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Other than those times, no one wants to talk to him. Some days, you think of straight-up asking:

‘Why are you alone?’

But that would be cruel, wouldn’t it? Why would you ask the boy who’s by himself why he’s always so? 

Instead, you listen to the whispers of your classmates.

‘Oh, Midoriya? He’s quirkless. It’s kinda sad, really.’

‘No powers. What a loser.’

‘Bakugou really hates him. Probably because of his…condition.’

It’s from these comments that you learn the boy’s actual name. Not Deku, as Bakugou calls him. Not a quirkless loser, or a pathetic pipsqueak, or any of those things. Midoriya. Your brows furrow at the remarks. All this ostracization, because he doesn’t possess the power they do? But he’s a person, is he not? Why is that the thing that makes them all stay away? You’d understand if he had the personality of Bakugou, as the boy is trash. Garbage in human form, and still, for some reason, everyone flocks to him. But Midoriya—though you know little to nothing of his personality—hasn’t lashed out, hasn’t pushed, hasn’t screamed at the world for this wrongdoing. 

You feel like you should do something. But all the solutions you can think of land you in hot water. You’re new here, and you don’t want to be dodging bullets the whole year because you decided to talk to the outcast. At the same time, if you were in his shoes…wouldn’t you want a friend, too?

Eventually, these conflicting thoughts reach your mother's ears. You work together in the kitchen, voicing your thoughts as you help her cut vegetables.

“—and I’m pretty sure he’s getting bullied, Ma. For the stupidest reason, too! He doesn’t have a quirk, so what? He’s a person!”

Your mom glances at you, the corner of her eye crinkling with warmth. “And what are you going to do about it?”

“Huh?”

“It’s bothering you enough that you’ve talked about this Midoriya boy for a few weeks now. Why haven’t you become friends with him already?”

You freeze, knife halfway through an onion. You rub your eyes harshly. “...What if I get pulled into it?”

Your mother’s look suddenly sharpens, and you feel a cold bolt of dread spear through your back. “No one gets away with bullying my daughter.”

“I-I fully believe you, Mom.” You laugh anxiously. “But the other kids probably won’t like that.” 

She softens, turning to wash rice in the sink. “Maybe not. But how long are you going to let these other kids dictate what you’re going to do? I know you’re young and at that age when you want to fit in with everyone else, but middle school is only a small part of your life. Spend it doing what you want to do, and your father and I will support you the entire way.”

As if summoned, you hear keys twist the front door’s lock, and your father steps through. His gaze brightens at both of you in the kitchen.

“There’s my lovely ladies!” He cheers, dropping his gear near the entryway and meeting you with a swift hug. You laugh in his tight embrace as he picks you up, laying a kiss against your hair. Then he moves to your mom, gently kissing her cheek. 

His gaze darts to the ingredients strewn about the kitchen. “What are you girls making?”

“Oyakodon!” You pipe up. “Better hurry before I eat it all!”

Your dad laughs, moving away to pick up his discarded things. “Agh, so impatient! Give me a moment, and I’ll help you guys out, okay?”

He leaves for the bedroom. You and your mom stare after him until he’s fully gone, a smile still on your lips. You hope Midoriya has something like this, with good parents, even if he doesn’t get to experience it at school. 

You blink twice at the intrusive thought, remembering the conversation from before. 

“Mom,” you start as she turns back to you. “If, maybe, I decide to be friends with this boy…could he come over? Like, hang out and stuff?”

Unexpectedly, your mom grins. It’s something you don’t see very often, so you can’t help but mimic the gesture.

“Only if he isn’t a troublemaker.”

​​​​• ​• ​✧ • ​•

And so, you decide to befriend the weird boy.

Coming around to doing that, however, is more difficult than you initially thought.

He doesn’t really…talk to anybody. For understandable reasons, obviously. You don’t sit near him during your classes. As soon as the bell rings, he’s up and out of the door before you can call his name. If he didn’t know you existed, you would’ve thought he was avoiding you on purpose.

But one day, you get an opportunity. 

A field trip to a museum. It highlights pro heroes, featuring their achievements, costumes, and even retired support items that pros past and present have donated to the place. When your teacher announced it, everyone grew especially excited. You, however, watched for Midoriya’s reaction. 

The boy’s face was brighter than you’d ever seen it. If you weren’t aware he possessed no quirk, you would’ve thought the way his eyes glowed was some aspect of it. You try your best to hide a smile.

The day the field trip arrives, your class is shuffled onto a large bus with a few other middle school classes. In the chaos, you don’t even see a glimpse of Midoriya. For a moment, you wonder if the boy decided to be absent today…until you spot him near the middle of the bus, seated next to another rowdy teenager. He looks uncomfortable, trying to ease it by scribbling something in his notebook and ignoring the jabs thrown his way. 

You sigh, glancing outside the window as the bus pulls away from the curb.

Middle schoolers really do suck. 

When the bus finally drops you all off, one of the museum's tour guides welcomes you into the building. The excited chatter of your classmates fills the open atrium. You loiter for a few minutes while the rest of the students from your middle school gather and a headcount is taken. Sifting through the multiple bodies crowding the lobby, you search for one particular head of verdant hair—

And there he is.

You find Midoriya off to the side, as usual, staring up at what looks to be old support gear. You don’t care much for it, more interested in the boy himself. He scribbles something in his notebook, eyes darting between it and the gear. He paces in front of it, as if trying to get as many perspectives as possible.

You step closer, only to find yourself growing uncertain. This could be a mistake. One that could cost possible friendships for the rest of your school year. Hanging out with Midoriya is a risk. But when you get within speaking distance, you hear the boy muttering something under his breath. Much too fast for you to catch, but it pertains to the display. Instead of being cowed by it…you find it strangely endearing. It’s the final push that has you speaking to the boy. 

“You’re Midoriya, right?”  

The green-haired teen jumps nearly a foot in the air, hugging his notebook tight to his chest as he pivots to face you. His gaze darts about your form before they slightly widen in recognition.

“U-um, y-yes! That’s, that’s me! Y-you’re in my homeroom!” 

Your head tilts, bemused. He’s as high-strung as you thought he was. Stupidly, you ask, “You know who I am?”

As soon as you say it aloud, you want to hit yourself over the head with a hammer. Of course, he knows. You’re in the same class, for goodness’ sake. 

Midoriya, unaware of your internal plight, plows on with, “y-yeah! You’re new to Aldera! Um, how’s it been for you? Adjusting?” 

You blink once. Twice. Then, you find yourself smiling. No one has asked how your transition has been, not even your teachers. And sure, you aren’t exactly screaming it for the world to acknowledge you, but to hear it from the mouth of the boy who, understandably, should be much meaner than he actually is, throws you for a loop. 

It’s a few seconds too long, though, and Midoriya doesn’t take your silence well. He flushes, waving his hands frantically. “U-uh, s-sorry! It’s really none of my business to ask, is it? And I don’t know why you’d ever tell me—we d-don’t really know each other and, and I’m sorry for asking something so personal!” 

“What if I wanted to get to know you?” You say, testing whether the direct approach is best for talking with the boy. 

Midoriya rambles a few more words before he trails off. Then stops completely. You can physically see the gears turning in his mind as he processes your words.

