Chapter Text
There are moments in life that feel settled enough to trust. When the struggling is over, and graduation is imminent, and your parents are proud. Moments when everything feels like it has already gone through the story, the climax crescendo-ed, and you can finally lean back and enjoy the ending where everything is happy. And then sometimes... something happens.
There’s a shift. You get a bad grade on a test that really matters. There’s miscommunication and you get into a huge fight with a friend. You didn’t set the alarm, and something as trivial as waking up late for class can suddenly make it feel like the whole world is against you. Dramatic, but that’s how it is sometimes. Something that feels small after everything you’ve already survived can irk you into tears. Or maybe, it’s bigger than that.
You meet someone new. Someone who was never supposed to belong in your world and shakes up the tranquility that you had so desperately clawed after for all four years of college. Someone who makes your friends look at you funny when you talk about them, and who’s voice grates on your ears from across the stage. Someone who’s talent is so immense, it’s annoying. Someone who holds up a metaphorical mirror, and parallels the things you hate most about yourself. Someone who shows you your own ugly parts that you tried to forget about using all the good from before, and doesn’t shy away from it, which may be the most shakable thing of all.
But by now, Izuku Midoriya had learned not to trust the quiet too much. Things had a way of tipping when he least expected it, and if he’d learned anything, it was how to keep his footing when they did. He still didn’t quite believe he was here at UA, that after all the struggling, he’d made it to the place he’d wanted more than anything. And maybe what unsettled him more was how temporary it suddenly felt. In nine short months, he’d be graduated, no longer safely tucked inside the walls of his beloved school, no longer free to pitter around the stage with his friends the way he had for nearly four years now.
It’s a bittersweet sort of feeling. His friends call him sappy. They’ll bring up how graduation is so far away. Don’t worry about it, they tell him. But who are they to judge? He's seen Uraraka cry over her girlfriend’s baby pictures. He watched Iida and Todoroki pretend the ending of The Notebook didn’t bring tears to their eyes. They’re a whole group of saps, but at least they’re together.
So yes, Izuku feels heavy emotion wash over him as he crosses the courtyard. The same concrete path he’s followed for years, taking him to the same doors he continues to walk through. The cherry blossoms are in full bloom in April, with specks of lavender poking out here and there as the Wisteria dusts the pink in a pretty swirl of color. The gentle breeze mixed with the slightly-less-than-warm weather makes him shiver and shove his hands in his pockets, never a friend to the chill of late winter. Izuku has never liked the cold.
The courtyard is busy now. People hurrying to reach their classes, riding bikes, or playing frisbee in the grass. A few students stand off to the side of the bike racks in a circle, some he recognizes as friends, others he simply knows. He hears his name being called and turns to see better who’s yelling for him. In that circle, he sees Shoji and Kouda, classmates from his first years literature class, waving at him. He smiles warmly, and lifts his hand in greeting. He doesn’t know them especially well, but always enjoys their company, making sure to greet them whenever he sees them. They’ve always been kind. He keeps moving, ready to be away from the ghost of wind on his neck and the prickling skin it causes. He shifts the flyer he’s carrying under his arm to tighten his grip on it, before quickly pushing his hand back into it’s pocket, where the heat is graciously waiting to comfort his already numbing fingers.
Rounding the last corner, the theatre comes into view and the need to pick up his pace and practically run the last 50 feet is nearly overwhelming. He shuffles forward with a bit of urgency, using his shoulder to nudge the glass doors open.
The warmth hits him first. Delicious warmth snaking its way around his whole body. He sighs and finally brings his hands out of his pockets, shucking his gloves off as he does so. He takes a deep breath, looking around the empty lobby for a moment of consideration before moving further into the building that he has come to know like a second home. He hears the sounds of practice from different rooms, the dance team moving through their routines in a separate space, their music thumping with gusto and vibrating the floor he walks on as he passes by their room quickly. It only takes another two seconds before the melodic tune of a piano being played hits his ears, he stops outside of a different practice area, the music room, to listen as Tokoyami most definitely tutors another student. He’s so talented, Izuku almost always stops to steal a few moments of unguarded practice music when he passes by.
