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1
“You are not going to hold my fucking hand, Dumb Deku.” Kacchan’s voice is a little louder than a whisper in the silence of the common room. He slaps Izuku’s hand away so fast it stings. Izuku slinks back, cheeks burning, curling into himself in the corner of the couch.
It’s Friday movie night—Sero’s turn to pick—and of course he chose horror. Izuku had lasted less than thirty minutes before his instincts betrayed him, reaching for Kacchan’s hand without thinking. Now, the embarrassment clings to him tighter than the shadows in the movie.
When the next monster screeches across the screen, Izuku jolts again, nearly knocking into Kacchan’s shoulder.
Kacchan sighs—loudly enough that half the class probably hears it but pretends not to. Then, without looking at him, he grabs Izuku’s hand and laces their fingers together.
“Say a fucking word and I’ll leave,” Kacchan mutters, low and sharp, but his thumb brushes over Izuku’s knuckles softly.
Izuku’s heart races so hard he doesn’t think he could speak if he wanted to. The fear of the movie fades, replaced with a comfort so strong he feels silly for ever being scared at all.
2
It’s 1 a.m., and the entire class 3A is stuck outside the dorms. Kaminari and Mina blew something up—Izuku doesn’t even know what and doesn’t even care because it’s freezing.
He shivers next to Todoroki, Iida, and Uraraka, grumbling about the wasted sleep before tomorrow’s test.
“I could warm you up,” Todoroki offers, deadpan.
But before Izuku can answer, something smacks him in the face. He blinks, holding up Kacchan’s oversized skeleton jumper.
He turns just in time to see Kacchan walking away in only his thin shirt. “You’re fucking welcome,” Kacchan tosses over his shoulder.
“Thank you, Kacchan,” Izuku says belatedly.
He pulls the jumper on, hugging the warmth close. It smells like Kacchan—like sharp spice, faint smoke, and something steady that makes Izuku’s chest ache in a way that has nothing to do with the cold.
When they finally crawl back into the dorms at 3 a.m., Izuku is exhausted but unwilling to take the jumper off. It feels like safety.
3
It’s a few days later when Izuku accidentally skips lunch.
He’s been holed up in the support lab with Hatsume during his free period, juggling his own costume updates while half-heartedly “assisting” her — if anyone could truly assist Hatsume — as she rattles off inventions at the speed of light. Izuku’s notebook is already overflowing with sketches and ideas, some for his own costume, some sneaky little adjustments for Kacchan’s, if he ever got the courage to share them.
He’s scribbling so fast his handwriting borders on illegible when Hatsume suddenly tilts her head at him.
“Midoriya, aren’t you late for lunch?” she asks.
Izuku blinks owlishly at her, pen stilling mid-note. Then his eyes snap to the clock.
“Oh no!” He scrambles, shoving notebooks and scattered pens into his bag He only has ten minutes left and those are just enough to rush back to class. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? Weren’t you going to eat too?”
Hatsume laughs, unbothered, twirling a wrench like a pen.
“When I’m busy, I just skip. I make up for it with a double dinner!”
Izuku stares at her for a beat, both baffled and a little impressed, before rushing out with a frantic, “Thanks—bye!” echoing down the hall.
By the time he gets back to class, the cafeteria is long closed. His stomach grumbles in protest, but at least he isn’t late for the afternoon lessons. He sets his things on his desk, pulling out his pencil case and notebook, trying to will his hunger away.
That’s when Kacchan turns in his seat, eyes narrowing like a hawk.
Izuku freezes. “W-what, Kacchan?” he mumbles, bracing for an explosion.
“Give me your hand,” Kacchan growls.
“Huh?” Izuku blinks, bewildered.
“Your fucking hand, Izuku.”
Izuku hesitates but obediently stretches it out, palm open. To his surprise, Kacchan drops a shiny red apple into it with a heavy thud.
“Learn to take care of yourself, dumbass,” Kacchan mutters, scowling so hard it looks painful. He whips back around in his chair before Izuku can even stammer a reply. If Izuku didn’t know better, he’d swear Kacchan’s ears were turning red.
Izuku stares at the apple like it’s a precious gem, warmth blooming in his chest. When he bites into it, the crisp sweetness almost makes him giggle — it really is the best apple he’s ever tasted.
“Thank you, Kacchan,” he says softly.
“Shut up and chew before you choke, stupid nerd,” comes the gruff reply.
Izuku just beams at the back of Kacchan’s head, the hunger in his stomach dulling under the warmth spreading through him.
4
Izuku thinks Kacchan might like him. Either that, or he wants a favour and is buttering him up first. Both possibilities are terrifying in their own right, but Izuku has evidence now—written down in his notebook. If it had only happened once, he could’ve dismissed it as delusion. Twice, maybe coincidence. But three times? Three whole times? That’s practically scientific proof.