“...W-what?”

You raise a brow at his response. “I wanted to get to know you?”

Midoriya continues to stay silent, but as you peer at him more closely, a splotch of rose blooms on his cheeks, then rushes over his entire face. You actively fight against the smile that threatens to expose you. This guy is odd, but not in a bad way. 

His sudden exclamation would startle you, if not for the fact that the museum lobby is already a hubbub of student chatter. “M-m-me? W-why?!” 

This time, you do let your smile show. “I think you’re interesting, Midoriya.” 

Midoriya, actually, physically, holds a hand to his chest as if he’s trying to stop his heart from leaping right out. His face is still as red as a tomato. If it could start smoking, it would. He mutters something under his breath, and you think you catch words like ‘a girl’ and ‘mess it up’ before you reach out and poke his shoulder.

Again, the boy stiffens like a board. It’s so entertaining, like being a cat playing with a mouse, except you really shouldn’t think of it that way because Midoriya’s a person. Okay, you have to backtrack before you break him permanently. 

“And, to answer your question from before, Aldera’s been nice, for the most part,” you answer honestly, gaze wandering away from Midoriya and to the exhibit behind him. “It’s been a challenge finding people who aren’t superficial, but I’ll chalk it up to everyone still being unaware of me. I am starting in the second year, after all. Everyone’s already made their friends.” 

Midoriya nods, his face a lighter red than before now that the focus isn’t on him. He audibly gulps before stammering, “I-I hope y-you’re…able to find some.” You might be imagining the way his tone sours at the end of his sentence. 

Though you want to speak on that, you realize it might be inappropriate for this relationship you’re trying to build. So instead, you point at the display behind Midoriya, “Do you know what that is? Looks vintage.”

Like the sun lifting from the horizon, Midoriya’s face beams. He darts back to the display with the eagerness of a kid showing off their object at show-and-tell. “This was All Might’s old support gear! It was designed to withstand 20-30% of his power, but it was destroyed whenever he exceeded those limits! So eventually he decided to go on without it. I imagine he either donated the parts that remained here to the museum or they got blueprints, and this is merely a replica, but it’s incredible to see it here nonetheless!” 

The boy turns back to you, finding you reading off a plaque in front of the item. He blanches. “S-sorry! I said too much, didn’t I?”

“Nah,” you wave away his concerns. “You really know your stuff. You sure you didn't read off the plaque?” You're fully aware he didn't notice until you mentioned it.

Midoriya seems to lack an answer to that. Before he can try to summon one, however, you hear your teacher call for order. It's about time. You were wondering when the show was going to get rolling, though you would've been equally pleased to prod Midoriya's brain a little more.

As your class collectively moves deeper into the museum, Midoriya is more than stunned. To be randomly approached by a girl in his class when usually the only ones who had taunted him or were dared to talk to him were the ones who did. It’s never been to have a conversation. Never to compliment—oh goodness, you complimented him, didn't you? At least, he thinks you did! The concept of someone being around him for reasons outside of those two makes his brain whirl. Past experiences make him doubt—at any moment you can turn around and reveal your hidden agenda all along—but dammit, Midoriya dares to hope. 

As the tour guide leads them deeper into the museum, the boy takes a risk. He walks beside you. You glance at him sidelong, and though he feels his ears grow pathetically hot, you don’t comment on it. Instead, your lips quirk upward before focusing ahead. 

Midoriya swears he can feel every movement in his body—the blood flowing through his veins, the rapid beating of his heart, his neurons alight like fireworks at the thought that someone can be around him without hating him instantly. 

In another area of the building, more hero history comes to life. The class disperses and explores the area with your teacher ensuring everyone reconvenes in the lobby in a few hours. 

Midoriya watches as you veer toward a holographic podium featuring pro heroes. With a natural, self-preserving instinct to cling to the one person who’s shown him a lick of kindness, he hesitantly trails you. A screen stands right before the display. Tapping away at it, you watch as the hologram shifts to All Might in his iconic pose, a fist raised as he’s donned in an unfamiliar suit. 

“Huh,” you murmur aloud, “is this some type of suit the museum made to avoid copyright? I’ve never seen All Might wear this on television, anyway.”

Following your gaze, Midoriya’s own widens in recognition. “That’s All Might’s Silver Age costume!” 

“Silver Age?”

“The one he wore when working with Sir Nighteye, his former sidekick. He didn’t stay with the circular design on his Golden Age costume, but you can still see where he decided to keep some features! Like, the white and red are more muted in the latter age but are still present, which I guess he kept because of his ties to the United States. Their flag does possess those colors, so it’d make sense he’d attribute his suit to the very place he debuted. The yellow is a different take though, maybe because it goes with his hair? It’s bright, visible, and matches what he wants to stand for—”

“You are a walking encyclopedia of knowledge, aren’t you?” You interrupt, though not unkindly. Midoriya turns into a whirlwind of flailing arms and repeated apologies.

“S-sorry! I know I ramble, a little too much; Kacchan seems to think.”

You raise a brow at the name ‘Kacchan’ before you focus on the greater issue. “Oh, that wasn’t supposed to be an insult. I think it’s cool. Also, who’s Kacchan?” 

Midoriya is silent for a few seconds, eyes impossibly wide, before processing your question. “Kacchan? Um, he’s in our class…Bakugou?”

The corner of your lip twitches. “That name doesn’t match him at all.”

“W-well, we’re childhood frie—I mean, we grew up together, and I’ve always called h-him that, so it stuck.”

“And in return, he calls you Deku.” You note, remembering all the times when Bakugou would make a very public, very loud example of the boy. 

Midoriya seems to deflate, nervously intertwining his hands in search of a response. “...Yeah.” 

‘You need better friends,’ is what comes to mind, but he didn’t really pick Bakugou, did he? Circumstances brought them together, and now it’s circumstances that keep Midoriya close. You’ve seen how the green-haired boy seems eager to interact with Bakugou, even when the latter wants nothing to do with them. Most times, it’s easier to stick with what you know, but what if what you know hurts you?

“Well, who’s your favorite?” You move on, glancing back at the screen and using the slider to spin Hologram All Might.

“Huh?”

“Your favorite hero? You must have one, right?”

Midoriya stares at you, mouth slightly agape. For the first time since you’ve officially met him, you feel your heart sink. Maybe you’ve been too forward and made him uncomfortable. 

“You also don’t need to have one—” You backtrack, voice getting smaller at the end of your sentence. 

“I-it’s All Might!” The boy exclaims, a little too loudly. 

“Ooooh,” you recover, somehow expecting the answer. “He’s a good pick. Why do you like him?”

Little did you know, the smaller boy knows a bunch when it comes to the hero. You pegged him as a pro hero fan, sure, but that was not an accurate description. He’s obsessed. Somehow, you spend the next fifteen minutes theorizing about All Might’s quirk, talking about its intricacies and whatnot. You compare it to other pros and learn that Midoriya has a thing for quirks. Out of seemingly nowhere, he pulls out a notebook filled to the brim with hero theories, applications, and perspectives you haven’t even heard from the most dedicated of media. As he flips through the pages, you note heroes you’ve never heard of. This boy is after everybody, it seems. No hero escapes his analysing eye. 