It’s beautiful and melts his heart, but he drifts further away anyway. He’s here for a reason after all. He heads straight through the familiar hallways, towards the auditorium. Already, he feels his shoulders start to let go of the tension that always builds between them during the day. Even with his mind on other things, the dance and piano practice he wants to watch, the plans he has with his friends for later, and the essay that’s due at the end of the week, his body moves on autopilot. Feet already directing him, completely on instinct, to where he feels most himself.
The stage.
He pushes open the double doors to the auditorium. The lights are low except for those illuminating the stage, people moving through the rows and across the boards as his director calls instructions to the tech crew. The sight is so familiar it makes his chest tighten, sharp with the knowledge that it won’t always be this way. Once he leaves this school, he’ll go on to land a job, he’s sure. But that’s not what scares him.
Izuku wants to be here. On this stage. With these people
He takes a step forward, ready to get settled in and begin his warm ups when the sound of a familiar voice forming his name catches his attention. He turns his head, adjusting the backpack on his shoulders and grins up at Shinsou as he walks over. The man’s wild purple-dyed hair sticks up in different directions, indicating another long stress-filled night, and the bags under his eyes stand out like proof of his sleeplessness.
“Shinsou.” Izuku’s voice is laced with warmth and fondness as the male approaches. He reaches up and entangles his fingers with Shinsou’s untamable strands, trying to brush them back. “You look exhausted.”
His larger friend just shrugs, and leans ever so slightly into the touch, his eyes drifting to look around the room.
“Had a long night. Lots of studying.”
“It’s only the third week of classes.”
“That’s a neuroscience major for you.”
Izuku chuckles and shakes his head. “You’re always taking on way too much Shinsou. You’re doing tech too, you need to give yourself a break every now and then like an actual human, y’know?”
“Midoryia, you’re the worst overachiever I know. You have no room to talk.”
Izuku laughs out loud now, hand slapping over his mouth to try to stifle it, to no avail. Shinsou and he share a look and grin at each other, enjoying the easy banter that comes from knowing and annoying the same person for multiple years.
“Well, we can both get rid of some of that stress tonight, if you want?” Izuku offers and wiggles his eyebrows at his friend who only rolls his eyes in response.
“My apartment. I’ve got wine. After practice sound good?”
Izuku nods, already anticipating the night the way he always does: easy, familiar, something to look forward to without thinking too hard about it. It’s always been like this between them ever since their first drunken interaction three years ago. Casual intimacy. Something that neither of them has to think too hard about. Their dynamic is mutually beneficial, a way to blow off steam for Izuku and a way to distract Shinsou from his ever-present and always intense crush on Denki Kaminari. A man who just got out of a year long relationship.
“Cool,” Shinsou says, already glancing past him toward the tech booth as someone calls his name. He gives Izuku’s shoulder a quick squeeze before peeling off, disappearing into the controlled chaos of cables and clipboards.
Izuku watches him go for half a second before turning back toward the stage, slipping his phone and keys into his bag and rolling his shoulders as he heads backstage. There’s a lot to do before the session starts, and he doesn’t want to be late.
The familiar bustle of people preparing washes over his senses, and Izuku lets it carry him. His bag ends up beneath a chair, his jacket folded over the back without him remembering when he did it. He grabs his water bottle, tucks his script under his arm, and pulls a folded flyer from his bag before heading toward the stage.
His director, Toshinori is mid-conversation with Yaoyorozu when Izuku approaches.
“Ah! Midoriya,” Toshinori says, already turning toward him.
Yaoyorozu, their stage manager, smiles. “Good afternoon.”
“Hey,” Izuku replies easily, nodding at them both.
Toshinori gestures vaguely toward the stage. “I was thinking of having you lead warm-ups today, if you don’t mind.”
Izuku nods without hesitation, already expecting the responsibility. “Yeah. Of course.”
Toshinori’s smile is quiet but pleased. “Good. Let me know if anything feels off once people start settling in.”