And if it is true—if Kacchan actually likes him—then Izuku needs to get to the bottom of it before the thought makes his heart sprint itself into cardiac arrest. Luckily, Izuku is nothing if not a detective.
Normally, Kacchan would never in a million years agree to go to the mall with him. Kacchan thinks malls are a waste of oxygen, and Izuku’s habit of lingering in the hero merch aisles has always earned him eye rolls and explosions. But lately… Kacchan’s been different. Almost sweet. Izuku is half convinced—and half desperately hoping—that these little gestures aren’t just random. So what’s a trip to the mall if not another sweet thing? And if things go really well, Izuku has already drafted a quick Plan A for a date itinerary. Just in case.
So on Saturday morning, after confirming Kacchan’s availability through his reliable sources (read: Kirishima and some very light, definitely not creepy stalking), Izuku finds himself standing nervously at Kacchan’s door. His fist knocks before his brain can stop him.
“Who the fuck’s at my door at ass-o’clock in the morning?” Kacchan barks, yanking it open.
“Sorry!” Izuku blurts, realizing belatedly that in his excitement, he completely forgot to consider the time.
Kacchan squints at him, hair even messier than usual. “What do you want?”
“C-can you please come with me to the mall? The new edition All Might figure just came out and I have to get there early before it sells out. Everyone else is busy…”
“So I’m your last fucking resort?”
“No!” Izuku practically shouts, panicking. “I just didn’t think you’d want to come, so I asked Todoroki, Iida, and Uraraka first.”
Kacchan stares at him for a long moment. Then, without warning: “Get in.”
Izuku blinks. “…Huh?”
“Get in, Izuku. I need a shower. Then we’ll go get your stupid doll. And you’re buying me food while we’re there.”
“It’s not a doll,” Izuku mutters under his breath, but Kacchan’s already gone, stomping toward the bathroom. Still, Izuku can’t help it—the corners of his mouth curl up. It worked. It actually worked. His excitement thrums so loud in his chest, he’s surprised Kacchan doesn’t hear it over the shower.
When they return to the dorms that evening, Izuku is practically glowing. His maybe-date had been a complete success. First, they’d secured the All Might figure (mission accomplished). Then somehow—miraculously—Kacchan had agreed to watch a movie. After that, food. Then the arcade. Then the comic book store, where Kacchan had grumbled about “nerd garbage” while flipping through the pages with alarming focus.
Izuku had laughed. Kacchan hadn’t told him to shut up.
Now, notebook open in his lap, Izuku carefully adjusts his data. Based on today’s results, the probability of Kacchan liking him back is… 70%. Solid numbers. Very promising. But he still needs to gather more evidence before drawing any real conclusions.
5
It’s been a while since Izuku was hurt in a training exercise. He’s gotten used to the little cuts, bruises, and exhaustion that come with it, but nothing that leaves him sprawled in the dirt, unmoving. Today is supposed to be a simple Class A vs. Class B exercise—Izuku’s team of Yaoyorozu, Shinsou, Ojiro, Sato, and himself are working well, communicating and gaining ground.
Everything’s going smoothly… until it isn’t.
Izuku doesn’t even know what startles him. A flash of movement? A sound too close behind him? Whatever it is, his footing slips. He can he screams as his body crashes down.
His reflexes—sluggish from too many late nights—fail him. He hits the ground wrong. The crack that follows is sharp and sickening. His stomach flips at the sound. He doesn’t dare look at his leg because he knows exactly what he’ll see. Instead, he does what he learned to do in his first year—when he used to break bones all the time—he forces himself to focus on anything else.
Voices crowd around him. Someone kneels at his side, fussing. Words blur together, muffled by the blood pounding in his ears. Then—an explosion, closer and closer, cutting through everything.
Izuku turns his head and there he is. Kacchan, blasting himself forward, face like a storm.
“Move,” Kacchan growls, shoving past Ojiro without a second glance. His hands are surprisingly steady as he slides one arm under Izuku’s back, the other beneath his ruined leg, and lifts him up like he weighs nothing. Izuku instinctively clings to his shoulders. The motion jostles his leg, sending a white-hot spike of pain through him. He squeezes his eyes shut.
“Maybe you shouldn’t move him,” Ojiro offers uncertainly. “Recovery Girl will probably be here soon—”
“Shut up,” Kacchan bites out, already striding out of Ground Beta. His hold is firm, but careful. Too careful. Izuku forces himself to peek at Kacchan’s face. His expression isn’t just angry—it’s tight, upset, almost… scared.