Shyly, Midoriya asks about your favorite hero and brightens when he flips to the page about them. He’s a decent artist too, you realize, as you peer at detailed scribbles outlined with hastily written notes, as if the boy had written them without actually looking at the paper. 

It amazes you, and you’re about to start another tangent when you notice a flock of younger kids behind you, their gaze darting between the pro hero hologram and you both. 

“Ah, we’re in the way,” you say offhandedly, grasping Midoriya’s wrist and leading him to an alcove away from the display. As you suspected, the kids lunge for the hologram. Midoriya, on the other hand, threatens to combust once more as he processes the physical imprint of your wrist around his.

He’s…he’s touching a girl!!!

Luckily for him, you either don’t notice his dilemma or decide to have mercy and brush past it, because you pipe up with, “You know what? I think your brain should be put in this museum instead.” 

“W-w-what?” 

“You’re smart. You mentioned things about heroes I would’ve never considered,” you compliment, as if Midoriya isn’t gawking at yet more praise. He really thinks he’ll combust. Or wake up and realize this was all a dream. “My ma would say you’ve got a big brain.”

And though this brain comes from rigorous attention to detail on hero stats, your mom would also say having hobbies is better than drugs, vaping, or whatever the kids like to do nowadays. 

“U-um, t-thank you? But I’d like to keep my brain right where it is, I think.”

And instead of scoffing, or belittling him, or finally revealing all this was some cruel prank—you laugh. It’s a tittering giggle that you muffle poorly, opening an eye to glance at him before swiftly darting away, still laughing all the while.

Your mirth is like a siren’s call, beckoning him to join in too, and for the first time in a long time, Midoriya is laughing along with someone. It’s a completely different experience. His chest feels lighter, releasing the weight of insecurity and loneliness. Even if this is temporary, he knows he won’t forget it.

When you both calm, you face Midoriya with a glimmer in your eyes. “That’s funny,” you gleam, and even if he wasn’t staring at you, he’d be able to hear the wide smile you wear. 

Midoriya tries not to think about what that sentence could mean. Those words have never been used to describe him, but the boy is learning this has become a day of ‘firsts’.

All thanks to you. 

Before Midoriya can overthink again, you peer further down the hallway, where the rest of the museum beckons. 

“It’s been half an hour, and we’re still basically at the entrance.” You take a step away, and for a moment, Midoriya thinks you intend to leave him. But, really, from your prior behavior, he should’ve expected another surprise because you gesture toward the hallway. 

“You wanna explore the rest of this place together?”

Midoriya doesn’t even stop to think before he agrees. He’ll reflect on the moment later and realize how desperate he sounded and how pathetic he truly was. But you’ll never mention it.

And so, your joint adventure starts. 

Every inch of the museum is explored. It's full of the things you'd expect—displays of support gear, blueprints of projects that never came to be, and scattered bits of hero history that have Midoriya filling out pages and pages of his notebook. All of which he's content to share with you. At some point, in your endless search for more, you unintentionally end up in a staff corridor, only to be escorted out of the area by one of the staff members minutes later.

Izuku nearly combusted at being caught, and you suspect he’s not a fan of getting in trouble with authority. When he glanced at you, however, he found you completely unapologetic.

‘It’s a part of the adventure!’ You had said, and Midoriya, though he didn’t really mean it, wondered if he traveled with a maniac. 

Then, you stumble upon something less expected.

Like the arcade that you encounter on the third floor. You wondered why the floor was getting louder the farther you got up the stairs. Removed from the quieter, obviously more museum part of the place, you and Midoriya side-eye each other at the entrance. 

“S-should we go…?” He murmurs. 

You nod, glad to agree. “There might be some cool games? Though I’ve never been in a museum with an arcade before.”

“Maybe they’re trying to appeal to younger audiences?” Midoriya suggests, and you shrug.

“Might as well see what they’ve got.”

The space is obviously crowded, and you recognize the faces of many of your peers as you step under the neon lights and colorfully illuminated machines. If the main exhibits aren’t of interest, you could spend your time here. Midoriya shuffles closer to you as you navigate some narrow parts of the arcade, uniforms brushing against each other. While you swear you hear a squeak from the boy in response, you don’t find yourself minding. 

Finally, near the back of the place, you find an unused game. It’s one of those sit-down arcade games, which just so happens to allow for two-player co-op or PVP.

You stop in your tracks, hearing a muffled 'oomph' behind you as Midoriya bumps into you. He apologizes profusely, but you turn back to him with a wide grin.

"Have you heard of Smash Pros?"

"Huh? N-no, I don't think I have…"

"It's a fighting game featuring pro heroes that came out a few years ago. I bet All Might's in there! You wanna try it?"

Midoriya's gaze darts between you and the game. His smile is shaky and uncertain, but he nods determinedly anyway. "Sure! I don't know if I'll be any good, but…"

"Then we'll both be bad, and it'll be great!" You continue your trek, unconsciously grabbing Midoriya by the hand once more and leading him past a few more crowded machines before you make it to the game in the corner. You settle one of the chairs, and Midoriya in the other.

You press start without any preamble and watch as the dark screen bursts with color. The boy next to you flinches at the sudden cacophany of sound as the game begins its introduction, and you meet his gaze with a giggle.

"Co-op or PVP?"

"Uh…hmm. You can…you can pick? I don't mind either way!"

"Cool! I'm gonna completely decimate you, then," you jest as you select the PVP option.

"W-what?!"

Your laugh is drowned out in the thunderous arcade as you turn to the screen and pick your character. Beside you, Midoriya softly chuckles to himself, turning to the screen as well.

In the character selector, you pick Edgeshot. As you expected, Midoriya chooses All Might. Once both of you have confirmed your characters, a goofy little animation of them flits on screen, and then a brief guide on the button controls. You glance sidelong at the boy.

"Practice round?" You ask.

"What? But I thought you said you were going to win?"

You raise a brow. "You testing me, boy? You think I couldn't pummel All Might right here and now?"

Midoriya, not yet privy to your mannerisms, placatingly waves his hands before him as if it could physically ease the imaginary tension. "N-n-no! I wasn't doubting your ability, promise! I was just asking because I thought—"

"Oh goodness, calm down," you shake your head. "I was playing with ya! But seriously, watch yourself, Mighty boy, or I just might wipe the floor with you."

You grab the controls. "Ready?"

He follows your lead. "Yes!"

The first round goes about as well as you expected. Neither of you has any experience in video games, much less a PVP fighter, so you and Midoriya fumble through your attacks and special moves. Your commentary seems to ease the strain on Midoriya's features and allow him to have fun. You wonder how long it's been since he got to laugh without facing disapproval, anger, or contempt. Since you've transferred to Aldera, you've yet to see him do so.

So, to witness it now, playing this stupid game that you both suck at, and getting to see him open up to you like a flower in spring...it's great. You think that maybe, just maybe, he could be your first actual friend here.

The boy, not privy to your musings, gains the upper hand at your lack of attention. You're both at equally low health, but he somehow gets off a special move that you swear you dodged, and a massive 'Knockout!' appears on your side of the screen. You're tempted to make playful excuses for why you lost—how you let him win, how the controller buttons didn't work, or something more ridiculous—but you look at the childish glee on his face, the way his verdant eyes shine as he meets your gaze, and you decide that you can accept losing. Just this once.

