maryyh

James is always electric on the pitch, but today he is just magnificent, scoring for the second time in only two minutes and probably the seventh or eighth time in total this match. He stops briefly after scoring, basking in the cheers from his house and anybody else who’s in attendance in support for Gryffindor, which is honestly most of the school. But then he’s off again, nothing but a red flash in the sky as the match resumes. 

The commentator continues.

“And Slytherin has the quaffle, passing to—oof, rough bludger hit there by McKinnon. She sure looks fit on her broom up—”

The microphone screeches when Professor McGonagall rips it out of the commentator's hand, but James barely registers her scolding and the rumble of laughter that passes through the crowd. The opposing team now passes the quaffle back and forth as they slowly near the Gryffindor keeper.

James speeds up on his broom, winding his way through the other players in order to get over to the Gryffindor hoops as quickly as possible. Their keeper is good, of course he is; James had picked him out himself, but so was the Slytherin team. His hands tightly grip the handle of his broom, and he leans forward even further, his chest now almost touching the sleek wood, in order to go even faster. 

Your breath catches in your throat as you watch him approach, confident and natural as always and looking like his broom is just an extension of his body. The microphone screeches again uncomfortably as the commentator snatches it back from McGonagall, but not because of James this time. 

At the edge of the Quidditch pitch, out of James’ line of sight, both the Gryffindor and the Slytherin seeker had assumed a steep dive, and a tiny golden flash of the snitch could be seen whizzing between the wooden planks of the stands in front of them. 

“It looks like Fortescue and Black have caught sight of the snitch!”

The Slytherin chaser holding the quaffle and the Gryffindor keeper were successfully distracted by this information, but James didn’t take his eyes off his target for even a split second. While the crowd’s eyes were glued to the two seekers, he kicks the quaffle right out from under the Slytherin chaser’s arm and drops into a steep dive to catch it before it hits the ground. 

“And Potter wins the quaffle back! Merlin’s fucking—“

You won’t dare take your eyes off the pitch, even as McGonagall scolds the commentator about inappropriate language again. James continues, quickly winding his way through the players again while the seekers fight for the win. At this point, nobody has any idea where they should rather look.

”Sorry, Professor—Potter has the quaffle! That bludger was a narrow miss, but Potter is a beast on that broom, he’s the Gryffindor captain after all—“

James roughly tugs at the handle of his broom to barely escape the bludger that had been sent barrelling in his way. The Slytherin keeper is positioned right in front of the middle hoop, so an attempted goal from this angle would surely be saved. He feigns an attempt to hit the left hoop to get the keeper out of the way before hauling the quaffle into the right one just as Alice’s hand closes around the golden snitch. 

“AND FORTESCUE CATCHES THE SNITCH JUST AS POTTER SCORES! GRYFFINDOR WINS!”

The red half of the stands erupt into cheers of joy, and you’re right there with them, screaming your lungs out for the house win against Slytherin. James pumps his fist into the air victoriously, but he doesn’t join the other Gryffindor players gathering around Alice to celebrate just yet. Instead, his eyes dart away to search the stands for you, and that signature grin lights up his face as soon as he sees you there with your little Gryffindor flag and wearing his old jersey. Before anyone can stop him, he’s speeding over to you on his broom. Naturally, cheers start erupting around you when the Gryffindor captain approaches your section, but James only has eyes for you.

He stops in the air in front of you, briefly lifting the collar of his quidditch jersey and exposing a sliver of toned stomach to wipe the sweat on his face. And then he’s kissing you before you can say a single thing, still hovering dangerously on his broom, but it's all worth it just to get a taste of your lips. His arms wrap around you so tightly that your feet lift off the stands, pulling you as close as the railing between the two of you could possibly allow—literally sweeping you off your feet. If this weren't James, you’d be worried about him falling off his broom, but this isn’t even close to the stupidest thing he’s ever done and succeeded at. He’ll always find you first after a win, and if he’s being honest, you’re the only one he really wants to celebrate with.

The commentator barely manages to get out a comment about “Potter snogging his girlfriend” before the microphone is ripped out of their hands for good. James manages a smug chuckle against your lips, his confidence obviously fuelled by the attention. 

"James—" you coo against his lips, but he just shushes you with another long kiss.

It almost feels like the two of you are the only two people left in the world right now, despite more than half of the entire school roaring, mostly in support but also mild repulsion (from the Slytherins). 

”You should—mm, get back—to the others—“ you mumble against his lips, starting to turn a little shy from this very public display of affection. 

“But this is how I celebrate our victory, love. Are you really going to send me away?” he replies after finally pulling away from your lips. He’s not had enough of you yet—not even close—but he also doesn’t want to make things uncomfortable for you. 

He winks at you cheekily and gently squishes your flushed cheeks with his thumb and forefinger before he lets go and thankfully holds on to his broom again. He looks way too pretty right now for the cocky smirk that’s still plastered on his lips. He’s won the match, he’s kissed his girl—there’s basically nothing that could possibly make this situation even better. 

“Oi, get down here, Prongs. Enough snogging,” Sirius calls out, huddled together with the rest of the team. The Gryffindor captain should probably get down again to join them and give a motivational speech or something, but James has always been one to do whatever the hell he wants. 

there was nothing about the account that indicated it could've been you; no trace, no sign, nothing about an age, or a name. he scrolled absentmindedly through your account, singing a quiet melody to himself, absorbing the person you were, the stuff that made you happy, the stuff that made you sad, little quiet blogs of your day that no one cared about. this was you blended into the internet without a care in the world.

his attention flickered to the tabs of your profile, noticing your likes were public. this was great for him! he could know actually what you liked, your interests, the content that you indulged in. maybe from there, he could slowly bleed into your life...

with a fast tap of his thumb, the page loaded almost instantly. izuku propped a pillow behind his neck, arm supporting his tussled hair as he began binging your likes.

you liked romance anime, that was cute. shounen, specifically. it was a undeniable observation that you loved other people’s daily rants, stories of nonsense, ‘am i the asshole’ stories that you’d find on reddit — all posted and liked within a timeline of 3-days.

izuku scrolled further down, bottom lip tucked between his teeth. something warm swelled in his chest from being able to digest parts of you like this. in a way, this was intimate to him, never would he have been able to know you like this just from your instagram posts alone. he’d have to pay hitoshi extra for this, simply just for gratitude, of course.

as he further swiped, the content began changing, bit by bit.

“f—fuck, right there!”

izuku’s eyes widened, quickly turning down the volume on his phone. heat bloomed across his freckled cheeks at the video, eyes dazed as his focus trained on the explicit movement on his screen: a close up shot of a man fucking into a woman, pussy making obscene slick sounds as she moaned.

“the fuck?” izuku frowned, scrolling further, only to come across a plethora of porn, all taken with a similar low quality resolution — all liked by you.

he didn’t want to pry further, all he wanted was to see what you were interested in, the things you liked, stuff that he could use to his advantage to merge into your life — not this.

but he couldn’t stop. the videos were filthy, majority of the short clips consisting of some form of explosive cumming from the male. so, you had a little breeding kink? that wasn't something he was sure he liked; besides, he didn't want kids yet.

he scrolled further, a faint tent growing in his sweats. it wasn't the porn that turned him on, it was the fact that you were leaving yourself bare and open for him, openly liking these filthy pornos, probably getting off to these, knowing you don't even have a man to recreate these with. he wondered if you touched yourself to these, did you like having your fingers inside of you? or were you the type to stimulate your clit. he thinks the latter.

his face turned into a grimace at a particular video that caught his eye. piss. golden shower. the first video was of a woman opening her mouth, lips spluttering as she drowned in piss, gurgling with a sweet smile on her face. the next was of a woman pissing on her partner mid cowgirl.

eurgh... to be honest, this was disgusting. izuku felt his cock soften at the videos, quickly swiping out off twitter — he'd seen enough. he stared up at his ceiling, eyes moving to watch the fan, an unchanging heat simmering in his chest.

his thoughts of you didn't change. how could they? you were this sweet thing he's had his eye on ever since bumping into you at the art club, so what if you got a little piss and breeding kink? maybe he could accommodate, or if that didn't work, maybe he could fix the way you thought — get rid of that porn addiction you obviously have. yeah! that sounds like a good idea, and in a way, he'd be saving you.

happy with his decision, he set his alarm for the next morning, snuggling in his sheets with a grin on his face. he knew exactly what to do, and how to make it work — how to make you fall for him.

𐙚

in the art room, you sat snugly in your leather seat, eyes eager as you drew in your sketchbook of some of your favorite fictional characters. the room was quiet, dust particles floating in the air, sunlight beaming through the glass windows and onto your skin.

for as long as you could remember, you loved drawing, painting, sketching, you name it. the feeling of graphite smooth on the underside of your palm, imagination coming to life on grained paper, brought something pleasant in your chest. it was a gateway from of your stressful academic life.

"that's a nice drawing," a gentle voice hummed out from behind you.

you almost flinch from the sound, instinctively covering your sketches with your arms. the page crumples a bit, bending at the corners as you turn to look at the voice.

oh, just your luck.

of course it had to be the cute law student, izuku midoriya.

you closed the notebook completely, leaning your chest over the cover, mustering a kind smile in an attempt to cover up the heat creeping up your neck. embarrassment twisted in your chest.

it’s childish, he shouldn’t see this.

you've seen him a couple times around here, nose buried in his note-book, scribbling notes no one's ever seen before. he was pretty popular around here, always bringing friends over, using the art room as a third-space. you and him have never talked before, but, you always noticed him. how could you not?

izuku was the law student everyone seemed to like without trying. he was soft-spoken, unfailingly kind with a voice that sounded like honey on toast, and eyes that always lingered like he was really listening.

he carried that boyish warmth in his features — gentle unruly curls, an expression that softened easily — balanced by his more mature features. a sharper jawline, a scar drawing down the right side of his cheek that wondered where he'd got it from, quiet confidence settling into the angles of his face, making him… distracting in a way you tried not to think about.

he was unfairly very nice to look at. you knew you never had a chance with him, so you never really thought about it.

you’d heard he’d recently received some sort of recognition award from the dean, mentioned in passing during lectures and whispered about in the halls, though he never brought it up himself. he didn’t seem like the type to.

izuku took a step back, moving into the chair swiftly beside you. "sorry, i didn't mean to scare you," he said, syllables practically dripping with honey, tone quiet and measured. "i just noticed you sketching some anime. i also like anime, too."

you scratched the nape of your neck awkwardly, arm still guarded on top of the cover. "y—yeah, it's nothing, though. just saw something like it the other day, so..." your lips thinned into a tight line, something panicked swarming in your chest. "i don't really know that much about anime so..."

izuku's lips curled upwards, leaning against his palm as he saw through your lie, noticing the undeniable blush on your cheeks. "if you don't mind, can i please look at your drawings? i won't judge," he asked, gesturing to the protected notebook as if he was testing his luck. "promise."

you paused, eyes drifting somewhere else in the room. suddenly the dried and crusty paintbrushes, brittle from misuse looked interesting.

you thought about his words, fingers trembling as you slowly pried the book open. it didn't take much convincing for you to nudge your book towards him, your pinky remaining secured on the edge of the page. "sure...yeah, yeah you can."

izuku shuffled his chair closer to yours, shoulders faintly brushing as angling his head so he could inspect you sketchbook. "thank you."

oh god.

he smelt so nice, especially up close. you almost felt as if you've just been winded.

the air around him hung with something masculine, warm, woody. you tried replaying to his words, but all you could think about was how pleasant he smelt, and the way he was practically invading your senses.

izuku waited for a fraction of a second for your response. seeing that you weren't going to say anything, his eyes narrowed onto your drawings, fingers thoughtful as he traced each sketch.

his eyes fell on a sketch of two characters kissing, thoughtful as he noticed a more intimate, vivid sketch below — a saliva string connected by two heated tongues.

"oh! um, please ignore that," you stammered out, face deepening a shade of red. a familiar twist of shame nestled in your chest as you resisted the urge to cover your face with your hands, wishing to melt into your seat and disappear.

izuku laughed, thoughtful as he turned to page to calm you down. "don't be embarrassed, it's really detailed. i like this detail here," he pointed at a fresh page which included a plethora of suggestive hand sketches. "these hand drawings are really good, mind me asking what they're meant to be doing?"

"i don't really know," you mumbled, pulling the sketchbook away already. you hadn't realized how explicit your sketches were until someone else was seeing it.

"seems pretty intimate," he commented, letting you close the cover once more. "i'm sorry, i hope you aren't embarrassed — there's nothing wrong with the content of your drawings at all. i hope you know that."

you nodded, chin tucked downwards as a feeble attempt to avoid his kind gaze. "i'm sorry i can't show you more."

izuku leaned back against the chair, observing you with understanding eyes. "okay, that's alright. i just want you to know that you're a very talented artist."

you turned to him, eyes still partially drawn away from his. "do you really mean that?"

"yeah, of course," izuku replied. "does it seem like i'm lying to you, y/n?"

your movements paused, hands stilling on the wooden table. "y—you know my name?"

izuku chuckled at your shock, his laugh warm against the quiet. "of course i know your name, y/n. you're always around here."

with an awkward laugh, "oh, that makes a lot of sense."

"my name's izuku midoriya, just if you were wondering as well," he added in quickly, hand reaching out.

of course you knew who izuku was. but you weren't surprised by his humbleness.

after staring at his hand for a while, you reached forward, your sweaty palms connecting with his calloused one — the contact so light and feathery. izuku, upon noticing the stiffness in your shoulders, adjusted immediately, loosening his grip.

“Izuku,” you repeat quietly to yourself, as if the name was something new.

he smiles at the sound of his name, small and careful. when he speaks again, it’s even softer, measured like he’s choosing each word with intention.

“...i really hope you didn't think i was judging you,” he says gently.

your shoulders sink a fraction, tension easing out of you in a way you hadn’t noticed was there. you look down at your sketchbook, thumb worrying at the bent corner of the page.

