pushes it aside, sighing heavily. “Yeah, we did. He’s great with kids - probably because he practically raised his younger siblings himself. As far as I knew, it was gonna happen.” He sighs again, a hand coming up to scratch at his curls. “I think he’s starting to realise I’m not interested in getting back together with him, though: he hasn’t sent me presents for ages.” Shouto’s expression flickers, imperceptible, and Izuku frowns at him. “What?”

“Not exactly.” He seems to find the hem of his sweater exceedingly interesting, thumbing it as he speaks. “I told Ojiro to get rid of any deliveries you were sent, and I think Hitoshi is doing the same at your place. Since the florist has banned deliveries, Ojiro and Sato have eaten about four boxes of chocolates between them this week alone.”

Izuku groans, flopping backwards into a cushion. “When’s he going to get it? All these gifts going unanswered, me not communicating with him at all - you’d think he’d realise it’s a losing game.”

Staring at the ceiling, Shouto’s voice sounds strangely disembodied from the other side of the sofa. “I can ask my brother to step in, if you’ve changed your mind. That might get him to stop once and for all.”

“Nah. I’ll deal with it myself.” He heaves himself up again and Shouto does the same, shins bumping together. “What did your brother want to be, when he was a kid? What was his dream job? Cement mixer? Bricklayer? Did he used to play with you and your trucks and cranes?”

Tension has crept back into Shouto’s expression, to his shoulders. The temperature of the room seems to have cooled around them, Cashew nowhere to be seen and Shouto’s throat bobbing with a swallow. “He wanted to be an artist,” he says at last and Izuku stares at him, confused, at the sudden flatness to his voice. “He was always very talented, especially at painting.”

He feels cold to Izuku’s touch, no matter how warm his own hand is as he wraps his fingers around Shouto’s wrist. “Did he not become one, then?”

Shouto pulls himself out of his grip, reaches for the remote, then turns away. “No,” he says, staring straight ahead. “No, he didn’t.”

He hits play on the movie, and Izuku doesn’t breach the topic of his brother again.

Chapter Text

Anarchy descends on the office the moment Shouto and Momo leave to get ready for the awards dinner, despite Tenya’s best, shouted efforts. Camie immediately grabs her handbag and flees from her desk, claiming a doctor’s appointment despite the fact Izuku noticed her looking up nail designs all day, and Sero is hot on her heels with an excuse of his apartment catching on fire.

“I know where he lives,” Tenya seethes, clicking furiously through several news websites, “and there is nothing about a building fire in that district.”

“Don’t worry about it, big guy,” Eijirou says, words punctuated with a yawn as he stretches back in his seat. “Why don’t you take advantage of being assistant to the manager and send us all home?”

“Assistant manager,” Tenya says stiffly, “and, no, I don’t think so. Why aren’t you and Katsuki leaving to get ready?”

“Have you seen this face?” Eijirou swipes a hand over himself, eyebrows raised. “I’m a natural beauty, me. Give me five minutes and a bottle of Old Spice and I’m good to go.”

From across the room Izuku can see Katsuki grinding his teeth, probably thinking of his seven-step skincare routine. Smirking, he gets back to his latest letter as Jirou is the next one to make for the door, supposedly with a stomach ache.

Dear Deku,

Is there a right time to get engaged? I’ve been with my partner for a year and some friends have told me that it’s too soon to ask them to marry me, but I can’t think of anyone else I’d want to spend my life with. Am I better holding off, and for how long?

Thank you,

Flora



Dear Flora,

The right time to get engaged is the time that’s right for you! For some people that’ll be a decade, and for others it’ll be ten months. My only advice is to make sure you’ve run over absolutely everything with your partner - children, finances, future plans etc - and that you’re on the same page as them for all of it. Other than that, good luck!

Yours,

Deku

There’s also the temptation to tell them to get a prenup, but Izuku resists the urge and tells himself not to project.

The rest of the working day grows quieter by the hour, more staff leaving one by one while Tenya fumes. Staying to the end to avoid his ire, Izuku strolls home with a spring in his step, petting four cats on the way and arriving at his apartment in a cheery mood. Hitoshi is slightly less cheery when he greets him from the kitchen, but he figures it’s just because of the electricity bill that landed on their welcome mat.

Shouto’s been silent all afternoon - no doubt being styled and fussed over by Momo to within an inch of his life - until Izuku’s phone chimes with a message just as he’s battling his own hair, cursing and untangling a comb from his curls for the third time.

[Shouto] : Are you sure I can’t convince you to come along tonight?

Izuku grins as he types his response, already seeing Hitoshi rolling his eyes from the sofa.

[Izuku] : no, don’t worry!! I don’t wanna create any third wheels!! I don’t even have a suit!!

[Shouto] : There’s an obvious solution to that

[Izuku] : NO

[Izuku] : NOT ALLOWED

[Izuku] : I’ll just meet you after as planned :) 🩷

[Izuku] : but I would absolutely not be opposed to seeing a photo of you in your suit. i demand it actually

A few minutes later and his phone chimes with a mirror selfie of Shouto’s, standing with one hand in his trouser pocket and a bored expression. His steel blue suit is beautifully tailored, accentuating his long legs and lean figure, and Izuku can’t help but moan with longing. “I consider behaviour like that highly offensive, you know,” Hitoshi tells him, face hidden behind a book. “Especially in a shared space.”

“Sorry.” He feels a smidge of guilt as he saves Shouto’s photo as his phone lock screen. “Do you definitely not want to come out with us?”

“It’s a work event,” Hitoshi drones, words muffled by the book. “I don’t want to be the weirdo who tags along like he doesn’t have any other friends.”

“You came along to the clubhouse after the rugby match, though,” he points out, “and that was fine, wasn’t it?”

He’s sure Hitoshi is deliberately hiding his face now. “Katsuki will be insufferable if he wins the award.”

“He’ll be so smug and so focused on downing every shot on the drinks list that he won’t bother you,” Izuku pleads. “You will be totally overlooked the whole night, I promise.”

Hitoshi sighs loudly, which he knows to be a sign that he’s got him. “I don’t have to dress up, do I?”

“No, no. I mean, they’ll be dressed up for the awards show, but I don’t think they’re expecting you to wear a suit.” He’d very reluctantly put his Spider-Man shirt back in his wardrobe, rationalising that it would only make him look even more mismatched to Shouto than he already does. The glasses can stay, though: his eyes are already suffering from staying up with Hitoshi the night before for a dozen frantic tennis games on the Switch before their downstairs neighbours started banging on the ceiling. “Just wear whatever you’re comfortable in.”

“Cool.” Hitoshi unfolds himself from the armchair and slouches off towards his bedroom, no doubt on the hunt for a hoodie and sweatpants.

The plan is for Shouto and company to meet them at a bar after the awards and an acceptable amount of networking, and it’s hard for Izuku to fight back a smirk at the mental image of Shouto forced to socialise with other industry professionals. No doubt he’ll stand with a strong drink in hand and a glazed expression while someone engages him in conversation about sales figures and supplier costs, until Momo takes pity on him and stages a rescue mission. Heading out the door with Hitoshi in tow, he’s baffled when he answers his phone and Ochako’s brisk voice filters through. “What bar are you guys going to?”

“The one Eijirou’s friend Tetsutetsu runs,” he tells her, confused. “Why?”

“I want to come along, of course! I’d feel horrible if I didn’t celebrate Katsuki winning, ‘cause we all know he’ll do it.”

“You’re eight months pregnant, Ochako.”

“And? I’m not going to drink, am I?” Ochako says scornfully. “Honestly, Deku, what do you take me for? A completely neglectful mother to be?”

“No,” he says, trying his best to sound supportive. “I’m just wondering if a bar is the best place to go right now, given your condition.”

“Condition. I know my body better than you do,” she tells him, an obvious scowl in her voice. “I’ve already told Tenya he can’t stop me, so he’s coming too.” 

“Okay, okay. Sorry.” It must be cabin fever, he decides, despite the fact she’s still working and was sitting to his immediate left just a few hours ago. “Me and Hitoshi are heading there now if you want to meet us?”

“Great,” she says, satisfied. “Tenya’s driving, so you can get a ride home with us if you want.”

He takes the offer, though Hitoshi seems put out when Izuku tells him about it. “I’ve got a new episode of my podcast to listen to,” he says, grudgingly taking his earphones out of his pocket and setting them on the kitchen counter. “They were covering the story of that missionary who went to North Sentinel Island and got killed by the inhabitants.”

“Religion is like a penis,” Izuku muses, crouching down to tighten his laces. “It’s nice if you have one, but don’t shove it down other people’s throats.” He frowns up at Hitoshi. “So you were just going to listen to your podcast on the walk home and ignore me?”

Hitoshi’s eyebrows arch. “Well, I assumed you’d be going home with Shouto. I’ve heard that the two of you are wild when you’re drunk: am I wrong?”

“Maybe I would’ve gone back with him, I dunno,” Izuku says sulkily, and ignores Hitoshi’s smirk as they make for the front door.

Ochako and Tenya are already there when they arrive, tucked away in a corner booth. “Hi, Hitoshi!” Ochako says brightly, beaming at him as she shuffles over to make space and Tenya solemnly shakes Izuku’s hand. “I didn’t know you were coming!”

“Last minute addition,” he tells her, slumping down at her side and glancing at her stomach. “You look like you’re about to drop.”

“She almost is,” Tenya says darkly, scowling while Ochako laughs. “It’s less than four weeks until the due date and yet somehow we’re here.”

She rounds on him, now mirroring his scowl. “And what do you expect me to do? Stay on bed rest until then? Not leave the house until we’re going to the hospital? I’m not about to give birth in the street, Tenya, my God.”

“No.” Izuku knows him enough to know that Tenya’s only agreeing to keep the peace, expression pained. “But a bar? I don’t think this is the best environment for you to be in, darling, with the noise and the drunken people and the unclean bathrooms - ”

“Well, all the nearby museums closed hours ago,” she says, raising her orange juice to her lips, “and I don’t know how many times I’ve walked around those train exhibits. We’re supporting our friends, Ten.”

“I suppose,” he says grudgingly, and one look at Hitoshi confirms that he’s feeling just as awkward as Izuku is. 

It’s twenty minutes or so before the others arrive and Izuku knows at once that it’s good news by the way Katsuki struts into the bar with a self-satisfied smirk, hands in his pockets and Eijirou’s arm slung around his shoulders. “Make way,” the redhead announces, beam so wide it’s almost splitting his face in two, “for the most intelligent, most dedicated, most handsome Investigative Journalist of the Year - ”

“It was a foregone conclusion,” Katsuki says lazily as Tenya stands up, clapping, “and expect to see me getting it every year running.”

“That’s amazing!” Izuku says, grinning at him and clapping Katsuki on the back when he reaches them. “We knew you’d do it!”

“And just as well he did,” Eijirou murmurs as Katsuki moves to speak to Ochako, his growing scowl looking as though he’s about to lecture her. “He was out of his seat and walking towards the stage before they’d even announced the winner.”

Huffing with laughter, Izuku’s eyes slide away from him to the man walking to meet them, head slightly bowed. Shouto looks even better in person, the top button of his shirt undone and hair messed as if he’d been running his hands through it. Momo looks beautiful next to him in a low-cut red dress with her hair loose and curled around her shoulders, but there’s no possible way Izuku can focus on her now. “Hey,” he says quietly, smiling up at Shouto, and is rewarded with the sight of the man’s eyes creasing at the edges.

“Hey.” Shouto bends down and presses a kiss to his cheek at the very corner of his mouth. At once he feels his face burst into flames, burning red hot as Shouto pulls away with an air of complete calm as if he didn’t just kiss him with complete ease in front of their coworkers. “Excellent news about Katsuki, isn’t it?”

“Excellent,” Izuku echoes, breathless. He has the sneaking suspicion that Momo’s hiding a smile behind her palm. “Just excellent.”

“I’ll say hi to Tetsu and get a round of drinks in,” Eijirou announces, cheery grin back in place. “This calls for champagne!”

“As long as you don’t pop the cork in here,” Katsuki says warningly but Eijirou merely laughs, striding away to the bar with a spring in his step. Izuku turns back to Shouto, pressing himself against him.

“You look really good in that suit,” he tells him, smiling. “And with your hair slicked back like that.”

Shouto huffs, a hand reaching up to pat the elegant sweep of his hair. “I wasn’t sure of wearing it like this, but Momo told me to do it. I’ll make sure to tell her you approve.”

“Oh, I absolutely do.” He can’t help but wonder if his hesitance came from his face being fully exposed, at risk of his scar being spotted. Izuku resents himself a split second later for it being the first thing his mind went to and shakes the thought loose. “I’m shocked one of you isn’t steaming drunk, actually. Don’t those places give you a ton of free alcohol?”

“There was less of it this year,” Shouto says gloomily, “but my father didn’t attend, so I had no reason to drink myself into oblivion.” Izuku bites his tongue, unsure of how to respond, but he’s saved from doing so when Shouto’s mismatched eyes slide to Ochako and he frowns. “Why is she here? Isn’t it - ?”

“Don’t ask,” Izuku says under his breath, quite sure Ochako’s ready to bite the head off of the next person to question her decision making. “Trust me on this.”

Shouto, to his credit, remains silent.

It’s only twenty minutes into their time at the bar - all squashed around a table far too small for them, Izuku holding back any complaints because of almost being in Shouto’s lap and getting a chance to smell his expensive cologne - when Eijirou reappears from his catchup with Tetsutetsu, an uncharacteristic frown on his normally jovial features. “Tetsu’s having to close early,” he says gloomily, leaning against the table. “There’s a problem with the plumbing in the toilets, so they’re flooding. I offered to have a look at it for him, but he said he didn’t want me getting covered in sewage.”

“Neither do I,” Katsuki tells him, tilting his beer to one side and eyeing Eijirou over it. “So, what? The celebration’s over already?” Izuku’s quite sure Katsuki’s already gearing himself up to go into a sulk.

“We can go back to my place, if you don’t want to try another bar,” he suggests, then whips around to look at Hitoshi. “If you don’t mind?”

Hitoshi shrugs, unruffled despite the fact he often locks himself in his bedroom with noise cancelling headphones on if there’s too many people in the apartment. “As long as they keep the noise down and don’t break anything.”

“Scout’s honour,” Eijirou says solemnly while Katsuki juts his chin and scowls, a sure sign he’s not prepared to show Hitoshi any gratitude. “Thanks, man. Hope your plumbing system’s a little better!”

“You haven’t told me about many of your letters recently,” Shouto says as they all walk back to his apartment, Izuku’s hand tucked in the crook of his arm. They’re lagging behind the others, Hitoshi leading the way and chatting to Momo while Ochako and Eijirou are laughing about something as Katsuki and Tenya bicker, and Izuku finds that he’s very much enjoying the privacy. “I’m guessing they haven’t been too interesting?”

“Not really. Nothing super juicy.” He sighs, hand splaying on Shouto’s forearm to steal his warmth. “Some of my repeat readers haven’t contacted me in ages, so hopefully that means my advice has worked.”

Shouto hums, walking so sluggishly now that Izuku’s sure it must be deliberate. “You told me about your repeat readers before. You don’t mind getting letters from them, do you?”

“Not at all.” Ahead of them Ochako’s laughter echoes around the streets, punching Eijirou on the arm. “I was really fond of one of them - this guy called Himura, who was in love with his coworker but couldn’t work up the confidence to speak to him then kept embarrassing himself when he did eventually start talking. Poor guy.”

“Sounds like he needs to get a life,” Shouto says bluntly.

“Hey!” Izuku admonishes, shocked. “Don’t be so mean! Some people just find it hard speaking to others!” He sighs. “He was completely head over heels with the other guy. He got there in the end, though - well, I hope so.”

He looks up at Shouto to see the man’s already watching him, softness in every corner of his face. “I think so,” he says, and there’s a gentleness to it that inexplicably steals all the breath from Izuku’s body.

“Izuku!” someone shouts from up ahead and he starts, whipping around to see Hitoshi waving a lazy hand in the air. “Have you got your keys? I think I left mine in the apartment.”

“Oh,” he says, still fighting to catch his breath and bewildered as to why he even lost it in the first place, “oh, yes, of course.” He tightens his grip on Shouto’s arm and tugs him along to the front of the group, his free hand hunting through his pockets for his keys. “That’s not like you, Hitoshi, you’re a million times more organised than - ”

He freezes as they turn the corner onto their street, staring at an all too familiar figure loitering outside their apartment block. Clearly the cool Tokyo air isn’t suiting him, considering the way he’s huddled in his coat and has a blanket wound around the lower half of his face, but the layers don’t disguise the man standing and waiting for his arrival. “Oh, no.”

“What?” Shouto says, glancing down at him, then follows Izuku’s gaze and catches sight of Rody. “Shit. What’s he doing here?”

“You get three guesses,” Izuku says grimly and begins to stride towards Rody, shoulders squared. He looks up at the sound of his stomping footsteps, face brightening when he sees who it is.

“I was worried I’d be waiting all night! No one had come by to let me in, and - ”

“What are you doing here?” Izuku interjects, the sight of Rody pushing him past the point of politeness. “I don’t want you here. Haven’t I made that obvious?”

“I told you I wasn’t just gonna give up,” Rody says, a crease between his brows. Judging by the hurried footsteps, the rest of his group have realised what’s going on and raced to join him. “I’m not getting anywhere with the deliveries, and it’s not that I care about the money they cost - ”

“You, not caring about money?” Katsuki retorts, lips pulled back from his teeth as Eijirou subtly turns the arm around his shoulders into a protective headlock. “That’ll be a first, you fucking deadbeat - ”

“ - but I can’t keep sending them and hoping you’ll eventually give in,” Rody says in a raised voice, as if never interrupted. “So I was like, okay, if I go speak to him again then we might get somewhere.” He blinks at Izuku, and there’s none of the charm and bravado he’s used to from Rody. For once he knows he’s telling the truth: that the way his thumbnail is digging into his palm is his tell for his nerves being heightened. “So… yeah. My way of saying I want to talk. Again. Please.”

“I’m getting sick of this,” Shouto says suddenly, before Izuku’s mind can even hope to formulate a response. He’s staring Rody down with nothing but distaste, lips pressed together in a thin line. “I haven’t done anything until now because Izuku asked me not to, but I’m tired of you stressing him out and stalking him like this. It ends now. He doesn’t want you, and you need to get that into your head and leave him alone before I stop listening to what he asks of me.”

Rody turns to look at Shouto and, for the first time in all the years he’s known him, Izuku can’t quite work out his expression. There’s dislike, certainly, but by the way his eyebrows are knitted together and his mouth downturns, he thinks there’s something deeper in the way Rody’s looking at him. “And what are you going to do about it, Todoroki?” he says, voice low, and Shouto stiffens at the use of his family name. “I can only imagine it, since your reputation precedes you.”

“I don’t know what you mean,” Shouto says coldly, jaw held tight. “I haven’t got a reputation.”

“Sure you don’t.” Rody twists back to Izuku, hands in his pockets and shoulders squared. “I’m sure he’s told you all about his family, yeah?”

“His family? What about them?” His mind darts through the scant few pieces of information he knows - the hockey player, the sister and her soup, the blue bellflowers - and Izuku shakes himself. “He’s told me everything I need to know. It’s nothing to do with you, Rody.”

“Really? So you know that his father’s paid off the multitude of lawsuits brought against him?” Rody says bluntly. “Every single complaint and grievance and threat of criminal action?”

He stills. “What?”

“Oh, yeah. He’s pissed a lot of people off.” Rody’s eyes flicker to Shouto, just briefly, then back to Izuku. “Phone hacking, workplace bullying, inappropriate relationships with staff… old Enji Todoroki can be counted on for anything immoral, it seems. He sounds like a real good role model, huh?”

Izuku glances at Shouto but he’s staring back at Rody, face blank. Their friends are silent behind them, seemingly unsure of how to retort to the sudden accusations against a man none of them actually know, though Momo’s reached out to grip Shouto’s arm. “How - ?”

“And when he hasn’t been paying them off,” Rody continues, now in a confident stride, “he’s been paying for rehab for his oldest son - heroin, isn’t it, Shouto? How many stays has he had now? Six? Seven? Sounds like a lot of resources down the drain.”

One look at Shouto and Izuku sees that he’s as white as a sheet, cheeks drained of colour, and it’s all the confirmation he needs. “How on earth do you know that?” Momo says sharply, taking a step forward. “That’s private medical information!”

“Arrests are on public record, too, and he’s had a fair few of them - arson, assault, drug possession, drug distribution… Enji’s obviously got a lot of sway in the media industry to keep your big brother under wraps. But your brother’s not even the worst, is he? Your dad’s always slipped out of criminal convictions, yet your brother’s not the only one in your family with a record.” Rody tilts his chin up. “Do you know about his mom, Izuku?”