You raise a hand to him. "That was fun! Good work!"  

Midoriya gazes between your hand and your face, pausing for a moment before meeting it in a high five. "U-um, yeah! You too! You were really good, and it was close there—I couldn't even tell who was going to win!"

"Well, it'd be weird if All Might wasn't on top, right?"

Midoriya's lips part to answer, before he's interrupted.

"Hey, look at that! Well, if it isn't useless Deku himself!"

You catch the moment the boy's eyes widen in familiarity. His shoulders curl in on themselves as though sitting normally was forbidden. Two boys, ones you notice are typically around Bakugou, make themselves known in the arcade aisle. One of them flexes abnormally long fingers, most likely a part of his quirk. Your brows furrow at the unwelcome visitors.

"What are you even doing in the arcade, dude? We know you're not the type to play. Did ya leave your notebook behind? Actually, maybe it's best you did. You get all weird and mutter-y when you write in that thing."

"…I-I've still got my notebook. I-I just…thought it'd be fun to try something different." Midoriya stammers, and you can barely hear him over the sound of arcade machines. His timbre is monotone, like expressing too much emotion could mean being taken advantage of. You wouldn't be surprised if that truly was the case.

"See? Aaaaand you've gone quiet again. Okay, well, Deku, we wanted to let you know that we want to try out this game, and you're in the way. Maybe you can hang out away from the arcade, alright?"

Really? When there are probably dozens of other games here?

"Seriously?" You speak up, swiveling in the seat to face them head-on. "Who even are you guys? There's a bunch of other games in this place, and we just got here. Can't wait a few minutes?"

The guy with the finger quirk regards you as if you just appeared in his conscience. "I'm sorry, who are you?"

"Midoriya's friend." You declare with little forethought.

The other visitor, a boy with an undercut, laughs before covering his mouth with a fake cough. "There's no way."

Your head tilts. "What?"

"Friends? With Midoriya? Please, you're kidding, right? When are you gonna tell him it's a prank?"

"Why would I prank him?"

"Because he's quirkless!" Fingers butts in, as if it's obvious.

"And why does that matter?"

The boys stare at you as if you'd grown two heads and five eyes. They glance at each other briefly. Undercut speaks again. "Helloooo? That means Deku here has nothing. is nothing. Seriously, you're wasting your time."

You stand up, vaguely aware of Midoriya staring at you with wide eyes. Your mother's words flash in your mind, and you find yourself standing taller because of it. Midoriya needs a friend, you want to be that friend, and friends don't leave each other hanging.

"You know what a waste of my time? Talking with you." When you step forward, you ensure you're uncomfortably close to their space. You meet their eyes with fire. "Seriously, if your value system is based on quirks, and whether someone has one or not, you seriously need to rethink your life. What a bleak way to look at the world. It's kinda sad."

Fingers sputters, mind seemingly at a deadlock as if it's the first time someone talked back to him. "Y-you—that's not sad! It's just the way things are. The weakest don't have quirks, and the strongest have the best ones."

You scoff. "I guess that means you guys are bottom-feeders. weak, like you said?"

"What?!"

"Of all the things you could be doing, you found us at the very back of the arcade and bothered us. When there's a newer version of this game at the entrance," you gesture to the machine behind you, having defaulted to the main screen since neither you nor Midoriya had touched it in a while, "just to rub in Midoriya's face that he doesn't have a quirk. In a museum about heroes. Do you not realize how pathetic that is? If I were you guys, I'd be embarrassed."

Fingers, now turning a bright shade of red, trembles where he stands. You guess it's either from pure humiliation, fear, or anger. You expect it to be the latter. In fact, you expect a fist to be aiming for your face, right now, and you almost grin at the fact because you won't have to waste words and beat them up the old-fashioned way.

Before he can act, however, Undercut pulls him back, and you feel a hesitant grip around your wrist. You look back to find Midoriya, gaze anxiously bouncing between your own and the boys.

"I-it's okay…" he murmurs, ever the pacifist. "Y-you don't need to get into a fight for me."

You highly disagree, but this isn't the time, nor the place.

"Why are you even defending this guy, anyway?" Undercut interjects, his eyes darting between you and Midoriya before he notices the hold the boy has on your arm. A smirk grows on his face. "Is it because you like him?"

You huff, and behind you, Midoriya grows tense, his hold on your arm slipping. This always happens. He tries to get close to someone, and when they get teased for being in his vicinity, they back away. It's as if he's a virus, a disease, and he guesses that, in a way, being quirkless is. Isn't it, from the way the world, his classmates, and even his mother think of him? With pity, with anger, dislike, and apathy?

And now it's about to happen again. Midoriya readies himself for the denial. The rejection. He liked being around you, for as long as it lasted, and he'll keep this day locked away in his memories. He'll try to forget your dismissal, because you've stuck around the longest, and it really isn't your fault if you decide he isn't worth it anymore.

He ignores the way his heart threatens to break as you say, "Yeah, I like him. What's wrong with that?"

In the back of the arcade, all the voices and electronic beeps of the arcade machines fade to obscurity. He can't have heard that right, did he? But he looks at the boys, and, meeting their surprised gazes, realizes he isn't the only one who's stunned. And you—you just stare, confused, as if your words weren't anything short of groundbreaking.

"Is it that unbelievable?" you snort, glaring at the boys with a deadpan. "he's a person, first. A. Person. He's pretty chill once you get to know him, and I've only talked to him for a few hours."

"Damn," Undercut blurts. "You're crazy."

You shrug. "If that's how you cope with being physically incapable of seeing other people beyond their quirks, thus justifying your awful personalities, then I'm fine with crazy."

Undercut growls, pressing forward as if to rebute, but Fingers grips his shoulder and pulls him the other way. "Let's just go. Talking to idiots is getting us nowhere. Not worth our time."

"See, now you're getting it!" You cheer, still within earshot as the boys back off. Ignoring the final glares sent your way, you watch as they head to the front, likely to the newer version of Smash Pros you mentioned earlier.

You slump backwards into the arcade seat, fingers itching for another round at the game as you ask, "Do you feel like playing again?"

"H-huh? Oh, sure. Sure! But, um…" Midoriya fidgets with his hands, visibly hesitant before he eventually spits it out. and he literally spits out, "D-didyoureallymeanthatthough??? Allofthat???"

You raise a brow, trying to decode his sentence, before it finally clicks. Smiling softly, you say, "Yeah, I meant it. Anyone who gets their rocks off bullying others doesn't deserve my friendship anyway. My Ma says the people you hang out with will affect you in some way, so why not choose good company? Meaning you, by the way." You wink and get to watch as Midoriya's face explodes in red.

"B-b-but you…there are others…I-I mean, not to judge you but," the boy focuses intently on the arcade machine before you. The lights from the game reflect his downcast expression. "If people see you're with me, then they won't hang out with you, either."

You scoff. "If they're all avoiding you just because you don't have a quirk, then I don't wanna be around them anyway. Besides, you're chill, right?"

"H-huh?"

"You're not secretly some crazy weirdo, right?"

"N-no! I hope n-not, at least."