“It’s not that bad,” Izuku tries to say, though his voice comes out thin. “I’ve broken my leg plenty of times before.”
Kacchan’s grip only tightens. His eyes flick down, sharp. “You’re crying, Izuku.”
Izuku blinks, startled. He hadn’t realized.
“And you were screaming after you fell.”
He hadn’t realized that either. Which means it’s worse than usual. But he still doesn’t look, doesn’t want to see the angle of his own bones. Instead, he buries his face against Kacchan’s chest and distracts himself with the furious, fast heartbeat thundering under his cheek.
The damage is bad enough to need surgery, and after that Recovery Girl kisses it better. But even so, he still has to endure weeks of rest, they tell him. He’s benched.
Throughout all that, Kacchan is still waiting outside the infirmary.
“You’re so fucking careless,” is the first thing he says when he’s finally allowed inside.
Izuku frowns, offended. “Kacchan—”
“No. Shut up. You don’t get to talk.” Kacchan’s voice cracks, brittle under the growl. “You were distracted. You can’t— you can’t be distracted, even in training. What if it was a real villain? You’d be—” His voice falters, strangled on the word. “—dead.”
Izuku stares at him, chest tight, words caught in his throat. The silence stretches until he forces himself to speak. “…I know. I’m sorry. I’ve been staying up too late studying. I was already tired before the match even started. I’ll be more careful.”
“Don’t apologize to me, idiot. It’s your fucking life.”
Izuku’s lips press into a thin line. Instead of answering, he reaches out, takes Kacchan’s hand, and tugs. Kacchan resists for half a second before letting himself be pulled in. Izuku shifts on the bed, pulling him close enough that Kacchan stands right between his knees. He says nothing about it.
“I’m sorry, Kacchan,” Izuku murmurs, softer this time. “I know I’d be angry if you weren’t careful, too.”
Kacchan scowls, eyes hot and unreadable. “…Whatever.”
Izuku doesn’t know what confidence seizes him—maybe the haze of painkillers, maybe the way Kacchan’s hand hasn’t left his but he reaches out with his other hand, gently resting it at Kacchan’s waist, and leans forward just enough to press their lips together. The kiss is brief, light as a brush of breath. Kacchan freezes, but then his lips move back against Izuku’s.
When they pull apart, Izuku’s heart is pounding harder than his leg hurts. “…Will you help me walk back to the dorms?”
“Fine,” Kacchan mutters, slipping his arms under Izuku and lifting him up again with practiced ease.
“That’s not what I meant,” Izuku giggles, pressing his face against Kacchan’s chest again. The heartbeat he finds there is calmer this time. Steady and warm.
And Izuku lets it anchor him.
+1
“No quirks,” Todoroki says flatly from his spot at the pool’s edge.
“Yes, I know. I fucking heard you the first time you said it,” Kacchan grumbles, already bouncing on his heels with impatience. “Now let’s do this.”
“Midoriya,” Todoroki adds, turning his head with all the subtlety of a traffic light, “as your best friend, we’ll get to share the prize when I win.” He tries to wink, but the motion is stiff and awkward—more like he’s got something in his eye.
Izuku blinks at him. He didn’t think Todoroki was even capable of bribery. It’s clear that he isn’t.
“Shut up, Icy Hot,” Kacchan snaps, glaring at him. “He’s my fucking boyfriend. He gets the whole thing if I win.”
Todoroki raises an eyebrow, calm as ever. “IF you win.”
“Like I’d let you beat me you—”
“Okay, okay!” Izuku cuts in before the sparks and ice start flying. He throws up his hands like a referee. “Ready. Set. Go!”
Both boys launch themselves into the water with the intensity of pro-heroes charging into battle. Izuku can’t help grinning from where he sits with his whistle and bag of snacks. This whole activity had been his idea—a little bonding exercise between his boyfriend and his best friend. He’d bought the snacks —the prize they were fighting to share with him— with his own money, figuring competition was the only language they truly shared.
By the time they hit the far wall and come panting back, Izuku’s pretty sure it’s a tie. Too close to call. But he already knows what will happen if he says that. They’ll argue about it for the rest of the day, maybe longer. Both are already clinging to the pool’s edge, dripping wet, breathing hard, staring up at him like he’s the final judge at the Olympics.
Izuku rubs the back of his neck, caught between their expectant stares. Then he makes his decision.
“Kacchan wins,” he says brightly.
The satisfied, almost smug smile that breaks across Kacchan’s face is immediate—and, Izuku admits, worth every ounce of guilt that follows.
It isn’t even technically a lie, not really. And besides, Izuku can always make it up to Todoroki later. He’s actually good at bribery, unlike Todoroki’s tragic attempt.