“Stop it!” Momo barks, hands balled into fists and knuckles white. “Stop this right now before I - ”

“She’s listed under her maiden name,” Rody says in a rush, undeterred, “so maybe that’s how she’s slipped under the radar.” His eyes slide from Izuku to Shouto, and there’s a new grimness to his expression. “He never told you, did he? That she was convicted of child abuse and sentenced to an indefinite detention in a psychiatric unit?”

Izuku’s heart drops to his stomach. Someone says something behind him in a strained voice - a question, perhaps - and yet he can’t focus on it. He can only look at Shouto as he sways on his feet, all the mentions of his mother suddenly recontextualised. Her illnesses; her absences; the realisation that all his childhood stories of her were only from when he was a very small child. Izuku’s gaze slides to the scar hidden beneath makeup, and his stomach rolls.

There’s a shocked silence in the wake of Rody’s words and for a moment Shouto doesn’t react, staring at Rody like he’s looking straight through him. Then he clenches his hands into fists, strides up to him and punches Rody squarely in the jaw. Momo yelps as Rody stumbles back, clutching his face then rounding on Shouto. “You - ”

“Don’t you ever, ever talk about my mother again!” Shouto’s breathing hard, hands balled into fists as if gearing himself up for another punch. He’s furious in a way Izuku’s never seen before, eyes bright and lips pulled back from his teeth. “Say one more word about her and I swear I’ll kill you!”

Izuku feels Hitoshi shifting beside him, his roommate’s gaze flickering between him and Shouto as he pants for breath and Rody rubs his jaw. “Shouto,” Momo pleads, reaching out towards him with a beseeching expression, “you’re a better man than he is. Don’t bring yourself down to his level, please.”

Her words seem to bring some clarity back to him and Shouto turns to look at her. Through Izuku’s shock and fear, the sudden devastation on his face trumps whatever he himself is feeling. “He - ” Shouto manages, voice thin and reedy, “she doesn’t - she isn’t - ”

“I know,” Momo says soothingly, both hands reaching out to him now. “Come on. We’ll - ”

She’s interrupted when Rody, having taken advantage of Shouto’s distraction and their collective focus on Momo, seizes a nearby metal dustbin lid and brings it down on Shouto’s head with a bang. “Cheat!” Katsuki screeches as Shouto stumbles but doesn’t fall, hands flying up to clutch his head. “That was a dirty fucking move!”

Shouto rights himself, hair messy and blazer hanging off his shoulder. He shrugs it off and tosses it aside, and before Izuku can properly take stock of the situation - before he can step forwards and break it up - Shouto suddenly charges at Rody and catches him around the middle, bringing them both to the ground and immediately tussling.

Considering he was so fond of sports and exercise, Izuku had assumed Shouto to be a good fighter - but he’s clearly not when he’s been drinking and when seemingly blinded by rage, grappling with Rody with anything but finesse. It doesn’t help that Rody is the dirtiest fighter Izuku’s ever met and is currently trying to kick Shouto’s legs out from underneath him while Shouto has him pinned in a headlock as he tries to rip his head from his shoulders.

“What the hell?!” Eijirou takes a step forwards to stop them but Katsuki seizes hold of his arm, holding him in place.

“Let them fight.” He’s staring at the scuffling men as though he’d like to get involved himself, eyes gleaming as Shouto grabs Rody’s ponytail and yanks hard. “That little rat deserved to get the shit kicked out of him even before he said all that about his family. And you,” he adds, wheeling around to Izuku’s frozen figure as if he’s somehow about to break himself free and charge over to them, “you stay right where you are.”

“Get off me!” Rody snarls, yelping when Shouto gives his ponytail another vicious tug. “You’re insane - ”

“I’m insane?” Shouto bellows, teeth bared. “You’re a fucking bastard!” Any more insults are muffled by him sinking his teeth into Rody’s arm and the brunet responding by repeatedly bringing his fist down on his head.

“We can’t just stand here!” Tenya protests, gesturing wildly at the men now rolling around the ground, Shouto pinning Rody down and back to trying to yank his hair out as Rody descends into Portuguese curses.

“But what are we supposed to do?” Momo says, white knuckling her handbag. “I don’t want to get in the middle of that!”

“We cheer for Shouto, obviously!” Ochako screams, hands cupped around her mouth. “Kick his ass, Shouto!”

“Yeah,” Hitoshi adds, arms wrapped around his waist and watching them with interest before his voice rises to shout over their scuffling. “Break his nose, Shouto!”

Tenya wheels around to face them, outraged. “We shouldn’t be encouraging him!”

“Why not?” Ochako says, eyes bright and raised hands curled into fists. “He’s kind, he’s generous, he’d do anything for Deku - Rody robbed him blind and hasn’t left him alone for weeks and weeks, and now he’s set out to upset Shouto! Of course we should be cheering him on for giving Rody what he deserves!”

“Yeah,” Eijirou says suddenly, emboldened, “Todoroki’s standing up for his loved ones. Come on, man! It’s the oldest form of conflict resolution!”

Stricken, Izuku can only watch Shouto and Rody wrestle, seemingly try their best to kill one another. The voice of reason at the back of his mind is screaming at him to do something, to get involved and separate the two and deescalate the situation, and yet he’s frozen to the spot in the wake of Rody’s revelations and Shouto’s complete personality change. It doesn’t help that he and Tenya are the only ones not cheering Shouto on, with Eijirou hollering and Katsuki shouting suggestions on how to break bones. They’re not the only ones watching: the diners at the windows of the restaurant opposite are gawping at the men rolling around the ground, calling others to come look and clearly taking bets on who’s going to win.

There’s a sickening crunch and a yelp of pain and Shouto suddenly rears back, wide eyed. At first Izuku thinks he’s been hurt but then he catches sight of Rody, still on the ground but with his hands clasped to his nose where blood is flooding freely from. “You broke it, asshole!” he moans, words distorted from the injury. “I don’t even know if I can go to a hospital here!”

“Good!” Shouto snaps, anger returning to him once more. “I hope it heals lopsided!” He turns away, shoulders heaving, only for Rody to grab him by the ankle and tug. Once again Shouto hits the ground; once again he doesn’t make a sound, even when he rolls over onto his back and is visibly grimacing, one hand clutching the wrist of the other.

“Enough!” Momo shrieks, striding over on her skyscraper heels and getting between the two of them with her palms raised. “That’s quite enough from both of you! Shouto, let me see your - ”

“Oh, no.” They all turn around to see Ochako standing bow-legged, staring down at the clear fluid running down her legs and pooling on the pavement. “Oh, shit.”

Open mouthed, Izuku can only stare at her as Ochako looks up at them, eyes wide. He’s shoved aside by Tenya who strides to her, hands reaching out to grab her shoulders then round on them. “Look at what you’ve done!” Fury like he’s never seen it before is etched into Tenya’s face, seeming as though he’s prepared to start throwing punches at them himself. “She’s not due for another month!”

“It’s fine, Tenya,” Ochako says, eerily calm given the situation. “She’s a good size, and labour doesn’t start for a few hours after your waters break. Why don’t we go home and relax for a while?”

“Pity about your shoes, though,” Eijirou says, nodding at her sodden loafers. “Them being suede and all. I wouldn’t be able to relax if I ruined a lovely pair of shoes.”

“You’ve got a one in a hundred chance of getting an infection now your waters have broken, even outside of premature labour,” Tenya tells her, steam practically rising from his breath. “We’re going to the hospital.” He winds a protective arm around her. “I knew this would happen.”

“It only happened because of all the excitement!” Ochako protests, stung. “Not going to the bar! If that was the case then it would’ve happened there - we didn’t expect Shouto and Rody to have a punch up in the street!”

Izuku pulls his eyes away from her to look at them both still crouched on the ground and trying to regain their breath. Rody’s taken off his scarf in an effort to stem the blood gushing down his face and staining his shirt while Shouto’s hunched over himself, clutching his wrist with his head bent and hair hiding his face. Tenya doesn’t even bother to look, Ochako dwarfed as he pulls her into his side. “We’re going to the hospital. I’ll let you know any updates when they happen - don’t expect to see me in next week, Todoroki.”

“Please keep us updated!” Izuku says urgently, thrown by Tenya addressing Shouto in a disrespectful tone he would’ve never thought him capable of. He’s unsurprised when Tenya doesn’t look at him but relieved when Ochako throws him a grin and a wave over her shoulder, turning back to his coworkers and Rody with the unwelcome presence of guilt settling over his shoulders.

“She’ll be fine,” Eijirou says airily, looking unruffled by the night’s events. “One of my little brothers was born a month early and he was still a big lump of a thing.”

“Probably because of your giant genes more than anything else,” Katsuki snipes, but the stress is obvious in the line between his eyebrows. Behind him, Momo clears her throat.

“I think it’s best I take Shouto to a hospital,” Momo says, voice firm and with no room for arguments. “Just to make sure it’s nothing more sinister than a break. I’ve got him sorted, Izuku.”

Shouto opens his mouth as if to protest he isn’t a child, then snaps it shut again. His head is raised and he’s staring at Izuku, lips pressed tightly together, and he finds that he can’t bring himself to meet Shouto’s eyes. “Okay,” he says, though he doesn’t sound like himself. “Let me know how it goes.”

“Izuku - ”

“I’ll catch up with you guys later,” he says over Shouto, swallowing hard. The images of Shouto punching Rody are playing on a loop before his eyes; the confusion over keeping so many family secrets from him after he’d been so honest with his history stinging at him. “I’ll make sure he - ” Izuku points at Rody, whose scarf is more red than beige now, “ - gets to a different hospital.”

Rody beams at him, teeth stained with his blood. “I knew you’d - ”

“No,” Izuku snaps, shaking with rage, “I’m not doing it for you. I’d do the same for any stranger on the street, because I’m not going to leave someone hurt and bleeding.”

Momo shuffles awkwardly, arm curling around Shouto’s and helping him to his feet while being mindful of the wrist he’s still cradling. “I’ll send you an update,” she tells Izuku in an undertone and Shouto - silent once more - stares at him all the way until the two turn the corner at the end of the street. The second they’re gone, Izuku rounds on Rody.

“That was one of the meanest, cruellest things I’ve even seen someone do to someone else.” Even his voice is trembling now, hands balled into fists as Rody struggles to his feet. “You should be ashamed of yourself.”

“But you - ”

“Don’t pretend you did this for me!” He snaps, incensed. “Don’t you dare! You did it to upset Shouto, and nothing more than that. Well, you got what you wanted. I hope you’re happy now.”

Rody’s eyes are huge on his, shoulders slumped. Eijirou sidles up to them, addressing Izuku as if Rody’s suddenly blended into the building behind them. “Why don’t Katsuki and I walk you and Hitoshi home once the ambulance gets here?” he suggests, jerking his chin towards Hitoshi as he speaks into his mobile and Katsuki lurks nearby, gaze boring holes through Rody. Eijirou - kind, loyal Eijirou - is smiling at him, one hand settling on Izuku’s shoulder as if neither of them have a care in the world. “We can talk, or watch a movie, or try to beat Hitoshi’s Mario Kart records. Whatever you want to do.”

Izuku nods without really taking it in, eyes focused on the droplets of blood splattered across the pavement below.

Chapter Text

Izuku doesn’t get much sleep that night. It seems like he spends hours upon hours staring at his ceiling, lying prone instead of tossing and turning, until sleep finally takes him in the early hours of the morning. Not that the brief hours he grabs leave him rested: he wakes up just as exhausted as before, mood just as dismal and miserable.

“It could be worse,” Hitoshi tells him when he’s eventually up and in the living room, clearly set on ignoring the look Izuku throws him as he mops the floor. “Yeah, your boyfriend punched your ex and broke his nose and, yeah, he has family issues, but so what? It’s not like Rody dug out tons of incriminating information about Shouto himself.”

“Yeah,” Izuku says, voice flat, “but he also kept his mouth shut about all of it, even when I was honest with him about my background. I thought he trusted me, you know?”

Leaning on the mop, Hitoshi squints at him. “What did you expect? That you’d be having a coffee together and he’d be like ‘hey, by the way, my brother’s an addict and my mom was thrown in the psych ward for abusing me’? Puh-lease.”

He snorts contemptuously and gets back to his mopping. Sprawled on the sofa, Izuku pulls his knees into his chest and hugs them, chin on his knees. He knows full well why Shouto didn’t share it with him - can’t even imagine the anxiety that would come with keeping it to himself - and yet it stings all the same that he had to find it out from Rody, who shared it not out of trust but out of spite. Having seen him off in the ambulance and resisted the urge to check up on him ever since, he can only imagine what state his nose is in now.

“Besides,” Hitoshi continues, heaving up the mop bucket, “you’ve seen Katsuki punch loads of people. Why should Shouto punching one person upset you any more?”

“Because it shocked me,” Izuku says, words muffled by his knees. Beyond the windows, the dreary skyline reflects his mood. “I didn’t think Shouto was capable of that. He’s so - he’s so gentle with me.”

“And so is my little sister,” Hitoshi says over the rush of water in the sink, fixing him with a bored look, “until I won’t stop moving when she’s plaiting my hair and she yanks it. That doesn’t make Eri a bad person, does it?”

It’s not long after he’s left to go bowling with some college friends that there comes a knock on the door. Heaving himself off the sofa and out of his melancholy, Izuku plods over it and opens it to find a woman on his doorstep, wide-eyed and shifting in place. “Good morning,” she says, offering him a smile. It’s anything but, though he doesn’t correct her. “Midoriya Izuku?”

“Hello,” he says blankly. There's something familiar about the woman - her eyes, or perhaps the shape of her mouth - but he can't quite put his finger on it. “Do I know you?

“No. We haven't been introduced yet.” She steps forwards and clasps her hands in front of her, eyes on his before she inclines her head. “I'm Todoroki Fuyumi: I'm Shouto’s older sister.”

Of course. He can see Shouto now in her pale, heart-shaped face, the grey of her eyes and even the way she’s standing with her back ramrod straight, stance identical to his. “I got your address from Momo,” she says quickly, perhaps mistaking his shock for fear. “He didn't send me here to talk to you, if that's what you’re thinking. Actually, he doesn't know I'm here at all: I think he’d be irritated if he did, accusing me of meddling, but that's what big sisters are for.”

Izuku swallows, hands flexing around the door. It’s certainly not how he’d expected his day to go, not when he’s in his tattered sweatpants and fretting over the lack of news from Ochako and Tenya. Still - he’s incapable of slamming the door and leaving Fuyumi shunned in his hallway, not when the poor woman has come all this way to discuss something they’d both surely rather avoid. Swallowing again, he opens the door wider.

"You'd better come in,” he says, voice hoarse, and he steps aside to let Fuyumi pad past and slip her shoes off. She's not much shorter than him: he'd put her in her early thirties, in a floral dress and cardigan with her hair styled in a long bob. There’s something soft and comforting about her, and he faintly remembers Shouto saying she was a primary school teacher. Slightly hysterically, he thinks he would have loved her as a teacher with that sweet, kind smile and gentle demeanour.

“I'm sorry to drop in on you like this,” Fuyumi says as he leads her to a living room. There’s a genuine tone of regret in her voice, an earnestness in her expression that’s a great deal more open than her brother. “I was at Shouto’s this morning - I go by most weekends to make sure Cashew is doing okay. She was my cat first but my partner is allergic, so Shouto took her in.”

“He told me.” Izuku sits down and motions for Fuyumi to do the same. “He really loves that cat.”

Fuyumi smiles at him, eyes creasing at the edges in a way that’s achingly familiar. “I know. He begged for a cat when he was small - he wanted any pet, really, but he’s always loved cats.” Her smile fades, lips pressing into a thin line. “He’s why I’m here to talk to you, though I suppose you’ve guessed that already.”

“Yeah.” He gnaws on his bottom lip, hands twisting together. It almost feels worse that she doesn’t seem prepared to give him the shovel talk, instead planning on conversations unknown. “I’ll get us tea.” He’s on his feet again before she can protest, striding into the kitchen and grabbing mugs and milk with shaking hands.

Fuyumi is examining the photos on their coffee table when he returns with a tray, crouched down and peering at them through her little oval glasses. “Is this you with your parents?” she says, pointing to the one of him standing beside his mother and Toshinori on their wedding day. “They look like very friendly people.”

“They are, yeah.” Izuku feels the tiniest twinge of embarrassment in the knowledge that all three of them have red eyes and wobbly smiles in the photo. “I didn’t know how you took your tea, so…” He waves half heartedly at the milk jug and sugar bowl and Fuyumi smiles at him, standing up and preparing her drink. 

“Thank you, Izuku. You’re a far better host than Shouto: he lets you in the front door then stares at you, expecting you to make the first move. I don’t think he’s ever offered to make me a drink, actually. Manners aren’t his strong point.” That at least gets Izuku huffing with laughter, and Fuyumi seems emboldened by it. “But he’s only been very, very complimentary about you.”

Izuku squirms in his seat, suddenly aware that she’s the one who helped him make the soup. “Really?” he says, voice weak.

“Oh, yes.” There’s a warmth in her expression when she sits down with her tea, grey eyes kind. “He was embarrassed to talk about you at first - not because it was you but because Shouto is embarrassed to talk about his feelings at all, let alone with his big sister. Once I got him started, though, there was no shutting him up. He adores you.”

The compliment doesn’t quite stick this time. “He told you about last night, didn’t you?” Izuku says quietly, hands tight around his own mug. Fuyumi’s face creases. 

“Yes. He did.” One hand comes to rub over the knuckles of the other, fingers curling around them. “He didn’t want to at first, but I knew there was something wrong with him. He was very agitated and didn’t want to sit down and talk, and when I finally got him to, he…”

She trails off, and Izuku’s stomach sinks. “He what?”

Fuyumi’s head is slightly bowed, her voice low. “He was… very upset. At what happened, but also at himself.”

He chews his tongue. It’s exactly what he expected and yet it hurts all the same, thinking of Shouto in that big, empty apartment, huddled up in bed and loathing himself. “I can’t really blame him for throwing a punch,” he tells her hesitantly, tilting his mug from side to side to swill the coffee within. “Rody - my ex - said some awful things to him.”

“I gathered.” Fuyumi lifts her head, lips pressed together. “Personal things he had no business talking about, that were clearly designed to upset him. Information he shouldn’t have known.”

“About your brother,” Izuku says, eyes on hers. “Touya.”

“Yes.” She lets out a long breath, setting aside her mug so she can rub her forehead. “He… Touya is very troubled. It’s been that way for a very long time. He and I were born in the same year and we were like twins growing up, but… but he’s struggled with a drug dependency for almost as long as I can remember. It’s the only thing that got him through some days, but it’s absolutely destroyed him in the process. It’s been so, so hard watching him go through it, trying over and over again to help him, and yet…” Her hand moves to pull off her glasses, pinching the brow of her nose. “It’s an escape for him. He’s in a lot of physical pain, you see, from an accident he got in to when he was a teenager. The heroin is his way of taking the edge off and making the pain easier to deal with.”

He longs to ask her about the accident and yet bites his tongue, hands twisting in his lap. “What about your other brother?” he whispers. “Natsuo?”

“Oh, I think Natsuo’s the best adjusted of the lot of us,” Fuyumi says with a wry smile. “Professional ice hockey player with plans to be a medic when his sporting career is over, the first of us to go to therapy and work through his trauma - yes, I can safely say Natsuo is doing alright. He’s thriving, not just coping.”

“Mm.” Izuku looks at her, the neat way she’s sitting and presenting herself. “You seem pretty well adjusted to me.”

She smiles at him, eyes creased at the edges. “Thank you, Izuku. I’d be inclined to agree with you if I wasn’t still resentful at being forced to become a mother figure when I was still a child myself, cooking and cleaning and growing up long before I should’ve.” Her mouth twists, but she’s ploughing ahead before they can ruminate on it. “I don’t think you need me to tell you that we had an unhappy childhood. Shouto’s was particularly bad.”

“He hates your dad,” he says, and resents himself for how bland it is. “He dated Inasa just to piss him off.”

“Oh, yes,” Fuyumi says, sounding disappointed. “Poor Inasa. I always felt so sorry for him after they broke up, even before Shouto started dating you. He never talked - well.” She shakes her head. “But, yes. Shouto loathes our father. He’s a difficult man, and he’s always had a… a very bad temper.” Fuyumi’s mouth twists and suddenly she’s blinking hard behind her glasses, hands fisted in her lap. “Shouto and our mother got the brunt of it.”

He’s mortified by her distress and yet he seizes the opportunity, the chance she’s thrown him. “Was it true?” Izuku whispers. “That your mom was the one who hurt him?”

Fuyumi lets out a long, low sigh. Setting her tea on the floor again, her head dips slightly. “Yes,” she says, lips pressing together. “Yes, she was. But it’s not what you think.”