"Thought so," you decide to divulge some information, just to see Midoriya's reaction. "Besides, I've been watching you for a while, Midoriya."

Just as you thought, Midoriya becomes a blubbering blob. You're cruel, and you know it, but it's just too precious.

At this point, the boy has made an attempt to hide himself in his arms, leaning against the controls of the arcade machine. He turns to you, peeking an eye out as if to make sure you don't have more truth bombs aimed his way. "Um…"

"Not weird, I'll have you know. I was scoping out everybody. And you seemed the most…real, we'll say." You reach out your hand to Midoriya, an uncertain grin on your face. "I know I kinda just declared it officially in front of those guys, but I want to be friends. If…if that's okay? No pressure."

Midoriya's eyes widen, so much so that his pupils nearly drown the bright jade of his eyes. His gaze darts between your hand, then your face. Before you start to doubt, his hand gently wraps around yours. To your great surprise, you find his eyes glimmering with tears.

"T-that's great. I…I want to be friends. And…thank you. For talking to me, and chasing those guys away and…today. Today in general."

Your chest warms. "Of course." You glance between him and the previously forgotten arcade game. "Are you up for playing again?"

Midoriya's hand slowly leaves yours, still reeling at the fact that things did indeed happen. Favorably, in fact. And it couldn't have gone better. It's that occupation of his mind that ends up in him losing again and again, and though he's close the third time, you ultimately swipe the victory. He can't be mad, because every win has you smiling wide. Your arms raise in a whoop of triumph, and it's incredible. You're incredible.

"Why, thank you! Your flattery will not win you any favors, though, Midoriya," you wink, and the boy balks at the fact that he said that aloud.

As you turn back to the character screen, debating whether you should stick with your newly declared 'main' or make the switch, Midoriya exhales an inaudible sigh. You mistook his compliment for your past victories, and while they are, that was not his focus.

"W-wait, before we start another round," he butts in, growing hot under the full weight of your attention, "time check?"

"Oh, yeah." You pull out your phone, wince at the clock, and quickly glance about at the arcade empty of your classmates. "We've got…four minutes before meetup?"

"Four minutes?!" Midoriya jumps out of his seat. "We're gonna be late! So late!"

"Hey, hey, hey, no need to panic," you follow him, and he watches as your look of worry shifts into something more…mischievous. He doesn't know if that's a good or bad thing that he's already familiar with that face. "We can run."

"B-but this is a museum?"

"Did you see any 'no running' signs anywhere?"

"Well, no, but—"

You grab onto the boy's hand before he can form a rebuttal, effectively shutting down his argument as his mind reverts to its primal state and laser focuses on the fact that once again, a girl is holding his hand.

He's pulled into a sprint before he can think about it further.

As you race through the museum, skipping steps and dodging people as you try to beat time itself, the rushing air is filled with your giddy laughter. Soon enough, he's joining in, because this is crazy. You either don't notice or don't care about the glances and double takes that people make at both of you as you run through the halls, and because you don't seem to mind, he doesn't either.

If someone had told him today—the day of the field trip he was dreading for weeks—would be when his life would change, he would've politely asked if he was being pranked.

But here he is. You glance back as he trips over a step, but the momentum and your upright stance keep him from eating dirt—or, well, nicely polished museum tile.

"You okay?" You pause to assess him.

"Y-yes! Let's keep going!" He's surprised he's the one urging the delinquency, but you grin at the prospect.

You run until your lungs have shriveled from the lack of air, only stopping when you recognize your classmates gathered in a corner of the lobby. You and Midoriya slide into their ranks just as your teacher begins roll-call, and you pump your fist in victory before holding it out to Midoriya.

"For a job well done," you grin at his questioning stare, his face flushing before he connects with your outstretched hand. In that moment, you both realize that your other hands are still being held, Midoriya going ramrod straight at it.

Yeah, this guy is either allergic to human touch or a complete stranger to the concept. So he doesn't explode on the spot, you slowly let your hand relax from the boy's stiff grip, focus darting to the teacher as he calls your name. In your peripheral, Midoriya glances at you, long enough for it to be considered awkward, before he jumps at his own name being called.

Once your teacher has confirmed that everyone is present, your class shuffles into the bus that has been awaiting your return. You get separated from Midoriya in the rushing mass of students eager to claim their bus seats. The green-haired boy manages to get on before you, and he awkwardly shambles into a seat, gaze vehemently focused on the window because if he's sitting by someone who's going to taunt him the entire time, he might as well have a decent view as a distraction.

That is, until you plop down right next to him.

"This seat taken?"

"Uh…" he gapes like a fish before regaining his bearings. His shoulders relax. "N-no, that's fine."

You say nothing more as the bus continues to fill up, and you catch sight of the one guy you'd luckily managed to avoid the entire trip. Bakugou Katsuki. He saunters through the aisle, growling insults at any rowdy kids who get too close to him. His crimson eyes scan the rows for any empty seats until his gaze lands on you.

No, not you, you realize as Midoriya makes a small noise in his throat. Bakugou's eyes narrow, lips forming a sneer before you casually lean forward in the seat, relaxing your arms on the cushion in front of you. It effectively cuts off the blond-haired boy's focus, as he snaps to you instead. A brow raises, as if questioning your audacity, but you meet it unwaveringly. You know who he is. You know how he torments Midoriya, and you know the boys who help him do it.

You're not going to stand for that. Not anymore.

It is that conviction that Bakugou seems to sense, that has him aiming a terrible grin your way. You smile back, though it's nothing like the ones you give Midoriya. His expression darkens immediately, and it couldn't be a clearer sign that you're probably on this guy's hit list. Bakugou looks between you and Midoriya one more time before brushing past you rudely as he aims for a seat in the back.

You huff, rolling your eyes as you lean back in your seat.

Midoriya's mouth opens and closes in your peripheral vision.

"I don't like how he treats you," you answer the unspoken question. "What a dirtbag."

"K-kacchan's just…that's just how he is."

You give the boy a raised eyebrow. "You deserve better."

Midoriya seems to disagree on instinct, his lips wobbling before he seems to realize…something. Whatever it is, it flickers in his eyes. His chin drops, curling into himself as he shakily admits, "…Maybe."

You only let the uncomfortable silence reign for a few moments before you change the topic. "Today was fun. Thanks for letting me hang out with you, Midoriya."

The boy blinks twice, registering your words, before his cheeks flush. "U-um, no problem! But really, it was you that—"

"Take a compliment!" You bump his shoulder with your own. He squeaks, literally, and you barely hold back your laughter for fear of embarrassing him.

The bus begins moving once the teacher has confirmed everyone has grabbed their seats, and for a few minutes, you don't feel the urge to break the comfortable silence. Midoriya pulls out his notebook, murmuring things under his breath as he jots notes down. With a sidelong glance, you catch a glimpse of drawings, surrounded by brief paragraphs. They look like heroes. You aren't surprised, considering the way his eyes sparkled at every piece of hero artefact you'd stopped at.

It makes you wonder.

"Midoriya," you whisper, so soft you're nearly drowned out by the cacophony of overlapping conversations. He somehow hears you anyway, snapping his notebook shut with the seriousness of a soldier awaiting orders from their commander.