“i always feel like… if someone sees it, they’ll think it’s weird,” you admit, barely above a whisper. “or immature, or something.”

Izuku hums — quiet, understanding. he doesn’t contradict you right away, doesn’t rush to fix the feeling.

“i don’t think that at all,” he says eventually, voice low and reassuring. “didn't i tell you before i like anime? i wouldn't lie.”

you glance up at him, caught off guard by how certain he sounds—still soft, still gentle, but anchored. his expression is open, kind, unbelievely charming.

“just thought you were pretty cool, is all,” he adds quietly, almost like a vow, “I won’t ask you to show me anything you don’t want to.”

the words settle deep in your chest, warm and steady. that was the first time the two of you had properly talked.

the following days were filled with izuku popping by the art room. he didn’t hover invasively around you, solely maintaining a gentle greeting every now and then.

you’d nod curtly, passing him a quiet smile as your gaze followed his back down the sand-stone hallways — light filtering onto his curly hair.

you drew a little sketch of him absentmindedly, eyebrows fixed as you tried envisioning him from your last interaction. it wasn’t meant to be anything stalkerish or obsessive, it was just something that popped into your mind one day!

with your bottom lip tucked beneath your teeth, you carefully outlined the angle of his jawline, moving to draw his kind eyes. when you were done, you held your sketchbook back, analyzing the sketch from a distance, only to frown in response.

he looked insanely off here. was it the eyes? his nose maybe? or did you draw his lips too low.

“woah, my brows are pretty thin in this.”

“oh—omphh!” you scooted in your chair, almost sending yourself into an accident. “i—it’s not…if’s not what it looks like, i’m really sorry, i can rub it out if you feel uncomfortable, i swear!”

izuku’s intrigued eyes softened at the tremble in your lip, the way your hands began to shake as you reached for an eraser.

“hey hey hey, it’s okay,” he whispered out, hands reaching to pry to sketchbook back open. “may i look?”

your heart slowed in jagged rhythms, the remnants of your shock lingering as soft thumps patted against your ribs. you nodded, choking out a short response. “of course… go ahead.”

izuku eagerly pulled out the chair from beside you, plopping his bag beside him on the floor. the thump was relatively loud against the marble — an obvious indication of the volume of textbooks in his bag.

he leaned close, giving enough room for proximity. “you make me look pretty in these,” he commented thoughtfully, fingers drifting to trace the faint graphite where you’d erased and redrawn.

your face heated, a wobbly smile making it hard to even speak at all. “ah, really? heh.”

“yeah! i look really charming here,” he smiled as he pointed to another sketch at the corner of the page. “goodness, you’re incredible.”

his praise sent a shiver down your spine, sending heated waves across your chest. “i…i just drew what you looked like.”

izuku smirked to himself before it was quickly neutralized by surprise. “well then… i must be pretty then, is that right?”

you remained silent, eyes fixed on the sketch before you, mustering half a nod.

izuku noticed immediately.

izuku let out a quiet, thoughtful hum. “hey,” he said softly, leaning just a little closer. “you’re okay, right?”

you nodded again, fingers fidgeting with the edge of the page. “yeah. i just… didn’t expect you to see it.”

“mmm.” his smile was small, reassuring. “i kind of figured.”

you glanced up at him, startled. “you did?”

“a little,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “you get that look when you’re nervous, not that hard to tell.”

your heart squeezed at how easily he noticed.

he looked back down at the sketchbook, eyes gentle. “i really like these though,” he said, voice calm but sincere. “i'm kinda flattered.”

“i'm glad,” you murmured. “yeah...”

izuku chuckled quietly, the sound warm. “do you draw everyone you meet? or am i a one off exception.” he paused, glancing at you through his lashes. “if so, i don’t mind that at all.”

your face heated, your expression already giving away the answer. “this is so embarrassing.”

“yeah,” he said softly, smiling. “but not in a bad way.”

he reached out, fingertips hovering before lightly touching the corner of the page. “the rest of me looks accurate,” he noted gently. “i liked how you included my scar.”

you swallowed. “i didn’t want it to look wrong.”

“it doesn’t,” he said immediately. then, quieter, “it looks really nice.”

he closed the sketchbook carefully and slid it back to you, his fingers brushing yours in a way that felt electrifying.

“if you ever want to draw me again,” he added, voice almost shy despite the confidence beneath it, “you don’t have to hide it. i’d be okay with it.”

the way he said okay with it made your chest ache — gentle, steady, sincere. izuku midoriya was so kind...

𐙚

izuku grumbled to himself, staring at the pile of work layering the corner of his desk. he'd already completed a whole two, maybe it was three, hours of full-focused study, and he still had another case-study to go through. luckily, he started already, so he wasn't too stressed.

and besides, he deserved a break. after all, he's managed to maintain a smooth, impressive gpa after all this time, who's telling him he isn't allowed to have other hobbies outside of academia?

deciding so, izuku checked your twitter blog, refreshing the page with a swift swipe, eyes focused on the immediate difference of your posts.

misocats353368p 19012026. today was really nice! i did some really cool sketches (won't show them), but someone saw them, which is kinda rare. anyway, i did some baking after my lectures and tutorials, this is what i made!

that was really sweet.

izuku smiled to himself, clicking on the photo of the blueberry cheesecake you had made, that honestly, looked underbaked. he doubted it'd taste any different, and it'd still taste delightful and flavorful, filled with the most delectable jam beneath the cream, and...

izuku turned his phone off, face down onto his desk. he stared down at the tent in his pants, sinking against his chair as he tilted his head back to inspect the ceiling without purpose. he softly palmed himself through his sweat, eyes fluttering as he mounded his hand around his erection.

he didn't know necessarily why he had this much interest in you to begin with. he wasn't sure if it was a crush, infatuation or boredom for some change in his life.

to start off — if he thought hard enough — he'd realize that he didn't really have any romantic feelings towards you, and that he was just chasing something interesting.

need less to say, that didn't mean he didn't want to get closer to you; to know you inside and out, but the feeling in his chest, it wasn't tender, nor was it delicate. he didn't know what it was, and a part of him knowingly felt bad about it.

maybe he just wanted to be your friend.

with a grunt, izuku came in his pants, sticky, and opaque against the grey of his sweats. he watched unintentionally, eyes fixed on the way it oozed through the material, beading into thick clumps on the surface of his crotch. it was so unexpected, but he had no time to question his body.

after izuku took a shower, washing off his sins and the haunting thoughts of you, as well as his feelings, he found himself back under the study lamp, warm against the back of his hand.

a notification dinged on his phone, loud and obnoxious. with a slightly impatient sigh, izuku unlocked his phone, reading the short brief message sent to him by a fellow member of the same society he was in — under a phone number izuku forgot to save.

xxx-xxx-xxx (maybe from ua. university???)

hey man, we proceeded with your management details for the networking ball, so it should be all sweet for next week. also catering is all sweet and planned. also iida said he was all good to scan tickets on entrance.

izuku felt relief settle into his shoulders, a tension he's been aware of for weeks finally coming to a cease. networking ball was coming, and it's taken quite a significant toll on his own mental health, despite it being something that should be fun. the planning, all rigorously thought out by him, took an absurd chunk of his time, and he was hoping by the time this was all over, he'd be able to have more free time.

maybe he'd go back to normal after this.

the following days, were probably easily described as hell. there was always someone in the committee that found a loophole to his organizing, even though there really wasn't any.

at the final meeting till the ball, izuku wanted to rip his hair out. the room casted with stale lighting, hung over the faces surrounding the oakwood table. familiar faces shared across different majors, all dedicated to get the ball running smoothly. yet, it felt that the workload all this time, has been placed onto him.

"izuku, have you considered the other employers that have made last minute—"

"yes, yes i have. i've already done that ages ago," izuku mumbled out, tone flatter than he'd intended.

"okay, then... just also checking, ITP wanted to run their program—"

izuku peered up from his laptop, a smirk filled with annoyance simmering beneath his expression. "riko, yes. i've considered it. everything you're listing down just to list, i've already dealt with it."

the other faces in the room laughed nervously at izuku's words, eyes flickering back down to their screens to organize any last finishing touches.

izuku took a moment to breath, posture straightening. "i just wanted to focus on our positions for next week, which shouldn't be too hard," he said, a little more softer now. "after this, i reckon we can wrap it up."

for the next following hour, conversations filled with thoughtful decisions and meaningful inputs filled the air, and by the end of it, izuku could feel light flitering from the end of the tunnel.

"thank you all for your hard work! i'll see you guys the day of the ball, 4pm sharp," izuku hummed out, nodding to each member, waiting patiently for the room to filter out before he locked up.

he already knew where his body wanted to take him, and he already knew what he wanted to see.

the afternoon sun casted a warm glow, long shadows slanting across the pavement, painting clouds with amber hues. the air felt cool against izuku's neck, anticipation nipping at him as he made his way to the art block.

by the time he reached the room, pearlescent rainbow glass muting the shadow of you inside, he felt all the oxygen he's been depriving himself of finally come back. of course you'd be here.

instead of sneaking behind you — a silly habit of his — he decided to make his presence known.

"hi," he said softly, careful to not disturb the other students in the room minding their own business.

you smiled softly, movements slow as you adjusted to his presence unrushed. this was good, just what he wanted.

"oh, hi izuku!" you squeaked out, voice a bit wobbly, despite him knowing it wasn't on purpose. the way you said his name sent a satisfied swell throughout his stomach, cresting into something victorious as he settled beside you.

"what are you working on today? how were classes?" he asked, tuning in on the way you didn't flinch this time, fingers continuing to sketch soft details on the open page.

you flushed at his question, a look of surprise spreading across your face. it was as if this was the first time someone's asked you this many questions. "it was okay..." you replied, almost too fast and dismissive. "oh, i'm just drawing some anatomy, i got inspired today."

izuku leaned further, attention fully fixed on the careful movements from your hand. he tried to give himself time to understand your dismissiveness to the latter of his question, but decided maybe it was nothing. "really? inspiration from?"

you paused at his words, lips tucked into each other.

izuku's eyes creased tenderly at the sight, amusement written all over his face. "anime, maybe?"

you nodded, subconsciously leaning into your palm to hide the faint blush on your cheeks. "yeah...something like that."

izuku laughed as he pulled out his equipment from his bag, opting to savor this moment with you as much as possible. after all, he deserved it.

"mind if i stay here, and get some work done?"

you glanced up fully, wandering eyes skimming over his hands, prominent veins and tethered skin clasped around his ridiculously-sized textbook as he fiddled through the pages worn with time.

"yeah! that's okay," you replied, voice rejecting your quiet nature as you quickly turned back to your drawings. "if...if you want to talk, or if you just want to sit in silence— just let me know.."

izuku perked at your words, surprisal blooming his features. "what would you want? i can do both."

you kept your eyes on the ligament you were sketching out, brows furrowed. "maybe...sit in silence?"

izuku nodded, happy. "we can do that. of course we can do that."

with that, izuku strained his focus to the work before him. suddenly, the load of content and high-volume reading didn’t weigh heavy anymore.

maybe this is what he wanted the whole time. maybe he really just wanted to be your friend; to bask in your delicate nature as you lived in the center of it. maybe he just liked the calm within you, the brightness in your eyes that flickered whenever you were in your own little world.

the scent of you, powdery and light, brought a calm haze to him that he couldn’t even phantom. it worked like meditation within him, drawing out a euphoria as his mind filtered from all the stress earlier. with you beside him, everything wrong, everything stressful in his life, seemed to water in your essence.

the room hummed quietly, the ac whirring at a freezing temperature by the time the sun kissed the horizon, deep blue cascading the sky into a lilac purple.

he hadn’t noticed this whole time, but somewhere within the hour, you’ve switched from drawing to studying too. he wanted to question you on what you were studying, but the way your brows knitted in concentration, lips pursed in thought — he couldn’t have. he didn’t want to.

instead, his eyes flickered back to the case study he was meaning to wrap up.

he waited till you initiated the goodbye, which never came. izuku set down his pen, a smile faint on his face. “we should pack up, hey?”

his eyes scanned through your unbreakable focus, furrowing at the way your shoulder tensed when you wrote something down.

“y/n?” he said softly, careful. he closed his textbook, the sound alerting you from your trance.

you startled, eyes blinking rapidly as if you’d just surfaced from underwater. “oh—” your gaze flicked to the window, then back to him, sheepish. “i’m sorry. i didn’t realise how long i was… like that.”

izuku smiled, small and apologetic. “no, it’s okay. i just—” he hesitated, fingers brushing the edge of his notebook. “it’s getting kind of late. i didn’t mean to interrupt you if you were in the middle of something.”

“no,” you shook your head quickly. “thank you, actually.” you let out a quiet laugh, breathy. “if you hadn’t said anything, i probably still would’ve been here.”

his brows knit, just slightly.

“…still?” he echoed, not questioning, just simply processing.

you shrugged, a little embarrassed. “yeah. i tend to lose track of time when i’m trying to get something right.”

izuku leaned back in his chair, eyes drifting to you in that thoughtful way he had — like he was carefully rearranging pieces in his mind. “so,” he said gently, “you’re kind of a perfectionist.”

you froze for half a second, then smiled crookedly. “aha… i guess i am.”

“mm.” he hummed, nodding once. “that makes sense.”

you glanced at him. “does it?”

“yeah,” he said easily. “the way you focus. you don’t stop until it feels finished to you. not just done.”

the warmth in your chest was unexpected. “…you noticed that?”

he laughed softly, rubbing the back of his neck. “i notice a lot, i think.” then, quieter, almost uncertain, “i mean— i do the same thing. i think. maybe.”

you paused, studying him now — really looking. the way his shoulders held tension even while relaxed. the way his notes were meticulously annotated, all messy, but still there, detailed.