Izuku hums in acknowledgment, already flipping open his script for their mock scenes they’d be running today as he steps back. Responsibility settles over his shoulders easily, familiar and grounding. Yaoyorozu and Toshinori continue chatting idly about something that has to do with set management as Izuku’s eyes skim over the script a couple more times before falling to the flyer that is currently clutched in his other hand. The one he’s been carrying with him all day. The one that announced what play they’d be performing at the end of the year.
The announcement was a surprise. It always is. Toshinori likes to put the flyers up on billboards all around the campus before telling his aspiring cast what they’d be partaking in. He enjoys when they come up to him after to ask questions or express their opinions. The one they chose this year was a highlighted love story between two childhood friends who both wanted to be super heroes, but with only one of them possessing a super power. The other was born powerless and this lack of anything supernatural left his former friend disgusted and he ended up bullying the weaker of the two. The story follows how the two reconnected later on in high school and began to understand each other better and fall in love just for the boy who was born with a power to end up losing his life in the great climactic battle. A real tragedy, if Izuku had ever seen one. A little too sad for his taste.
He hears the chit chat die down between his mentor and classmate as Yaoyorozu walks away, having gotten the answers to whatever questions she was asking. He looks up as Toshinori turns back towards him, a tired smile on his face.
“Midoriya, my boy. I see you’ve got a flyer there!”
Izuku’s lips quirk up in a lopsided grin as he shakes his head. “This one may be the saddest yet. The guy dies? Before he admits he loves him?”
The man in front of him shrugs. Shoving his thinning blonde hair out of his face. “But after the big apology scene. So at least he got his redemption arc.”
“Just so you know, I don’t want to play the dead guy.”
“Well, if the hero costume fits, my boy.”
“Toshi-sensei, please.”
A boisterous laugh escapes the thin man in front of him. “I’m kidding. We’ll just have to see how auditions play out, won’t we?”
Izuku narrows his eyes at his mentor, who was clearly enjoying teasing him with the less favorable role. He sighs, deciding to let it go, he’s already used to this kind of provocation from his director.
“All I’ll say,” Toshinori adds, tone shifting just enough to matter, “is that this show will ask more of people than they expect. Some roles sit heavier than others.”
Izuku nods slowly, absorbing that. “I can handle heavy.”
Toshinori’s smile deepens. “I know.”
And he does know. It’s true. Toshinori has been in Izuku’s corner for a long time, having taken him under his wing during Izuku’s first year at this school. The man in front of him has seen it all. Izuku’s worst moments, his deepest heartbreaks, his building dreams, and his happiest memories. Over the past four years, the man has become a sort of father figure to him, even establishing a relationship of camaraderie with Izuku’s mother when she comes to visit. He has taught Izuku many things, and never fails to pass on a word of advice when he senses then young man needs it. He may miss his teacher the most when this academic year comes to an end.
Izuku shifts from one foot to the other, looking back down at the flyer. “It just feels cruel, you know?”
Toshinori hums. “Tragedy often is.”
“Not the dying part,” Izuku says. “The not saying it in time.”
Toshinori studies him for a moment, expression thoughtful. “Then perhaps that’s the part you should pay attention to.”
His blue eyes are piercing, they always are. He sees right through everyone, his past studies in psychology often showing through at the most inconvenient times. Though, that may be what highlights his talent in the theatre. Psychology and storytelling often go hand in hand. If you excel at one, the other begins to make sense too.
“You’re speaking in riddles again, teacher.”
“Ah, you’re just searching for meaning in every little thing like you always do.” Toshinori snaps and points at him as if he just had an aha! moment. “A chronic overthinker, that's what you are!”
Before Izuku could respond, a voice quips up from behind him, lilting with a sing-song sort of tease.
“HA! You hit the nail on the head!” From the corner of his eye he sees a flash of pale hair pulled into two messy buns and golden eyes with a particular kind of sparkle in them that he knows a tad too well. Before he can react or defend himself, Himiko Toga is in front of him, pinching both of his cheeks as though he were a child.
“Ohhhh, my favorite overthinkerrrrr!” She squeals like she’s talking to a puppy. He stands stock-still and lets his cheeks be pinched and squished by his friend, not even attempting to dodge her ambush. Again, he’s used to this.