You're more relaxed than when you first sat down beside him, leaning back as if prepped to close your eyes for a while. "I meant to ask this earlier, but are you trying to be a hero?"

He freezes at the question, mind running at the very opposite speed of yours. He could go about this in two different ways. Lying, obviously, that way you'd be none the wiser about his dreams. He'd already been told being a hero was impossible for him without a quirk. to hear it again, to be told it was unattainable, by you—someone whose presence he'd grown to enjoy over the course of a few hours—

He didn't need to blow another hole through the sinking ship.

He could also tell the truth. It would come out eventually, after all. And he didn't want your burgeoning friendship to be built on lies, even if he wasn't sure what would come of it. He watches you watch him, eyes blinking slowly as you await his answer and—goodness, how could he bother lying?

"…I do."

He balks at the smile that lifts your face, and you do your best to face forward, even as you begin to lose your battle against sleep.

"Awesome. You're…gonna do great as one."

It's all you say. Midoriya regards you with wide eyes, and he's sharply aware of his heart beating away in his chest. The blood rushes through his ears, needing more of it to comprehend the fact that you didn't lambast him. You accepted his declaration as if it were a certainty that he could. The boy brushes away the water that quickly forms at his lashline, even as a lopsided smile makes its way onto his face. It's the type of expression Kacchan would call him out immediately for, the type that would have him blown to bits, but he can't find himself to care.

You believe in him.

He didn't know until then that all he needed was one person to say it. that he could be a hero.

Unbeknownst to your sleeping figure, Midoriya takes note of every part of you, memorizing the features of the first person to believe in him. To think that he'd woken up dreading this day, only to end it with a friend.

A friend.

The boy has to fight against more tears that threaten to blur his vision.

"Thank you," he whispers, fully knowing you can't hear. He'll say it again when you wake up. Thank you.

And as Midoriya returns to scribbling in his notebook, he starts on a new page. He puts your name in the header and writes the things he doesn't yet dare to say aloud.

He realizes then and there that not all heroes wear colorful suits, don cool tech, and flex flashy quirks.

Sometimes, they look just like you.  

Your back quickly arched against him, allowing your plump ass to rub perfectly against his growing cock. "Zu'!" You moan. His large scarred hand cupped your mound, and he not so subtly began to gently circle your pulsing clit. The constant stimulation below was putting you into a daze. By now, his bedroom was full of the loud, erotic squelches and plaps coming from your soaping pussy. It seemed as if the filthy noises only fueled him to go farther.

"Nononono– zu', I can't–- it feels–weird!" The sensation of your stomach folding in on itself was overbearing, yet you were still in a deep sea of pleasure. His hips rutted in to you, chasing the friction. "But you can, [♥︎]. You're bein' such a good girl for me."

Your body began shaking on its own. With his sweet voice whispering so closely to the shell of your ear, and his fingers pacing in and out of you at an obscene speed - you knew you weren't gonna last long.

With a final, loud moan, the tension broke. A warm, heavy rush spilled out of you, pulsing in time with your climax. You could almost feel him halt, for a moment. Like he was surprised, too.

The fluid below drenched the space beneath you, and completely soaked through his all-might themed bed set. They were absolutely ruined, growing deeper in color.

You collapsed back against Izuku. Your thighs and his sheets, were drenched. A plethora of fluids were flowing below. Yet you could almost hear the smirk in his voice.

"Hmm.. guess I've gotta change these now, yeah?"

A laugh stumbled out of your lips as you finally relaxed, your body becoming slack on the sheets. Your eyes were half lidded as you looked up at him, lust and want in your gaze. It was expected with the man who had been married to for 2 years.

You moved your hands to cup your breasts for him. Your fingers moved to twist and move your nipples, pulling just enough to sting. Just enough to make your pussy squeeze his fingers as he pulled them out of you. "It's not fair you leave me while you go on a mission, and you get to still have me when I don't have you."

The focus switched to front view as Izuku's eyes aren't on the camera but on you out of frame. Forrest eyes are swallowed by pupils that were enraptured by you. Izuku had always been enraptured by you. He was incapable of even faking otherwise. His lips were wet with a mixture of saliva and your slick.

A deep hum came out of his throat. "Well we both know that isn't true, baby."

"And how isn't it true?" You asked.

"I try cum enough to leave enough still inside you while I'm gone." He said as the camera switched again focusing down on the lower part of your body. His large scarred hands sat on your abdomen, his thumb brushing over where your womb was underneath. Your body shivered at the implications.

The video then cuts to being set not even 5 feet away from the bed, not that the distance mattered. You were loud enough that it felt like the phone was right next to the both of you.

The camera was positioned so that it captured the broad expanse of his freckled back. He was so gloriously muscular and strong. He was the Number One hero and it showed with how his hips thrusted into you. He wasn't stopping for anything. The constant slap of his palvis against your skin was a consistent rhythm in the audio.

Your feet peaked over his shoulders as he held thighs, keeping your legs as his grip to pound into you. Your legs kept twitching as he bottomed out inside you again, and again, and again. You couldn't breathe deeply because it felt like he was right in your stomach, pounding against your lungs.

His thick cock was always such a delicious feeling inside you. You often didn't even need him to move to feel at peace, to feel whole. And yet here you were, so greedy for more.

You didn't mind being greedy. Your husband loved you greedy.

"OH FUCK! DEEPER, IZU!" You cried out higher pitched than normal.

He let out a huff. "Deeper?" He asked lowly, sweat beading down his neck. His green curl as a darker shade due to the sweat in his hair. He moved to cage your body underneath him, his hands resting at eitherside of your head. With one large hand and a shift he moved to reallign himself before slamming back in.

You arched up into him as you screamed to the heavens. "YES!" You moaned deeply. Your thighs were nearly touching your chest as he had you folded in half.

Izuku groaned as he threw his head back for a moment before moving his hips again. "I love fucking you. Good Lord, this pussy always holds me so good. You trying to suck me dry, aren't you?" He asked as your arms wrapped around his neck.

"Yes! Yes, I do. I want you to cum inside me. I want your baby." You pleaded.

A deep animal like sound left Izuku as a flash of lightning rippled across his back. The bed creaked but held up (custom made for such scenerios). He shifted and the video caught him over you, his heavy balls slapping against your rim.

"I'm gonna come." Izuku warned you as your fingers gripped his shoulders, digging into his skin leaving marks.

"Inside." You pleaded as you moved a hand into his curls.

With a groan turned whine Izuku came. His groans unhindered as he closed his eyes and burried his head in the crook of your neck as you massaged his scalp. You were humming in content continuously, your legs now wrapped around his waist to keep him planted there.

"You're coming so much." You praised as you felt each and every squirt inside of you. You hummed as you let him twitch and stay planted deep and fully sheathed inside you. It was the moments like this where you felt most close to him, most like you were one.

Izuku chuckled. "How could I not when your cunt massages me like it was made for me." He said lowly. He kisses your lips, before diving his tongue inside your mouth.

Your body relaxes as you unravel around, him allowing him freedom to move now. His arms move to wrap around you for a moment, hugging you for a moment. He moves back, finally pulling out and getting out of the way of the camera. He grabs the phone and focuses it down between your spread legs.