“…i think you have perfectionist tendencies,” you said gently.

he blinked. once. then smiled, slow. “yeah,” he admitted. “i was afraid you’d say that.”

your laugh came out softer than you expected.

and for a moment, neither of you moved — like you’d both just recognised something familiar in each other, something quiet and unspoken, sitting comfortably between you.

the two of you packed up slowly, neither rushing, the quiet stretching comfortably between movements. izuku slipped his pens back into their case with practiced neatness, while you carefully slid your notebook into your bag, fingers lingering on the cover as if reluctant to close it.

outside, the campus had softened into night.

lamps lined the pathways, casting warm halos over the concrete, cicadas humming faintly from the trees. the air was cool — not cold, just enough to raise goosebumps along your arms. you adjusted your bag higher on your shoulder as the two of you began walking, steps falling into an easy rhythm.

it felt natural. too natural.

izuku walked beside you, hands tucked into his pockets, posture relaxed but attentive. every so often, his gaze flicked your way — not staring, just checking. like he wanted to make sure you were still there.

“did you park on campus?” he asked casually.

“no,” you replied. “i usually just walk.”

he slowed a fraction. “all the way home?”

“yeah,” you nodded. “it’s not too bad.”

he didn’t respond right away. instead, he glanced at the darkened stretch of road beyond the gates, brows knitting almost imperceptibly.

“…it’s pretty late,” he said after a moment.

you shrugged lightly. “i don’t really notice the time when i’m studying.”

he smiled at that, fond. “yeah. i can tell.”

the gates creaked softly as you passed through them, the world outside campus quieter somehow, more exposed. cars passed occasionally, headlights washing briefly over the pavement before disappearing again.

izuku cleared his throat. “hey,” he hesitated, then glanced at you. “i could give you a ride, if you want.”

you stopped walking.

not abruptly — just enough that he noticed immediately and halted too, concern flickering across his face.

“oh— sorry,” he said quickly. “i didn’t mean to put you on the spot or anything, i just thought—”

“no, no,” you shook your head, heat creeping into your cheeks. “it’s really nice of you, i just… i think i’m okay. i wouldn’t want to bother you.”

his eyes widened slightly. “bother me?”

“yeah,” you laughed quietly, embarrassed. “you’ve already been here so long, and i know you’re busy, and—”

he cut you off gently. “hey.”

the single word was soft, but it stopped your spiral instantly.

he turned toward you fully now, expression earnest. “you wouldn’t be bothering me. at all.”

you hesitated. “i mean… it’s my choice to walk. i don’t want you to feel like you have to.”

izuku exhaled slowly, thinking. “it’s not that i feel like i have to,” he said. then, more quietly, “i just don’t think i’d be able to sleep if i let you walk home alone this late.”

your heart stumbled.

“…oh,” you murmured.

he rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly a little bashful. “that probably sounded dramatic. sorry.”

“no,” you said quickly. “it didn’t, i get it.”

the streetlamp above you flickered softly, bathing his face in warm light. you noticed things you probably shouldn’t have — the faint tiredness under his eyes, the loosened collar of his shirt, the way his shoulders relaxed when you didn’t immediately shut him down.

you looked away first. “you’re… really considerate.”

he smiled, small. “i try.”

the two of you resumed walking, a little closer now than before. your arms brushed once accidentally and neither of you moved away.

“where do you live?” he asked.

you told him. his brows lifted. “that’s not close.”

“…i know.”

he hummed, thoughtful again. “yeah. i’m definitely not letting you walk.”

you laughed, startled. “izuku—”

“i mean,” he corrected quickly, smiling sheepishly, “only if you’re comfortable. i don’t want to pressure you.”

you slowed again, turning the decision over in your mind. you weren’t afraid — not of him — just unused to being… looked after like this.

“…would you really be okay with it?” you asked quietly.

he met your gaze without hesitation. “yeah. i would.”

something in his voice — steady, certain — made your chest ache.

“…okay,” you said at last. “if you’re sure.”

his smile bloomed instantly, brighter than the streetlights. “i am.”

he led you toward the parking lot, steps light, like a weight had lifted from him. his car wasn’t far — a modest thing, clean, well-kept, obviously not within your budget. he unlocked it quickly and moved without thinking to open the passenger door for you.

“oh,” you said softly. “thank you.”

he froze for half a second, then laughed quietly. “right. sorry. habit.”

you climbed in, smoothing your skirt over your knees as he shut the door gently. the interior smelled faintly of clean fabric and something warm — coffee, maybe. comforting, woody.

when he slid into the driver’s seat, there was a brief, charged silence before the engine turned over.

“…i’m glad you said yes,” he admitted, eyes still on the road as he pulled out.

“me too,” you said before you could overthink it.

he glanced at you, surprised, then smiled with that boyish look.

the drive was quiet in the best way. not awkward, just calm. the kind of silence that felt shared rather than empty. streetlights blurred past, casting soft shadows across the dashboard.

the road unspooled quietly beneath the headlights, a familiar route izuku could probably drive with his eyes closed, but tonight, he was more aware of the way the steering wheel felt under his palms, the way the accelerator felt more sensitive tonight, the low hum of the engine, the steady rhythm of his own breathing. and you.

you sat beside him, small movements only, tucking your hands into your sleeves, gaze drifting out the window as the city lights passed in soft blurs. you looked calmer now. like something heavy had finally been set down, and you were trusting him. he realized, dimly, that his chest felt lighter too.

izuku had been calling it a lot of things in his head. concern. attentiveness. curiosity. he’d analyzed it from every angle, turned it over like a case study, tried to label it cleanly so it wouldn’t spill into anything messier. obsession felt too sharp a word, but it hovered there anyway, the way his thoughts circled back to you without permission, the way he noticed the smallest changes in your expression, the way silence felt different when you were in it with him.

but sitting here now, he felt something shift. it wasn’t urgency. it wasn’t even that familiar, buzzing anxiety he got when he cared too much. it was ease, simplicity.

he liked the quiet with you — they way that it didn’t demand conversation, didn’t make him reach for explanations or justifications. the kind that let him exist without performing, without solving, without proving anything at all.

he glanced at you from the corner of his eye, just once, careful not to linger. your lashes cast soft shadows against your cheeks, lips parted slightly as you breathed. peaceful. present.

he thought, suddenly, that maybe he’d been wrong to frame it as obsession at all.

maybe he just liked being around you.

liked the way time softened when you were near. the way the world felt less sharp at the edges. the way he didn’t feel the need to be switched on — heroic, driven, composed — but could just be... izuku, quietly driving a car through half-lit streets with someone he trusted beside him.

a breath of air, he thought. that’s what you felt like.

his grip on the wheel loosened without him realising.

maybe he hadn’t wanted anything complicated from you at all.

maybe he just wanted to sit next to you, walk with you, study in the same room, make sure you got home safe, hear you talk about the things you cared about. notice the way you furrowed your brows when you were thinking too hard and gently pull you back before you disappeared into yourself.

maybe he’d wanted to be your friend this whole time.

the thought didn’t disappoint him the way he might’ve expected. it didn’t feel like a step down, or a consolation prize. it was normal, how it should've been.

he breathed out slowly, a small smile ghosting across his lips as he turned onto your street.

you shifted beside him, glancing over. “is everything okay?”

“yeah,” he said easily, meaning it. “just thinking.”

you smiled, soft and tired, and looked back out the window.

“…you know,” he said eventually, “about earlier.”

you looked at him. “yeah?”

“the perfectionist thing,” he continued. “i didn’t mean it as a bad thing.”

“i didn’t take it that way at all.”

“good,” he said. “because i feel like you care a lot. but… that’s not something i’d want you to lose.”

when the car slowed near your place, your heart sank just a little — the night already slipping away from you.

he parked and turned the engine off, the sudden quiet settling between you.

“thank you for the ride,” you smiled bashfully.

“anytime,” he replied. then, softer, “really.”

you hesitated, fingers tightening on your bag strap. “um… maybe next time, i won’t stay so late.”

he chuckled. “maybe next time, i’ll just remind you earlier.”

you smiled, stepping out of izuku's line of vision.

𐙚

izuku had memorized the schedule down to the minute.

doors at seven, opening remarks at seven-fifteen, first rotation at seven-thirty. networking clusters evenly spaced, lighting adjusted warm but not dim, music low enough that conversations wouldn’t strain.

he’d triple-checked the seating chart, colour-coded the committee roles, walked the ballroom twice before guests even arrived.

everything was set. that was supposed to be reassuring.

instead, he felt oddly restless as he stood near the entrance, blazer smooth against his shoulders, tie sitting exactly where it should. people filtered in steadily now, familiar faces, polite smiles, introductions layered over one another like static. he greeted them all easily, instinctively slipping into the role he knew well: capable, composed, dependable.

this was what he was good at.

“midoriya,” one of the committee members called quietly, clipboard tucked under her arm. “the west tables are ready.”

“great!” he nodded. “thank you.”

he took a breath, scanning the room.

it looked beautiful — he could admit that much to himself. soft gold lighting reflecting off polished floors, banners hung just right, the low hum of conversation building like a living thing. maybe over exceeding the budget was worth it.

and yet, his eyes kept drifting back to the entrance.

he told himself it was habit, he was just monitoring flow. making sure check-in was smooth. but every time the doors opened, something in his chest tightened, then eased — a quiet, unconscious rhythm.

don’t overthink it, he told himself. he’d done that enough lately, especially with you.

“you okay?” another committee member asked as she passed him a glass of water.

“yeah,” he replied easily. “just making sure everything’s running on time.”

she smiled. “of course you are.”

as she moved away, izuku let out a slow breath. his reflection caught his eye in one of the tall mirrors lining the wall. he looked put together, more than usual. he’d spent longer than he cared to admit choosing his tie, adjusting his collar, smoothing his hair, curls still messy.

still, there was that faint, persistent thought he hadn’t been able to shake all evening — the sense that something was missing, or perhaps waiting.

the doors opened again.

and this time, his breath caught for real.

it wasn’t dramatic. no music swell, no sudden silence. just the simple, unmistakable feeling of his attention snapping into focus.

you stepped inside.

for a second, he didn’t recognize you, not because you looked unfamiliar, but because you looked different. dressed up, softer and sharper all at once. the satin fabric you wore moved when you did, catching the light, and suddenly he was acutely aware of how underprepared he felt for this version of you.

you glanced around the room, tentative but curious, fingers brushing the strap of your bag before you let it fall. you looked like you were deciding where you belonged, how to blend in, but really you stood out.

izuku forgot the schedule.

forgot the rotation times, the carefully planned flow of the evening. all he could do was stand there, heart doing unhelpful and frantic in his chest as he watched you take a few steps forward.

you hadn’t told him you were coming.

the thought landed with surprising weight.

of course you hadn’t, you weren’t on the committee. you weren’t required to update him on your plans. and yet, a small, irrational part of him felt caught off guard in a way he couldn’t quite explain.

you looked… so nervous.

he noticed it immediately. the way your shoulders sat just a little tense, the way your gaze flicked between clusters of people before settling on nothing at all. it was the same look you got when you were thinking too hard, when you were quietly bracing yourself.

without thinking, his feet moved.

he stopped himself halfway.

you're your own person.

still, his attention stayed tethered to you as he forced himself to greet another guest of another company, respond to a question about seating, nod politely through small talk that suddenly felt distant and unreal.

when he looked back, you were further inside now, talking to someone he didn’t recognize. you smiled politely, hands folded in front of you.

that was… new. a warmth swelled across his chest at the sight of you easing.

but, something unfamiliar tugged at him, not jealousy, exactly. just awareness. the quiet realization that you existed in rooms he didn’t always control, that people saw you the way he did, maybe even for the first time.

it shouldn’t have unsettled him, but it did.

izuku retreated to the side of the room under the pretence of checking timing, though he already knew everything was running smoothly. his thoughts felt louder than the ballroom now.

he wondered what had convinced you to come to this. curiosity, maybe. obligation, or perhaps you’d simply wanted to step outside your usual orbit, test the edges of something new.

the idea made his chest tighten, and that's where he caught his obsession for you. it was filled with a careful kind of concern, one that might have been compromising.

would you be okay?

he watched as you laughed softly at something someone had said, the sound lost in the larger noise of the room but visible in the way your shoulders loosened. okay, okay, good. you weren’t uncomfortable.

still, he felt that familiar urge rise to check in, to ground you, to make sure you weren’t disappearing into yourself.

he resisted it. for now.

this was your space too, after all. you weren't this little project for him anymore, you were a genuine person.

as the first official rotation was announced, the room shifted, people rearranging themselves as planned. everything working exactly as it should. izuku straightened, refocusing, slipping back into his role, he had to focus.

but every so often between introductions, between nods and handshakes his gaze drifted back to you.

and each time, he felt it again. that quiet, undeniable truth settling deeper with every passing moment:

he’d organised the entire night. every detail, every position, every outcome. except for you.

he wasn't sure if he could handle that.

“midoriya,” a familiar voice called, pulling him from his thoughts.

he turned just in time to be greeted by a small cluster from his law cohort, all dressed sharper than usual, expressions bright with that polished ease people wore at events like this.

“wow,” one of them laughed lightly, eyes flicking over him. “charming as per usual. the venue's gorgeous.”

another nodded in agreement. “seriously. better than first year.”

izuku felt heat creep into his ears. “ah— thank you,” he said quickly, waving it off. “it was a team effort.”

“still,” the first added, teasing. “you always look like you belong at these things.”

he smiled, polite and practiced, answering their questions, accepting the compliments with a kind of careful gratitude. this was familiar territory, his domain — praise delivered cleanly, friendly.

past the hum of conversation, past the clink of glasses and low laughter, his gaze landed on the far side of the room — near one of the smaller tables tucked just off the main flow.

he was halfway through excusing himself from another conversation when it happened.

not a sound. not a call of his name, just the feeling, similar to a gravitational force.

that sudden, unmistakable pull in his chest, like something tightening and warming all at once, made him look up without thinking.

and there you were, all kind and polite. you’d spotted him across the room.

he saw it instantly, the way your posture shifted, how your eyes widened just a little before brightening completely. your mouth curved into a smile that was entirely unguarded, relief and recognition woven together so naturally it caught him off balance.

oh.

his breath hitched, barely noticeable, but real.

you raised a hand in a small wave, already stepping toward him, weaving through the clusters of people with careful determination. he watched you approach, unable to look away.

he hadn’t realized, not really, how much he’d wanted you to see him here.