Part of him doubts that very much given her conviction but Izuku forces the scepticism away, focusing instead on how open and earnest Fuyumi’s expression is. “How old was he? When she was - convicted?”

Her lips press together. “Five.”

“Oh my God.” Izuku’s stomach rolls.

Fuyumi nods slowly, picking at her thumbnail. “I was twelve. It was the worst experience of my life, and it didn’t even happen to me. It came out of nowhere - I just heard it - his scream - and then my mom screaming and apologising, cradling him to her - ”

“It was only once?” Izuku interjects, suddenly alert. “She only hurt him once?” Only tastes sickening in his mouth but Fuyumi’s pale eyebrows have pulled together, confused.

“You thought it was more than that?”

“Well, yes.” He swallows, following her lead and discarding his own drink so he can clutch his elbows instead. “To hear it was something she was charged with, I assumed it was… routine.”

“No,” Fuyumi says at once, “no, never . Our mom - she’s amazing. She’s dedicated her whole life to us, when we’re the reason our father had her trapped in that awful environment. She had no chance of escape when she had no money, no support system and four children she would never leave behind.” Suddenly she’s pushing her glasses into her hair, and her eyes are wet. “She had a nervous breakdown, Izuku. She didn’t know what she was doing. Even Shouto knew that, as a five-year-old with half his face bandaged up.” She lets out a shuddering breath, wiping the back of her hand beneath her eyes. “Whatever that man told you - however he portrayed her - he was wrong. She’s not an abuser, and she never was.”

Silence follows her words, as Fuyumi gathers herself and as embarrassment wells in Izuku’s veins. He doesn’t know what on earth he can say to provide her comfort, not when she’s reliving something so personal, so opposite to the cosy childhood he experienced. Sure, he and his mom sometimes struggled for money before she met Toshinori, and yet her love and support came in abundance. He can’t imagine Toshinori even raising his voice or controlling the household; his mother being driven to a breakdown.

“I - ” He begins, then breaks off and shakes his head. “I’m so sorry.”

It’s her turn to shake her head, sniffing before she raises her chin and meets his eyes, her own pink but dry. “There’s nothing for you to apologise for. All Shouto does is rave about how you treat him.”

“I just - ” Again, speech proves difficult. “I just wish he told me,” Izuku says, and wishes he doesn’t sound so childish.

Glasses back in place, there’s a new steeliness to Fuyumi when she looks at him. “With all due respect, it’s not information you were entitled to know before Shouto was ready. He’s mortified by the fact he wasn’t able to be the one to tell you about it, and it happening in front of his employees. You know how private he is, don’t you?”

Heat spreads from his cheeks, right along his neck to his chest. “Yes,” Izuku croaks, clenching his hands so hard he thinks he might dislocate a knuckle. “I knew he was scarred - I saw him covering it once - but I didn’t dare ask him because he didn’t bring it up.”

“No.” All of a sudden, weariness cloaks Fuyumi’s expression. “No, it’s something he loathes discussing. Loathes looking at, I would say, no matter what we tell him. He thinks he’s hideous.”

“He’s not!” Izuku bursts out, aghast. “He’s the most handsome man I’ve ever seen! He has a bone structure people would die for, beautiful, thoughtful eyes, the softest skin in the world - ” He grinds to a halt, mortified - but, thankfully, the corners of Fuyumi’s mouth are twitching.

“I’m glad you agree he’s lovely.” Leaning in, Fuyumi reaches out and takes hold of his hand. Hers is small and cold, thumb tracing over his knuckles in a way that’s immediately comforting. “Please, let Shouto tell you his side; the truth of what your ex tried to portray. He cares about you so, so much, Izuku, and that’s the type of love you don’t want to lose.”

He huffs out a laugh, squeezing her hand. “Well, I’m not sure he loves me just yet.”

Fuyumi merely smiles at him, eyes creased at the corners. His phone abruptly buzzes in his pocket and, scrambling, Izuku lets go of her hand in search of it. It’s not Shouto but the only other person he was hoping for communication from.

[Tenya] : BABY IMMINENT. WAS TOLD TO LEAVE THE DELIVERY ROOM BECAUSE OF HIGH ANXIETY LEVELS. PERMITTED TO RETURN JUST BEFORE BIRTH. IF YOU ARE ABLE CAN YOU PLEASE BRING BAG IN OUR HALLWAY WITH BABY ITEMS AS OCHAKO WOULDNT LET ME STOP BY TO GET IT AND MY PARENTS AND BROTHER ARE IN HOKKAIDO AT PRESENT. YOU KNOW OUR DOOR CODE. THANK YOU.

“I gotta go.” He stands, looking back at Fuyumi. “I’m sorry to kick you out like this - my friend’s having a baby, and her partner’s asked me to pick up a bag for them - ”

“Would you like a ride there?” she says, rising to her feet and clutching her bag. “I drove here, and Shouto once mentioned that you like to take public transport everywhere.” Fuyumi pauses, the corners of her lips lifting. “I promise not to talk about anything related to families on the journey.”

He hesitates, debating. “If it’s not too much trouble for you,” he says at last, thumbing the keys in his pocket - then, at her head shake, offers her a smile of his own. “Are you a rugby fan?”

“No,” Fuyumi admits, a hand settling on his shoulder as he slips his shoes on, “but I’m more than willing to hear about its rules and regulations.”

Baby bag slung over one shoulder and heart racing, he’s left off at the hospital with a fierce hug and a promise to keep in touch from Fuyumi. He hasn’t quite wrapped his head around the fact that she turned up at his apartment, let alone the rest of the information she dropped on him - but, pushing it from his mind, Izuku focuses on the task at hand and strides towards the maternity ward.

“My friend is having a baby,” he says to the nurse on the reception desk, fingers clenching and unclenching around the straps of the bag. “Uraraka Ochako - the father is with her, Iida Tenya. They asked me to bring this to them - maybe they gave you my name? Midoriya Izuku?”

“Yes, Dad let us know,” the midwife tells him, and he takes her strained smile to be a sign of how stressed Tenya must have been. “Go on through to room four. They’ll be glad to see you: baby girl Iida arrived about thirty minutes ago.” 

“Oh,” Izuku says, voice suddenly weak. “Oh. That’s - that’s so wonderful.” He stumbles over his feet, making his shaking way to the room and knocking on the door. “Ochako? Tenya? It’s me.”

“Come in!” Ochako’s voice floats out, bright and bubbly, and Izuku practically barrels through the door. It’s a bright, clean room, private in the way only Tenya’s family could afford, but all he can focus on is the woman with a bundle of blankets in her arms, face bright with joy.

“Hey,” he whispers, eyes flickering between her smile and the baby she’s cradling to her chest. She looks remarkably put together for having just given birth, hair pulled back into a ponytail and a cardigan draped around her shoulders. He takes a step inside, hands fisting in the end of his jumper. “How is she?”

“She’s perfect,” Tenya says throatily, glasses holding his hair back and letting Izuku see just how red his eyes are. “Absolutely perfect. Seven pounds, five ounces with completely developed lungs.”

“And she was born naturally,” Ochako adds, beaming. “Which is just as well, because I was dreading the recovery time of a section.” She still winces when she sits up but her eyes are bright as she lifts the baby, offering her to Izuku. “I think she’s due for a cuddle with her uncle Deku.”

He swallows hard, perching on the end of the bed and gingerly taking the infant from her. “Hello, baby,” he whispers, taking in her dusting of light brown hair and smooth, flushed cheeks. “Oh, I think you’re the loveliest thing I’ve ever seen.” Izuku’s taken by surprise when he feels tears rolling down his face, dripping off his chin to soak into the blankets wrapped around the infant as she sleeps. “What have you called her?”

“Saki,” Ochako says, smiling at them while Izuku gives a great sniff in an effort to control himself. “There’s a magnolia tree outside that you can see through the window, so the blossoms inspired us. Iida Saki - it’s cute, isn’t it?”

“It’s perfect.” He gently eases the blankets away from Saki’s face, taking in all of her features and making note of what she’s inherited from either parent. Glancing up, Ochako and Tenya’s smiles do little to ease the tension in his chest as he uses his sleeve to wipe his wet cheeks. “About last night - I’m so sorry - ”

Tenya’s shaking his head and lifting a hand before he can continue. “It wasn’t your fault,” he says, demeanour entirely at odds with his fury of the night before. “She’s here safe and well now, so let’s just focus on that. Ah, you brought the bag!” Izuku hands it over and he roots through it, pulling out an iPod with a glum expression. “I’d made an entire birth playlist on this, full of relaxing sounds like whale songs for when Ochako was in labour.”

“What a pity all that effort went to waste,” Ochako tells him kindly, but winks at Izuku when she catches his eye.

Neither one of them brings up the night before and, as guilty as he feels for it, Izuku’s grateful. He’d much rather spend the time cuddling Saki then reluctantly passing her back to Ochako the moment she holds her arms out, sharing in their joy. “Whatever they’ve got in this is great ,” Ochako says, gesturing to the IV with a blissful expression. “Do you reckon they’d let me take a bag of it home?”

Cradling Saki, Tenya looks up with an alarmed expression, but they’re interrupted by a knock on the door. “A nurse, maybe?” Izuku says, though the voice - booming despite an obvious attempt to be quiet - is instantly recognisable.

“Can we come in? We’ve got flowers and sushi!”

“Sushi!” Ochako cries, delighted. “I can eat it again! Come in, come in!”

The door swings open and Eijirou stands in the frame, beaming face almost hidden behind the largest bouquet Izuku’s ever seen in his life. “Congratulations! Aw, guys, I’m so happy for you - ”

“Move,” someone snaps behind him and Katsuki wrestles his way past, a box of takeout clutched in his hands. Shame washes over Izuku when he realises that he didn’t bring a gift, but reasons with himself to come back with enough sushi for three meals. Katsuki’s scowl fades when he sees Ochako, standing up straighter. “Are you okay? Is the baby alright?”

“She’s absolutely fine,” she tells him, beaming again, and Izuku watches two pairs of eyes slide to the baby Tenya slightly raises to show them. “Who wants a cuddle with Saki?”

“Me,” Eijirou says at once, dumping the bouquet on the sideboard and striding over with his arms outstretched. Tenya carefully passes Saki over and Eijirou adjusts her in his arms, falling silent as he stares down at her. “Oh, man,” he whispers at last, the baby comically small when cradled by his massive bulk. “Oh, she’s so cool.” He looks up at Katsuki, hope in his voice. “When can we have one?”

“When you learn to cook more than three meals,” Katsuki retorts, but even his voice sounds strained. “Hurry up and cuddle her so I can have a go.”

“I literally just got her!” Eijirou protests, turning his back on him. To his left, Ochako’s shovelling in as much sushi as can fit in her mouth. “Go away and let her have her time with her favourite uncle!”

“That’s me, actually,” Izuku says loftily, but both men ignore him as they glare at one another.

They have twenty blissful minutes of cooing over Saki and fighting over cuddles before a midwife comes along, smiling and wagging a reproaching finger at them. “There’s only meant to be two visitors at a time! I think the poor man outside is prepared to wait all day for you to be finished, though.”

“Who’s waiting?” Eijirou says blankly. “Is it your brother, Tenya?”

He shakes his head, leaning over Ochako who has finished her mountain of sushi and is back to cradling Saki. “My family are in Hokkaido at the moment, and Ochako’s are in Honshu - they should be here by tomorrow morning.”

“He’s got - ” The midwife waves a hand at her head. “Two different colours in his hair.”

Icy fingers creep their way down Izuku’s spine and he feels every eye in the room on him, every breath suddenly held. “Why’s he here?” he whispers, hands fisting in his jumper again.

Tenya clears his throat. “I let him know Saki had been born safely. He’d sent me a message apologising profusely for last night, so I thought it best to alleviate his worries.”

Judging by Katsuki’s expression he doesn’t think Shouto has anything to apologise about, but Izuku slides to his feet and clears his throat. “You two can stay,” he tells Eijirou and Katsuki, squaring his shoulders. “I’ll go and speak to him. I should’ve done it before now, anyway.”

He offers them all a smile - their expressions a mix of concern and apprehension - before he bypasses the midwife and heads back to the waiting area. It’s empty save for a man hunched over himself, hair hiding his face. Heart hammering, Izuku speeds up his approach and, at the sound of his footsteps, Shouto looks up at him. His hair clearly hasn’t been brushed and his arm looks to be in a cast and sling, but it’s the most innocuous part of his appearance that has the words tearing themselves from Izuku before he can stop himself. “I didn’t know you owned sweatpants.”

He can see the motion of Shouto’s throat as he swallows. “I don’t,” he says, voice more hoarse than Izuku’s ever heard him before. He plucks them between his thumb and forefinger, examining the faded grey material. “Not really. These are my brother’s.” 

Now he looks at them he can see that the sweatpants look at least two sizes too big for Shouto, baggy around his thighs and ankles. Izuku can only assume that Natsuo is a giant, and a menace on the ice. What must have happened, he wonders, for Shouto to steal a pair of sweatpants from his older brother and wear them in public. That’s not even considering the hoodie and trainers he’s paired them with to create an image wholly unlike the Shouto he knows. His eyes return to the sling, and he bites his lip. “Is your arm okay?”

Shouto shrugs, though he takes care to do it with his uninjured shoulder. “Fractured wrist. I’ll be in this sling for one week and a cast for six.” He’s so nonchalant about it that, quite suddenly, emotion is welling up in Izuku’s chest.

“Oh, honey,” he whispers. He sinks into the empty seat beside Shouto, laying his hand upon his thigh as he doesn’t dare to touch his cast. “I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”

Having stiffened under his touch, Shouto slowly relaxes. Hair hanging over his face, he looks at him between the strands with a tense, uncertain expression. “You have nothing to be sorry for,” he says quietly, head dipping slightly. “I’m the one who should be apologising. I started the fight; I wasn’t honest with you.”

“You had your reasons,” Izuku says at once, wondering how truthful to be - then, sighing, comes out with it. “Fuyumi called by my apartment this morning. We had a little chat - it’s okay! It’s fine!” he adds at Shouto’s alarmed expression, the man jolting at once as if electrocuted. “She told me only what I needed to hear, and, well…” He trails off, shrugging helplessly and smiling at Shouto. “She loves you a lot, you know.”

Chewing on his lip, Shouto doesn’t look so certain. “She still thinks I’m ten years old.” His eyes dart over Izuku’s face, wavering, then he sighs. “What did she tell you, then?”

Heart hammering, Izuku looks down and focuses on smoothing his hand over Shouto’s thigh, back and forth from his knee to his hip. “That your father treated you and your mother terribly,” he mumbles, concentrating on the soft material beneath his fingers. “That your mother had a breakdown. That your brother is very unwell.”

He’s grateful that the reception area is empty: that there’s no one about to listen in to their conversation, to scare either of them away from what they should’ve talked about before now. Shouto breathes deeply through his nose, then out again in a long, low sigh. 

“My brother has been a drug addict since he was a teenager,” he says quietly, head bowed and gaze focused on the vinyl flooring. “There was a house fire in our old family home and he was very badly burnt. The rest of us were okay, but he needed extensive skin grafts and rehabilitation. The painkillers he took to get through the day soon turned to stronger opioids, and then they turned to heroin. He’s been in and out of rehab more times than I can count, and I don’t know how many times he’s overdosed. I stopped counting at five.” Shouto’s face is calm and set, recounting the story as if it was one concerning a stranger. “I know he has good friends who take care of him and keep him away from the drugs as best he can - they’re the ones I thought of when I said someone could speak to Rody. They know that it’s not his fault he’s like this: he didn’t choose to be like this.”

Izuku swallows hard, hand settling on Shouto’s knee. He doesn’t dare interrupt him and so allows Shouto to keep talking, to keep sharing the information he’s held back for so many months now.

“He’s… well. He’s done a lot of bad things to get the drugs.” Shouto chews on his tongue, shifting slightly then wincing when the movement upsets the sling. “I was never as close to him as my siblings were - I think he always saw me as the irritating baby of the family - but the dislike turned into full on resentment when we lost our mother.” There’s a flatness to his voice now. “He thought it was my fault.”

“Your fault?” Izuku whispers, feeling his eyebrows pull together. Shouto sighs, nodding.

“My mother was very, very beautiful,” he tells him. “She still is. My father saw her at a function when they were in their early twenties and decided he had to have her. He was so used to throwing his money around to get what he wanted - old money, you know - that buying another person was nothing to him. He offered my grandparents a massive dowry, and my mother felt as though she couldn’t say no. Her family was very poor, you see. She felt like it was her duty to help them out of poverty with the opportunity that was presented to her.”

“That’s awful,” Izuku says, stomach tight at the thought. “It wasn’t her responsibility.”

“She didn’t see it that way, and she didn’t imagine just what he could be like. Their marriage wasn’t just loveless,” Shouto says dully. “It was abusive. I can’t tell you how many times I saw him backhand her in front of us; how often she cried herself to sleep when she didn’t know I was still awake. For a long time, the only memories I had of her were of her crying. He’d lose his temper over the smallest of things, and she was his punching bag. Dinner not ready on time? Touya tried to go to the bathroom unattended and pulled a few stitches? She’d have a black eye the next day. He wasn’t afraid to be violent with us, either, but my mom always got between us and defended us. She’d get it worse, then.”

Once more, Izuku thinks of his mother and Toshinori, their open affection for both him and for one another. Once more, he fights the urge to vomit.

“The fight was worse than usual, that day. Touya had relapsed again and he was blaming her for it, saying that he’d be out on the streets this time, that another rehab clinic on his bank balance was too good for him. It was her coddling that made him weak, apparently. He threatened her, she ran, and he came after her.” Shouto’s jaw is trembling now, eyes fixed unblinkingly on the floor. “I didn’t want him to hurt her. I wanted to try and stop him - I was sick of him hurting her, sick of the blood and the bruises and the tears. It was late, and she’d put me to bed hours before, even though I always woke up the instant he started screaming at her, even on the nights she didn’t sleep with me - she was hiding in the kitchen and the kettle had just boiled over, and she - she - ”

Shouto sucks in a deep, rattling breath, uninjured hand clenching into a fist. “She threw the water before she saw who was coming through the door,” he says bleakly, and tears shine in his mismatched eyes.

Izuku knows they’re already trickling down his own face, the pain like a yawning chasm in his chest. “Oh, Shouto. I don’t - I’m so, so sorry - ”

“And she always blamed herself,” he says in a rush, if forcing the words out. “She hated herself for it, for years and years, all through her stay in the institute that he insisted on, that he made sure she was prosecuted for - she still does now, even though she’s doing so much better, even though she’s living alone now after years of living with Natsuo. She left my face scarred, but I cover it up for her. I don’t want her to see how bad it is. It would kill her, seeing how bad it is.” He finally turns to face him, and his eyelashes are wet with tears. “And for him to say - for him to try and make you think she was abusive - ”

The tears spill over his cheeks and at once Izuku is enveloping him in his arms, mindful of his injured arm as he holds Shouto to his chest. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, voice catching on a sob, and entangles a hand in Shouto’s silken hair as the other tightens around his back. “I’m so sorry, Shouto, for him - for everything - for everything you went through - ”

He can feel tears against his neck even before Shouto’s shoulders quiver, his one good hand fisting in the material of his jumper. It’s a miserable thing, for Shouto to be a silent crier - for the only sound from him to be the occasional rasping breath, face hidden against him as he shakes in Izuku’s arms.

It’s a long time before Shouto finds the strength to pull away from him, sniffing as he tries to regain his composure. He’s staring down into his lap, hair hiding his face. Izuku, a great wet patch on the neck of his jumper, swallows and reaches out to cup Shouto’s face. He flinches, but doesn’t pull away.

“I knew you had a scar before now,” he murmurs, thumb stroking Shouto’s cheekbone. He stiffens, staring at him, but Izuku’s shushing him and holding tight before he can pull away. “I saw you fix your makeup once, but I didn’t say anything because it wasn’t my place. I knew there was a reason you weren’t telling me about it, and I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable demanding an explanation.”

Shouto swallows hard, jaw clenched, and doesn’t respond. Summoning up all his courage, Izuku cups his face with both hands this time. “Can I see your scar? Please? I want to see all of you, Shouto.” He gazes at him, hoping against hope the other man can see the sincerity in his actions. “There’s nothing about it that would change how I feel about you.”

Clearly wavering, it’s a moment or two before Shouto responds. Eyes screwing shut, he nods once. “Alright,” he says, and his voice is tiny. “You can - you can see.”

