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Uraraka had fallen asleep before she could make her move.
It was Deku’s belated housewarming party—extremely belated, considering he had been living in the apartment for a year and a half now. With everyone’s hectic hero schedule, it had been hard to get their graduating class together until today. Waiting for that long meant that the housewarming party leaned closer to a house party; friends of friends were invited, and Deku’s rank and charisma had brought in new contacts and new companions.
The apartment was filled with low music and high laughter, undercut by the flavorful aroma of food that people brought. Uraraka caught up with everyone from her graduating class, introduced herself to people she didn’t recognize, and played drinking games that made her feel young and reckless again. People came and left quickly due to patrols, so it never felt too crowded or too tight.
All in all, it was a good night—as good a night as any to confess, so it was the perfect night, actually.
Uraraka was finally tired of being on the side. She was going to waste her life away by waiting for the right moment to present itself, or, worse, for Deku to realize her burning desire and acknowledge it. She had decided to confess the night of the housewarming party due to her failed attempt earlier that week (during lunch, she had put her hand over his, only for him to absentmindedly pat it as he spoke, leaving her annoyed and fuming).
For a confidence boost, she had a few shots; that was supposed to have been it, but her nerves convinced her into drinking several cups of jungle juice. Then, to finish it up, Ashido gave her a tiny bite of an edible, further loosening her shoulders and softening her red cheeks. She had a nice pep talk with Tsu, and she even had a game-planning moment with Kaminari—but, when it was time to put the plan into motion, she choked.
She had grabbed Deku’s arm, said his first name with too many z’s, and slurred out that she loved his new haircut and that she was so proud of his muscles—and then she passed out.
It was in his arms at least.
His face had been beet red when he had caught her, the last thing she recalled, and she would’ve thought it was a good sign had she not known how easy it was for him to turn any shade of red. Uraraka had once seen his ears flush deeply when a fan had simply asked for an autograph, but that was part of why she liked him so much—Deku was humble and sincere; he was both good and great all at once.
Hours later, Uraraka groaned; her consciousness slowly flickered awake, pushing back against the siren call of sleep and the pleasant haze of alcohol. Her cheek was pressed into the couch cushion, a little wet from where she had been open-mouthed drooling. She wiped at her face, but the alcohol made it difficult to gauge distance and power, and she ended up smacking herself harshly in the chin.
Suddenly, there was a warmth: a hand gently tucked her traitorous arm back into her side and shifted a blanket up to her shoulders. She was quickly encompassed by the familiar scent of detergent and vanilla—the familiar scent of the boy she adored and the man she could love (could love because she was too scared to think that she was already that far gone).
Uraraka forced her eyes open against the weight of the night, deciding, in her still foggy mind, that his lingering fragrance was a sign from the universe that her chance was still within her grasp. As her eyes focused against the dim light of the few lamps still softly lit in the apartment, she could hear the scattered snores and delicate breathing of the remaining guests.
She heard Deku move again. In the corner of her blurry eyes, she saw him draping a brown blanket over Tsu. When Uraraka tried to shift her head, the room began to spin. This was her moment, though, she thought heatedly. Tonight was supposed to be her night. He was right there. She could get his attention and then—she didn’t know if she would tell him everything all at once, but whatever she’d end up saying would be better than how she had been living the past several years.
But as soon as she had made up her mind, she heard Deku speak softly—“Yeah, they’re all passed out.”
The words died in her throat as she suddenly found herself embarrassed and unsure. She didn’t know why the feeling of being rattled washed over her sp abruptly. If he was talking to someone in the apartment, she shouldn’t feel concerned, but… There was something in his voice—a lilt or a tone that she couldn’t quite explain, that she hadn’t heard before.
“Ah, Ochako, Tsu, and Aoyama are in the living room, Mina and Yaoyorozu are in the guest bed, and Kaminari and Sero are in my bed—I think Mineta is still in the bathroom cuddling the tequila bottle Kirishima brought.”
She heard a distorted snort, a muffled laugh buzzing through a phone. The volume was loud enough that she could make out the words; she just needed to push through the haze of sleep and alcohol, and focus.
“Sounds like it was a good time.”
She could hear the voice—your voice—but she only vaguely recognized it. She couldn’t pull up a face in her mind, but she knew you were familiar, as though you had been introduced to her in passing and she hadn’t paid enough attention—and for some reason, there was something about that realization that unnerved her.
Deku chuckled quietly. “It was.”
“Did Katsuki come through?”
Uraraka stilled. You were on a first name basis with Bakugou?
No, maybe that was a good thing. Maybe that meant you were something to Bakugou and not to Deku.
—But wouldn’t that mean you’d be calling Bakugou? Why would you be calling Deku?