“izuku!” you said when you reached him, voice warm, eyes still shining. “i was wondering if you’d be here.”

he laughed softly, a little breathless. “yeah. um—” he gestured vaguely around the ballroom. “i kind of had to be.”

you blinked.

your gaze swept the room — the banners, the committee members, the smooth orchestration of movement — then snapped back to him, incredulous.

“you didn’t tell me you planned this whole thing.”

his ears flushed instantly, all solid confidence flushed down the drain under your warm eyes. “oh—i didn’t plan all of it. i mean, i was on the committee, and—”

you stared at him for a second longer before laughing, the sound light and genuine. “izuku.”

the way you said his name, fond, amused, all in that pretty tone, sent that tingle through him again, sharper this time, lower.

“you’re incredible,” you added, shaking your head. “this is amazing. it's really nice here.”

he rubbed the back of his neck, smiling shyly. “i’m really glad you think so.”

“of course i do,” you said easily. “i mean—look at this.” you gestured around again, eyes sparkling. “it’s kind of perfect.”

perfect. the word landed heavier than it should have, more meaningful, more like a praise.

he glanced at you, noticing the way your excitement softened the edges of your nervousness, how standing here with him seemed to ground you just a little. your shoulders weren’t as tense now. your smile came easier, you weren't like the person he talked to a week ago.

and something in him eased in response — it meant you were getting comfortable with him.

“are you enjoying it?” he asked gently. “really.”

you hesitated, just a fraction, then nodded, a bit certain. “yeah. i am.” you smiled again, smaller this time. “i just needed a second to breathe earlier.”

he nodded, unsurprised. “yeah. i thought maybe.”

you tilted your head. “you did?”

“mhm.” he smiled. “you get this look when things get loud, didn't we talk about this before?”

your eyes softened. “you really do notice everything...”

he laughed quietly. “i try not to.”

there was a pause. and in that moment, izuku was aware of how close you were standing now, how easy it would be to stay here all night. how easy it would be to just drift away from the crowd and be with you.

“i’m glad you came,” he said finally.

your smile returned in full. “me too. especially now.”

the room shifted around you as the next rotation was announced, voices rising and moving in waves. someone brushed past, apologizing quickly, the noise swelling to a loud crescendo.

izuku hesitated, then gestured toward the quieter edge of the room. “do you want to walk for a bit? i can show you where we planned the less overwhelming spots.”

your eyes lit up again, all in that way izuku adored. “i’d love that.”

as the two of you moved together, izuku became aware of how different this felt from everything else he’d orchestrated tonight. schedules could be adjusted, lighting could be fixed, conversations could be guided. everything would've been fine.

but this — the warmth in his chest, the way your presence softened the sharpness of the evening — wasn’t something he could ever plan.

it just happened and for the first time all night, he stopped thinking about whether everything was running perfectly, because standing beside you, watching your face light up like that — that felt more than enough.

izuku heard the next rotation announcement clearly this time.

seven-forty five. cluster b and c transition. something about the west table rotate clockwise. exactly as outlined. exactly as prepared.

he felt the familiar reflex rise — the instinct to move, to oversee, to ensure nothing slipped through the cracks. it had lived in him for so long it felt automatic, like breathing, especially in this lived role.

but then he stopped, he didn’t need to.

every contingency had been accounted for, every loophole closed. he’d walked the room twice, briefed the committee, adjusted for worst-case scenarios that never came. the system didn’t hinge on his constant presence anymore, there was nothing more he could do.

tonight was already perfect.

the thought settled, solid and calm.

all he just needed to do was enjoy the night himself.

he let his shoulders drop, just slightly.

he glanced at you again, the way you stood beside him, eyes following the movement of the room with a quiet curiosity rather than obligation. you weren’t measuring outcomes or impressions, you were just like him. just trying to enjoy the night.

and suddenly, the choice felt easy.

fuck talking to other people.

fuck the endless cycle of introductions and polite interest and performative charm. he’d done his part — more than his part. the night didn’t need him to keep proving it.

what it hadn’t planned for was you.

he slowed his pace, matching yours again, attention narrowing deliberately. when another committee member’s eyes flicked toward him from across the room, searching, he met her gaze briefly, calm, assured, then nodded once.

a silent it’s fine.

he turned back to you, voice warm. “hey. do you want to sit somewhere quieter, even quieter?”

you looked surprised, then thoughtful. “aren’t you busy?”

he smiled. “i was. not right now. i think they can handle.”

something in his tone made your shoulders ease immediately. “okay,” you said. “i’d like that.”

as the two of you moved toward the edge of the ballroom, the hum of conversation continued uninterrupted. people rotated, laughed, exchanged cards. the night unfolded exactly as he’d designed it to.

he took a seat across from you, the space between you unhurried, intentional. the windows beside you reflected soft light, the city beyond blurred and distant.

for the first time that evening, izuku wasn’t tracking time.

fuck talking to other people, he thought again, this time without heat. without rebellion.

the ballroom noise had softened into something distant here by the windows, the music reduced to a low thread beneath conversation. the table between them was small, round, intimate — two glasses of water, one abandoned dessert plate, the soft reflection of light rippling across its surface.

izuku rested his forearms lightly against the edge, posture relaxed in a way he rarely allowed himself. he should’ve been scanning the room, checking on guests, but he didn't want to.

instead, he was watching you.

you were speaking — something about your classes, your schedule — your hands moving slightly as you talked, fingers tracing shapes in the air without you realising. every so often, you paused to think, gaze lifting briefly toward the ceiling before returning to him.

he nodded along, listening. really listening. at least, he tried to.

“so i’m technically in law,” you were saying, voice calm, a little hesitant. “but it’s a double degree.”

that caught his attention properly.

“you are?” he asked, surprised. “law?”

you laughed softly, shyly. “yeah. i don’t usually advertise it.”

“why not?”

you shrugged, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. the motion was small, unconscious, yet it did something unsettling to his chest. “i don’t know. i guess i don’t feel very… law-coded.”

he smiled at that. “what does that even mean?”

“you know,” you said, amused. “confident or outspoken. ready to argue at any given moment. kinda like you.”

he huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “that’s not all of us.”

you glanced at him, eyes warm. “i suppose...”

something about the way you said it — not complimentary exactly, just observant — made his breath hitch.

“what’s the other degree?” he asked.

“arts,” you replied. “i like the balance. something structured, something… softer.”

he nodded slowly. “that makes sense.”

and it did. everything about you made sense in that quiet, inevitable way, like if he’d been paying attention properly all along, he would’ve seen it coming. you were this ball of comfort that bleed into his life, filling it with sunshine.

you continued talking, explaining how you ended up there, how one degree grounded you and the other let you breathe, the one that let you be yourself. he watched your face as you spoke, the way your expression shifted subtly with each thought — earnest, careful, a little self-conscious when you worried you were rambling.

“sorry,” you said suddenly, smiling apologetically, flashing him that meek look. “i’m talking a lot.”

“no,” he said immediately. “please don’t stop.”

you blinked. “oh.”

he cleared his throat, heat creeping into his ears. “i like hearing you talk.”

your smile softened, something gentler settling into your features. “okay.”

you kept going, and that was the problem.

because the longer you spoke, the harder it became for him to stay anchored to the words themselves. his attention drifted — not away from you, but deeper into you. into the way the light caught on your cheekbone when you turned your head. into the faint curve of your smile when you found the right phrasing, all so sure of yourself when you did. into the way you looked at him when you were trying to make sure he understood, the slight furrow in your brows.

he did understand, of course he did.

he realised, with a quiet jolt, that he’d stopped thinking in sentences. stopped analysing, categorising, planning, everything around him, you. his thoughts came slower now, softer, reduced to simple impressions.

beautiful. you were so beautiful it dulled everything around him.

there was no other word that fit.

not in a dramatic sense. not in a way that demanded attention. just… undeniably, painfully beautiful in the way you existed so naturally in front of him.

he’d seen you before, of course — studying, walking through campus, sitting across from him with notebooks between you, you were sweetly addicting like that. but tonight, something was different. maybe it was the way you’d dressed, or the way the dim lighting softened everything it touched. maybe it was the way you seemed more open, less guarded, like you’d decided — just for tonight — not to hide. this was you.

he swallowed, forcing himself to refocus as you asked, “what about you?”

“me?”

“yeah,” you said. “how did you end up in law?”

he almost laughed at the timing.

“uh,” he started, then paused, collecting himself. “i think i always knew. in a way, i think it was something i always wanted to get into.”

you leaned forward slightly, attentive. “because of justice stuff?”

he smiled. “that obvious?”

“kind of,” you admitted. “you have that look, like you care a lot.”

the words landed gently, but they stayed, bringing him a sense of deja vu.

“yeah,” he said quietly. “i do.”

you nodded, satisfied. “that makes sense.”

he found himself smiling back without thinking, something warm and gnetle spreading through his chest.

this, this was dangerous.

not because it felt wrong, but because it felt easy, because sitting here with you didn’t require effort or performance or vigilance. because for the first time all evening, his mind wasn’t split between ten different responsibilities.

it was just you. it was the only thing filling his mind at this point.

you paused, noticing his silence. “are you okay? you’re doing that thing again.”

“what thing?”

“staring,” you said gently, observant.

his breath caught.

“sorry,” he said quickly. “i don't mean to.”

it was your turn to interrupt him. “it’s okay, i'm not judging.”

you held his gaze, unbothered. maybe even a little curious, something inviting beneath your gaze.

for a moment, once more, neither of you spoke.

the space between you felt fragile, like something easily broken if either of you moved too quickly — izuku didn't want that.

izuku felt the yearning then — properly, unmistakably. not sharp or desperate, but deep and steady, like a current pulling at him from somewhere beneath his ribs.

he wanted to reach out. not to touch you, not yet — just to exist a little closer. to stay in this pocket of quiet longer than the night technically allowed.

he wanted to know you. not in fragments or shared moments, but fully — your habits, your contradictions, the way your mind worked when you weren’t trying to be careful. he didn't want to just know what you liked, what your interests were surface-level, he wanted to know the mundane things, your routine, which food you liked because it reminded you of your childhood. he wanted to absorb all of you.

and the realisation scared him, just a little.

because he didn’t want to rush it. this wasn't just the meek girl in the art room who stayed afterhours, this was someone he genuinely...

whatever this was, it deserved patience.

“…i’m really glad you came tonight,” he said softly.

you smiled, something tender in it. “me too.”

and as the night continued around them — the networking, the conversations, the perfectly planned flow — izuku stayed right where he was, trying to memorize the feeling of this moment.

he wanted to engrave you into his skin, breath you in like oxygen and hold you like you were the only form of matter on this planet. the sound of your voice. the warmth in his chest. the quiet certainty that for once, wanting something didn’t feel like a problem to solve.

it just felt like something to hold.

he tried, really tried, to follow what you were saying.

but you looked too pretty. so fucking pretty, it almost felt unfair.

the golden lights hitting the shine of your dress, caught the warm light every time you moved, clinging to you. it glowed softly, the fabric pooling and shifting when you breathed, constricting around your chest when you leaned forward, when you laughed under your breath.

and your eyes — god.

they looked endearing under the lights, softened by the glow, thoughtful and gentle in a way that made his chest ache. you listened the same way you always did, fully. like every word mattered. like people were worth holding space for. there was something so mindful about you, so careful, and it made him want to be careful too.

your cheeks were flushed, not with nerves exactly — with kindness. with warmth. like the room hadn’t overwhelmed you after all, like you’d found a way to exist inside it without losing yourself, allowing yourself to be free around him. the color bloomed there naturally, and he had to stop himself from staring at it, from wondering what it would feel like to cup your face and feel that warmth beneath his palms.

and your hair.

pulled up, neat and intentional, a careful updo that spoke of time and patience. not rushed. not careless. soft intentional curls framed your face, falling just loose enough to shadow the softness of your cheeks. gentle. deliberate. beautiful in a way that didn’t try to be anything else.

he swallowed, pulse loud in his ears.

if he had known how gorgeous you'd look under these warm lights, under the disco ball above iridescent against your skin, he might've just planned a second ball just to see you like this again.

get it together, izuku.

but he couldn’t stop thinking about how much care must’ve gone into this. how you’d probably stood in front of a mirror, adjusting, fixing, hesitating — wondering if this was too much or not enough. how you might’ve almost undone it, almost chosen something safer, something smaller.

and yet here you were.

sitting across from him, hands folded neatly, voice soft, eyes bright — completely unaware of the way you were undoing him piece by piece.

he realised then that this wasn’t just attraction. it wasn’t novelty, or the dim lighting, or the elegance of the night.

it was the way you existed so gently in the world.

and fuck — he didn’t know what to do with that yet, so he stayed quiet. he listened. he held the moment carefully, filing this image of you carefully into his mind.

because wanting you like this — silently, reverently — felt too important to rush, far too valuable to treat as a little project.

the ball thinned out gradually.

not all at once — just in small, polite waves. conversations wrapped up. coats and blazers were collected. laughter softened into goodbyes. the music dimmed, almost imperceptibly, like the room itself was beginning to exhale.

izuku noticed it the way he noticed everything.

he’d already been thanked three times; already assured that it had gone beautifully, that the night was a success, that the committee could handle the rest of the cleanup. someone mentioned the afterparty in passing — a loose plan, informal, nothing he needed to oversee.

he nodded. smiled. filed it away. and then forgot about it entirely.

because you shifted in your seat beside him, smoothing your dress as you glanced toward the exit.