“Thank you.” Thumbs stroking the hollows beneath his eyes, Izuku gently releases him and rises to his feet. “I’ll grab some wipes - gimme a second.” He strides to the nearest dispenser and pulls out a handful, back to Shouto within seconds. He’d opened an eye to watch his progress but closes it immediately when he returns, hand fisted in his lap again. “Okay?” Izuku asks him and Shouto steels himself, lips pressed together. “Okay. I’ll be careful.”

He works slowly and gently, his other hand lifting to cup the unblemished side of Shouto’s face and hold him steady. Silence falls between them, peppered only by their breathing and the occasional, far-off sounds of the hospital’s other occupants. With each new wipe a new patch of redness is revealed, dark, textured scar tissue that covers the majority of the left side of Shouto’s face, over his eye and right down to his mid-cheek. It’s not as bad as he expected, and yet his heart still aches at how obvious his scar is; how early Shouto must get up every morning to maintain the illusion of unblemished skin, leaving Izuku’s bed and standing in his tiny bathroom to frown at his own image above the bathroom sink. 

At last, Izuku stops wiping his face and sits back. Shouto keeps his eyes closed until his hand touches his face, stroking across the pits and valleys of the burn. Keeping his touch feather-light, he pulls away when Shouto meets his eyes, his expression bleak. “It’s awful,” he says, voice flat, “isn’t it?”

“It’s really not that bad at all,” Izuku tells him, barely above a whisper. He reaches out again to let his fingertips trail over the border between smooth skin and scar tissue, and Shouto shivers at his touch. “I promise you, it’s not.”

“It’s still not what you want in a person.” Defeat is heavy in every aspect of Shouto’s form, from his slumped shoulders to his thin mouth to the way he stares at Izuku, eyes creased at the corners. “You’d want someone unscarred, without childhood trauma, without all the baggage and awful family and secrets - ”

“Funny,” Izuku says lightly, cutting him off in his tracks. “Because I just so happen to want you, baggage and all.”

“It’s not a joke,” Shouto says, and Izuku feels a spark of hope at the familiar surliness returning to him. “I’m being serious. Why would you want me, when you could have anyone you wanted?”

“Me?” Izuku says, incredulous. “I’m hardly Japan’s most eligible bachelor, Shouto. I’ve got an awful track record, an apartment that leaks in the rain, the worst prescription of anyone I know - you’re about ten million times richer than me, you drive the fanciest car I’ve ever seen, you somehow kept me employed despite the fact I was late for my first shift working with you - I mean, why would you want me?”

“Because I’ve been in love with you for almost as long as I’ve known you,” Shouto blurts out, then slaps his uninjured hand over his mouth.

They stare at each other, the silence ringing. Shouto keeps his hand over his mouth, as if preventing himself from spilling more secrets. Izuku finds that he has to swallow several times before the feeling of strangling pressure around his throat eases enough for him to croak out his words. “You - in love? With me?”

“As long as I’ve known you,” Shouto repeats as he pulls his hand away from his mouth, staring at him as if he’s blindly following the commitment his confession has brought him to. “Because you’re so warm. So kind. You’d do anything for anyone - help out anyone in any way that you can. You run really warm and you always sleep on my right side, and I’ve always appreciated that because I somehow feel colder on that side and it’s so nice to be able to lay my head on your chest and get comfortable. You scrunch your nose up when you laugh - you babble on about the most random facts because of all those quiz shows you watch, and quite frankly I hate quiz shows, but you make me interested in whatever you’re talking about. I’m interested in everything you do, Izuku, because you make me feel brave in a way I’ve never been before, and I cried myself to sleep in my brother’s apartment when I got home from the hospital last night because I thought I’d lost you, and I’d never forgive myself if I did, because you make me so incredibly happy and you - ”

He doesn’t know what else Shouto was planning to say; what other praises he had in store for him. Unable to help himself any longer, Izuku threads his hands through Shouto’s hair and pulls him in for a kiss, Shouto’s hands on him and cupping his face at once.

“I love you too,” he tells him the second they break apart, watching the way Shouto’s mismatched eyes widen at the breathy confession. “Even though your spending habits terrify me, and I was downright terrified of you for the longest time before you spoke to me because you’d just stand at your window and stare at me and I thought you were planning to fire me - ”

He’s cut off by Shouto’s noise of exasperation, a great huff of breath as he shakes his head. “I was staring at you because I was attracted to you, you fool. I was trying to work up the courage to speak to you.”

“How was I supposed to know?” Izuku says, outraged - but then Shouto dives in to kiss him again, lips hot against his, and all arguments are swept from his mind.

He doesn’t know how long they’re left interrupted, revelling in the feeling of Shouto’s mouth on his, but it’s long enough for him to clamber into Shouto’s lap and wrap his legs around him, mindful of his broken wrist. He’s just running his tongue along his bottom lip when there’s a booming voice from behind them, bright and jovial. “Izuku, Ochako says you can - oh, Jesus!”

They break apart at once but Izuku remains where he is, angled so that Eijirou can’t see Shouto’s face. “Sorry,” he says breathlessly, hand remaining on Shouto’s face and keeping him in place. “We were just - celebrating. What a wonderful day.”

“Hmm.” From the corner of his eye he can see that Eijirou is smirking, eyebrows raised. “I’ll say. Anyway, Ochako says you can both come in and see her if you want to. I’m going to take Katsuki on a walk around the whole ward to try and convince him to have a kid of our own.”

He ambles off and Izuku turns back to Shouto, sitting very still beneath him. Smiling down at him, he reaches down and squeezes his hand. “We don’t have to go in if you don’t want them to see your scar,” he says softly. “We can just head home and come back later. It’s okay.”

Shouto’s mouth twists with uncertainty. For a moment, he doesn’t respond. Then, with a great, heaving breath, he motions for Izuku to get off him. “No,” he says, and there’s steel in his voice. “No. I’ve been hiding it for long enough.” He grips tightly to Izuku’s hand, meeting his eyes. “I can do it.”

“You can do it,” Izuku echoes, smiling so widely that his cheeks ache. “And then we can go back to mine, or yours, and just talk. With a bit of kissing in between, maybe. We’ll talk this all over and put the world to rights.”

Based on Shouto’s expression, he’s more than willing to do it. Izuku gently tugs him to his feet, staying mindful of his broken arm and, holding on tight, walks with him to Ochako’s room - and it’s a sign of them being truly good people, he decides, that every single one of his friends doesn’t react to Shouto’s uncovered face, and Ochako merely smiles and holds Saki out to him.

Chapter Text

Work, Izuku quickly discovers, just isn’t as fun when he’s alone at his desk without Ochako’s cheerful company. Sure, he lives for her hourly update texts - Saki in the sleepsuit you bought her! Saki having her first tummy time with Daddy! - but they’re not quite the same as having Ochako actually beside him, whispering and giggling between bouts of work. He finds he’s spending a lot of time staring sadly at their pot plants, their leaves wilting as if sensing their other parent’s absence. 

At least he has Tenya to commiserate with. “I hate not being a team player,” he says glumly when they escape to a coffee shop over lunch, large hands cupped around an Americano, “but I’d really rather not be in the office right now. Saki’s started to hold our fingers properly and it breaks my heart to have to leave when she’s doing it. I know Ochako’s more than capable of looking after her on her own, but when I’m supposed to be focusing on paperwork I’m just thinking about how much I miss them both.”

“Perfectly understandable,” Izuku tells him, patting his arm in sympathy. There’s heavy bags underneath Tenya’s eyes and he’s hiding a yawn behind his hand every few minutes, but the weight of leaving his girlfriend and child to go back to work seems to hang heavier than his exhaustion. “Why don’t you ask Shouto if you can work from home for a while? That’ll let you spend more time with them, surely.”

Tenya shakes his head, downing his Americano in one. “I tried that when I had to fill out our tax returns, but Saki screamed the apartment down until I put my pen down and Ochako put on her gym playlist. Unfortunately, it seems like the quickest way to calm her down is to play Eminem’s Greatest Hits album.”

There’s one silver lining to the whole ‘Ochako being on maternity leave and concentrating on her baby rather than her colleague’ situation: meeting Shouto’s eyes through the window to his office and sharing a secret smile before they get back to their work.

It turns out that his arm being in a cast leaves Shouto incapable of enjoying some of his usual habits, like having hour-long showers and driving like a lunatic. “It’s not the same,” he gripes when Izuku suggests taking a bath instead, eyes closed and leaning backwards over the sink as he washes his bicoloured hair for him. “I like going underwater right up to my nose, and I can’t exactly do that if I have to have an arm hanging over the side.”

“You’re so adaptable,” Izuku tells him, sarcasm dripping from the words as he combs his fingers through Shouto’s silken hair and washes away the conditioner. Still, he can’t say he isn’t pleased that he can fuss over Shouto for a while, and that he’s forced to take taxis everywhere instead of hitting speed bumps as if he has a personal vendetta against them.

It’s unbelievably wonderful to tell Shouto that he loves him every time they say goodbye to one another, straining on his tiptoes to deliver a kiss to his smiling mouth. There’s something so warm, so cosy about it, giving Izuku the same feeling as when he and Shouto are cuddled up together under a blanket, watching the trashiest of reality shows while Shouto’s fingers trail up and down the curve of his cheek. It’s how they end up falling asleep most nights, and Izuku wakes up in the knowledge that the richest, most handsome man in Tokyo is in love with him. Well, maybe not the richest, but definitely the most handsome. He won’t deny that he feels a certain degree of smugness every time someone’s head turns to admire Shouto when they’re out together, since Shouto’s fingers are almost always linked with his own. 

A new peace has settled between them in the wake of Shouto sharing his childhood with him, as if the man’s no longer on edge and wary of revealing too much. There’s no hesitation between him when answering questions about one of his siblings, no tense expression washing over his face - and, best of all, Izuku gets to see his face properly now, without Shouto feeling the need to wake up long before him to reapply his makeup and hide the left half of his face. Once or twice he’s woken up first and simply laid in bed, gently stroking the burnt skin of Shouto’s face and tracing the boundary between the rough and smooth.

“I don’t think I’m going to stop covering my scar in the office,” Shouto says quietly one evening, thumb trailing back and forth over Izuku’s knuckles. They’re halfway through a season of 90 Day Fiancé, and Izuku glances at him instead of at the woman screaming at her sour-faced husband for using her for a visa. “Not yet, anyway. I can imagine them all reacting to it at once, and it seems like a… lot.”

He won’t argue with him there. Turning to face him, Izuku settles his head against one of the couch cushions and gazes at Shouto, a strand of pale hair coming loose from behind his ear and falling over his eye. “I get it,” he says, reaching out to tuck his hair back into place. “They’re a lot even when someone gets a new pair of glasses. Remember when Tenya got those round ones and ended up going back to his old ones when everyone kept calling him Harry Potter?”

Shouto’s smile is a brief one. “I’m glad they’ve never mocked you for your glasses, otherwise I might’ve had to fire half the staff.” Izuku splutters while Shouto stretches, sighing. “Maybe I’ll soft launch it somehow - I mean, Katsuki didn’t react to it when I expected him to.”

“Kacchan’s not as bad as people think he is.” Indeed, Katsuki had only eyed Shouto when he reentered Ochako’s hospital room and caught sight of the burn stretching across half his face, nodding stiffly instead of pointing it out. Eijirou’s wide eyes had been less subtle, but Katsuki stepped on his foot before he could open his mouth and blurt something out. “Anyway, I can’t see any of them being mean enough to say anything - only Camie, maybe.”

“Oh, you underestimate Camie. She’s known about it for years.” The smile is back, and it’s wry this time. “She waited until everyone went home one day to pull me aside and tell me the powder I was using was too heavy, then gave me a different one to try instead. She’s tactful when she wants to be.”

“Huh.” As much as he’s surprised by it, Izuku has an inkling of what Momo sees in Camie now. “Well, that’s surprisingly nice of her. Who knew?”

“Very few people, apparently. At least she didn’t use the word gross when she described how my face looked.” Shouto stretches out his long legs, resting his head against Izuku’s chest. “I’ll get there eventually.”

“You will,” Izuku assures him, leaning down to press a kiss to the part of his hair and taking comfort in the fact that it’s a when and not an if.

Now that everything with Shouto is back on track and stronger than before, there’s only one thing left for Izuku to do. He tackles it one evening after work when he’s back at his own apartment, cross-legged on the sofa while Hitoshi sets up their Wii Sports Resort.

[Izuku] : I don’t know if you’re still in Tokyo, but I’m willing to meet you one last time to draw a line under everything. I don’t want to get back together with you and I won’t see you if you try to convince me to change my mind, but I don’t want things to end acrimoniously.

[Izuku] : Also, I hope your nose is okay.

The response comes through while Izuku is sulking and Hitoshi is doing a victory lap of the room after winning three back-to-back games of tennis.


[Rody] : My flight back to Portugal is in two days from now, so please just let me know whenever you’re free to meet. I won’t try and change your mind, and I’m sorry for what I did. Thank you for giving me the chance to talk to you.

[Rody] : And my nose is still as straight as ever, so at least my looks haven’t been permanently maimed.

They arrange to meet on Saturday morning, after Izuku assures Shouto that he can go alone and politely turns down his offers of bodyguards. There’s a lot of fidgeting and downing his tea before he catches sight of Rody pushing through the doors, visibly swallowing when he spots him and heading his way. “Hi,” he manages when Rody reaches him, and wishes his voice didn’t sound so small.

“Hey.” He knows Rody well enough to know he’s feeling awkward as hell right now by the way he’s shifting from foot to foot, hands in his pockets. True to his word, his nose looks straight and unblemished, which he finds some relief in. “How are you?”

“I’m okay.” Izuku indicates the chair opposite him and Rody sits down, one leg crossing over the other and hands pressing flat on the table. “Thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for meeting me,” Rody corrects, voice low, and he hesitates before he goes on. “How’s Shouto’s arm?” There’s embarrassment in every syllable, head slightly bowed.

“Fractured,” Izuku says and Rody winces, though he cuts him off before he can apologise. “He’ll be in a cast for a while, but it could be worse.” He meets Rody’s eyes and fights the urge to chew his tongue, to submit to the yawning pain in his chest at those grey irises. “How the hell did you find all that information about him?”

He has the grace to look ashamed of himself. “Remember Kotetsu I used to work with? He’s in cybersecurity now, and I asked him to do some digging on the Todorokis.” Rody presses his lips together, hands still on the table. “I don’t want to get him into trouble, though. He only did it because I asked.”

“It still doesn’t mean he should get off scot-free for poking around in people’s private lives,” Izuku says, scowling, but pushes it aside for now. “Shouto doesn’t want to take legal action against you, if that’s any relief. He just wants to put this all behind him, too.”

Rody lets out a long sigh, one hand coming to rub his forehead. “Thank him for me - or not, if he doesn’t want to hear it. He’d be well within his rights if he wanted to, so…” He trails off, hand curling into a fist against his head. “I know how stupid it was, Izuku, but I had the crazy idea that if I dug up dirt on him, it would convince you to break up with him and get back with me. How else was I gonna compare with a guy like that?”

“Certainly not by digging up dirt that wasn’t even about him,” Izuku replies, arms folded across his chest. “You’re right: it was a crazy idea. Even if I did break up with him, that wouldn’t guarantee me getting back together with you. Ever heard of a rebound?”

All of a sudden, Rody’s mouth twitches with mirth. “Yeah. Me. I was your rebound from Melissa, remember? You sobbed all over me on our fourth date when we watched a movie about a long-distance couple?”

His stomach drops. “Oh, God. I’d forgotten about that.” He wrinkles his nose and Rody’s face breaks into an all out grin at the memory. “That was so embarrassing, and you were so nice about it! Every time I almost fell asleep that night I’d remember it and cringe so hard I nearly snapped my spine!”

They’re laughing before he knows it, Izuku’s hands covering his scarlet face and Rody bent double as he cackles. The tension’s gone between them in an instant and, when he finally feels ready enough to stop hiding his face and meet Rody’s eyes again, he sees that the other man is grinning. He smiles back, hesitant, and Rody’s own falters.

“I’m sorry for everything, Izuku,” he says, quite abruptly. “Truly, I am - for stealing from you, and lying, and coming back trying to uproot everything in your life.” He lets out a shuddering breath, shoulders curved inwards. “You deserve so much better than that, and so does Shouto. I hope he makes you happy. That’s all I want.”

He swallows hard. Part of him can’t help but wonder what would’ve happened if Rody hadn’t stolen the money and fled, if he’d stayed and gotten married - and yet it’s nothing more than a fleeting what-if, wondering what could have been. The rest of him is quite sure that he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else than where he is now. “Thank you,” Izuku says, voice small. “We were young and stupid, weren't we?"

"Yeah." Rody lets out a great, shuddering sigh, pushing his hair back from his face. "One of us stupider than the other, though."

Silence spreads out between them until Izuku shifts in his seat, leaning forwards. "I want you to be happy too, you know," he says quietly. "Especially after everything you’ve gone through. I do want that for you, Rody.”

“I’ll be happy in Portugal, I think. I’ve got my brother and sister there, and I need to focus on them.” He smiles sadly at him, eyes creased at the edges. “You don’t need to worry about me anymore, Izuku. I know exactly what you’re like, so trust me, I’ll be okay.”

“Easier said than done.” He hesitates, gaze darting over Rody’s face as if committing it to memory. “Keep in touch,” Izuku says abruptly, speaking before his mind can catch up. “Just now and again, letting me know how you’re all doing. Letting me know you’re all okay.” He stands up at the same time Rody does, surveying him - and all of a sudden they’re hugging, his arms tight around Rody’s waist as a hand cups his head.

They hug once more before they say goodbye, and if Izuku spends his train journey home staring out the window, reminiscing while he wipes his leaking eyes, it’s an experience he keeps to himself.

He can tell Shouto’s bursting to interrogate him when he arrives at his apartment later that night, slipping off his shoes then crouching down to scratch Cashew’s ears. “Well?” he says, hovering by his side. “How did it go?”

“Way better than expected.” He steps into Shouto’s embrace, hugging him tightly then letting himself relax against his chest. “He’s going back to Portugal, and I wished him well and to stay in touch. I don’t want him to be unhappy, despite everything that’s happened.”

If Shouto has opinions on this, he doesn’t voice them. “That’s because you’re a kind person,” he tells him, stroking his curls back from his forehead. “The kindest person I’ve ever met. If I ever hurt you, I’ll jump in front of the first train I come across.”

“Shouto!” he admonishes, shocked, and pulls back to frown up at him. “That’s terrible! Don’t say things like that!”

“It’s the truth,” Shouto says flatly, looking nonplussed. “I’m a man of my word, so if I ever upset you and I don’t realise or shrug it off - ”

“Then I’ll keep you away from all train lines,” Izuku insists, poking him in the ribs. “Honestly, as if I’d want that. No, if you upset me then I’ll accept payment in taking over ownership of Cashew.”

Shouto stiffens, staring down at him as if he’s never seen him before. “Absolutely not. I’m not an absentee parent - how can I give away my cat? No, I’m sorry, but that’s not happening. I’d definitely rather die than do that.”

“Don’t upset me, then.” He tugs Shouto along to his living room, throwing his words over his shoulder at him. “Now we just have to figure out what to do with the money. I’ll return Toshinori’s part to him - he gave it to me for the wedding and that never ended up happening, so it’s not right for me to keep it - but I have no clue what to do with the rest.”

Shouto hums, flopping down beside him when Izuku takes a seat on the sofa and tucking his legs beneath himself. “If you don’t want a wedding, why don’t we elope and you can spend the money on a honeymoon? I don’t care where we go.”

Izuku splutters, frantically waving his hands and feeling as though Shouto has just sucker punched him in the chest with how breathless he’s become. “Shouto! Don’t say things like that - we haven’t been dating long enough to get married!” 

“Even if I take your surname?” Shouto offers, looking put out. “I’d much rather be Midoriya Shouto than Todoroki Shouto.”

“Slow down,” Izuku manages, even if it’s the hoarsest he’s ever been. “Yes, it sounds very nice, but oh my God. Let’s get at least a year of dating out of the way first, alright? Now, will we decide what we want to get for dinner?”

“Yes, dear,” Shouto says smoothly, and Izuku has the horrible suspicion that he may just pull out marriage papers on their first anniversary. 

“It is so nice to be out of the house!” Ochako says the moment she steps through his door, smiling so radiantly that Izuku’s pretty sure she could generate enough power to light up half of Tokyo. Tenya follows close behind her, arms rigid in an attempt to keep Saki’s carrier from rocking as the baby dozes. “Thank you so much for having us, Deku!”

“It’s a pleasure!” It would be more so if Saki was awake and able to be cuddled, but he makes do with crushing Ochako in a hug instead. He’s not sure his apartment is much of an escape when hers is a good four times the size, but he’d pitied her after she phoned him complaining about Tenya being too scared to take Saki anywhere more than the hospital, his parent’s house, or the train museum. Ear defenders were made in newborn sizes, apparently.