“Yes,” Deku responded, moving slowly about the room with what sounded like a trash bag now. “Kacchan actually brought a really nice gift, but he and Kirishima left after thirty minutes ‘cause they had patrol.”
“Ooh, what did he get you?”
“He got me a, uh, vicuña blanket?”
“Oh, that’s good shit. That’s expensive, you know.”
“You know what it is?” he asked in awed shock, dropping his voice when Aoyama rolled over onto his stomach, mumbling something in French. “I had to Google it—I didn’t even know how to spell it…”
The conversation seemed casual enough, Uraraka reassured herself. If you weren’t somehow connected to Bakugou (and, thus, to Deku by association), then perhaps you were an old friend. He could’ve met you post-graduation, during the time when everyone had temporarily disbanded as they tried to find their footing in the world of Pros. That could explain why she didn’t truly know you. Though it was a plausible theory, it still didn’t sit well in her stomach.
“How is it on your side?” he asked.
“It’s hot and bright as hell.”
“That sounds nice.”
“It sucks.”
“I’m sure there are some good parts that you’re overlooking,” he said.
Plain, simple, and uncomplicated. Yes, Uraraka thought. If Deku sounded tender, it was because he was kindhearted. There was no need to read so deeply into this.
She tried to relax, force her mind to fall back into the darkness that had been calling to her moments before. She felt ashamed for eavesdropping for so long, like an invasive, lovelorn schoolgirl. It wasn’t any of her business—but it (thankfully) sounded like a casual conversation. So, it was fine. She could try again in the morning before everyone else awoke. She’d just go back to sleep for now.
That was what she had thought anyways, but even as Uraraka tried to slip back into sleep, she found her brain was wired.
It just—this didn’t feel right.
It was surely past midnight—way past midnight—and Deku was up talking to you while he cleaned up after his friends. And even though it wasn’t a conversation that she was a part of, it still felt so…it felt more than private. It felt personal. Intimate. As if she was listening in on something that Deku was cupping secretly in his hands.
Deku dropped the bag in the trashcan, but she didn’t hear him move or speak afterwards.
It was quiet. He was generally very talkative, so for him to not say anything, perhaps it meant this was special. How much was being said in that silence? How much of it she didn’t understand? Wasn’t privileged to? Her chest hurt, as if her body knew what she wouldn’t yet admit.
Finally, she heard him ask, “How much longer will you be there?”
“You ask this every night.”
“It changes every night.”
“Barely.”
“…It gets closer every night.” His voice was soft. Tender. Full of the longing she dreamt of, the same longing in her own voice.
You responded with an amused chuckle. She could hear the affection even through the distortion of the phone.
It was quiet again. Uraraka held her breath.
“I miss you.”
He said it gently.
He said it desperately, desperate like the aching in her chest.
“It’ll be just one more month, Izuku.”
He sighed. “One more long month.”
“Well… I sent you those pics the other day to help hold you over. You didn’t like them?”
Uraraka heard his voice catch.
“I—um…”
“Did you get off to them?”
“H-hey…!”
“Don’t be embarrassed; that’s what they’re for.” You snickered. “Send me a video next time.”
“I’m…I don’t think I can do that.”
He sounded breathless.
It was easy to make him red, easy as pinching his cheeks and congratulating him, but she wondered how hard it was to make him breathless. She wondered how easy it was for you.
She had never done it before.
“If I send you a video, you’ll have to send me one back.”
“I—um.”
You laughed again.
What did you look like, she wondered. Did your eyes have the mischievous gleam that your voice had? Were your cheeks rounder than hers? Were you taller? Kinder? Would you be laying here eavesdropping, too, or were you better than that? She chewed the inside of her cheeks, finding herself creating faces in her head and trying to match them up to what she could hear of your voice. She imagined you in different scenarios with Deku, replacing her with you in her memories, and her insecurities and nerves and sorrow had him react to you differently than he had to her, more loving and affectionate, more attentive and devoted.
She felt she had just been stabbed in the chest, and yet there she was, masochistically digging the knife deeper into her sternum.
If you were his significant other—if you were his lover—why didn’t he tell anyone? Why didn’t he tell her?
And…if he had you, where did that leave Uraraka?
“Hey, Izuku, go to the bathroom. I have an idea.”
“Mineta’s passed out in the tub.”
“The guest bathroom, then. Solutions, babe.”
Babe? Her chest tightened. That wasn't something she could ignore.
He inhaled shakily.
Did she ever have that affect on him?
“Put me on video, Izuku. Go, go, go.”
He sighed, but he headed toward the guest bathroom, his footsteps quiet and eager. In the dim light, Uraraka strained to hear his breathlessness and your laughter until he disappeared around the corner. Then, she curled beneath the blanket and breathed in his vanilla scent, the closest she’d ever get to having him in her arms, the closest she’d ever get to having him against her chest.