“i should probably head off soon,” you said softly, eyes creasing in that apologetic sense. “it’s getting late.”

something in his chest tightened — not sharply, just enough to register.

“yeah,” he replied. “i was thinking the same.”

you stood first, slipping your bag over your shoulder. the movement drew his eyes again, traitorous, lingering. the golden shimmer of your dress caught the light one last time, and he felt that familiar ache settle low and steady.

you waited for him without asking.

he stood, too.

the walk toward the entrance was unhurried. the room looked different now — emptier, less demanding. the work was done. the night had unfolded exactly as planned.

except for this part.

he stopped near the doors, the cool air from outside brushing faintly against his neck.

izuku hesitated.

he’d offered before. a few days ago. the night at that time, felt simpler. because he didn't feel this strongly not too long ago, but this felt different — heavier somehow, more deliberate.

“um,” he started, then cleared his throat. “do you want a ride home?”

you blinked, surprised — then smiled apologetically. “oh, it’s okay. i can just grab a taxi.”

he nodded automatically.

and then, in his head, something stalled. what was he thinking?

a taxi meant waiting. standing alone under streetlights. a stranger behind the wheel. it meant letting you disappear into the night like you were just another variable, another thing he didn’t need to think about.

and that, that felt wrong.

uncomfortable. an inconvenience.

the thought surfaced unbidden, clear and undeniable.

it’s never an inconvenience when it’s you.

the realisation startled him with its honesty.

he looked at you again — the way you stood there, composed but tired, eyes slightly lidded, still soft around the edges despite the long night. the way your fingers curled lightly around your bag strap, like you were already halfway gone.

“please,” he said instead, more firmly this time. “really. i’m heading that way anyway.”

it wasn’t a lie.

not exactly.

you hesitated. “are you sure? you’ve probably had a long night.”

he almost laughed.

“yeah,” he admitted. “but this part’s easy. can't let a pretty girl going home alone can i?”

you studied his face for a moment, like you were weighing something — then nodded. “oh! uh— okay, if you’re sure.”

“i am,” he said, without hesitation, already guiding you.

outside, the night air was cooler, quieter. the exterior of the venue's lights cast long shadows across the pavement as you walked side by side, close enough that your arms brushed once, neither of you moving away.

his car wasn’t far.

as he unlocked it, you paused, glancing back at the building. “you did really well tonight,” you said. “everyone could feel how much care went into it.”

the words settled warm in his chest.

“thank you,” he replied. “that… means a lot.”

you smiled at him — soft, genuine — and he felt that ache again, deeper now. how was he going to handle this...

you slid into the passenger seat, dress gathering carefully around you. he closed the door gently, then took a second before walking around to the driver’s side.

as he started the engine, he felt the pull of the rest of the night somewhere behind him — the loose invitations, the unspoken expectations, the afterparty he hadn’t even mentioned.

he didn’t think of it as a sacrifice. he thought of it as a choice.

and as he pulled away from the curb, the city lights stretching ahead, izuku realised something quietly, undeniably true about himself, and about you.

there were a lot of things he was willing to rearrange.

but when it came to you, nothing about this felt like an inconvenience at all.

the car settled into a gentle hum as he pulled onto the road, the city lights sliding past the windshield in slow streaks of gold and white. the heater was on low, just enough to take the edge off the night air. everything felt muted in here — insulated, almost private.

you broke the silence first.

“i talked to a lot of people tonight,” you said softly, gaze turned toward the window. “more than i thought i would.”

“yeah?” he glanced at you briefly, then back to the road. “how was it?”

you smiled, small and thoughtful. “good! a little overwhelming at first, but… good.”

he nodded, encouraging, letting you set the pace.

“there was this girl from corporate law,” you continued. “she was really kind. she told me about her clerkship and how scared she was at the start.” you laughed quietly. “which helped, actually. made it feel less… impossible.”

“i’m glad,” he said. and he meant it — deeply. of course you could handle yourself.

you shifted in your seat, fingers brushing the fabric of your dress absently. “i don’t know if i’ll hear from any of them again,” you added. “but it was still nice. like… proof i can do it, you know? talk to people. be in those spaces.”

his chest warmed at that.

“that’s not nothing,” he said gently.

you looked at him then, eyes catching the dashboard light. “yeah. i think i needed to be a bit like you tonight.”

there was a pause, comfortable but full. the kind that let thoughts stretch without pressure.

he listened to the way your voice softened when you spoke about the night, the way pride threaded quietly through your words — not loud or boastful, just earned, rightfully so. he found himself wanting to catalogue it all. the cadence of your speech, the way you chose your words carefully, like you didn’t want to overstate or undersell the experience.

he admired that about you. the balance. god, you were so pretty.

“i kept thinking i was saying the wrong thing,” you admitted with a small laugh. “but then i realised… most people are just happy someone’s listening.”

he smiled, nodding as this thumb drummed against the rim of the steering wheel. “that’s true.”

you glanced back out the window. “i think that’s why i liked it more than i expected. it wasn’t about impressing anyone, just connecting.”

the word lingered.

connecting.

tonight was a success. no, it was more than a success.

he felt it settle somewhere deep in his chest, heavy and warm. he wondered if you realised how naturally you did that — how you drew people in without trying, how your attention felt like a gift rather than a transaction.

he wanted to tell you, how your caring nature drew him in effortlessly with the least amount of words possible. he didn’t.

instead, he said, “you’re really good at that.”

you hummed, unconvinced but pleased. “maybe. i’m still not sure i belong in rooms like that.”

he tightened his grip on the steering wheel for just a second.

“you do,” he said quietly. “even if it doesn’t always feel like it.”

you turned toward him again, studying his profile. “you really think so?”

“yeah,” he replied without hesitation. “i wouldn’t say it if i didn’t.”

something softened in your expression — relief, maybe. trust. it made his chest ache in that familiar way, the yearning curling gently rather than sharply now, beckoning him to feed into it.

you leaned back into the seat, exhaling. “thank you. for tonight. and for the ride.”

“anytime,” he said. then, softer, “i’m glad you came.”

you smiled to yourself, eyes drifting closed for just a second. “me too.”

the rest of the drive passed quietly, but it wasn’t empty. it was filled with the sound of your breathing, the rhythm of the road, the shared understanding of a night well-lived.

izuku kept his focus on the street ahead, but his thoughts stayed with you — with the way you spoke about the people you met, not as stepping stones or opportunities, but as moments. experiences. proof of your own growth.

he realized then that this was what he wanted to know about you. not just your ambitions or your plans, but the way you processed the world. the way you took meaning from small, human interactions. he wondered how you felt about him.

as he turned onto your street, something in him tightened again — a quiet reluctance.

the car slowed. the moment thinned.

but he held onto it carefully, storing it away.

because even if you never heard from those people again, even if the night faded into memory, this — this conversation, this calm — mattered.

and as he pulled to a stop, izuku knew one thing that was absolutely true. tonight hadn’t been about networking at all.

it had been about you finding your place.

and him realizing how badly he wanted to stay beside you while you did.

𐙚

the networking ball might’ve been the best thing izuku’s ever planned yet. 

not in a technical sense — sure, catering as beyond expectation, speeches inspired and the schedule ran without collapsing in on itself. those were things he already accounted for, no surprise there.

the following week, izuku received praise. not just from the students, but also professors he was working closely with. 

he hadn’t done it for recognition — god, no, that never even entered his mind. nor had he done it for the networking, not really. he wanted something that felt intentional, a means for students to still enjoy their university days without feeling guilty for compromising on studying. something that didn’t feel hollow or transactional.

and somehow, after all of the budgeting, negotiations, it worked. 

students were able to line up with companies for further work, people got to have a good time, new perspectives were unveiled for those stuck. 

committee members drift past him in the hallways, offering quick appreciative thanks, light teasing about finally relaxing. someone claps him on the shoulder, while another jokes about him being “charmingly competent, as per usual”. 

izuku smiles, polite and warm, accepting the praise with content that all went well. 

and, he should feel done. the mission was complete, it should just be back to the books now, the days should unfold normally. 

he grabs lunch on the go, grumbling to himself about forgetting to meal-prep the night before. he tucks himself into a quiet spot in the law library, answering emails, cleaning up any missed content he might’ve let slip through the cracks of his schedule before moving to his next lecture. 

the campus hums around him, familiar and unremarkable. this is the moment he gets to sink in the sun’s warmth on his skin, the noticeable cool breeze on his arms and neck. 

at one point, while crossing the quad, he thinks he catches a glimpse of you near the arts building — just a flicker of your hair blending with the moving crowd. by the time he looks again, you’re gone. 

he remembers the way you’d looked at the ball — endearing, beautiful, everything tender and loving in between. it was enough to have him spiralling, doing everything he could to make you his, but that wasn’t right. 

he shook his head slightly, refocusing on the green ahead of him. things should be ordinary, but the only thing out of place, was his mind. 

the lecture ended with a collective mundane sigh. this lecture was particularly content-heavy, and by the time the professor had taken off his glasses and shoved his laptop into his bag, izuku already knew he’d be reviewing the whole thing from scratch tonight. 

on the way from the lecture hall, he decided to take a detour. his feet shift direction, pivoting him down a familiar corridor without much thought. 

the day had been long, but manageable. but really, it’s only been manageable because a part of you has occupied his thoughts, while the other half blurred with case notes and the low hum of the aging professor echoing faintly in his head. 

the art building is quiet at this hour. 

he slows as he reaches it, already feeling your presence, already anticipating you. the air changes immediately — it’s warm, welcoming with the faint smell of paint and paper, and definitely something mineral he hasn’t dealt with before. 

he should head home, review the notes in his room, add to the pile of work he already has accumulating on his desk. but, how could he not see you? just because he felt guilty about getting hitoshi to practically discover your twitter account, and that he may have jacked off to your liked videos. but he’s changed, right? he only wants to know you for you, now.

the hallway is mostly empty, footsteps echoing softly against the marble floor as he walked past closed doors, ongoing tutorials till heard from within. for the majority, most of the lights are off, and the vast of the building had already begun settling into its evening rest. 

except for one sector, the one he goes to most afternoons, the one he used to go to just to ease his mind, but was now just to see you. 

a glow spills from the art room, rainbow panels dull against the sun’s setting, a thin line of the afternoon’s last sun cutting across the floor. 

izuku slowed, breathing shallowing. this was, undoubtedly, his favorite part of his day whether he wanted to argue it or not. he approached closer, peering in through the open doorway with an idle intention of saying hello — or maybe just confirming if you weren’t even there at all. 

just when he was to enter the room, the sound reaches him first, soft, uneven, pained. 

his chest tightened instinctively as the realization settled in.

you’re seated at your normal spot, shoulders hunched, sketchbook open and forgotten beneath your trembling hands. your head is bowed, hair falling to cover your face, but can already tell what state you’re in with the way your body shakes. 

his body moves before he can even think of what to say. 

“hey hey,” he says softly, tone gentle as he slots himself beside you, careful to not invade your personal space. 

your head snapped up, panic flashing evident across your face, raw as if you’ve been caught. you scrub at your cheeks with the heel of your hands, shaking your head frantically. 

“i—i’m fine, izuku,” you sniffle out quickly, too quickly. “sorry, i didn’t think you were going to come by—”

“no no no, please don’t apologise, please don’t. it’s okay,” izuku reassures, tone softening even more. “i didn’t mean to intrude, i just heard you…couldn’t leave you crying here alone.”

you look like you might bolt. your breath stutters at his words, feelings collapsing even more, chest hitching like it’s trying to decide on imploding in on itself. you turn away purposefully, shoulders curling inward. 

izuku recognizes it immediately — the way you're panicking even more now. 

“okay,” he murmured, calm even as his heart hammers against his ribs. “okay, okay, it’s okay, deep breaths for me. you’re safe.”

you shake your head, fingers digging into the edge before they move to hold izuku’s, body still turned away from him. “i’m being stupid.”

izuku’s eyes widened at your words, more than your touch. “hey, no you’re not.”

he moved around you, crouching down before you slightly so he’s not towering over you, keeping his movements slow and visible, gently grabbing your clenched fists and rubbing small circles over your knuckles.

“i am, izuku,” you sob out, hot tears spilling down your cheeks and falling onto izuku’s hand. your breathing stutters again, before easing at his patience. “i am… i’m sorry. so so sorry…”

“hey,” izuku says again, quiet, thumb still tracing slow circles, completely ignoring the way your tears patter against his skin. “you don’t need to be sorry, not for this, just let it out, okay?”

you shake your head at his words once more, frustration making its way to your pained features. your grip tightened in on itself as you try to make sense of izuku’s touch, warm and comforting. 

“i didn’t mean to make it weird,” you whisper, words barely holding together, though it seems like you’re speaking more to yourself. “i swear i didn’t…”

his brows knit, confusion and concern flickering across his face. “y/n…what’s going on, sweetie?” 

the endearment slips from his lips accidentally, and it definitely doesn’t go unnoticed by you, but you’re too distressed to even care.

you don’t answer right way, your eyes focusing on his kind ones as you try to calm down, your breathing evening out a little now, just enough for you to swallow, shoulders still curled inward. 

“someone said something about m—me,” you say finally, voice choked and raspy. 

his thumb stills, hovering mindfully over the delicate skin of your knuckle. “yeah?”

you nod, the dam of tears almost unleashing. “they—they said i was weird.”

the word sits heavy between you, ugly and sharp in your mouth. 

honestly, it wasn’t as bad as izuku thought it would be. but, that being said, he’d never undermine your feelings if that was something that really hurt you. 

izuku exhaled slowly through his nose, processing your words. “i don’t think that’s true. how could that be true?”

you let out a small, broken laugh. the sound ripped from your throat raw, eyes downcast now. “you don’t really know me. they’re probably right.”

“maybe not,” he says gently, shifting himself closer so your knees are almost touching his chest. “but i know that crying over something like this doesn’t come from nowhere.”

your lips tremble at that, nodding shamefully. 