“Good afternoon,” Tenya intones, slowly advancing into the apartment until he can tentatively set the carrier on top of the coffee table. At once Izuku goes into mourning that Saki’s asleep instead of awake and blinking up at him in a bemused sort of way, ready for cuddles with her favourite uncle. As far as he’s concerned, Tensei just isn’t doing enough to compete with him. “I don’t want to be demanding, Izuku, but could I please have a coffee? I haven’t slept in thirty hours.”

Taking one look at the shadows under his eye and strained, slightly manic smile, Izuku makes an immediate beeline for the kitchen. Hitoshi appears when he’s carrying the tray back into the living room, rubbing at his eyes and yawning hugely as Izuku distributes the mugs to their guests. “Oh. Hello.” He nods at them both in turn. “Congratulations on the baby.” Hitoshi turns to survey her, looking as though he’s wary of her leaping out of her carrier and biting him. “Does she do anything yet?”

“She’s starting to smile,” Tenya says brightly, two fingers stroking Saki’s round cheek and looking marginally happier now he’s got a mug of pure caffeine in one hand. “Properly, not just as a reflex.”

Hitoshi doesn’t look quite so impressed. “I meant more walking or talking, practical things like that.”

Ochako glances between them, apparently unsure whether or not he’s joking. “Well, no: she’s only a month old. It’ll be another six months before she even starts crawling.”

“I see. That’s disappointing.” He wanders away without another word and Ochako, blinking, looks to Izuku for clarification, though he can only shrug helplessly. 

“How are you and Shouto doing?”

“We’re good. Really good, actually.” It’s impossible not to smile at the mere thought of him, hugging himself. “He’s a little more confident now about his scar, and it helped that none of you reacted to it.”

“Well, we had more pressing things to focus on,” Tenya says, fussing with the buttons of Saki’s cardigan. “Anyway, what did you expect us to do? Scream at the sight of him?”

“No,” he says, sighing, “but inadvertently react, maybe - it wouldn’t have been malicious if you did. Still, it’s a relief you didn’t.”

Ochako shrugs, cupping her mug between both hands. “I think I was just glad to see him and to see you two had made up. Saki liked him too, didn’t she?”

“Yeah, she did.” Izuku had snapped a crafty photo of Shouto as he cradled the baby, smiling tentatively down at the bundle of blankets tucked around her as she dozed, and rationalised with himself that his immediately becoming broody was just a natural reaction to seeing his boyfriend holding a baby. “Are you planning on bringing her into the office?”

“I want to,” Ochako says, frowning at Tenya, “but he’s too paranoid to.”

“Because the office can be a mess,” he insists, the stubborn set of his mouth letting Izuku know that this is an argument they’ve had several times over. “Sero leaves his wrappers everywhere, Tokoyami’s always dropping apple cores, I’ve sneezed half a dozen times from Camie’s powder when she’s reapplying her makeup, Eijirou’s desk is practically a bombsite - ”

“So you’ll enforce an hour of cleaning time before I surprise you all with a visit,” she says in a sing-song voice, patting his arm. “Honestly, Tenya, you have to let kids get exposed to germs to build their immune systems. What are you going to do whenever she’s old enough to want to play in a park? Put her in a hazmat suit before she goes?”

“Mine and Kacchan’s moms used to let us wrestle in mud in the park,” Izuku chimes in, remembering the time Masaru had to intervene when Katsuki tried to drown him in a puddle. “When he caught chickenpox my mom brought me over to their apartment so I’d get it over and done with at the same time. There’s all these funny little photos of us colouring in together while we’re covered in spots.”

“Chickenpox is dangerous in newborns,” Tenya says stiffly, “and besides, I’ve never caught it.”

Ochako wheels to face him, open mouthed. “You’ve never had it? You know it’s way more dangerous for adults to catch it than children, right?”

“Right,” he echoes, his own mouth set and stern. “Which is why we will not be having a chickenpox party and why I’ll be isolating at my parents’ house if Saki’s school ever has an outbreak.”

Despite the ever-present threat of chickenpox, Ochako gets her way two days later. Head bent over a letter, Izuku looks up at Sero’s gasp to see Ochako pushing her stroller through the front door, smile radiant. “I thought I’d pay you all a surprise visit,” she says, beaming at them as a few people rise from their seats to greet her. “Who wants to meet the Entropy baby?”

“Just what I needed to brighten my day!” Eijirou cries, on his feet and rushing over at once. “Gimme, gimme, I want a cuddle - ”

“I’m sure you get enough cuddles!” Sero protests, elbowing him out of the way. “I haven’t seen her yet, let alone cuddled her!”

A small scuffle begins, which leads to Momo taking charge and making a list of who’s next to hold Saki with them all timed to ten minutes each. “Would you like to hold her, Camie?” she asks, head bent and scribbling names as Katsuki smugly takes Saki out of Sero’s arms.

Camie, hovering on the edges of the group, looks less than impressed. “No thanks,” she says, warily eyeing the baby. “What if she throws up on me or something?”

“She shouldn’t,” Ochako says, though she sounds hopeful. “She’s not in the habit of it, thankfully.”

“Habits can be broken,” Camie tells her, “and this sweater is cashmere. Do you want to try scrubbing baby vomit out of it?”

Judging by Ochako’s expression, Izuku decides the safest option is to leave them to it. Returning to his desk, he pushes his glasses higher up his nose and resumes his responses to the latest letters.

Dear Deku,

My girlfriend insists on dressing up as a wolf when we’re intimate. Is this normal behaviour? It’s my first relationship and it makes me a little uncomfortable when she starts howling and yapping.

Thank you,

Confused



Dear Confused,

I believe your girlfriend might be a furry. This behaviour is normal for some, but definitely not for everyone. Please do your research into furries, see if this relationship is really for you, and ask her to please be considerate of your neighbours when she’s howling mid-coitus.

Yours,

Deku

Dear Deku,

My fiancé and I are really arguing over what to pick as our first dance song at our wedding. I want ‘From Here to the Moon and Back’ by Dolly Parton, but he hates it and is insisting on ‘Can't Feel My Face’ by The Weeknd. It’s the first time we’ve slept in separate rooms over an argument, so how best to resolve this?

Best,

Bride To Be



Dear Bride To Be

While my first suggestion is normally to cut ties with anyone who disrespects Dolly Parton, in this case, I’d remind your fiancé that his song choice is about someone describing the effects of taking drugs. Is he quite sure he wants that played in front of his family?

Yours,

Deku




Dear Deku,

How can I convince my partner to have a kid together? He keeps saying ‘not now, not now’, but he’s super broody and keeps stopping at the baby aisle to look at onesies.

Thanks,

Red



Dear Eijirou,

I’ll lend you a few of my recipe books and you can start from there.

Yours,

Izuku

“That’s going to be a problem if Momo ever wants children,” comes a low voice, and Izuku glances up to see that Shouto’s leaning over his seat and looking at the throng of people surrounding Ochako and Saki. It’s Momo’s turn to hold the baby, cooing down at her, while Camie surveys them with an expression of great distaste. “Can you really see Camie cleaning and changing a baby?”

“Not with her nails,” Izuku says, grinning. It’s hard to resist the urge to seize hold of Shouto’s hand when it’s right beside him, but he somehow manages it. It helps that it’s the hand still in a cast, rendering it almost impossible to hold properly. “Why don’t they get a pet first? That’ll give them a pretty good indication of whether or not they can raise a kid together.”

Shouto shrugs, eyes on Momo as she adjusts her grip around Saki. “They don’t even live together full time yet, so it would be awkward ferrying a pet between them or one person doing all the work.” The implication of just who would do all the work hangs heavy between them, but Shouto glances down at Izuku before he can fill in the blank. “On that topic, why aren’t we living together?”

He’s well used to Shouto’s outlandish suggestions at this point, and sighs rather than splutters. “Because we haven’t been dating long enough,” he says patiently, sure he’s answered a similar question in his column before, “and because I have a lease with Hitoshi. I can’t just pay out of it, y’know - and you can’t pay out of it for me,” he adds, stern, as Shouto opens his mouth to protest. “It’s up in a few months, so why don’t we reevaluate the situation then? There’s no need to rush things.”

Shouto mumbles something to himself but relents, raising his voice. “You may consider this rushing things, but would you be interested in coming to see one of my brother’s hockey games?” Izuku looks up at him, blinking, and Shouto presses on. “He’s playing near here in a few weeks, and Fuyumi and I were planning to go and watch. I thought you might like to come along with us and get dinner afterwards.”

“Oh!” Izuku says, taken aback. He’s heard Shouto talk about his siblings so little that it comes as a shock, and a great surge of excitement courses through him. “Yes, I’d love to - I didn’t really get a proper, normal conversation with Fuyumi when we first met, and I really want to meet Natsuo.” His feels his grin fade slightly when another person comes to mind. “Is - Touya not coming along, then?”

“No. No, he’s not planning to.” Shouto shifts in place, clearing his throat before he lifts his head. “I’m seeing him next weekend, actually. My mother messaged me earlier to ask if I wanted to go out for lunch with her, and I suggested he come along. I think he agreed because she asked him herself.”

“That’s brilliant. I’m really happy for you, Shou.” He reaches out until their pinky fingers can brush, the subtlest of movements in an attempt to avoid their colleagues looking away from Saki and focusing on them instead. “That was very brave of you, reaching out like that. You should be proud of yourself, ‘cause I sure am.”

Shouto nods absently, but there’s the smallest of smiles at the corners of his mouth. “I think it’ll be okay. My mom’s a good peacekeeper, anyway.” He looks down at him again, smiling for real now. “Let’s just hope Natsuo doesn’t get another concussion during the match, because Fuyumi cried her eyes out when we last went to watch him and he was knocked out cold.”

“That’s no big deal,” Izuku says breezily, watching Eijirou pestering Momo to put his name on the baby holding list for the third time. “My mom had to go to hospital for severe dehydration for crying so much the first time she watched me in a rugby match, and I didn’t even get injured.”

Chapter Text

“Meeting the family?” Ochako says, eyebrows raised, as Izuku skates around the penthouse in his socks and tries not to drop Saki. “That’s a big step, Deku!”

“I kn-ow,” he sings, holding Saki above his head while she gurgles. “Because I’m in love, Saki, aren’t I? He just wants me to meet my future in-laws! A long, long time before he proposes, though, as we’ve thankfully established. I’m not ready to go through all that again.”

“Well, the chances of Shouto leaving you at the altar are slim.” Ochako stretches hugely, dislodging her face mask. “Damn it. You know, I’m pretty sure these gold masks are a scam. I need to start taking before and after photos to see if they’re worth the money!”

He’s spending a pleasant Saturday morning with her and Saki while Tenya’s helping his brother out with something, sunlight streaming through the windows and making Saki squint every time he holds her up too high. She’s old enough to support her head and respond nonsensically when he chatters away to her and, if it weren’t for his mother, he’s pretty sure she’d be his favourite girl in the world. Does he feel agonisingly broody every time he hands her back to her parents and long for one of his own? Yes, but he’s not about to share it with anyone in case Shouto finds out and immediately starts converting his walk-in wardrobe into a nursery.

He wakes up every morning and feels bright with joy, weightless and free. He’ll go to work where he’ll answer the most ridiculous of letters, bickering with Katsuki at the coffee machines and watering his plants in his downtime. Shouto usually keeps his head down in the office but more often than not Izuku will stay behind at the end of the day to wait for him, leaving arm-in-arm and heading off to get dinner or cuddle with Cashew for the rest of the evening. It’s a comfortable, settled existence, made better by Shouto having the occasional lunch with his mother and Touya.

“He doesn’t talk a lot, and when he does it’s mostly insulting me,” Shouto tells him one afternoon, filled with a quiet delight, “but it’s progress, and it’s not mean enough for our mother to tell him off, so I don’t mind. He’s been sober every time, so if mocking me about the way I eat sandwiches is how he copes, so be it.” Izuku isn’t quite so sure, but rationalises that his best friend is Katsuki. 

“You’re not nervous about meeting them, are you?” Ochako’s mask is back in place, eyes closed and hands clasped over her stomach. “I was petrified to meet Tenya’s family: I thought I’d have to curtsy meeting his mother.”

Izuku snorts, Saki’s chin on his shoulder and hiccuping as he pats her back. “Very, very nervous. I’ll probably be sick before we go into the ice rink. Would it be bad manners to puke in a bush and just bring a toothbrush with me?”

“Not rude,” Ochako says, cracking an eye open and peering at him, “but pretty gross. What if you have sick breath? I can’t think of a worst first impression.”

“One time I got a letter from someone worrying he’d ruined everything with his boyfriend’s family because he vomited at their Christmas celebrations,” Izuku says solemnly. “Except he’d vomited right in the middle of Christmas dinner, all down himself.”

“Oh, gross!” Ochako shudders so hard that the mask slips off, crumpling to the floor in a sad golden puddle. “Shit. Yeah, that would definitely embitter a lot of families to you if that was your first impression.” Scooping up the mask, she waves it threateningly in his direction. “Get anti-nausea medication for the day of, and don’t be too active or eat anything that’ll upset your stomach. Take it from me: I’m used to trying to prevent a loved one from being sick.”

It’s dramatic irony, Izuku thinks, that Saki chooses that exact moment to vomit down his back.

Natsuo’s hockey game is scheduled for a Friday night and so Izuku arrives at work as normal that day, glasses fogging up in the sudden shift from the cold outdoors to the warm, cosy office. He’s still miserable without Ochako, but the pile of letters awaiting him proves a sufficient distraction, even if the contents are weird as hell.

Dear Deku,

My girlfriend always steals my t-shirts and hoodies, and I didn’t mind it at first, but now she’s taken all of my favourite ones and got sad when I asked her to give them back. What can I do about it?

Thanks,

Naked Boyfriend


Dear Naked Boyfriend,

Why don’t you come to an agreement about it with her? Let her keep a few of your favourite ones, then take the rest back so that you can be a Dressed Boyfriend? At the end of the day, she’s not doing it out of badness - she’s doing it so that she can feel close to you when you’re not together!

Yours,

Deku

Dear Deku,

I always wake up before my wife, and a few months ago I made a cup of tea for her. The problem is, she now expects it every morning, and takes it for granted. What am I supposed to do about this?

Husband

Dear Husband,

You… keep getting up and making her cups of tea? Honestly, what a sad little life you lead.

Yours,

Deku

“What would you do,” he says to Katsuki when he meets him at the coffee machines, leaning against the counter while the blond scoops his herbal tea bag out of his mug, “if Eijirou complained about having to make you a cup of tea every morning?”

“He wouldn’t complain,” Katsuki tells him, brow furrowed and eyes on his mug, “but the tea would be thrown all over him.”

He doesn’t get a chance to speak to Shouto until the end of the day, knocking quietly on the door and letting himself in to find the man staring out the window, hands behind his back. “Hey, honey.”

“Hello.” Shouto only gives him a passing glance before turning away again. “It’s very windy today.”

“It is, isn’t it? It didn’t say it would in the forecast.”

“I hate the wind.” Shouto gazes at the outside world, mouth set. “Nothing good comes from the wind. Birds lose their nests; tiles are blown off of roofs; women have their beautiful hairstyles ruined.”

“Oh.” He’s having one of his moments, then. “Well, wind energy is one good thing that comes from it.”

“I suppose so.” He heaves a massive sigh and finally turns away, moving back to his desk. “How are you feeling about tonight?”

“Excited! Nervous. Only a little bit puke-y.” He railroads on before Shouto, expression alarmed, can respond. “Should I pick up flowers for your mother? The more I think about it, the more I don’t want to turn up without a gift.”

Shouto shrugs, unbothered. “She has lots of plants, but maybe you could get her a food related gift? She likes biscuits.”

“The fanciest tin of biscuits I can find, then,” Izuku says determinately, and waits for Shouto to pack his bag and drift out after him.

He tucks an arm through his as they walk the aisles of the grocery store, bickering goodnaturedly. Mercifully, Shouto accepted his suggestion of walking to the rink and left his car parked at the office. “Tuxedo Sam is an underrated icon,” Shouto insists, chin raised in the air. “Penguins are some of the cutest animals on Earth, and he has a bow tie. Why can’t you appreciate him?”

“I do appreciate him,” Izuku says, picking up a cake and frowning at it, “but the cutest Sanrio character is Pochacco. I won’t be swayed on this. Does your mom like Battenburg cake?”

“No. She isn’t a fan of almonds.” He smiles faintly as Izuku sighs and puts the cake back. “You were right to say to get a tin of biscuits. She likes ginger, so anything with those will be - ”

They’ve moved to the end of the aisle when Shouto stops in his tracks, staring at something. Izuku looks up from the tins and follows his gaze to see an impossibly tall, broad man staring back at them, no doubt putting dents in the baguette he’s holding with how tightly he’s clutching it. He doesn’t look to be as furious as he was at the rugby club but Shouto, face pale, looks as though he’s about to vomit. Izuku winds a hand around his elbow and Inasa’s eyes flicker to the gesture, but before he can tug him away, Shouto’s blurting the words out.

“I’m sorry for what I did to you. Truly, I am.” He’s trembling just the slightest amount under Izuku’s touch, but his chin is tilted and gaze focused on Inasa. “And I’m sorry that I was so defensive about it when you came to my office. I never meant to hurt you but I did, and I don’t think there’s any way I can make it up to you, but I regret what I did every single day. You deserved so much better than what I gave you, and I didn’t deserve the love and care you gave me. I’m sorry, Inasa. I’m not asking for your forgiveness, but I want you to know that.”

For a man of so little words, Izuku thinks Shouto’s just used an entire week’s stock of speech. He’s breathless, chest rising and falling rapidly, and it’s all Izuku can do to hold onto him as Inasa stares back, jaw set. It feels like an age before he eventually lets out his own breath, grimacing in what can’t quite be considered a smile, but isn’t the unfriendliest Izuku has ever seen him.

“I appreciate it,” he tells him, and Izuku is surprised that his voice isn’t quite the gravelly baritone he imagined but lighter, friendlier. He doesn’t seem about to throw a punch or chase Shouto down the aisles of the grocery store, either. “I’m not angry at you anymore, Shouto. No hard feelings, yeah?”

He sticks out a hand and Shouto stares at it, taken aback. It takes a nudge from Izuku for him to take it in his own, though the force of Inasa’s shake looks as though it’s in danger of dislocating his shoulder. Shouto holds back his hiss of pain all the same and Inasa nods to Izuku when he lets him go, turning on his heel and making for the frozen aisles. Izuku tugs them down the next aisle, Shouto stumbling in his wake.

“Wow,” he says softly, conscious of Inasa being able to hear them even at this distance. “That couldn’t have gone any better, could it?” Apparently shellshocked, Shouto robotically shakes his head. “I’m really proud of you, Shou. Saying all that took a lot of guts.”

“I should’ve said it a long time ago,” Shouto tells him, but squeezes his hand back. They don’t see Inasa again for the rest of the trip, though a great weight seems to have lifted from Shouto’s shoulder as they file through the checkout.

They’ve swapped moods by the time they reach the ice rink, Shouto swinging their arms as they walk inside while Izuku thinks he might just vomit down himself after all. What if Shouto’s mother takes one look at him and loathes him instantly? What if he says something stupid and has to watch her polite smile be replaced by horror? How on earth was Shouto so smooth when he met his own mother, unfazed by her judgement and able to charm her in a moment? The anxiety only spikes when Shouto leads him over to two women waiting by the double doors, the younger of the two bouncing on her heels and waving at them while the older smiles serenely.

There’s no way to describe Shouto’s mother as anything other than elegant. Her tailored trousers and sweater are clearly expensive but there’s something in how she carries herself that makes Izuku think of an ex-ballerina or a figure skater, poised and graceful. Despite her paleness, there’s nothing but warmth in her expression - and, though Izuku goes to greet her with a bow, immediately finds himself wrapped in an embrace with a small hand cradling his head.

“It’s so lovely to meet you.” Would it be weird to tell her that her voice would be perfect for audiobooks? It’s smooth and gentle in a way that immediately endears her to him while her hand strokes over his curls, holding him like something dear to her. “I’ve been looking forward to it for what feels like an age.”

Izuku laughs slightly hysterically, pulling back to see her smiling up at him. She’s only a little creased around her eyes - the genetic source of Shouto’s amazing skin, apparently - though not quite as cuddly as his own mother. “I’ve been really looking forward to meeting you, too. Shouto talks about you like you hung the moon!”

She laughs while her son’s cheeks colour, gaze fixed on what is apparently a fascinating pot plant. “He’s always been the kindest boy, though I think he’d argue with me that the same could be said for you.” Rei smiles at him while Izuku takes his turn to blush, feeling the heat spreading right down to his collarbones. “And your home! Fuyumi was very complimentary about your decorating skills.”