Your clit twitches at the attention as your swollen pussy enters frame. A thick white trickle has already spilled out of you, moving down to your puckered room. You giggle moving a hand to rest over your mound. A large pulse of frothy white cum spills out of you.

Izuku groans deeply. "Lord have mercy. I'm keeping this one for sure."

He shares his screen, and you're met with a photo of you snuggling a bunny on his home screen. You snort at the image, remembering how he cooed over both of you before snapping it.

"Okay, so we had a free day today, kinda, so—"

You settle in as he walks you through his little exhibition, responding when he nudges you to and asking him to go back for a few things he passed. There was a flower, a mannequin, a billboard, a store, a tree—

"And I thought of you here, too." He shows a still shot of a large fountain. You smile softly, finding it sweet, but you still need him to explain.

"Like what? Taking a picture, right?"

He says nothing. You glare into the camera.

"Taking a picture, right?"

"Ab-absolutely—moving on—" Dirty, dirty mind.

He swipes, and you gasp.

What the hell is an up-skirt shot doing here? Did he take that of some girl on the subway? Anger flushes through your veins before you stop and actually look—and realize, is that you?

He hasn't caught on yet. In the lull, you quickly take a screenshot. He notices a second later, but it's too late.

"Wait—"

"Where did you get this?" You're already swiping out of the call and opening your photos.

"Fuck—"

"Izuku—where did you get this—I—we've—" You feel your face heat up.

You don't remember him taking this picture. It must have been two or three weeks ago, the night you wore that dress and you both had to slip away from the bar. You hiked up the hem to show him your new panties, watched him stuff his tie between his teeth as he fucked you, felt him bend down afterward and lick you clean before he kissed you and led you back to your tipsy friends—who, hopefully, never caught on.

"Izuku. . ." You sniffle a little, overwhelmed, staring at a shot of your own ass you never knew existed.

He stays silent.

"Izuku." You pull in a deep breath. "We'll talk about this when you get back, okay?" You stress the words, waiting—needing an answer this time.

"Okay. . ."

"Okay." You sigh and sniffle again. He's looking at you full screen now, eyes watery and red, biting his lip. "I. . . I love you." Because you do love him—more than you can say—but this has left you feeling. . . different.

He exhales sharply, brows dipping as his eyes get wet. He's determined not to cry in front of you. "I love you."

You hang up after one last glance and set the phone aside.

How long has that been going on? Should you be worried? What do you do now?

. . .Fuck that—be real with yourself this time.

You miss him—God how you miss him.

When will you stop missing him?

You shut your eyes, leaning into his pillows, burying yourself in his scent. Your thighs rub together and you stifle a sound.

It was the biggest star you had ever created, a desperate, last-ditch effort. It bloomed in your hands, a blinding sun of pure energy, and you threw it with everything you had. The resulting explosion was catastrophic, incinerating the Nomu and clearing a ten-meter crater in the pavement. It also, you dimly realized, had taken everything you had. The feedback was instantaneous, a violent recoil that shattered your concentration and sent you flying backward, your body colliding with the shattered remains of a building.

The last thing you saw before the world went black was a flash of green lightning and a pair of terrified, emerald eyes.

The first week was a blur of hushed voices and the sterile, antiseptic smell of the hospital. Izuku was a constant, unwavering presence. He sat by your bed, his large frame folded into a painfully small chair, his hand often resting gently on yours. Your skin was cool, but his was always warm, a grounding point in the sea of his fear. He watched the slow, steady beep of the heart monitor, the only proof that the girl who had filled his world with light was still in it.

The second week, the visitors started coming. They came in small, quiet groups, their boisterous energy from the dorms muted by the heavy atmosphere of the ICU.

Mina and Uraraka were the first. They brought flowers that smelled of sunshine and tried to chatter about normal things, but their eyes kept darting to the machines you were hooked up to. Mina, usually so vibrant, looked pale, her usual sparkle gone. She reached out and gently smoothed your hair, her voice a choked whisper. "Come back to us, star-girl."

Kirishima and Kaminari came next, their usual bravado nowhere to be found. Kirishima's unbreakable spirit seemed, for once, very breakable. He just stood there, his fists clenched at his sides, staring at the bandages wrapped around your torso. "She saved my life, man," he said to Izuku, his voice rough with unshed tears. "That Nomu… I didn't even see it coming."

Iida and Todoroki arrived with a quiet solemnity that was almost worse than the others' grief. Iida stood ramrod straight, his hand chopping the air in a gesture that was more reflex than command. "Her sacrifice was heroic. A testament to the spirit of Class 1-A." Todoroki said nothing, but his mismatched eyes lingered on your still face for a long time before he gave Izuku a short, sharp nod of understanding.

Even Aizawa-sensei came. He stood in the doorway for a long time, his capture weapon hanging loosely around his neck, his gaze tired and unreadable. He looked at you, then at Izuku, who hadn't left his side. "She's a fighter, Problem Child," he said, his voice gruff but softer than Izuku had ever heard it. "She'll pull through." It sounded less like a statement of fact and more like a desperate prayer.

Through it all, Izuku remained. He talked to you, his voice a low, steady murmur. He told you about the repairs to the dorms, about how Eri was doing, about the new hero analysis theories he was working on. He poured his heart out to your unresponsive form, clinging to the fragile hope that you could hear him. The fear was a constant, cold knot in his stomach. The idea of this world, this future they were all fighting for, without you in it was a void so vast and black it threatened to swallow him whole. He had faced villains, broken his bones, pushed himself beyond every conceivable limit, but the thought of losing you was a terror he couldn't conquer.

The third week bled into the fourth. The stream of visitors slowed as the grim reality set in. The doctors were kind but realistic. The coma was profound. The injuries extensive. They spoke of potential long-term damage in hushed, clinical tones that made Izuku's blood run cold.

He was dozing in his chair, his head resting on the edge of your bed, when he felt it. A faint, almost imperceptible squeeze of his hand.

His head shot up, his heart hammering against his ribs. Your eyes were open. Just a crack, but they were open. They were hazy, unfocused, but they were the same beautiful eyes he had spent months studying, the same eyes that glittered when you laughed.

"Y/N?" he breathed, his voice trembling.

Your lips parted, and a dry, rasping sound emerged. "Izuku?"

It was just his name, but it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard. Tears he hadn't realized he was holding back flooded his eyes, streaming down his face. He fumbled for the call button, his hands shaking so badly he could barely press it.

Over the next hour, the world shifted on its axis. Nurses and doctors bustled in, their initial shock giving way to cautious optimism. They ran tests, checked your vitals, and confirmed what Izuku already knew in his heart: you were awake.

Once the medical storm had passed and they were alone again, the dam broke.

He sank to his knees beside your bed, his face buried in the mattress next to your arm, his shoulders shaking with the force of his sobs. It wasn't the quiet, stoic grief he had been carrying for weeks; it was the raw, ragged sound of a man who had been to the brink and back.

"I thought… God, Y/N, I thought I'd lost you," he choked out, his voice muffled by the blankets. He looked up, his face a mess of tears and relief, his green eyes swimming with an emotion so intense it took your breath away. "Lying there, so still… I couldn't… I can't. I can't live in a world without you."

You were still weak, your body a distant, aching thing, but your heart ached for him. You lifted your free hand, the one not tangled in tubes, and gently stroked his messy green hair.