“i didn’t mean to,” you repeat, quieter now, voice hushed. “i wasn’t trying to— i wasn’t trying to do anything wrong.”

he doesn’t ask you to elaborate, seeing that you’re obviously devastated about something that had happened throughout the day. the thought set something ablaze and uncomfortable within him, heat swirling in his chest at the thought of someone hurting you like that. 

“i don’t think you’re someone who does things with bad intentions,” izuku started. “i think people mistake your quiet, thoughtful nature for indifference.”

your shoulders sag, tension leaking out of you with exhaustion. tears spill freely now, more devastatingly calm this time, as if he’s just cracked a code. 

“i’m sorry,” you whisper again, voice cracking. “i don’t know why i’m like this— i thought— i thought that the networking ball, i proved myself…”

izuku frowned at the sight before him, you collapsing in on yourself, defeat cementing painfully in your chest. “don’t apologise for being yourself. if you want, you don’t have to explain everything to me.”

that, seems to be what finally breaks the lock you had on.

you let out a sob, real and pained. your head dipped forward as you struggled to pull yourself back together. 

izuku stays right where he is, patiently carrying whatever weight he can. he doesn’t rush you, doesn’t fill the silence with reassurances. he just keeps that same, steady tempo of circles into your knuckles, like he has all the time in the world. because with you, he really does. 

eventually, your breathing eases out again, sniffles filling the silence instead.

“thank you,” you sighed out, worry still painted all over your face.

“of course,” izuku replied kindly, tone still careful and mindful of your emotions. 

you sit there together for a moment longer, allowing the art room to settle back into its usual hush. when you finally straighten, posture recorrecting itself, your hand slips from his, wiping at your cheeks with the sleeve of your jumper. 

he was meant to do that. it’s too late now. 

he doesn’t comment on it, instead he moves to sit in a chair, legs slightly strained from the crouched position he was in. his eyes drifted briefly to the sketchbook still open on the table before returning to you. 

“hey,” he says after a beat, voice still hushed. “can i ask you something?”

you glance at him with a wary look before it’s neutralised. “okay, go ahead…”

he offers a small, reassuring smile at your dismay, assuring you that he wasn’t going to interrogate you. 

“do you mind telling me who said that about you?” he asks gently, tone clipped more than he’d like. “only if you want to.”

“i don’t want to make it a big thing,” he adds easily, like an afterthought to what he’d originally asked. “i just don’t like the idea of someone making you feel like that, is all.”

you hesitate, the name cautious on your tongue. your fingers twist together, a grimace making its way to your face, worry etched into every small movement. 

“it was adam,” you say finally. 

the name comes out oddly softer than it should. 

izuku blinks once, registering the name before filing it away. 

“adam trideschi?” he repeats, the name falling off his tongue slowly, simply making sure he heard you right. 

you nod. “yeah, he—” you stop abruptly, lips pressing together in thought. “maybe he— i don’t know, izuku. i don’t want you to like go up to him or anything, or talk to him about this. i don’t think he was trying to be cruel. it was probably just a joke. i’m just— i guess i’m just sensitive.”

izuku’s jaw tightened at the sight of you overexplaining yourself for him, as if you’re trying to compensate for whatever flaw you’re insecure of — though to him, there’s nothing you need to prove to him. 

“what kind of joke is that?”

you shrug, shoulders lifting and falling quickly. “the kind that lands wrong i guess. i mean, i’ve always been a crybaby…”

that’s all you say, nothing more.

he took a deep breath, gaze drifting somewhere past the table as he absorbed this new information. adam. law cohort, same year as the both of you. the name rings a bell, familiar in a way that he can place a face to the name, despite the fact they’ve never been close. 

“thank you for telling me,” izuku hummed out after a moment. “that was really brave of you.”

you look up at him, eyes bloodshot and tired, uncertain. “you’re not upset?”

he shakes his head immediately. “never. why would i be upset with you?”

your shoulders ease at that, relief swelling across your features as let out a choked laugh. “i just don’t want drama,” you add in quietly. 

“i know,” izuku assures. “and it doesn’t have to be, okay?” he pauses, still lost in thought. “if he says something like that again, you don’t have to deal with it alone. okay?”

you nod, eyes shining faintly as tears line your waterline. “o—okay.”

izuku gives you an empathic smile, warm and considerate as he pushed himself up from the chair. he hesitates for half a second, fingers curling at his side like he’s debating something personal. 

“for what it’s worth,” he mumbled, rubbing at the back of his neck, moving up to his undercut, a little sheepish. “i’m kind of a cry baby too.”

your brows lift, surprised. 

“seriously.” he huffed out a quiet laugh, the embarrassment settling into something certain and natural. “i just hide it better now.”

something in your creased brows soften, a tiny smile tugging at the corner of your mouth despite everything. 

“so,” izuku continues lightly, bag by his shoulder, “you’re in good company. no judgement here. i think i cry harder than you.”

he could never leave you alone like this — especially after what happened. 

the walk to the car is quiet, and the ride home was already implied by the way he clung to your side. the campus is hushed around you as you move beside him, steps small, arms folding loosely around yourself as if you’re still bracing yourself. 

the drive is gentle. no music, just the soft hum of the engine and the streetlights sliding past the lightly tinted windows.

you talk a little — unsurprisingly not about what has happened. just smaller things, and he knows it’s your way of distracting the thoughts in your head. you talk about how cold it’s gotten at night, how the semester feels longer than it should. and all izuku offers is attentive nods, meaningful comments that make you huff a breathy laugh. 

when he pulls up outside of your place, neither of you moves to get out right away.

he can still see it. and it hurts for him to realize the truth.

you’re still hurting, and from whatever really happened today, something you definitely didn’t let him know about — you’re drowning in it. 

the engine idles before he completely turns off the car decisively. 

you stare at the dashboard, fingers picking at the strap of your bag. izuku watched you from the corner of his eye, heart tugging uncomfortably in his chest. 

“hey,” he says softly, filling in the silence of the outside, the distant sound of the wind whistling. 

you look at him, as if you’re silently pleading something. 

“do you feel okay going inside by yourself?” he asks, hand hovering over the steering wheel. 

you hesitate, and it’s written all over your face, the way your lips tremble say you choke out a reply. “i’m okay.”

he nodded slowly, choosing to accept it, watching as you slowly step out of his car. then, pauses. swallowing. he shouldn’t take advantage of this moment. he shouldn’t take advantage of this moment—

“this is— okay, you don’t have to say yes.”

you wait, movements halting immediately at his gentle voice. 

“but,” he continues carefully, seeing the way your shoulders relax. “would it be okay if i came in for a bit? just to make sure you’re settled. i can leave whenever you want.”

there’s no expectation hidden in his sugared tone, no leaning closer, no pressure. just a kind offer. 

you turn, searching his face — the earnestness, the concern he isn’t trying to hide — and something inside you eases. 

“yes, please….”

the relief that crosses his face is immediate, but restrained, concealed beneath the rationality of the situation. “okay, let me carry your stuff then.”

you almost refuse, but izuku can see the way your eyes gather down to his biceps, a light blush coating your puffy cheeks before you hand over your bag. 

“thank you, izuku.”

“hmm.”

you step inside first, flickering on the light as izuku lingers just behind you, your bag bunched at his shoulder with ease. 

the house is quiet, empty. simple. 

you freeze for half a second, urgency swirling into your expression as you pad to — where izuku assumes to be — your room.

“um—” you say quickly, voice slightly pitched with a nervous laugh. “i just— just need to clean my room really quickly…um, you can grab your stuff from your car while you wait if you want to stay for a while and— um, study…since it takes you a while to get home.”

izuku’s eyes light up at your invitation, nodding eagerly, your words flying over his head. “sure.”

as he made his way to the front door, he turned to look at you who’s still standing in your original spot. “by the way, your home is really nice, i promise you i’m not judging if your room's a bit messy.”

your face heats instantly. “i know! i just—it’s embarrassing.”

the sight of you flushed like this, to him, it’s endearing. he nods in response to your flusterness, a light look on his face as he jogged to his car, gathering his bag from the boot.

izuku returns back inside of your house a minute later, unable to hide the smile flush on his face, bag slung over his shoulder, shoes nudged off neatly outside like he’s trying not to impose.

“sorry,” he says lightly, maintaining eye contact with your shy ones. “you’re right. it is so cold out there.”

“it’s okay,” you reply, a little too quickly before softening your tone, steady. “um, you can come into my room now — unless you want me to make food, we can do that.”

“that’s okay, thank you for the offer. but if you haven’t ate, i don’t mind hovering around either.”

you shake your head, pointing to the empty containers where you must’ve eaten from throughout the day. 

you hover for half a second, fingers intertwining playfully as you gesture down the hall. “my room’s just— here.”

izuku nodded, following behind you without question. 

the space is meek. small, but warm. it’s lived-in in a quiet way, a neat bed, desk pushed up against the wall, soft amber light from a flower lamp pooling the walls. everything looks tidy, but not sterile. in fact, it’s cozy. 

you step aside to let him in fully, giving him a curt look. “sorry if it’s cramped.”

“it’s fine,” he intercepts immediately, waving a hand. “it’s really nice in here, y/n.”

he means it. he likes— no, he loves it. it’s adorable. it’s you. this is you, the version of you he’s been searching for, where you rest, where you hang out. it’s as if izuku’s unveiled another intimate layer of you, and you’re entrusting him with it. 

you move around him cautiously, straightening something unnecessary on the desk, fingers brushing the edge of one of your heavily annotated textbooks before pulling away awkwardly. 

“you can, uh, sit wherever,” you add, nervous energy creeping back into your voice. your eyes dart around the room, shrinking in on yourself when you realize the only place to really sit…is your bed or the floor. 

you perch on the edge of your bed, smoothing your skirt out of habit. the room settled into a quiet that feels different from the rest of the house, charged. closer. something intimate but not quite.

izuku glanced around once more, polite and unobtrusive. “you have a lot of books,” he observed. 

you laugh softly, playing with the ends of your hair. “yeah, kind of a problem.”

“i get it,” he beamed, a warmth spilling from his cheeks and out his ears as he realized just how in your life he was. “same.”

he sat down beside you, his stronger frame sinking the mattress. his posture is precise, attentive in the way he’s trying to respect your humble abode. 

for a moment, neither of you spoke as he plopped his bag down on the floor. 

then, izuku breaks the silence gently. “do you…want to study? or we can just sit and talk, either’s okay with me.”

you hesitate, rooming the options. “we can study,” you say. “yeah, that’d be good. i mean, yeah we probably have a lot of work to do.”

izuku’s already reacting with compliance, reaching into his bag and pulling out his laptop. “okay.”

you stand again, too fast as you stumble to your desk. “i’ll just grab something,” you say quickly. 

“take your time,” he hummed out easily, already flickering his eyes back to his screen, reviewing his typed out notes from today’s gruelly lecture.

you turn away, and just for a moment, izuku catches the way your gaze flicks to the one place in the room you were careful not to touch, a closed box. 

whatever’s there stays hidden, and izuku assumes it’s best not to pry. if he were to guess what was inside of that box, tonight might turn into something else. and tonight wasn’t that night. 

you plop yourself back down across from him, taking the headboard, expression calm, hands steady. the night resumes its quiet rhythm. you question if he’s comfortable where he is, and he says it’s fine. 

it’s until he’s about three quarters of his notes and the syllabus when he notices the air in the room shifting. 

attentively, he gave you a glance, noticing your attention drifting from your own work and onto him. 

it’s subtle, fleeting almost. but he catches it swiftly. he sees the way your gaze lingers, the almost imperceptible pause when it lands a little too low, a little too close to his mouth, and even lower. when you notice he’s caught you, yor dip your head into your laptop, humming quietly. 

it makes his breath hitch, a heat spreading uncontrollably throughout hin. 

you clear your throat softly, breaking the silence. “thank you…for earlier, you know…comforting me, even though you really didn’t have to.”

his fingers pause on the keyboard, screen dimming. “of course,” he replied, voice steady even though his chest feels strangely tight. 

“even if i probably looked really gross. heh.”

there it is again, that self-deprecation you wrap yourself in. it’s softer now than when you were crying, but all in the same way, damaging. this is what he was worried about earlier —  going inside, sitting in your room in silence, allowing adam’s words to replay in your mind. that wasn’t okay. 

izuku closed his laptop, giving you his full attention, not before autosaving his work. 

you’re sitting cross legged across from him, shoulder relaxed against the headboard, eyes earnest in a way that makes it hard for izuku to think properly. there’s a faint blush tacked onto your cheeks, the rosy hue lingering from something emotional rather than embarrassed this time. 

“you didn’t.”

you blink. “pardon, sorry?”

“look gross,” he clarified, fingers clasping over his politely, not intentionally.. “you just looked like you were having a rough time, which you were. that’s excusable and it’s okay.”

you smile softly, as if you were trusting yourself with this, before dropping your gaze to your lap. “still.”

a sigh left izuku’s lips, leaning back against the heels of his palms. “if that’s gross,” he says lightly. “then i think i look horrific crying.”

you laugh at his words, allowing his comfort to ease into the room, filling it with a warmth that overpowered the amber tones from your lamp. there was a pause, and somewhere in that silence, izuku notices a lot about you. 

he’s aware of you in a way that feels new now — it’s not overwhelming, just a lot. and he’s happy to take that load. the way the lamplight catches in your hair, relaxed and effortless, the way you keep worrying your soft bottom lip between your teeth like you’re holding something back. his gaze instinctively flickers down there before he can even stop it. 

to your lips. 

your soft, plush, kissable— 

he looks away almost immediately, heart thudding, fingers curling into themselves. he should focus. 

he doesn’t realize what you’re doing at first. he’s too busy focusing on slowing his heartbeat and quieting his mind to even notice. 

you’re on your knees, a needy look in your eyes, shifting closer, slowly and careful until you place yourself right beside him — shoulder to shoulder. 