“It’s so cute!” Fuyumi pops up behind her mother, beaming. “I love all the plants and the crocheted throw. Could you please teach me how to crochet? Only if you have the time, of course.”

“I’d be happy to!” Even if Shouto’s face is still red, Izuku can’t help but feel delighted at the automatic welcome and acceptance. “It’s not as hard as you’d think, you know. The third row is the hardest one to work out, but once you’ve done that everything else is pretty simple…”

They file into their seats in the stands, so close that Izuku could reach out and press his nose against the glass while remaining in his seat. The benefit of your relative being on the team, he supposes. “I got you something,” he tells Rei, and her eyes light up when he produces the biscuit tin from his bag. “It’s not much, but Shouto said you liked gingerbread, so…”

“I love gingerbread.” She takes it from him with both hands, smiling down at the lid and tracing her fingers over the embossed logo. “That’s so kind of you. Thank you, Izuku.”

“No problem,” he tells her, and tries not to beam when he sees Shouto’s smile from the corner of his eye.

He doesn’t know that much about ice hockey, but it doesn’t matter when he’s with Shouto’s family. Izuku wouldn’t say they’re shouting, exactly, though their voices are certainly raised as they keep up a running commentary from the moment the game starts, encouragements and cheers mixed with groans for every missed shot. They’re composed right up until there’s a collision and both Shouto and Fuyumi leap to their feet, yelling and gesturing at the referee. “That was obvious boarding!” Shouto bellows, jabbing a finger towards a player on the opposite team. “He was behind him when he checked him!”

“Give him a penalty!” Fuyumi shrieks, hands pressed to the glass separating them from the rink as the players scuffle with one another and argue with the referee. “You can’t let that slide! That’s a disgrace!”

Rei’s still sitting but even she is shaking her head, mouth downturned as the referee refuses to hand out a penalty. On his part, Izuku can only grin at seeing Shouto so flustered in a way he’s never been before, cursing under his breath and hotly agreeing with Fuyumi about the referee’s bias before their mother yanks them both back into their seats like misbehaving toddlers.

It’s easy to spot Natsuo amidst the other players, the hair poking through his helmet the same shade as the ice beneath his skates. He wonders how much of his build is padding: he seems enormous compared to Shouto’s lean, lithe figure, easily twice as broad as his brother. Despite the misconduct and overzealous checks from the other team, it's his side that are victorious. Shouto and Fuyumi have screamed themselves hoarse by the time the players leave the ice and Shouto’s face is flushed bright pink, his eyes glittering as he turns to face Izuku. “That was a brilliant game,” he tells him, breathless with excitement. “Did you enjoy it?”

“Oh, absolutely.” He enjoyed Shouto’s freak outs just as much as the game itself but doesn’t voice it as he stands up, squeezing his arm and grinning. “Shall we go congratulate the winner? Where do they go after the match?”

“The restaurant-bar next door,” Fuyumi chimes in, similarly red-cheeked and bouncing from the adrenaline. “I booked us a table, so Natsuo’s gonna meet us there. He shouldn’t be any longer than twenty minutes or so.”

“Unless he decides he has to wash his hair,” Rei tells them, mouth twitching. “If he’s blowdrying it and styling it, we could be waiting closer to an hour. Honestly, he’s the vainest of the four of you. Not that it’s a bad thing, but if he’s got to be somewhere and has a time limit…”

Natsuo bounds into the restaurant a mere half-hour later with the demeanour of an excited puppy, making a beeline for their table. “Brilliant, wasn’t it?” he says eagerly, hair ruffled back from his forehead and eyes bright. “Despite, y’know, the lack of sportsmanship from the other team.”

“It was awful,” Fuyumi says, brow furrowed, but Natsuo’s attention is elsewhere as he turns away from her.

“Izuku!” The force of Natsuo’s handshake almost dislocates Izuku’s shoulder this time as he seizes his hand, the man grinning hugely at him. Shouto’s hardly a twig, but his brother’s twice his width with at least a few inches of height on him. No wonder he was such a behemoth on the ice. “Damn, it’s nice to see you exist. Shouto’s so cagey that I was starting to think he made you up to avoid an excuse to hang out with me!”

Shouto scowls while Izuku laughs it off, gently extracting his hand from Natsuo’s grip. “Definitely real, at least last time I checked. That was a great game!”

“Wasn’t it?” He allows his mother to press a kiss to his cheek before sinking into the chair opposite him, gaze fixed on Izuku. “So, I hear you’re a rugby player. I always wanted to play, though I dunno if I’d be able to fit it in around skate practice. How’d you get into it?”

He feels his shoulders relax even with all eyes upon him, the familiarity of the topic providing comfort to him. “Well, it was from my stepdad. He wasn’t my stepdad back when he introduced me to it - he was just my mom’s friend for years before they started dating - but he used to be a pretty successful player himself, and it was the best thing he could think of to get a shy teenage boy to bond with him…”

The more time goes on, the more he wonders why he was ever hesitant to meet Shouto’s family in the first place. They're incredibly warm, genuinely interested in hearing about his life and insisting they cover his meal. By the time they’re saying their goodbyes he’s crushed in a hug by all three, Rei’s lasting the longest. “We’ll have to get Touya out with us to the next match,” she tells him when she at last releases him, lips curved in a smile. “He’s not much into sports, but I think he’d like to meet you.”

Izuku isn’t so sure himself but nods, letting her pull him into one last hug before he’s released. “I’ll see you all again soon!” he tells them as Shouto makes his goodbyes then tugs him away in the direction of the subway station, frantically waving. When the shape of them disappears into the night he whips around to face him, suddenly full of nerves again. “Well? That went well, didn’t it? Do you think she likes me?”

“She loves you.” They stop walking and the corners of Shouto’s eyes crease with his smile, thumbs pressing into Izuku’s cheekbones. “She absolutely does.”

“Yeah?” Izuku says eagerly, reaching up to grip his wrists. “Did she tell you?”

“No; I can just tell. She couldn’t stop smiling every time she looked at you.” It looks like Shouto’s incapable of stopping it himself and a warmth fills Izuku’s whole chest, just like a hot water bottle clutched against it. “Are you sure you’re okay with taking the subway? You really don’t want to stay over?”

“I want to,” Izuku tells him, punctuating his words with a sigh, “but I don’t have my contacts case or glasses with me. Trust me,” he adds, the moment Shouto opens his mouth, “it’s not worth me stumbling around your apartment, unable to see anything further than the end of my nose. I’ll probably trip over Cashew and go straight out the window.”

Shouto still looks ready to protest, but his grip on Izuku’s face loosens. “Alright. I don’t want anything happening to my child, I suppose.” He strokes his cheeks once more before his hands fall to his sides, a smile ghosting over his mouth. “See you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. See you then.” He squeezes Shouto’s wrists, presses one last, fleeting kiss to his lips, then turns in the direction of the subway. When he glances back over his shoulder it’s to see Shouto watching him, hands in his pockets and a softness in his expression that makes Izuku’s heart ache.

He glides into his apartment full of nothing but joy, kicking off his shoes and humming to himself as he hangs his coat up. There’s silence from Hitoshi’s room and so he keeps the noise down, aware of the fact it’s probably more likely that he’s sleeping than out clubbing. Throwing himself back onto his bed, Izuku hugs himself as a grin spreads across his face, unable to be contained.

His phone buzzes against his chest and he checks it to see a follow request on Instagram. The profile is of a beaming, white-haired man and he scrolls to see photo after photo of him partying, skidding over ice rinks, grinning at the camera with his arm around his bespectacled, smiling sister. Looking back at the name, Izuku frowns at it. 

himura.natsuo has requested to follow you 

Himura. It’s probably nothing more than a coincidence and yet Izuku stares at the name, the gears of his mind turning as he thinks back to the last time he saw that name. He switches to Google and types in the name, phone a few inches away from his face. The first thing he finds is an article about Himura Natsuo signing for the Seibu Prince Rabbits, accompanied by a picture of him looking uncharacteristically serious compared to his social media selfies. It’s definitely his surname, then, but why not Todoroki?

Unwillingly, he thinks of Todoroki Enji, and Izuku’s stomach suddenly lurches. His breathing picks up speed as his fingers fly over the screen, going back to searching but replacing Natsuo for Rei. This time takes more searching but he eventually digs up an old marriage announcement where a much younger Todoroki Enji smirks at the camera while his new wife looks down at her lap, hands upon her kneeling thighs - his new wife Himura Rei.

It’s a surname. Just a surname. It doesn’t mean anything. He once stood up at the same time as another man when the receptionist at the doctor’s surgery called out Midoriya, for God’s sake. Shouto’s mother sharing a surname with his most hopeless reader means nothing. 

Why didn’t he tell him, though? It’s not a huge deal, but how did it never come up in conversation? Why did he never mention one of his siblings going by their mother’s maiden name? He’s firmly in the realm of his imagination running away from him and yet Izuku’s skin itches, unable to shake the feeling of unease.

Come to think of it, he’s never seen Shouto’s handwriting. Everything he’s received from him has been typed and yet he feels the sudden need to know, to put the suspicion to bed before it keeps him awake in his own. Before long he’s switched news sites for legal documents and he’s trawling through business registries until he finds Entropy’s registration documents, signed in thin, elegant, familiar handwriting. He’s seen that handwriting before. He’s seen that handwriting a lot .

Phone tossed aside, he gets to his feet as his heart beats so hard he’s afraid it might break right through his ribs. There’s a stack of old Entropy magazines under his bed and Izuku skids into his room in search of them, falling to his knees and yanking them out, rifling through pages and bending them back until he finds one with a Himura letter in his Dear Deku column. Izuku scans the words, breathing hard, and his stomach lurches at his own advice. 

Is there a friend in the office who could speak to him on your behalf? Maybe figure out if he’s straight or not?

Momo asked him about his exes. Her eyes had lit up when he’d said he , confirming he wasn’t straight, and had gotten uncharacteristically excited at finding out some gossip. Swallowing, he searches for the next piece of advice. 

Why don’t you try hanging out with him outside of work? If you’re nervous about being with him one on one, maybe you can get to know him better through a group activity!

Their colleagues had come to watch them in their rugby match right afterwards. They’d never done a group activity before then, and yet they just so happened to come along to one of their matches and sit in the clubhouse afterwards. Flicking to the last of Himura’s letters, Izuku’s hands are shaking so badly that it’s almost impossible to read the elegant handwriting of its author. 

I’m taking your advice about going slowly and not confessing my love, but there’s no doubt in my mind that this is love.

Just after he’d shown him kindness over Inasa and they’d started to eat lunch together, joking and getting to know one another on an actual, personal level - and what had Shouto said, that time he’d told him about Himura and hoped he’d found love? Why had he smiled back at him in such a sure, knowing manner? Himura’s letters started just before Shouto made his first attempt to approach them. They stopped just when he and Shouto formed an actual friendship, hanging out with each other and exchanging smiles while a lovestruck reader remained at the back of his mind.

The magazine slips out of his hands as Izuku stares sightlessly ahead of him, unsure exactly what to do with the information that his boss - his boyfriend - is the single most hopeless reader he’s come across.

Chapter Text

At best, he gets an hour’s sleep that night. Every time he feels ready to drop off, his body shocks awake with the revelation that Shouto is Himura. The worst times are when he remembers all the information he offered Himura and the way Shouto’s behaviour subsequently changed, and has to fight the urge to roll over and smother himself with his pillow at the idea Shouto had moulded himself into the perfect boyfriend for him.

Izuku catches sight of himself in the hallway mirror as he slouches into the kitchen, his wild curls and dark circles doing little to improve his mood. Hitoshi looks up at him from his hunched position over the coffee machine, smiling vaguely. “Good night?” He opens his mouth, manages a gargled sound, then closes it again. Hitoshi’s eyebrows arch. “Bad night?”

“I don’t,” Izuku begins, voice strangled, then takes in a huge breath of air. “Something’s happened, and I don‘t know what to do about it.”

He can't keep quiet about it, not when it feels as though the truth is eating him up inside. Sighing deeply, Hitoshi pulls another mug from the cupboard and jerks his chin towards the sofa. “Sit down and I’ll bring one over. Honestly, the amount of relationship advice I have to dish out when I’ve never even had one myself - ”

Life feels marginally less tumultuous when he’s got a cup of coffee clutched in his hands, though Hitoshi’s eyes boring twin holes into his skull isn’t exactly comforting. “I dunno how to put it into words,” he says dully, staring down at his drink. The surface of it is plain: Hitoshi’s finally given up on his unsuccessful hobby of latte art, then. “It didn’t happen last night - not at the game or with his family, I mean - but when I was back here. Shouto - he - ”

His words fail him again and he knocks back the coffee, third-degree burns to his throat be damned. “And here was me thinking his family didn’t like you,” Hitoshi says bracingly, one leg crossed over the other. “Unless they texted you later on to warn you to stay away from him?”

Izuku shakes his head, almost dislodging his glasses in the process. “No, no,” he tells him, pushing them back up his nose. “They were really lovely. His - ” He hesitates, steels himself, and comes out with it. “His brother followed me on Instagram last night, and that’s when I found out that Shouto’s mother’s maiden name is Himura.” He tenses, expecting a reaction, but Hitoshi stares blankly back at him. “Himura,” Izuku repeats, hearing the quiver in his voice and hating it. “Himura’s the name of the reader who kept sending me letters, asking for help getting together with his colleague - the reader who stopped sending letters at the same time I started dating Shouto.”

There’s a second of silence, Hitoshi’s lips parted as he digests the information. Then he sets his coffee aside, bends his head over his clasped hands, then starts howling with laughter. “It’s not funny!” Izuku wails, curling in on himself and clutching his head in his hands. “My boyfriend pretended to be someone else for months until we started dating!”

“Could you count it as pretending?” Hitoshi manages when he’s finally able to get the words out, wheezing and full of mirth. It’s sickening, Izuku thinks to himself, that he doesn’t think he’s ever seen Hitoshi laugh so hard before, his grin huge and eyes glassy with tears. “Embarrassing, yeah, but he wasn’t pretending to be someone else, was he?”

“He was hiding his identity while asking for help approaching me,” Izuku tells him, teeth grinding together as Hitoshi wipes his eyes with the heels of his hands. “That’s a pretence.”

“Do you have the letters?” Hitoshi says abruptly, sitting bold upright. On the normally sleepy, slow-eyed Hitoshi, coupled with his shaking shoulders, it’s slightly disconcerting. “The letters from Himura?”

“No,” Izuku says at once, “no, you’re not reading them - ”

“I’m not going to laugh at them!” he protests, pressing his hands together in a plea. “I just want to see what he said, to see if they’re as bad as you’re making out!”

“They weren’t bad. It’s just - him not being fully honest with me.” He suddenly remembers the one where Himura wanted to declare his love to his coworker and feels cold all over. That was months before they started hanging out together, and even longer before they’d become friends. 

Hitoshi waves a lazy hand in the air. “Give the guy a break. He was clearly nervous about talking to you so thought this was a way to start.”

“Not what I expected from you.” For someone usually so cynical and dismissive, Hitoshi is being remarkably sympathetic to the person he doesn’t live with. “I thought you’d tell me he was a weirdo.”

“Well, he makes you happy, but he’s also incredibly awkward while being ignorant to just how awkward he is. Checks out that he’d be behind something weird like this.” Hitoshi sticks his arm out, palm up and grasping at the air. “Now, give me the letters. I’m not gonna be able to judge the situation without reading them.”

Izuku crumbles, accepting defeat. He trails to his bedroom, scoops up the magazines and unanswered letters left discarded on the floor, then returns to Hitoshi feeling as though there’s lead in his shoes. “There,” he says flatly, sinking back into his armchair. “Those are all the ones with Himura letters, and one he sent me that didn’t get published.”

Hitoshi’s reading style doesn’t help his nerves, not when the man peruses everything from recipe books to gossip columns with a frown. It’s even worse now when his eyes are narrowed more than normal as he scans the letters, lips moving soundlessly to form words like colleague and advice and happy . “How weird do you think it is?” Izuku says at last, desperate, as Hitoshi sets one magazine aside to return to another. “On a scale of not very weird to ‘I should be afraid’ weird?”

“Harmless weird. There’s no need for you to be afraid.” Hitoshi flicks through the glossy pages, lips pursed. “He didn’t ask you what type of person you were into and changed himself to fit that mould, or pretended to be into things you were. He hasn’t exactly started keeping up with rugby or playing it himself, has he?”

“No. He shows a regular amount of interest in it, what with me doing it, but says he’s more of a tennis man. I suppose it’s because he hasn’t spent much time with Toshinori yet.” His hand finds its way to his mouth, chewing on his thumbnail. What Hitoshi’s said is perfectly true, and the more he actually thinks about it, Shouto hasn’t changed himself since the letters started arriving - other than being more sensible with his money, that is. “Having to ask my advice anonymously, though? Using my job to try and date me?”

“Not date you,” Hitoshi corrects, “but get to know you. His last letter?” He picks it up, waving it at him. “He said he was happy to be your friend and spend time with you, and hoped you thought of him that way, too. What is it he said? For the first time in years he was enjoying things again, and felt like he could get close to someone again?” Izuku squirms as Hitoshi paraphrases, and the man’s eyes narrow upon him. “Yeah, the dude was in love with you long before he started sending those letters, but they give me the impression that he wouldn’t have taken it badly if you two did just end up as friends. Remind me how he acted when you saw him again after you guys kissed?”

“He apologised to me,” Izuku admits, skin burning. “He thought he might’ve taken it a bit too far, since he was my manager and - well.”

“He was trying to see how far he could get his tongue down your throat,” Hitoshi says bluntly, scowling when he cringes. “After you climbed into his lap, or so I’ve heard. Yeah, this isn’t anywhere near as bad as you think it is. Embarrassing for him, maybe, but it isn’t bad. He just went about things in a weird way.”

“Then why not tell me he wrote them when he started dating?” Izuku says, and his hands clutch so tightly in his lap that his knuckles ache. “Why keep that secret from me?”

“I repeat: embarrassing. Would you admit something like that?” Izuku’s silence is his answer, and Hitoshi tilts his chin in the air. “Exactly. He’s - ”

He never finds out what Shouto is, thanks to the hammering of the front door cutting Hitoshi off. Terror streaks through Izuku at the thought of it being Shouto, until he realises that his boyfriend’s knocks are a lot more polite, and the voice shouting through the door definitely isn’t him. “Open the fucking door! You never gave me my Le Creuset casserole dish back, asshole!”

“Shit.” Katsuki’s the last person he wants to see right now, but not answering the door to him means he’ll just kick it down instead. Exchanging a look with Hitoshi, he crosses to the door and unlocks it, stepping back before it’s thrown open to bounce on its hinges. There’s practically steam curling from Katsuki’s nostrils as he bears down on him but Eijirou, standing behind him and a full head taller, beams at them.

“Morning! We’re going to see my moms, so can we get that dish back? Kats is gonna make a lemon meringue pie.” Despite how cheery he is, Katsuki ignores his boyfriend and pushes past Izuku, barely throwing a glance in Hitoshi’s direction as he rounds on him.

“Well?” he barks, hands on his hips. He at least has the decency to kick his shoes off to some far-flung corner of the room. “Where is it?”

“There’s such a word as ‘please’,” Hitoshi says, lounging back in his chair, “or ‘could you tell me where my dish is’, or even ask in advance to come by.”

“I’ll get it,” Izuku says wearily, before Katsuku can turn around and bite a chunk out of Hitoshi’s arm. “I suppose you’ll want tea?”

“Please,” Eijirou says, and Hitoshi looks somewhat exasperated with the wrong person paying attention to his lesson on manners. 

Standing over a bubbling kettle and dividing up teabags into mugs, Izuku is temporarily distracted from his current turmoil until he hears Eijirou’s voice. “What’s this?” He turns around to see him picking up one of Himura’s letters from the coffee table, squinting at it. “From one of your readers? Do you always take the unanswered ones home with you?”

“No,” Izuku says quickly, resisting the urge to leap forwards and snatch it from his hands. “No, just - just that one was very kind. I wanted to keep it.”

“Himura,” Eijirou reads out, then lowers the letter with a frown. “Huh. That’s the same surname Todoroki’s brother has - I follow him on social media ‘cause he’s a beast on the ice. Funny coincidence."

He laughs, folding up the letter and setting it aside. He ambles off towards the biscuit barrel to Izuku’s left, and relief is slowly starting to spread through Izuku’s system when he catches sight of Katsuki. Sprawled back on the sofa, arms folded across his check, the man’s staring at him with his lips pressed into a thin line. “I left my water bottle in the car,” he announces, suddenly rising to his feet. “I’m gonna go get it.”

Eijirou turns to face him, three biscuits in a hand and frowning. “Why don’t you just get a glass here?”