“Toga” he says her name as if that’s greeting enough, raising his eyebrows at her as she continues to attack his face. Over her shoulder he catches sight of brown hair and flushed cheeks.
“Uraraka,” he manages to groan out, “contain your girlfriend please.”
He hears more than sees Uraraka’s half-assed attempt to pull her girlfriend off of him. “Himiko, my love, Izuku is not a squeaky toy. Down, girl.”
“But he’s so cute!”
“We’ve talked about this, stop jumping on our friends.”
Toga sighs out an exasperated ‘no funnn’ before patting him gently on the head and stepping back. “Sorry Mido-boy, I just can’t help myself.”
He should be annoyed seeing how this is almost a daily occurrence, but really all he feels is a deep warmth for his friends and how they love him, in their own silly and weird ways.
“It’s fine.” He then turns to Uraraka finally, who’s offering an apologetic shake of her head.
“I literally have no control over her anymore.” She sighs softly as her wildcard girlfriend skips back towards the stage.
“I don’t think you ever did, to be fair.” He muses and Uraraka chuckles quietly and pats his arm. Sensing that it’s about time to rally everyone up for warmups, Izuku turns to say bye to his teacher, only for Toshinori to have been roped into answering more questions for other students.
Izuku makes his way to the stage without saying anything. Uraraka falls into step beside him as Toga hurries ahead, already distracted by something shiny onstage.
“Hey,” she says, bumping her shoulder lightly into his. “You’re still coming out tonight, right?”
Izuku blinks. “Tonight?”
She stops walking. Slowly turns to look at him. “The bar. The one by campus. We talked about this.”
His stomach drops just a little. “Oh. Right. I-” He winces. “I might have… accidentally made other plans.”
Uraraka squints. “Define accidentally.”
“I told Shinsou I’d come over after practice.”
She groans, loud and dramatic. “Izuku.”
“What?” he says defensively. “I forgot!”
“You always forget when it’s Shinsou,” she says, shaking her head. “Can’t you see your boy toy another night? The bar isn’t going anywhere.”
He chokes a little. “My- Uraraka.”
She nudges him with her elbow, grinning. “You know what I mean. You two can hang out tomorrow. Tonight is a group thing.”
Izuku hesitates, glancing toward the tech booth where Shinsou’s already busy with cables and clipboards. He’d feel bad canceling last minute, but he’d feel worse not showing up to plans he agreed to first.
“I guess I could tell him not tonight.” he says slowly, and then sighs dramatically, “But it’s been oh-so long.”
Uraraka’s smile softens. “Good. Or even bring him along. Kami might even be there. Maybe Shinsou will finally work up the courage to talk to him like a man and you two can stop going to pound town together and you can find yourself a new boy toy. Or even a real relationship! What a thought!”
He chooses to ignore her personal little dig at his commitment issues. “Pound town?” He stares at her from the side of his eye.
“You don’t like that? How about bone-city?”
“No it’s-”
“Smash lane.”
“Uraraka...”
“Fuck buddy center-”
“Oh my god please stop.” She can’t help but laugh at him as he shoves her lightly, needing this conversation to be over. “I’ll invite him,” he says finally.
“Awesome! It’s been too long since he’s hung with the group anyway.”
Izuku nods because she’s not wrong. He may be a casual hookup, but Izuku and Shinsou were genuine friends, whose other friends didn’t care about their dynamics. Alright, enough small talk. He has to get the session started.
Izuku claps his hands twice and the chatter that had been humming throughout the giant space quiets almost instantly. “Alright!” He calls out, projecting his voice the best he can, “Let’s get started with some warm ups, we’ve got mock scenes we’re running today then we have to talk about this years’ play!”
The group begins to huddle as Izuku leads them through stretches and vocal exercises. Rehearsal slips into motion the way it always does. Warm-ups blur into mock scenes, voices rising and falling as people stumble through lines they haven’t fully memorized yet. Someone misses a cue and laughs it off. Someone else starts too early and gets shushed. Toshinori paces the edge of the stage, offering gentle corrections and the occasional pointed note, his presence steady and familiar.