"I'm right here, Izuku," you whispered, your voice still raspy but clear. "I'm not going anywhere."

He caught your hand in his, holding it to his cheek like a lifeline. "Don't," he begged, his voice cracking. "Don't ever leave my side again. I know it's selfish. I know you have your own path, your own dreams. But I… I need you. You're the light, Y/N. You're the one good, beautiful thing in all this chaos. Without you, it's just… darkness."

His confession hung in the air, raw and unfiltered. It wasn't a declaration of youthful crush; it was the desperate plea of a soul that had seen its counterpart flicker and almost die out.

A soft, warm glow began to emanate from your skin, the gentle, silver sparkles he knew so well blooming across your cheeks and hands. It wasn't the frantic glitter of embarrassment; it was the steady, radiant light of overwhelming emotion.

"I'm not going anywhere," you repeated, your voice stronger now, filled with a calming certainty that seemed to soothe his frayed nerves. "You're stuck with me, hero. I'm afraid you're my North Star, too."

He let out a shaky breath, a watery laugh mixing with his tears. He rested his forehead against your hand, closing his eyes as if to memorize the feel of your skin, the sight of your light.

The next day, the usual visiting time arrived. Iida, Mina, Uraraka, and Todoroki stood in the hallway outside your room, their expressions somber. They had made this walk every day for a month, bracing themselves for the same heartbreaking scene.

"Ready?" Uraraka asked softly, her voice tight.

Mina took a deep breath and pushed open the door, stepping inside. "We brought you some—" she started, then stopped dead.

The rest of them peered in over her shoulder, and their jaws collectively dropped.

You were sitting up in bed, propped against a pile of pillows. You were still pale, and the bandages were prominent, but you were awake. And you were laughing. A real, genuine, bubbling laugh that made the stars on your skin shimmer. Izuku was sitting on the edge of your bed, a notebook in his lap, but he wasn't taking notes. He was just looking at you, a look of pure, unadulterated adoration on his face.

"…and so there I was, barbeque sauce on my titties--'" you were saying, finishing a story that had sent you into a fit of giggles.

Mina let out a shriek that was half-sob, half-joy. "YOU'RE AWAKE!"

The quiet somberness of the hallway shattered. In a flurry of motion, your friends were in the room, a chaotic, beautiful mess of relief and disbelief. Mina was already crying, hugging your legs with a gentleness you didn't know she possessed. Uraraka was right behind her, her face a picture of pure, radiant happiness, her hands floating just above your bed as if afraid to touch you and break the spell.

"I can't believe it!" Uraraka exclaimed, tears streaming down her cheeks. "We were so worried! The doctors said… they didn't know…"

Iida stood at the foot of the bed, his ramrod straight posture finally slumping in relief. He pushed his glasses up, though you suspected it was to hide the moisture in his own eyes. "This is… this is exemplary news! Your resilience is a testament to your heroic spirit, Y/N!"

Even Todoroki allowed a small, genuine smile to grace his features. He stood slightly apart from the commotion, but his eyes were fixed on you, warm and bright. "It's good to see you, Y/N."

You laughed, the sound bubbling up from a well of joy so deep it felt like it could power a thousand stars. The soft light on your skin brightened, casting a warm, ethereal glow over the entire room. "I'm sorry I worried you all," you said, your voice still a little weak but filled with its usual bubbly energy. "But I'm a tough star to extinguish."

Kaminari and Kirishima, who had been hovering in the doorway, finally rushed in. "Dude!" Kaminari yelled, then immediately shrank back, remembering where he was. "I mean, dude! You're okay!"

Kirishima just stood there, his usual manly grin replaced by a look of overwhelming gratitude. "Thank you," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "For everything."

You looked at all of them, at your friends, your class, your family, and your heart felt so full it was a wonder you didn't start floating like Uraraka. Then your gaze found Izuku. He had moved to stand by the window, giving you space, but his eyes hadn't left you for a second. He was watching the reunion with a soft, fond smile, the deep-seated terror in his eyes finally replaced by a quiet, peaceful light.

The doctors and nurses, drawn by the commotion, came in to gently but firmly remind everyone that you still needed to rest. There were promises to visit tomorrow, to bring you your favorite foods, to catch you up on all the school gossip you'd missed. One by one, they filed out, until only you and Izuku remained.

He walked back to your bedside, his movements slow and deliberate. He sat down in the chair he had inhabited for a month, but this time, he didn't look like a sentinel guarding a tomb. He looked like a man who had found his way home.

"They're happy," you said softly, reaching out to take his hand.

"They were terrified," he corrected gently, lacing his fingers through yours. "We all were."

You looked down at your joined hands, at the way his calloused fingers fit so perfectly with yours. "I remember," you said quietly, your gaze turning distant. "The explosion. And then… green lightning. I remember your eyes. You looked so scared."

"I was," he admitted without hesitation. "I've never been so scared in my life. Not when I broke my arms, not when I faced Shigaraki… none of it compared to seeing you fall."

A fresh wave of emotion washed over you, and the stars on your skin shimmered brighter. "Izuku…"

"No, let me say this," he said, his voice earnest and intense. He leaned forward, his green eyes locking onto yours. "When I thought I lost you, it felt like the light went out of the world. All my plans, my dreams… they felt meaningless. I kept thinking about all the things I never said. All the time I wasted being scared of my own feelings."

He took a deep breath, his grip on your hand tightening. "I love you, Y/N. I'm in love with you. I have been for a while. I was just too much of a coward to say it. I was afraid of distracting you, of being a burden, of messing up the amazing thing we have. But almost losing you… it put everything into perspective. I'd rather have a complicated, messy life with you in it than a perfect, simple one without you."

The world tilted on its axis. His words were a supernova, a brilliant, earth-shattering revelation that rewired your entire existence. Tears welled in your eyes, but they were tears of pure, unadulterated joy.

"Izuku…" you whispered, your voice trembling.

"I don't expect you to say it back," he rushed on, his usual analytical brain kicking in, even in this most emotional of moments. "You've just been through a massive trauma, and the last thing I want is to put pressure on you. I just needed you to know. I needed to say it out loud, so you'd know how much you mean to me. So you'd know that when you get out of here, you don't have to face any of it alone. I'll be right there. I'll always be right there."

You couldn't stand it anymore. You tugged on his hand, pulling him closer. He leaned in, confused, until you were close enough to press your forehead against his.

"You're not a coward, Izuku Midoriya," you whispered, your lips brushing against his. "You're the bravest person I know." You closed the last bit of distance, kissing him softly. It was a kiss filled with relief, with promise, with a love that had been forged in fire and fear and had emerged, shining and unbreakable.

When you pulled back, you looked him dead in the eye. "I love you, too. You ridiculous, wonderful, heroic nerd. I think I have since the first time you asked me about the gravitational binding of my Quirk instead of just asking if it sparkled."

A slow, brilliant smile spread across his face, so full of hope and happiness it was brighter than any star you could ever create. "Really?"

"Really," you confirmed, your own smile matching his. "So you're stuck with me. Get used to it."

"I think," he said, his voice thick with emotion as he gently kissed your forehead, "I can live with that."

A/N: this is so cute, love u anon

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