“And help yourself to more of our amenities?” Hitoshi says, scowling, which gives Izuku the chance to quietly slip out the door behind Katsuki. 

He at least has the grace to wait until they’re outside before he begins. “So.” Katsuki wheels around to face him, arms crossed tightly over his chest and face set. “Todoroki’s been sending you letters trying to get together with you?”

There’s no point in denying it, not when he knows Katsuki reads his column, and that there’s a good chance he’ll put him in a headlock if he lies. “Yeah,” Izuku says, voice small. “He did.”

“Pathetic.” Katsuki shakes his head, his lip curled. Izuku is about ready to pull the nearest sewer grate aside and climb into it. “He’s pathetic. I still think you have a case to sue him for harassment.”

“Huh?” Taking legal action is the very last thing that he’d do in his mental list of ways to approach the Shouto-Himura situation.

“Obviously,” Katsuki says, with the air of explaining something simple to someone very stupid, “he was obsessed with you long before he started sending these letters. There were probably signs of it that you were too stupid to notice, so he had to take action. Why he couldn’t just come up to you and tell you - well, he’s a freak. I don’t think I’ve ever had a normal conversation with him, so.” He shrugs, sneering at him. “You’re well suited.”

“So - " He isn’t sure how to word it and struggles, struggling helplessly. “You don’t think he was being sneaky, never telling me it was him?”

“No,” Katsuki says flatly. “If I did something like that I’d take it to my grave without telling anyone about it. Thankfully, though, I’d be in the grave before I ever let myself become Todoroki. I can approach people I’m attracted to, for a start. He’s probably gonna drop dead when he finds out you know.”

Panic courses through Izuku and he seizes hold of Katsuki’s arm, clinging to him even when the blond tries to throw him off. “You can’t tell him you know, Kacchan,” he begs, shaking him, “please, please don’t let him know you - ”

“Hi!” comes a breathless voice and they turn to see Ochako hurrying their way, beaming as she pushes Saki’s stroller along. “Tenya’s away to get a haircut and he always takes ages making sure they get it right, so I thought I’d come for a visit. What are you two doing out here?”

“Getting some fresh air,” Izuku says hastily, stepping towards her with the aim of scooping Saki up, “seeing as it’s such a nice, bright - ”

“Todoroki is Himura,” Katsuki says bluntly, elbowing him out of the way and getting to Saki first. “He’s the one who’s been sending Deku those letters.”

Ochako stops in her tracks and stares at them, open mouthed. It’s a few seconds before she turns to Izuku, bewildered. “Is he really?”

He half expects Eijirou to appear and also find out Shouto’s secret, just to make everything more embarrassing. “Yes,” Izuku says, unable to hide the weariness from his tone. “Yes, he is.”

“Wow,” Ochako says, wide eyed. “I wouldn’t have ever guessed - oh, Deku, what if he’s the one who sent you those chocolates? Remember, those expensive ones from ages and ages ago? The Himura letters started before they arrived, so maybe he wanted to send you an anonymous gift, too!”

It only takes a moment of thinking it through - the lack of a note, the sheer cost of them, Shouto’s reaction to being offered one - for him to realise that she’s right. “Loser,” Katsuki says dismissively, Saki on his hip. “Just because it’s anonymous didn’t mean it wasn’t him showing off his wealth.”

“I’m the loser,” Izuku says at last, making both Katsuki and Ochako stare at him. Knees suddenly weak, he sinks down until he’s sitting on the edge of the kerb, staring at the ground below. “The idiot who didn’t guess before now that his boyfriend was the same one who’s been sending all those letters. Who can’t have a normal, ordinary relationship. The stupid idiot who never did anything with his degree, who disappoints his mom all the time, whose stupid eyes cost a stupid amount of money getting glasses every year - ”

“That’s enough!” Ochako barks, hands on her hips and scowling at him. Katsuki’s wearing a similar expression, even while bouncing Saki on his hip. “Deku, are you serious? You’re spiralling and throwing a pity party in the street all because you found out how much your boyfriend likes you, even if he went about getting together with you in a weird way! Kind of fits him, though, when you think about it.”

“You literally got your job with your degree,” Katsuki interjects, and despite holding a wriggling baby, steps forward to kick him in the shin. “Where you met your weirdo boyfriend. And you’d have better vision if you stopped reading ancient old classics by torchlight, so yeah, that does make you a fucking idiot.”

“ You didn’t need a degree for your job,” Izuku tells his hands rather than Katsuki, having slid them up to cover his face. “I wanted to write novels and see them on shelves, and I barely pick up a pen these days.” He’s not even reading these days, having spent his teenage years drifting around bookstores filling his bags and shelves, but leaving those currently in his possession to gather copious amounts of dust.

“Yeah, well, write fanfiction about something and change a few names around to sell it to publishers,” Katsuki snaps. “They eat that shit up. Maybe that’ll get you started writing your magnum opus or whatever. And you don’t disappoint your mom. She wishes you were more like me, obviously, but she just worries about you. She fucking loves Todoroki, though, so she’d probably think the whole anonymous thing was cute. You’ll probably disappoint her if you break up with him because of it.”

“I’m not - I wasn’t going to break up with him!” He’s taken aback that Katsuki would even think such a thing, then realises he’s currently crashing out on the pavement over him. Slightly ashamed and struggling to his feet, he dusts himself off in front of Ochako’s pitying expression and Katsuki’s sneer. “I could never, even if it’s shocked me! I mean, it’s not a red flag. Is it? I mean, maybe. If it is, it wouldn’t be enough to outweigh all his green flags, even though he drives like he’s - ”

“It’s not a red flag,” Ochako interrupts in a soothing voice, stepping forwards to pat his arm. “Definitely not. Are you going to see him today? You can talk about it with him then, get it all smoothed out.”

“He’s with his brothers today: they’re celebrating him getting his cast off.” He’s still yet to meet the elusive Touya but Natsuo had arranged for the three of them to go paintballing and Shouto had seemed pleased at the idea, despite Izuku having to talk him out of buying his own gear and simply renting it at the facility.

“Well, that’s better,” Ochako says, hands on her hips again. “It gives you more time to think about how to bring it up to him! It’s really no big deal, Deku. It’s just more proof of how much he loves you, yeah?”

“Great,” Izuku says, miserable. “Now I’ve more time to ruminate on it and overthink everything.”

Katsuki’s lip curls. “You’re such a dick. Sometimes I wonder why I hang out with you, because I lose brain cells every time I do. You just said you wouldn’t break up with him over it, so just tell him you know he’s Himura and to start explaining himself. You coming in?” he asks Ochako, who nods and pushes her stroller after him, and Izuku’s left to trail behind them back into his own apartment.

After the predictable scuffle between Katsuki and Eijirou over who gets to hold Saki - Hitoshi choosing to abstain - Eijirou emerges victorious and does a victory lap of the apartment with her while Katsuki sulks. All Izuku can hope for is that, when Katsuki inevitably breaks the news about the Shouto-Himura connection, it’s on the way home. At least then he doesn’t have to go over it with yet another person, shrivelling up with embarrassment at the very idea.

Shouto himself sends him through an update twenty minutes later, having already warned him that he wouldn’t text him around his brothers for fear of them snatching his phone away and causing havoc. It’s with trembling hands that Izuku opens the message, but pauses and merely frowns at the screen.

[Shouto] : I can’t go to work tomorrow.

“Look at him,” Katsuki says, and Izuku glances out to see him sprawled on the sofa, eyes boring into him. The others are spread out amongst the other chairs, Ochako showing a dubious Hitoshi how Saki holds on to someone’s finger. “Texting his boyfriend as if we aren’t here.”

Scowling at him in the full knowledge Katsuki’s doing it to torment him, Izuku returns to his phone. At least it’s an easy statement to respond to, discussing work instead of secret identities.

[Izuku] : Why, what’s wrong?

Shouto’s typing bubble appears and disappears several times. “She’s alright, actually,” Hitoshi says to Ochako, lifting his hand up and down as Saki clings to his index finger. “They’re much less scary when they’re able to support their own heads.”

Shouto sent an image appears on his screen, and Izuku can’t help his strangled cry at the picture. “Oh my God!”

“What?” Eijirou says, alarmed, as Ochako bounces Saki and shushes her at her sudden jolt. “What’s wrong?”

“He’s broken his teeth!”

So in shock is he at the image that he turns his phone around to show them all, horrified. He can only imagine his expression replicates Ochako’s or Eijirou’s, though he doesn’t have the capacity to question whatever’s playing across Katsuki’s face. He swivels his phone back to look at the awful picture: Shouto, his photo clearly taken by someone else, cheeks flushed and mouth bloody as he holds it open to show several cracked teeth on both the top and bottom. And going by the orange smears on his jaw - 

“Wow,” Katsuki says, eyes gleaming. “Someone’s shot him in the mouth with a paintball gun. Sucks for him.”

Eijirou lets out a moan of sympathy and Izuku leaps on the newest message from him, unusually long for his boyfriend.


[Shouto] : I took my mask off because it was too loose and I was tightening it when Natsuo popped up and shot me. He didn’t realise I didn’t have a mask on, but I think I was knocked out for a few seconds because the next thing I knew I was lying on my back and staring at the sky and he was kneeling over me asking Touya if he should do chest compressions. They’re going to check me out at a nearby clinic and I’m going to the dentist tomorrow to get my teeth fixed.


Then, almost immediately after:


[Shouto] : Momo is going to tell everyone I have meetings tomorrow. DO NOT SHOW THIS PICTURE TO ANYONE.

Izuku relays both messages to the group. “And please,” he adds, voice weak, “don’t tell him I’d already showed you. I was so shocked I didn’t think he might want to keep it private.”

“I won’t say anything,” Katsuki tells him, but there’s something smug about his demeanour that stops Izuku from fully trusting him. “Who gets shot in the face playing paintball?”

He might’ve been more suspicious of the situation if Touya was the culprit, but Izuku reckons it probably has less to do with intent from Natsuo and more to do with his multiple concussions. He glances down at Shouto’s image again, heart aching and the Himura situation forgotten about, before Eijirou almost shoves him off his seat squashing in beside him to have another look.

“Man,” he says sympathetically, “he’s looking at tens of thousands of yen in composite bonding. I don’t know how I’ve avoided breaking any of mine, but one of my little sisters needed, like, three fixed after she took a hockey stick to the face in a match.”

“You’re like a shark,” Katsuki retorts, still with that unpleasant smile on his face. “New ones just replace the old ones without your knowledge.”

Izuku takes Eijirou’s immediate info dump about sharks as his cue to slip away, hiding in his room to reply to Shouto. Ordinarily he’d call him, but if Shouto’s mouth is swollen and sore - well, best not. The words come surprisingly easy to him, though, and Shouto’s replies just as fast.


[Izuku] : Oh sweetheart I’m so sorry, are you in pain? Is there anything I can do for you? It looks so painful :(((((

[Shouto] : At the clinic now. They’ve given me painkillers so it’s mostly numb. 

[Shouto] : I know you’re going to ask if you can come over to my house, but I don’t want you to see me like this. Not until I get my teeth fixed. I look like I’ve been eating rocks.

[Izuku] : What, you never ate rocks as a child? 

[Shouto] : Did you?

[Izuku] : Might’ve chewed on a few pebbles out of curiosity.

He can just picture Shouto frowning at his phone screen, unsure of whether or not to take him seriously, and the mental image softens him. How could he ever think badly of him? Shouto, who’s so serious yet so unpredictable, kind and patient and happy to sit and quietly listen to all his rambling? The embarrassment of the Himura situation is still itching at him, and he sure as hell needs to bring it up to him, but Izuku firmly pushes it to the back of his mind for now. As if his response to the letters could ever be breaking up with him.


[Izuku] : Joking! I can see your scowl from here. Please do let me know if there’s anything I can do for you, but I’ll respect your distance until your teeth are perfect again. If you get them sorted tomorrow I’ll call by your house after work. You know I’d still be attracted to you if you’d knocked out all your teeth, right?

[Shouto] : Sometimes you worry me.


Izuku laughs aloud, but his phone buzzes only a second later.

[Shouto] : Still love you though.

Through the buzz of voices on the other side of the door, he smiles down at the message. Really, the only thing he’s got to worry about is how to bring it up to Shouto that he knows he’s Himura and hopes he doesn’t take it too badly. Knowing Shouto, though, he’ll have to do it gently. And sitting down, preferably.

[Izuku] : I love you too ╰(*´︶`*)╯♡

When he returns to the living room it’s to silence and every head turning his way. Izuku frowns at them - Ochako’s worried expression, Hitoshi’s stony one and Katsuki’s smugness - until he finally settles on Eijirou’s bright eyes, the grin spreading across his face.

“Did Todoroki really send you letters trying to figure out how to get to know you?” he says eagerly - and, glaring at Katsuki, Izuku finds that his good mood is suddenly dissipating. 

The more he thinks about it - throughout the rest of the day and Eijirou’s desperate need for gossip, into the evening and then getting ready for work the following morning - there’s one part of the story that doesn’t quite add up. Heading into the office earlier than normal, Izuku figures that she’ll already be there setting things up, bustling around and making sure everything is in order for her day in charge.

He’s right: when he lets himself into the office it’s to find Momo sorting through a stack of papers, looking up at him with a smile. “Good morning, Izuku.” She’s wearing red lipstick today, which isn’t like her. He’s used to seeing her in pink or nude or else plain lip gloss, always perfectly applied. Izuku lingers in the doorway, staring at her, and a crease forms between Momo’s brows. “Is everything alright? If it’s about Shouto’s teeth, he told me the dentist assured him you would never - ”

“Were you in on it?” he says in an undertone, still conscious someone else may be lurking behind their desk. Momo blinks at him, nonplussed, and he presses on. “The letters. Did you help Shouto write them? Tell him what to put down?”

There’s the merest flicker of alarm in Momo’s eyes before takes a deep breath, nodding at the door. “Close that behind you, please.” He does as he’s told, eyeing her all the while, and Momo takes another breath before she continues as if to steady herself for what’s coming. “Listen to me, Izuku. I knew Shouto wrote those letters, but I never helped him with them. I only found out about them after he’d sent the first one, and by that time it was too late to take it back, so the only part I played was helping him carry out the advice you gave him.” Her pale cheeks colour but she holds his gaze, resolute.

Having been so convinced of her duplicity, Izuku’s caught off guard. “So - you weren’t in on it?”

“I got in on it,” Momo says grudgingly, cheeks still pink, “when I realised that letting him carry on as he was would make me a bad friend. He’s impossible: I’ve been tempted to put a child leash on him sometimes, if I’m honest with you.”

“That’s demeaning,” Izuku tells her, frowning. “He’s a grown man, not a toddler.”

“I’ve also been tempted to put a child leash on Camie, and Eijirou. It’s nothing personal.” She shakes her head to clear it and then rises to her feet, stepping forwards to meet him and clasping his hands. She’s a good half-head taller than him, even before the heels. “Izuku, please. I know it’s jarring to find this out, but he did it with the best intentions, and because he’s a fool. A lovestruck fool, from the moment he caught sight of you then immediately realised he was too intimidated to speak to you directly. No, listen - ”

At his raised eyebrows she releases him and strides towards hers and Shouto’s office, beckoning him to follow. “Come on, come on!” He enters to see her holding her handbag, rifling through it until she seizes a dark notebook and pulls it out. “My diary,” Momo tells him, slightly breathless, and begins to flick through the pages. “I write it in every day, ever since I was a teenager - and it’s in here somewhere - ”

Izuku crosses his arms as she finds a page and clears her throat, tossing back her hair as she begins to read aloud. “Dear Diary, I’m starting to become seriously worried about Shouto. He’s too terrified to speak to Midoriya and yet he’s acting completely terrifying himself by staring out at him through the window of our office. I suggested that he simply speak to Midoriya, since he’s a nice person, but he point-blank refused. He can’t convince me that he’d be happier spending the rest of his life with his nose pressed to the glass, but he’s as stubborn as an ox. Lots of love, Momo.”

“And?” Izuku says doggedly, even though his cheeks are burning. “What’s that supposed to prove?”

“That he really did want to talk to you a long time before he did, but couldn’t work up the courage,” Momo says, determined, as she flicks through to find another entry. “Dear Diary, I think it’s finally happened: Shouto’s driven me to despair. He sent Midoriya a letter to his column. Not dropped on his desk, not handed to him - to his column . Under a pseudonym .” He can only assume Momo wrote in her scandalised tone in italics. “He was so proud of himself and couldn’t understand why I thought it was the most ridiculous thing I’d ever heard, especially since he used his own mother’s maiden name as his pseudonym. He said it circumvented his fear of talking to Midoriya and meant he’d be able to have his first proper conversation with him without humiliating himself.” She lowers the journal and stares at him, even as she continues. “I still think he’s a fool, but he’s so giddy and eager to hear back that I didn’t want to burst his bubble outside of calling him a fool. Lots of love, Momo.”

“Well,” Izuku says, at a severe risk of bursting into flames by how hot his face feels. “It doesn’t mean he was in love with me from the moment he first met me.”

“No,” Momo agrees, “no, he was getting carried away. But he was so excited he’d found a way to speak to you, Izuku, when he was so nervous before. God, even the first time he spoke to you after sending the letter he stumbled back into our office as white as a sheet.” She shakes her head sadly. “I wondered if it was a good idea to hire you back when I did. Nothing against you personally, or against your work - just because I’ve never seen Shouto act like that and thought I was driving him towards a breakdown, putting you in his vicinity.”

“Great,” Izuku says moodily, thinking back to all the times he was convinced his job was in danger. “And yet you went along with him.” It’s not professional in the slightest, he thinks, but feels it would be unkind to point this out. Momo seems embarrassed at merely being roped into the situation, all because of her desire to be a good - or more likely, responsible - friend.

“Well. Yes. I also wondered if it was a good idea working with Shouto myself.” Her cheeks colour again and, clearing her throat, she flicks to another entry. “Dear Diary, I’m beginning to think I need a new job. The description of it doesn’t include helping Shouto to try and get a boyfriend, but there I was at eleven this morning, asking poor Midoriya about his exes to ensure he wasn’t straight. Of course Shouto’s delighted that he isn’t pining after a straight man and immediately went to order him a box of chocolates, and was even more delighted when Midoriya offered him some, but I despair. It’s lovely to see him happy again after Inasa, though it would be lovelier if he just asked Midoriya on a date outright. He’s determined to follow the advice he’s been giving out in his letters, though, which I suppose is a good middle ground to him declaring his love outright.”

“So he did send the chocolates!” Izuku bursts out, making a note to tell Ochako she was right. “And you told me that whole convoluted story about Camie to get there!”

“Which was a mistake since she started interrogating me on why I lied and told you she was off dairy. Shouto made me swear that I couldn’t tell her in particular, so I had to lie again and say I’d forgotten which cleanse she was keeping up with.” Momo sighs to herself. “Trust me, Izuku, I took no pleasure in going along with this. Shouto wasn’t worried about it until I asked him how he thought you’d react if you ever found out the truth, and I don’t think he spoke for a solid hour out of fear.”

Recalling how he’d spent most of the night agonising over the deception when he realised who Himura was, Izuku can’t help but feel some sympathy for him. “Well, it was a shock,” he says grudgingly, “and a little embarrassing. My friends know now, too - they stopped by my place and it just kind of came out.”

“Oh,” Momo says, voice small. “Friends being - the people who work here? Ochako and Katsuki?”

“And Eijirou,” Izuku adds, watching her wilt, “and my roommate, Hitoshi. But I made all of them swear never to bring it up to Shouto, not unless me or him ever brought it up first. Eijirou said we’d all laugh about it someday - after he stopped laughing, that is.” 

Nibbling her lip, Momo gives the approximation of a shrug. “But - it hasn’t changed how you feel about Shouto, has it? About being with him?”

“No,” Izuku says at once, “no, it doesn’t. I mean, I’m going to have to talk to him about it and it’s going to be so awkward - but, at the end of the day, it was kind of harmless, wasn’t it?” He hesitates, needing the last bit of confirmation. “Did you - talk about what might happen if his plan didn’t work? If I didn’t reciprocate how he felt?”

“Yes, we did. It made him very morose, but he said he had to try and if it didn’t work out - ” Her lips twitch, just for a second before they smooth out again. “Something about accepting his inevitable singleness and perhaps joining a monastery. I think he was joking.”

“Knowing Shouto, probably not entirely.” Shaking his head, it’s Izuku’s turn to fight a smile at the thought of him. “I’ve never met anyone like him, that’s for sure.”

“He’s certainly unique.” Momo smiles properly before it turns into a grimace. “Did you see his teeth, by any chance?”

Izuku winces at the memory of his photo. “Yeah, I did. He’ll be at the dentist for hours, won’t he?”