Izuku loses track of time somewhere between running the same scene twice and then a third time “just to see what happens.” He marks movements instead of committing to them, listening more than speaking, filing away impressions for later. There’s a rhythm to it all: stop, start, adjust, repeat... and his body settles into it like it knows exactly what to do.
By the time Toshinori finally calls for a break, Izuku’s water bottle is half-empty, his muscles warm, and his mind quiet in the way it only ever is after rehearsal.
Toshinori claps his hands once, sharp and decisive. “Alright, ten minute break. Hydrate. Stretch. Pretend you’re responsible adults.”
The stage dissolves immediately.
People scatter toward the aisles and wings, water bottles appearing like magic. Izuku barely has time to take three steps before he’s absorbed into a loose cluster forming near the edge of the stage.
Ochaco drops down beside him first, flopping onto the floor with a groan. “My calves are staging a protest.”
“You say that every rehearsal,” Izuku says, handing her his extra water bottle anyway.
“And every rehearsal they are correct,” she replies, already drinking.
Toga appears next, of course she does, sliding in between them and laying her head dramatically across Izuku’s knee like she’s been shot. “I’m dying. This is it. Tell my story.”
“You were doing cartwheels five minutes ago,” Tsuyu points out calmly, crouching nearby with her hands wrapped around her bottle.
“Exactly. My final act.”
Izuku laughs, gentle and automatic, and reaches down to pat Toga’s head. She hums happily and makes no move to sit up.
Iida approaches with purpose, already mid-sentence. “Midoriya, I wanted to apologize if my timing during that last mock scene was disruptive. I believe I entered precisely on cue, but-”
“You were fine,” Izuku says immediately.
Todoroki, leaning against one of the seats behind them, adds, “You were early by half a second.”
Iida stiffens. “Half a second?”
“Approximately,” Todoroki replies, utterly neutral.
Toga lifts her head just long enough to grin. “Ooooh. Burn.”
“I will be recalibrating,” Iida says, already pulling out his phone like he’s about to set ten alarms.
Shinsou wanders over last, dropping down to sit cross-legged on the floor beside Izuku, back against a chair. He looks more awake now, flushed from movement, hoodie sleeves pushed up his forearms.
“You did good leading warm-ups,” he says, quiet but sincere.
Izuku smiles. “Thanks.”
Ochaco eyes them both. “You look less dead than earlier.”
“Adrenaline,” Shinsou says. “And peer pressure.”
Toga quips up from where her forehead has now found a new home against Ochaco’s thigh. “You were very serious today, Mido-boy. All claps and commands.”
Izuku ducks his head, embarrassed. “Someone had to get you heathens in place.”
“Mmm,” she hums. “Leadership suits you.”
Tsuyu sips from her bottle. “You’re good at it. You always remember everyone’s limits.”
Izuku blinks. “I do?”
“You told Mineta to sit out of lunges before he even complained,” Tsuyu says mildly.
“That was preventative,” Izuku says quickly. “For everyone’s sake.”
Shinsou snorts from beside him, long legs stretching out. “You’ve got a sixth sense for impending disasters.”
Todoroki, perched on the edge of the stage steps, tilts his head. “You also adjusted the tempo when half the group started rushing their lines.”
Izuku feels heat creep into his cheeks. “I just...noticed.”
“You always ‘just notice,’” Ochaco says, propping herself up on her elbows to look at him. “That’s kind of your thing.”
Iida nods sharply. “It is an admirable quality. Awareness of one’s surroundings is essential for effective collaboration.”
Toga grins. “Look at him. Being praised. He hates it.”
“I do not hate it,” Izuku protests weakly.
“You hate it,” Shinsou says. “Your ears are red.”
Izuku reaches up reflexively, mortified. “They are not-!”
Toga gasps. “They’re redder.”
She reaches for his face again and Izuku braces himself, but Ochaco catches her wrist mid-lunge.
“Nope. Hands to yourself. He’s had enough.”
Toga pouts. “You’re no fun anymore.”