“y/n…”

your hand finds the fabric of his sleeve, fingers curling there as if you’re testing your proximity. 

“hey— “ he starts softly, but you lean in instead.

your arms wrap around him, tentative at first, as if it’s something foreign to you. then, tighter, melting into something you’ve been longing for. your cheek pressed against his shoulder, breath warm through his jumper, and izuku freezes for half a second before instinct takes over. 

his arms come up around you, just as gentle, securing you in a blanket of affection. he holds you like he’s afraid of startling or hurting you. god, the thought of him even making you uncomfortable sickens him. 

your grip tightens once, and it’s an uncharacteristic notion from you, but izuku just lets it happen. he simply takes it. 

you pull back slowly, your hands lingering on his chest as you lean away, still within close proximity. when you lift your head, your eyes flicker, once to his half-lidded eyes, then to his slightly open lips. 

izuku swallows, suddenly vulnerable in your orbit. 

he sees it then, the clear opening, you hesitating to take it. there’s a want hidden beneath your lashes as you peer straight at his lips. 

the room feels very small all of a sudden, hot and charged. electrifying at his tips. 

“you’re not weird or gross,” he says quietly, almost without thinking. “god, how could you ever be…”

your lips part, like you’re about to say something, like a response to his dialogue. but he doesn’t let you. 

fuck it. 

izuku leans in first, closing the distance slowly enough that if you wanted to stop him, you could. when his lips meet yours, it’s soft, velvety, moving against yours unhurried. 

you taste so good.

you make a small sound, something quiet and needy muffled between your tongues. your hands tighten around the fabric on his chest, anchoring him and pulling him closer. the kiss deepens, gentle, unmeasured as izuku pressed his tongue against yours, groaning. 

his hands move to your jaw without thinking, slotting it perfectly just beneath your ear. and for a moment, nothing else exists. not the art room, not the crying that happened earlier, not izuku questioning his feelings for you — because now it’s true. 

kissing you like this, finally tasting you, this was worth the obsession. it was worth figuring out if he liked you, or if it was infatuation. because now he’s certain; with you in his arms, all mush and affectionate against his lips, he wouldn’t want to be anywhere else but here. 

when he finally pulls back, a string of saliva connecting between your tongues, izuku’s face heated a warm red. 

“was that okay?” he whispers.

you nod, eyes bright and almost desperate, cheeks that pretty tinge. “more…”

he smiles, soft and relieved, a little awed at your affection.

he leaned in once more, a little more passionate now, rougher. one second, you’re leaning into him, knees brushing his, the next his hands are on your hips, gilding you closer until you’re settled onto his lap. 

you let out a quiet, surprised breath, hands flying to his shoulders. 

“izuku—“

he paused, pulling from the kiss once more, eyes searching yours with a generous concern. “is this okay still?”

your answer is in the way you stay, the way your hips move lightly against his, nudging the growing tent in his pants. 

that’s all he needs.

his arms wrap around you, sliding beneath your top to feel the bare skin of your back as you lean in again. the kiss deepens, lips moving together with a familiarity that makes his chest ache, like this has been waiting just beneath the surface the whole time. 

your weight settles fully in his lap, movements warm and pressed close, and izuku becomes acutely aware of how this is making you feel right now. he can feel it. the way your delicate fingers slide up to the back of his neck, fingers threading through his curls with need, the way he can feel your heat beneath your skirt and through your panties. 

fuck, you weren’t wearing shorts underneath. 

he lets out a soft sound against your mouth, moaning into the kiss as you rock against his erection, tiny mewls spilling out in response. 

the kiss grows unhurried but hungry in a quiet way — all lingering touches and stolen breaths. his hand settles at your waist, thumb brushing slow, grounding circles like earlier, only now it sends a different kind of heat through him.

you pull back just enough to breathe, forehead resting against his, both of you flushed and unsteady.

his heart is pounding. yours too — he can feel it.

“…we can stop,” he murmurs, even though his arms don’t loosen. “anytime.”

you shake your head, breathless smile tugging at your lips. “don’t want to.”

something in his chest twists — soft and overwhelming all at once.

he kisses you again, slower this time, like he’s savoring it. like he’s afraid if he rushes, the moment might break and rewind.

and as you sit there together — tangled, warm, entirely focused on each other — izuku realises this doesn’t feel reckless.

he knows he shouldn’t have come inside your home. he saw you crying earlier, chest heaving with panic. you should be resting up, probably sleeping. but he just can’t help it. he might be the most selfish human alive right now. 

it feels right. too right, even with that quiet, guilty voice in his head. but he doesn’t care, not right now. not especially when you’re so compliant on top of him, grounding your pussy against his crotch like you need him. 

and for once, he doesn’t overthink it. he just holds you closer and lets the moment carry you both.

still, he couldn’t believe it. him being in your room, the soft glow of your lamp casting warm shadows across crumpling sheets, wrinkling from movement.

his heart pounded unrelenting in his chest, hammering against his ribs as he soaked in the scent of you, the essence of your lips, the soft warmth teasing his cockhead beneath his pants. 

you were driving him absolutely insane. 

the way you moved, your clothed pussy unforgiving against him, felt as if you’d claimed every inch of him for yourself. it was greedy the way you were humping him, needy sounds flooding the room. 

he could feel the dampness spreading, warm and slick, marking him. and the worst part about it, izuku wanted to return the act. he wanted to put his warm cock inside of you and take you right here, ruin you from anyone else if there was any. but this isn’t how he wanted things to go. 

“y/n,” izuku murmured against your mouth, breaths coming out short, breaking the kiss. 

you shook your head, eyes dazed as your tongue chased his, not letting him pull away for too long. you rocked your hips harder, the wet slide of your clothed pussy lips against his bulge sending jolts of pleasure up his spine. 

izuku gripped your waist trying to slow you down, something primal inside of him igniting in the way you were desperately chasing this. 

he wanted to slow this down. he didn’t want to have to shove his cock in you tonight, especially not with how distressed you were earlier. 

but fuck, you were a needy little thing; humping him through your soaked panties, the fabric of his jeans memorising the curve of your pussy lips. he almost remembered the type of porn you liked to watch when he stalked your twitter account. 

this was you, you just weren’t afraid of hiding it anymore. 

he didn’t really want to stop you, because a part of him deep down, wanted to claim you too. he was just simply trying to be rational here. 

“izuku,” you breathed out, voice sultry with the way you uttered his name. there was a clipped hunger in your voice, shaky and unrestrained. you nipped at his bottom lip, a bit too hard, before soothing it with your warm tongue. “p—please don’t stop…need you…”

your hands slid under his shirt, palms flat against his rigid torso, careful as you only allowed your fingers to rest stationary against his muscles.

he hesitated, pushing you back at bit, fingers hovering around the hem of your skirt. “we should…you know i want this, but i don’t want to take advantage of you, okay?” his words felt weak as he said them, because he knew he wanted to take you here. if it was any other day, he’d have you bent over the art table, cock deep against your cervix if that’s what you wanted. 

you frowned, the tender whine from your lips as you nodded. “oh— okay. that’s okay, ‘m sorry…”

izuku reached up to grab your face, thumb caressing your jawline. “nono i mean, we can keep going if you’d like. just wanted to check in with you first, nothing more than this, okay?”

you nodded, leaning now into his shoulder, face hidden against his neck as you continued rocking, hips circling deliberately now, your clit caught with each bump against his erection. 

“feels nice, izuku…don’t wanna stop…” you shuddered against him, a fresh wave of wetness soaking the space where the two of you were connected. 

“i know, i know, you can keep moving, i got you.”

izuku began grinding against you, gentle movements as he humped your pussy through your soiled panties. something dark, a familiar thrill, twisted in his gut, a beckoning truth that was just waiting to be acted upon. 

he wanted this just as much as you. in fact, he probably wanted this more. from when he saw you at the ball, back to when he saw the filthy shit you probably touched yourself to, he should’ve known how sweet this pussy would be. he didn’t want anyone else to have access to this. 

no, he couldn’t let anyone have access to this. 

not especially how pretty you look, your sweet nectar soiling his erection. 

“i’m so close…’m so— close!” you panted, nails moving to dig into his shoulders, your back arching as you desperately chased the edge. 

izuku wrapped his arms tight around you, grounding you closer to him, whimpering lightly as he felt your pussy clench against the barrier of your panties. his heart raced, a possessive surge rising in him at your soft sounds, the way it should be so wrong to know what you sound like, all close and horny. but he wanted to swallow it all, take it in for himself, file it into memory so he can replay it the next time he jacked off. 

“i got you, sweetie. come on, ride it out for me…you’re doing so good.” his words came out commandingly more than he’d intended, tone wrapped in tenderness. he thrusted up slightly into your caged form, meeting your grind with his own restrained buck. 

“fu—hnnggh— “

you pulled back suddenly, shuddering at the loss of contact. your cheeks flushed deeper, scarlet hues softening your features. you bit your lip, eyes drooping to his chest before flickering up, vulnerable. 

“you okay?” izuku asked, caressing your back in comforting circles. 

you nodded, thoughts evidently trapped in your mouth as you tried navigating your next request. 

“y/n?”

“can i have your fingers in me?”

izuku’s eyes widened, processing how small your voice sounded, almost hesitant. he searched your face, searching for any overlap in the moment that could’ve had you feel this way. but there was this look in your eyes, something beneath your gaze that held an underlying hunger, a faint promise beckoning him in. 

the request hit him, stirring shadows in his mind where he wanted to corrupt you and mold you into this little sweet thing that was untouched from the world outside. he paused, his hands stilling on your back, processing his own buried impulses. 

he wanted to, he wanted to. he wanted to do more than just finger you. he wanted to have you all pretty over his cock as he fucked you with the most upmost tender care, slow deep movements that’d seal everything unexplainable between the two of you. 

he imagined visiting you at the end of each day, sitting in that art room, sunlight faint against your skin. the way your eyes lit up when you saw him, sketchbook open to whatever erotic-implied concept you were working on that day. he wanted to be the one who drove you home, the one you turned to when things went south. the one who was in your life like it mattered.

he wanted every inch of your life, every little cozy bit of your reality. he wanted to be in it. no, he wanted to be it.

the vision was fleeting, but vivid. it was his bound to you, the way your eyes locked on his as if he was the only person in the world. 

the sight made his cock twitch, guilt and desire warring inside him. he wanted to give in, to feed that madness burning in every fiber of him. 

he swallowed hard, pushing the dark visions down, but not far enough. maybe tonight, this could just be about you. making you feel good. 

“yeah,” he said finally, voice rough with self-control as he nodded, giving in to the gravitational pull. “i can do that, of course.”

your eyes lit up, tears brimming your waterline as you allowed izuku to ease you off his lap, shifting the two of you back onto the bed. izuku carefully fluffed the pillow beneath your head, arranging the sheets thoughtfully around your legs, his touch reassuring as he positioned himself beside you. 

“spread your pretty legs for me, okay?” he hummed out, slipping an arm beneath you and around your other shoulder, pulling you close to his chest. “i’ll take care of the rest.”

your body relaxed slightly under his attention, a soft sigh escaping your lips as you settled against him, knees parting meekly. 

izuku smiled as he slid one hand between your thighs, brushing the drenched cotton aside — quickly noting to himself that you liked floral panties. your pussy was on display, folds slick and swollen, dripping with need. 

izuku groaned, his erection twitching in the confinements of his jeans. you were so pretty. so undeniably, unmistakably gorgeous. he couldn’t see all of you, and he wish he could, but the sight was enough. 

“your fingers are ticklish,” you commented, voice slightly shaky as you peered up at him. 

“is that a good thing?”

you shrugged, blush deepening. “i think so.”

he traced your entrance, collecting the arousal on his fingertips, shuddering at the way you whimpered. 

slowly, he pushed his index finger, feeling your walls snug around him, hot and velvety.

"a—aah!"

you were incredibly tight, your walls fluttering around the intrusion as he sank in knuckle-deep, enveloped by your velvety heat and the obscene wetness that coated him immediately. 

“oh... you're so cute,” he breathed, his eyes widening at the sensation, watching your face for any sign of discomfort. but there was none — only pleasure, your lips parting in a soft moan as your hips lifted slightly to meet him. 

he moved slowly at first, sliding in and out with deliberate care, letting you adjust to the stretch.

“that's it, just like that... you're doing so well for me,” he praised, his free hand coming up to stroke your hair, thumb brushing your temple in reassurance. the words spilled out naturally, sweet and encouraging as he added his middle finger alongside the first, stretching you further.

your pussy clenched greedily around them, pulling him deeper, and he curled his digits upward, searching for that sensitive spot inside.

“izu! nghh!”

when he found it — rubbing firmly against the spongy wall — you gasped sharply, your back arching off the bed as a rush of your juices soaked his hand. “yes, right there... my sweet girl, you're so responsive. i love how you squeeze me like this, so so pretty.”

he began to pump his fingers with more purpose, the initial gentleness giving way to a building rhythm. 

the slick sounds of your arousal filled the room, mingling with your breathy cries, izuku's gaze stayed fixed on where his hand worked between your thighs, mesmerized by the way your folds parted around him. 

“you look incredible taking my fingers... so wet and perfect for me,” he continued, his voice dropping to a husky murmur, praise dripping from every word as he watched your body respond. "want me to go faster?"

your clit peeked out, swollen and begging, so he brought his thumb to it, circling the nub in firm, steady strokes that made your thighs tremble.

sensing your growing need, without response to earlier, he picked up the pace, thrusting his fingers faster now, deeper, the motion turning insistent as he chased your pleasure. 

your walls gripped him tighter with each plunge, your moans escalating into desperate pleas of his name. izuku smiled endearingly as he curled his fingers, massaging that spongy spot inside of you.

“izuku... oh god, please…” you gasped, and he leaned in closer, his forehead nearly touching yours, breath mingling in the heated space between you. 