“Most of the day, yes,” Momo says sadly. “It’s a good thing he has private dental insurance, though I think Natsuo’s going to pay the excess on his treatments. The least he could do, if you ask me. I’m pretty sure he’s knocked several of his own teeth out before.”

“He has,” Izuku says, thinking of an old story from Shouto, “to the point his dentist threatened to fire him as a client because he kept knocking the same teeth out.” He shakes his head again, as if to physically dispel the thought of Shouto’s brothers. “Look - I don’t really like the deception from either of you, but it’s not the worst thing in the world. It’s - I don’t know. Something I need to talk to him about tonight, and then put it behind us. Like Eijirou said, it’s probably going to be something we laugh about eventually. Just… after it’s out in the open, and not weird anymore.”

“I hope so.” The crease is back between her brows. “For what it’s worth I’m sorry, Izuku. I know Shouto is too, once he realised the impact the letters might have.”

“It is what it is,” he tells her, mostly at a loss for what else to add. “You’ll hear all about how it goes, anyway.” She holds up a hand to show him her crossed fingers, expression earnest, and Izuku can’t help but like her.

Mercifully, as the office fills with the rest of their coworkers, Katsuki leaves him alone and Eijirou only throws a grin and thumbs up at him every time their eyes meet. Ochako sends through her daily photos of Saki, helping his tension to dissipate, and Shouto’s sole update - the dentist promises I’ll leave here with perfect teeth - soothes his nerves further. His mother texts him in the early afternoon, midway through him writing a response to a woman wondering whether or not to get a second cat to keep her first one company (in which he’s greatly encouraging another addition, so long as the resident one would actually accept it).

[Mom] : Would you and Shouto like to come over for dinner tonight? We were thinking of making katsudon!

What was it Katsuki said, about his mother loving Shouto? As much as he hates his mother and best friend gossiping behind his back, it sometimes has its bonuses. Shaking his head, Izuku types up a response.

[Izuku] : I’d love to, but Shouto was at a pretty intense dentist session today so I don’t think he’d be up for it :( gonna go to his place after work to make sure he’s okay

[Mom] : Oh no!!!! Is he okay??? Stop by tomorrow so you can pick up a portion for each of you - let’s arrange another night for you to come over! Please send him my love!

Smiling to himself at her feelings on his boyfriend being so clear, Izuku sets about checking his schedule for his next free evening.

The nerves return in full force when he leaves work and heads for Shouto’s apartment, fingers trembling as he clutches the handrail of the train for support. He skips the elevator and takes the stairs two at a time in an attempt to burn off his excess energy, but it only results in him panting and wiping his brow by the time he reaches Shouto’s floor, leaning against the wall for support as he buzzes his doorbell. He’s mostly composed by the time Shouto answers the door, at least on the outside. “Hey,” he gasps, straightening to his full height as Shouto surveys him, mouth closed. “All go well at the dentist?”

“Yes.” His usual taciturn self, Shouto merely steps aside to let him in and, eyebrows raised, Izuku kicks his shoes off at the door and accepts the kiss on his cheek.

“Can I see them, then?” After a second’s hesitation Shouto smiles, somewhat awkwardly, and Izuku whistles appreciatively at his perfect set of teeth. “They look great! Did you get them whitened, too?”

“Yes. It was Natsuo who was paying for it, so I thought I might as well.” Smiling with his mouth closed again, he nonetheless seems pleased at Izuku’s reaction. “It’s still a little sore, but the dentist said I should be fine in the next day or two.”

“Which is exactly why I thought we should order broth tonight! I thought it was best to avoid something you’d have to chew.” Sidestepping Shouto, he crouches down and holds a hand out to Cashew as she pads towards him, mewling. “Hi, sweetie. It’s really you I’m here to see, actually.”

“That’s understandable.” Shouto watches Cashew roll onto her back in greeting, his head to one side. “How was the office?”

“Quiet. Uneventful. Nobody asked too many questions about where you were.” He’s already decided not to breathe a word of Katsuki and Eijirou knowing where he really was. “My mom wants us to come over for dinner sometime this week, actually. She suggested tonight but I said you’d had a dentist appointment - no details, obviously - and you’d probably still be sore.”

“I’ll see what evening works for me. What are we having?” Shouto says, a faint note of hope in his voice. 

“Probably soba, if I ask her nicely. She told me to call by her place tomorrow for leftovers for us, too.” Crouching beside Cashew, Izuku grins up at him as he scratches under her chin. “So you aren’t too sore to think about food then?”

“My gums are a little bit achey, but nothing too bad.” Shouto pauses. “All the better for seeing you, though.”

It’s so corny he can’t help but snort, yet it reminds him of the topic he has to broach. Sudden apprehension stirs in his stomach and he swallows, rising to his feet and dusting himself off. “Will we eat later? I just wanna chill out first.”

“Sure.” None the wiser, Shouto drifts off into the kitchen for drinks while Izuku perches on the sofa, foot jiggling restlessly. His smile feels more like baring his teeth when Shouto joins him with two glasses of water, setting them on the coffee table tucking his legs beneath him. “What did you think of the hockey match?”

“The match was great, but if this is a thinly veiled way of asking me if I liked your family, then I loved them.” He reaches out to grab Shouto’s hand, the smile coming easily to him this time. Cashew’s disappeared off to her bed at the other side of the room, already bored with them. “They’re so much fun.” 

“I’m glad.” Shouto’s eyes crease at their corners. “We didn’t have a lot of fun growing up, so they’re more than making up for it now. They think you’re amazing, by the way: Fuyumi didn’t stop talking about you the whole way home, then kept texting me about how nice you were the next day.”

“She did?” Izuku says, delighted, before he shakes himself. “You’re so lucky having siblings - I always wished I did when I was a kid.” He hesitates, deliberating, then presses on. “Natsuo actually, uh, followed me on Instagram.”

“He did? I’m not surprised he found you: he’s normally glued to his phone.” Oh. He has no idea. Izuku remembers that Shouto doesn’t have social media and probably no idea what handle his brother uses, and swallows down the apprehension.

“No. I guess not.” Chewing his lip, his chest feels tighter than before. “He - he goes by your mother’s maiden name, right?”

“Yeah. Since he was seventeen, I think.” None the wiser, Shouto’s face is smooth with calm as he reaches out for one of the glasses.

“Right. I, uh. I recognised the surname.” Twisting his hands together, Izuku’s knuckles ache with how tightly he clutches them. “I’ve seen it before. Quite a few times before, actually. In - in letters. From a reader. Asking me for advice in how to approach a colleague they had feelings for.”

Shouto’s fingers are just curling around the glass when he freezes in place. For a second he remains there, staring straight ahead, before he lifts the glass and takes a long, slow drink. It’s only after that does he respond, and there’s not a hint of emotion in his voice. “Right.”

There’s no point dancing around the topic any more, not when his heart is threatening to break his ribs by how hard it’s pounding against them. “It was you, wasn’t it?” Izuku asks him, voice barely above a whisper. “You were the one who sent those letters. You’re Himura.” 

Silence spreads out between them. Shouto’s still staring at a point in the distance, but his knuckles are white around the glass. It feels like an age before he sets it down, takes a deep breath, and rubs his hands over his face. Izuku waits, heart like a hummingbird in his chest, for him to regain his composure and respond.

“I’m so sorry.” It really is a whisper from him this time. Dropping his hands, Shouto turns slowly to face him, and Izuku’s taken aback by how he looks: one part agonised, one part terrified. “I never meant for you to find out. I wanted to take it to the grave.”

“I’m not mad!” Izuku says at once, hands pressed together in a plea now. “I’m not, I promise. I just - wow. I didn’t expect it. It was a lot to wrap my head around.”

“I never meant to deceive you,” Shouto blurts out, skin ghostly white in comparison to the heat Izuku feels in his own cheeks. “I swear I didn’t - I didn’t even think it was deceiving you until Momo pointed out that I was hiding how I was to get close to you, and by that time we were already talking and having lunch together and were becoming friends - ”

Izuku already considered them friends at that point, but decides it’s not the time to point that out. “Listen, listen! At first I didn’t know what to think,” he interjects, releasing his hands and grabbing both of Shouto’s instead. “I spoke to Hitoshi about it - ”

Shouto makes a sound like a small creature being stepped on.

“ - and then Ochako and Katsuki,” he admits, wincing at Shouto’s next sound. “Only because they came by my place at the same time. And they were all positive about you! I was trying to wrap my head around it and they helped me - I made Katsuki swear not to say anything, obviously, you know what he’s like - but even he was positive about you. He said it just showed you liked me long before you started sending those letters, and we were well suited to each other.” Both of which Katsuki did say, but not quite as positively as Izuku has decided to portray it. Still, it was the general idea of his reaction.

Shouto pulls his hands away to cover his face again, muffling his voice. “You must think so little of me.”

“No,” Izuku says at once, “no, never. I think so much of you, Shouto.” He holds onto his arm instead, hoping it’s a comforting gesture. “You - you really felt like you couldn’t talk to me, right?” The thought of it makes him sad, but he can’t quite put into words why.

“I couldn’t talk to you,” Shouto corrects. He drops his hands to his lap, though looks no less miserable than before. “I know how much I freaked you out, staring out of my office at you, but I was constantly struggling with how to approach you and start a conversation. I’ve never been like that with anyone, and I was convinced that I’d embarrass myself in some way if I tried to talk to you. It used to keep me up at night, telling myself I just needed to get over myself and speak to you, but by the time I got to the office the next day I’d lost my nerve again.”

“Oh, Shouto,” Izuku says sadly, pained for him. “You know you freaked me out with the staring because I thought you wanted to fire me.”

“No,” Shouto tells him, voice heavy. “No, the opposite. I was afraid I’d make you quit out of fear if I opened my mouth and said something stupid. I thought writing letters to you to figure out the best way to approach you was the perfect solution - until I told Momo, anyway.”

Defeat hangs heavy over him and, nibbling his thumbnail, Izuku presses on. “So, what did you do? Go down to the mailroom and sneak your letters into Ojiro’s pile?”

Shouto shakes his head. “No. I waited until everyone left for the day and slotted it into the middle of the pile on your desk. It was easy because of how high you let them stack up.”

Izuku flushes as he pushes his glasses higher up his nose, wondering if Shouto also noticed the screwed up bits of paper and coffee rings littering the surface of his desk. “How’d you react when you got my first response?”

“Paced around my office for a good twenty minutes with the blinds down trying to get a grip of myself,” Shouto says bluntly, “then rehearsed how to ask you how your day was for another twenty minutes. I should’ve prepared myself for you smiling at me, though: I thought I was having a heart attack and had to go sit down before I passed out.”

“ I thought you were going to pass out because I talked about breaking my arm!” Somehow it comes as a relief, but Izuku shakes himself and gets back to it. “For what it’s worth, I felt really bad for you when I got your second letter. I didn’t expect you to respond to it by buying me expensive chocolates, of course, but I definitely didn’t think you humiliated yourself in front of me.”

Judging by Shouto’s expression, he isn’t convinced. “You probably thought I was insane when you got my next letter saying I was in love with you.”

“Not insane,” Izuku says, trying his best to be both kind and rational, “just… concerned, for Himura. Here was a guy who was clearly infatuated and yearning for the relationship to work out, and I wanted things to work out for him and his crush! I mean, it probably was just infatuation back then, right?”

“No,” Shouto says stoutly, “I was in love with you.”

Izuku can’t help his noise of dissent, midway between a snort and a sigh. “What if you’d found out something completely incompatible between us, though? Like I hated cats, or I supported political parties whose manifestos horrified you?”

Shouto fixes him with a pitying sort of look. “I overheard you talk about cats two or three times during your first week at work, and you posted about what political party you voted for in an Instagram caption. Momo looked up all your social media about ten minutes after I sent you the first letter. Even if I couldn’t speak to you, working in your vicinity taught me exactly the type of person you are, and only made me feel more helpless and lovestruck.”

Knowing Shouto’s propensity for stubbornness, he’s already fighting a losing battle. Izuku decides to switch to something more pressing in Shouto’s attempts to have a relationship with him. “And if I rejected you when you eventually confessed your feelings to me?”

“I planned on joining a monastery,” Shouto tells him, stubbornness giving way to gloom. “But - I was conflicted. I had these feelings for you - feelings I’d never had for anyone before - and yet, for a long time, the best part of writing the letters was it leading to us becoming friends. I didn’t want to lose your friendship, even if you didn’t want a relationship. Just spending time with you made me happy. If that was all it was ever going to be, I think I’d have made my peace with that, just so I could still spend time with you.”

His heart aches for him at the mere idea of Shouto pushing aside his feelings to ensure they remained friends, perhaps even forcing himself to hold his tongue and be happy for him if he entered into a relationship with someone else. “Oh,” is all he can manage, voice small. “You - that was very noble of you.”

Shouto shrugs, as if not wanting to take any credit for it. “It would’ve been horrible,” he says, and Izuku watches one hand clamp down atop the other. “So I couldn’t have been happier that we did end up in a relationship.” His gaze drifts to him, and there’s a new stilted quality to his words. “As long as I didn’t think too much about you finding out about who wrote those letters.”

“Until Natsuo followed me and I saw what surname he used, I had no idea,” Izuku tells him, “honestly. I couldn’t quite reconcile you and Himura even then, until I compared your handwriting and thought it all through. Like I said, it threw me a little, but - ” He knows now is the time to confirm everything with Shouto, to relieve him of the obvious apprehension both within him and written across his face. “It never changed how I felt about you. When I thought about our relationship, I didn’t consider breaking up with you, not for one second. The worst part of it was trying to figure out how to bring it up and talk about it, not ending things.”

Hope dawns in Shouto’s expression. “Thank God,” he says, and it seems like he’s shrugged the weight of the world off of his shoulders. “I hated lying to you, even if by omission, and I was sure it would end things between us.”

“In fairness, the Himura letters never came up in conversation. Well, other than you being so mean about him when I mentioned them once.” Shaking his head, he reaches out to grab Shouto’s hand. “I’m glad I know about it, just so there’s nothing unsaid between us. I think this is the happiest, healthiest relationship I’ve ever had - no, it definitely is.” He smiles at him, warmth filling his chest. “I don’t want to give you up, not for anything.”

Pressing his lips together, Shouto looks as though he’s fighting back a dozen emotions at once. “Even if I lost all my money?”

“Even then,” Izuku says solemnly. “I’ve got by living frugally: I can teach you all my ways. I love you for you, not whatever you have in the bank. You love me even though I’m pretty much broke, right?”

Shouto nods at once, then pauses. “You have all that money from Rody, though, don’t you?”

He’s tried his best not to think about the money, but supposes he’s right. “Doesn’t matter,” he declares, squeezing Shouto’s hand. “It’s for a rainy day - or paying to fix the seats of Hitoshi’s car, if the rain and mud I carry into it from the rugby pitch ruins them. Anyway, it doesn’t matter.” He tightens his grip on his hand, meeting the mismatched eyes. “I don’t care about money, or anything that isn’t you yourself. I love you, Shouto, whether you’re Himura or not. Just - don’t feel like you can’t ever talk to me as you, okay?”

“Trust me.” He grips Izuku’s hand, shoulders sagging in relief as he turns to face him fully. “I’ve been me from the moment we had in the bar together. I didn’t want to deceive you anymore - I didn’t want to be another one of those bad relationships you told me about.”

“Me neither,” Izuku says at once. “I’ve had enough bad relationships to last a lifetime. But, well, you haven’t stolen from me - you aren’t planning to emigrate - you don’t try to control my every move, and you haven’t ended up in prison, so really, you writing letters under a pseudonym asking me for advice was really no big deal, especially in the grand scheme of things.”

There’s a beat of silence before he realises Shouto is staring at him, jaw slightly slack. “You - one of your exes is in prison?”

“Oh.” He’d forgotten to tell him about Himiko. “Oh, yeah. She stabbed a guy. I wasn’t there, but I had to testify as a character witness - it was this whole big thing. The guy survived, though, so that was a silver lining at least.”

Shouto opens his mouth, then closes it again. “I’m honestly not sure what to say to that,” he says at last, “other than I don’t think I’d be capable of stabbing someone.”

“Yet another positive character trait.” His attempt at a joke doesn’t land based on Shouto’s uncertain expression, and so Izuku quickly moves on. “This whole Himura thing doesn’t change anything for me, Shouto, I mean it.”

Letting out a long sigh, Shouto dips his head and presses their entwined hands to his forehead. “You have no idea,” he tells him, voice slightly muffled, “what a relief that is. I’m so lucky to have you.” When he looks up at him again his mouth is trembling slightly, hand tight around his. “I love you so much, Izuku.”

“I love you too, silly.” He pulls him up, pressing a kiss to his forehead then tilting his head back to beam at him. “And, hey, I’m lucky to have you. I think you’ve got the kindest heart of anyone I know.”

This time, he’s sure Shouto is fighting back tears. “Thank you,” he says thickly, before clearing his throat and looking away. Izuku gives him a moment to compose himself and, by the time Shouto turns around again, his face is back to its smooth normality. “So, you said broth for dinner?”

“Broth is good,” he agrees, happy to go along with the conversation change. “Unless you feel like you can eat something more solid?”

“Honestly?” Shouto says, as Cashew leaps lightly beside Izuku on the sofa and begins to tread in his lap while Shouto scrolls a delivery app, face glowing. “I feel on top of the world right now.”

“Yeah?” Izuku says, grinning as he settles his head against Shouto’s shoulder, an arm coming to wrap around his waist and hug him as tight as he can. “Well, that makes two of us.”

He finds the letter a week later, tucked in amongst the rest and instantly recognisable by the smooth, looping handwriting.

Dear Deku,

I remember you once telling me that Deku came from an unkind nickname Katsuki gave you that Ochako put a positive spin on. I don’t think I could ever call you it in person - it feels so odd, like addressing you with a formal title - but for the purpose of writing letters, it’s a lot more natural.

All I can do is thank you for all the help and advice you’ve given me, let alone all the love and care. I don’t think I’ll ever stop thanking you, even if it annoys you. You have the patience of a saint, though, especially on the rugby pitch. I don’t know how you don’t get sick of teammates dropping the ball or missing easy tries: I hardly know anything about rugby, yet even I can see when they’ve fumbled some points. I suppose that means I know at least something about rugby, then. Maybe I can learn some things from your stepfather? I wasn’t joking when I said I wanted a stepfather, and you struck lucky with yours. Maybe he’ll adopt me if I ask nicely enough and pick up on enough rugby rules.

I’m pretty sure Katsuki keeps giving me looks as I write this. I don’t want to know what he’s thinking about - it’ll be aggressive, knowing him, but I know it’ll only be because he cares about you. I can imagine Ochako is much kinder about it, since you no doubt will have updated her the second you had time to text her back. Momo had to sit down when I told her everything worked out between us, so I think she was feeling faint with relief. We’re lucky to have the friends we do. And family, even if one of mine left me with a mouth full of paint and broken teeth. I suppose I have to draw a line under that, though, considering how stoically Natsuo took the dentist’s bill. 

No doubt you’re rolling your eyes while you’re reading this, and I know you have legitimate letters to write responses to, so I’ll wrap it up here. I’m really looking forward to dinner with your parents tomorrow night, and my mother wants to know if you’d like to come to her house for dinner after your match on Saturday. I’m warning you now to have your life story ready, though, because she wants to know all about the guy I’m in love with when your conversation isn’t interrupted by hockey talk. And her future son-in-law, maybe, but I promise I’ve learnt the virtues of slow and steady. I think that’s a pretty good way to end my last letter to your column.

Yours, always,

Shouto

Dear Shouto,

I had to admit, seeing you sign off with your actual name took me by surprise. I thought I was going to get Himura’s final sign-off! I appreciate the sweetness of you writing it by hand instead of sending your mom’s dinner request through in a text or email - but yeah, Kacchan probably definitely noticed you dropping it off at my desk. He already texted to tell me he hates both of us, so it’s back to normal for him. I can assure you that Ochako’s delighted, and Hitoshi’s asked me to let him know in as little detail as possible what nights you’re planning on staying over. I hope Momo’s nerves are back to normal, too! Outside of Camie and Tenya arguing over how much perfume she’s spraying, that is. I’m staying out of that debate for the sake of my sanity.

I’d love to go to your mom’s house for dinner! Will any of your siblings be there? I hope I meet Touya soon, but I agree that it’s time to forgive Natsuo. I don’t even want to know how much that appointment cost him. As for the son-in-law conversation, I’m glad you’ve taken my advice on board there, too. At least we know how the talk around the surnames will go when we get around to it, don’t we? Midoriya Shouto sounds good to me :)

All my love,

Izuku

(Actually, since I’m pretty sure Toshinori will want to adopt you if you show an interest in rugby, the surname conversation might not be that straightforward. Let’s see what happens.)