“You say that like it’s new.”
Todoroki watches this exchange with quiet interest. “Is this what affection looks like for you all?”
“Yes,” Uraraka and Toga say in unison.
Tsuyu nods. “Mostly.”
Izuku laughs, the sound slipping out before he can stop it. It feels easy, like it always does here. Someone bumps his shoulder. Someone else nudges his foot with theirs. The noise rises and falls around him without demanding anything in return. Suddenly Uraraka turns to look at him.
“Izuku, don’t you have something to ask Shinsou about tonight?”
Izuku blinks at her slowly as if she had spoken a foreign language. Oh, what a way to put him on the spot. He narrows his eyes in a half-formed glare at her before Shinsou speaks up from his other side.
“Tonight?”
Izuku sighs and turns to look at him again. “Yeah I uh-” he rubs the back of his neck, somewhat awkward, “I may have accidentally double booked.”
Now it’s Shinsou’s turn to narrow his eyes as he slowly rakes his gaze around the rest of their friends waiting to see what happens. “...They want you to go out to a bar don’t they?”
“Maybe?”
Shinsou groans. “I knew it.”
“You did not,” Izuku says.
“I absolutely did.”
Uraraka reaches across Izuku’s chest to poke at the other man’s shoulder, “You tryna steal him from us?”
Shinsou lifts his hands. “Hey, I didn’t know about bar night.”
“You never know about bar night,” Ochaco says. “That’s the problem.”
Izuku winces. “I forgot.”
Toga gasps again, delighted. “He forgot us for you.”
Shinsou rolls his eyes. “Please don’t phrase it like that. I think it’s more like he forgot to invite me-”
“Anway!” Izuku brings the attention back to himself, trying to refocus the conversation. “I can’t bail on them because I’m pretty sure they’d crucify me, but you should totally come. You know, if you want.”
“Toga would crucify him, not me...”
“She’d make us help. She has her ways.”
He hears Tsuyu and Todoroki comment amongst themselves off to the side but he ignores them.
Shinsou looks truly thoughtful about the offer for a few moments. Going out has never been something he enjoys very much. Shinsou doesn’t like the loud music or thick crowds. He doesn’t even really like drinking. These are all things Izuku has discerned about him the three years he has known him. He reaches over and nudges him lightly with his elbow.
“Kaminari might be there.”
Shinsou’s gaze snaps to Izuku’s, who laughs quietly at how predictable he is when it comes to his long-standing crush.
“You’re evil,” Shinsou mutters.
“Strategic,” Izuku corrects.
Shinsou exhales through his nose, considering. “Fine. I’ll come. But if it’s too loud, I’m leaving.”
“That’s fair,” Izuku says immediately.
Ochaco beams. “See? Everyone wins.”
“I don’t know about everyone,” Shinsou says, eyeing Toga.
She grins sweetly. “I’m going to make you dance.”
“I will fake my own death.”
“Ooo, method acting,” Todoroki says thoughtfully.
“Absolutely not,” Iida says at the same time.
Laughter ripples through the group, warm and easy, and then Toshinori’s voice cuts across the auditorium.
“Alright, everyone. Break’s over.”
Groans answer him, but people are already shifting, standing, grabbing scripts.
Izuku pushes himself to his feet, offering Shinsou a hand without thinking. Shinsou takes it just as easily.
No weight. No pause.
Back to work.
Together Izuku finds his place back on the stage again with his friends, Shinsou heading back to the tech booth. Toshinori waits until everyone has made it back onto the stage in front of him and then begins.
“Alright, for the second half of today’s session, we’re going to be talking about the play chosen for this years competition. My Hero Academia. I assume you’ve all seen the flyers by now?”
A chorus of acknowledgments rise above the students into the air. Toshinori hums and nods.
“Good. And how are we feeling about it?”
Izuku listens as a few students offer their opinions, some admit they’ve never seen it before and don’t know how it ends, and more express excitement at finally being able to do a play that has a more mature tone to it. More flyers are passed around for students who didn’t get one. They spend the next thirty minutes reading through the scripts, analyzing and discussing themes, motifs and character portrayals.