“i've got you... you're so close, aren't you? come on, let go for me— fuck, you're beautiful,” he encouraged, his tone sweet yet urgent, fingers pistoning in and out with rapid precision, thumb flicking your clit harder to push you over the edge.

he could feel it building — the way your body tensed, thighs quivering uncontrollably, breaths coming in sharp, desperate gasps. 

“izuku! think— think i’m gonna…something's!”

izuku sighed, chest heavy with the thoughts of your piss kink, but he was sure, he was so sure, that wasn't the case. his fingers moved faster, deeper, knuckles deep. god, he hasn't put this much concentration into something before.

“come on, baby, let it all out for me,” he whispered, his voice thick with adoration, thumb grinding harder against your clit to tip you over. "you're so perfect, taking my fingers so deep... i want to feel you come undone."

it hit you like a tidal wave. your back arched sharply off the bed, a high-pitched whimper escaping your lips as the orgasm crashed through you. your pussy spasmed wildly, squeezing his fingers in powerful pulses, and then you squirted, a hot gush of your release spraying out around his hand, soaking the sheets beneath you in a warm flood. 

"that's it..."

he watched in mesmerized awe, the sight of your body convulsing, twitching against his touch, your folds fluttering and dripping with your arousal. every quiver, every soft cry that followed, sent a jolt straight to his core.

the intensity of it — the way you surrendered completely, vulnerable and beautiful in your ecstasy — pushed him past his limit. izuku groaned low in his throat, his hips bucking involuntarily against the air as his cock throbbed painfully in his jeans. 

he couldn't hold back; the pressure built unbearably, and with a shuddering gasp, he came hard in his pants. thick ropes of his cum spilled out, soaking through the fabric in sticky warmth, pulsing with each aftershock as he rode out his own waves. 

his free hand gripped your thigh tightly, grounding himself in the feel of you, that possessive fire flaring brighter in his chest.

”that's my girl... you came so hard, so good for me.” finally, he withdrew his fingers with a wet pop, bringing them to his lips for a quick, instinctive taste—salty-sweet, just like you.

"izuku..."

he gathered you into his arms then, pulling you against his chest as your breathing evened out, the warmth of your body seeping into his. that fierce protectiveness swelled again, tinged with the unspoken obsession that mirrored your own hidden depths, even as you both lay there, not yet bound by any label, but undeniably connected in this raw, intimate moment.

that night, he watched as your breathing settled into rhythm, conscious descending into a peaceful slumber.

𐙚

it was nice like this. the routine of seeing you, not forcing you into his orbit because he knew you were always just there, waiting for him. this was incredible, and with adam dealt with, you were happier than ever.

it isn't until later — much later — into their sweet, innocent routine, that the thought returns.

he's sitting in lecture, half-listening as the professor speaks at the front, pen moving mindlessly across his notebook before he scraps that measly idea and moves to typing on his laptop. the words blur, cases stack on top of each other, and everything still feels normal.

too normal, in a way that's so mundane to him, something must be off.

i've never see her here.

he frowns faintly, eyes drifting around the room without really looking at anyone in particular. he knows his cohort, he's good with faces, and incredible with pattern. he notices who sits where, who skips weeks, and who always shows up late.

and yet, he can't place you here.

not in this room, not in the shared common study areas where law students nest their noses into heavy, dusted textbooks.

but you told him you were in law.

law. double degree.

you'd never lie, and he believed you without question — so why does it feel so strange now?

maybe your timetable's different, maybe you took up different electives, tutorials at odd hours. law is like that sometimes — its fragmented, and makes students scatter across the buildings at unfavorable times.

still.

he's seen adam, he's seen people he barely knows. he's seen faces once, and filed them forever, but never you.

wait, but that wouldn't make sense. you had to be in law, how else would you have known adam?

the thought shouldn't matter, and yet, it lingers, prickling at the back of his mind. maybe he didn't know you as much as he thought he had. 

most importantly of all, he needed to stop. 

he catches himself, and exhales quietly, settling into the uncomfy chair he was on. 

he needed to stop. he needed to stop noticing absences, filling in unnecessary gaps that potentially antagonised you. 

you said you were in law, and that was enough. 

he forced himself to tune back to the front, drawing his attention back to the lecture and the contents on the board that would most definitely be on the final. but, as much as he tried to let the words flow in through one ear, and out the other, the unease never quite disappeared. 

you’d never lie — izuku knew that was one thing for certain. maybe this whole time, he realises with a faint, uncomfortable twist, that he’s been paying so much attention to you in the art room, all quiet and adorable with your sketchbook that he couldn’t comprehend you here. maybe you quietly linger the same halls as him. 

maybe this is something he should bring up with hitoshi. 

the cafe is tucked just off campus, far enough from the lecture halls where the noise thins out. the ground smells of rain-soaked concrete by the time izuku arrives, hair slightly damp by the afternoon shower. 

hitoshi is already there when izuku arrives, slouched in his chair with a coffee thats gone lukewarm, eyes half-lidded at the sight of him. 

“you’re late,” hitoshi said, taking a sip. “you know that i’ve got a study schedule outside of this sketchy business?”

“five minutes,” izuku replied with a light apologetic smile, sliding into the seat across from him. “that’s not late, come on.”

hitoshi hummed, rolling his eyes at izuku’s annoyingly kind, bright eyes. “for you? it is.”

izuku exhaled in defeat, slouching into the seat. “you know i’m one of your favorite people…why so mean today.”

“because,” hitoshi starts off, voice flattening, “every time you say that, you’re about to ask me for a favour. don’t even try denying it, i know.”

izuku paused, blinking. “...okay, first of all—”

“no,” hitoshi cuts in, setting the cup down. “second of all, what stalker crime do you want me to do for you?”

izuku winced, sinking shamefully. “you didn’t even let me start…”

hitoshi arched a brow, a light smirk daunting his tired features. “you don’t need to — i already know.” he paused, watching izuku’s eyes hang on the space before them. “come on, spit it out.”

“it’s about y/n,” izuku added, light returning to his eyes. 

hitoshi sighs. it’s long and exaggerated, drawn out in a purposeful way to shame izuku. “why am i not surprised,” he says, disbelief threated through his words. “you’re still on this girl.”

izuku leaned back against his chair, scoffing as he folded his arms. “i’m not—”

“uh-huh, you’ve been ‘not’ on this girl for weeks.”

izuku opened his mouth, before closing in again. “...i’m just— i’m just trying to figure out if i’m overthinking.”

hitoshi remained silent, a laugh bubbling up his throat at his friend’s distress. “you most definitely are,” he says immediately after. “but, that doesn’t mean you’re wrong to check yourself, and i’m damn glad it’s with me, god— hey you know this is illegal, right?”

izuku relaxes at his words, pouting at the quarter end of hitoshi’s sentence. “of course i know it’s wrong, but you came to me with your business…so as a good friend…”

hitoshi studied him for a moment, reaching forward for his cup once more, swirling the last inch of coffee. “as a good friend,” he repeats dryly, “i’m obligated to tell you that i hate when you preface things like that.”

izuku huffs. “you’re the one who said you were glad it was you.”

“i am,” hitoshi says easily. “that doesn’t mean i like being morally compromised — this is so weird, but go on. just spit the rest of it out.”

izuku hesitates, brief and telling. “she said she’s in law,” he begins carefully, “and i believe her, i do. it’s just—” he frowns, eyes drifting toward the window. “i’ve never actually…seen her in any of the usual places, lectures, study rooms. nothing.”

hitoshi stared blankly, unimpressed. “and? you realise that people may have different schedules?”

“i just don’t know though,” izuku admits, quieter in thought now. “or if i’m just noticing things i shouldn’t be now that i’m so involved in her life.”

hitoshi snorted. “you definitely are.”

izuku shot him a look, brows knitted. “can we please be serious here.”

“i am,” histoshi says, settling the cup down after finishing it. “you’re great at pattern recognition, and that’s not always a blessing.”

he pulled his laptop out anyway, because of course he does. it’s not the same one he uses for all his other uni work, or anything personal. “double degree students get split all over the place,” he mutters, scrolling. “law’s a scheduling nightmare — ever thought of that, genius? different cohorts, rotating tutorials, electives in random buildings—”

his thumb paused, then he nods once, assured. “yeah, she’s enrolled. law. no funny business.”

izuku’s shoulders dropped noticeably, a sigh of relief immediate and unguarded. “i knew it.”

“you hoped it,” hitoshi corrected mildly. “difference.”

izuku doesn’t argue, still sitting with the confirmation. 

“tuesdays and thursdays for tutorials, mid-day if you wanted to know,” hitoshi added. “arts-heavy electives this semester. that explains why you keep seeing her in the art room instead of your concrete nightmare.”

izuku let out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “okay— that explains why we never see each other. while i’m in my lectures, she’s in her tutorials and— okay.”

“okay,” hitoshi echoes back with a mocking look. then, “so what exactly were you planning to do if she wasn’t?”

izuku stiffens, hit with the brutal alternate. “nothing…”

“right,” hitoshi says. “that’s what everyone says right before doing something stupid. especially you. look what happened,” he sighed out, motioning to the scar on izuku’s face. 

izuku groaned, dragging a hand down his face. “i’m not planning anything, i just— well, someone said something to her. made her feel weird about herself.”

hitoshi’s expression sobered slightly. “and that didn’t sit right with you, hey?”

“no,” izuku said immediately, expression serious. “it didn’t.”

it most definitely didn't. but, the damage couldn't be reversed, especially with the way adam's been limping around campus now, a notable jaggedness to his breathing. what was done, was done, and izuku couldn't be more happier.

hitoshi watched him for a second, a faint smile at his friend’s commitment. “you’re lucky i think you’re a good person. okay, then here’s your answer.”

izuku looked up, eyes softening as the spiral in his mind ceased. 

“she’s in law,” hitoshi began. “she didn’t lie. you’re not uncovering some hidden truth, and as your friend, if you keep digging past there, it stops being concern and starts being…something else, which i fear is already happening but that isn’t my business.”

izuku nods slowly, guilty. “i know.”

“do you?”

“...i’m trying to.”

hitoshi leaned back in his chair. “good. because you’re allowed to care. god you’re just so weird sometimes..”

izuku’s lips pressed together, thoughtful.

“also,” hitoshi adds, already reaching for his bag, “if you ever say ‘as a good friend’ to justify dragging me into this again, i’m charging you coffee. for the week.”

izuku smiles faintly. “deal. thank you, again.”

as they stand to leave, izuku feels steadier than he has in days. the facts are simple. clean.

before the two parted ways, hitoshi turned back to him, nodding certain. “just to talk to her, i’m sure she’d be ecstatic. oh, and it wouldn’t be as weird that way, too.”

you’re in law. you told the truth. he doesn’t need to fill in the gaps. why would you ever lie to him in the first place? that wasn’t you at all. 

and yet, as he steps back out into the damp afternoon air, the unease doesn’t fully disappear, and he berates himself for it.

because knowing you’re here doesn’t explain why you always seem just out of reach.

and that question, quietly, stubbornly, stays with him. this isn’t something hitoshi can figure out for him. this is something he had to figure out for himself.

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“Elijah,” you groaned, gripping your side as you leaned against the alley wall, dizzy. “What the hell are you doing here?”

“I was nearby,” he lied too smoothly.

"You were spying,” you corrected. “As usual.”

He stepped forward. You tried to straighten, but pain dragged you down. A vampire had tossed you like a ragdoll during a solo ambush. Rookie mistake. You blamed the bourbon.

“Let me see,” Elijah said, already reaching for your shirt hem.

You slapped his hand away. “I said I’m fine.”

“And I say you’re not,” he snapped, a rare crack in that perfect composure. “I smell blood. And I can barely hear your heartbeat. Don’t be stubborn, Y/N.”

Your chest rose and fell with labored breaths. “You don’t get to care.”

His eyes darkened. “I care more than I should.”

That shut you up.

For a moment, silence fell over the alley. Somewhere behind you, music drifted from a jazz bar. The scent of blood and bourbon lingered in the air.

You finally broke the silence. “You hate me.”

“I never said that.”

“You treat me like I’m a nuisance.”

“You are infuriating,” he agreed tightly. “Reckless. Impulsive. You challenge me in ways no one else dares to.”

You laughed bitterly. “So I annoy you.”

He was in front of you in a blink. Too close.

“No,” Elijah said, voice low and intense. “You unravel me.”

Your heart stuttered.

He reached out, gently, this time and lifted your chin. His fingers were cold, but his gaze burned.

“From the moment we met,” he continued, “I have tried to remain composed. Civil. Detached. But every time you walk into a room, I feel like a man standing too close to fire.”

You didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

“I watch you throw yourself into danger without fear,” he said, “and I convince myself that your recklessness is foolish. That I can hate you for it.”

His thumb brushed your cheek, tracing blood or dirt or maybe just any excuse to touch you.

“But it’s not hate, Y/N,” he said softly. “It never has been.”

You swallowed hard. “Then what is it?”

His jaw clenched. “It’s the knowledge that I would rip out the throat of anyone who hurt you. That if anything ever happened to you, if I failed to protect you, I would not forgive myself.”

You stared at him. “I’m not yours to protect.”

“Maybe not,” he said. “But I will. Until my last breath. Whether you want me to or not.”

You tried to speak, but the world tilted again — pain flaring, vision blurring.

Elijah caught you effortlessly, one arm under your legs, the other steadying your shoulders.

“Let me take you home,” he said, already walking. “Don’t argue.”

“I’m still mad at you,” you murmured.

“I expect nothing less.”

“You’re… insufferable.”

He smiled faintly. “And you are impossible.”

But his voice was gentler now. Quieter. Like he was afraid if he spoke too loudly, you might disappear.

You hated how warm it felt, being in his arms.

You hated the way your traitorous heart fluttered.

And most of all, you hated the realization that no matter how much you fought it…

You didn’t hate Elijah Mikaelson.

Not even close.

♤

♤