The conversation picks up in passion when Izuku raises his voice to talk about the ideal of heroism portrayed in the story. “The idea of heroism isn’t singular,” he says, voice steady. “It’s split between two people. One saves to win. One wins to save. They’re...”
He swallows. “They complete each other.”
Something twists in his chest as he continues, words spilling faster now. “It’s about sacrifice. About pushing yourself past your limits. About wanting victory so badly that-”
Clang.
A metallic sound can be heard across the auditorium and Izuku’s mouth snaps shut mid sentence, eyes darting to the other side of the room, trying to find the source of the noise. There are two unfamiliar figures standing there, both looking flushed with sweat and breathing hard. One of them, a red haired man with sharp features is bent over, an apologetic, slightly mortified look on his face.
“I am so sorry!” He blurts, quickly standing back up and holding a large metal water bottle up for everyone to see. “I dropped my- my this! I didn’t mean to interrupt!”
Izuku watches him as Toshinori gently reaffirms the boy that everything is fine. The man moves closer to the stage, talking to the director about what he was doing there. Something about auditions. Izuku doesn’t hear whatever it is in specific he was asking about, because his eyes move to the man who is standing behind him.
A guy with angry blonde hair, sharp red eyes, and a harsh jawline stands not a few feet away from him. Backpack slung over one shoulder, the other arm stuffed into the pocket of his sweatpants. Two small silver earrings dangle from his ears, catching the light and making it hard to look away. The boy wears an aggressive expression, a scowl residing on his face, looking as if he were judging everyone and everything that came into his line of view.
All rough edges, Izuku thinks. He looks back over to his mentor who is now talking quietly with the red head. What in the world could a guy like that be doing in a theatre- wait. What did the red head say about auditions. Izuku stands a little straighter, frowning at the odd interruption in their otherwise normal and repetitive routine. What are these guys doing here?
Toshinori ends the conversation by turning back to the rest of the class and raising his arms. “Well!” he says, drawing attention back to himself, “Looks like we have a few more people joining us for auditions this year!”
A ripple of murmurs passes through the room, and Izuku feels himself frown. He turns and shares a look with Todoroki who just offers a confused look back and shurgs.
Now, he likes to think he’s a decent person. He welcomes newcomers. He understands that everyone has to start somewhere.
But the theatre is different.
This stage, this auditorium, has become something intimate over the years. After nearly four of them spent here, it feels less like a classroom and more like a home. The people in it, his people, feel like family. The idea of new blood entering that space twists something uneasy in his stomach. Not because he doesn’t want them here, but because he knows how fragile something like this can be. How easily the wrong presence can turn comfort into chaos.
He tells himself not to judge.
Still, his gaze flicks back toward the strangers, and the thought lingers, unwelcome and quiet:
He’s never seen either of them on this stage before.
The rest of practice goes by in a blur. They resume their discussion , Izuku picking up where he left off with the themes of the chosen play for this year. If he’s being honest Izuku is very excited to perform in this play, no matter what role he ends up with. Of course he’s shooting for the lead though. The main character in this story is complex and psychologically enthralling. And the relationship between him and the love interest is so unbelievably deep it nearly brings tears to his eyes as he speaks about it. He wonders how he will have to change his style of acting to replicate the kind of love that consumes and spits back both the good and the bad at you. The kind of belonging and rightness in being in another person’s life, that whatever great forces that govern this world will not let you two leave each others’ orbit. The beauty of the journey it takes from hating that connection, to being grateful for it and doing everything you can to keep it. Izuku has never experienced a love like that, and now about to graduate college, he’s sure he never will.
By the time he finishes speaking he’s hyperaware that he just started muttering somewhere along the way. He comes back to himself with all eyes on him. And he means all eyes. Specifically crimson colored ones. From across the room.
They must’ve been having this discussion for nearly another 10 minutes at this point, and these guys still hadn’t left? The interruptions from earlier sat in the audience chairs. The redhead sits up straight in his chair, listening with a grin to everything being thrown around on stage. The man next to him, those crimson eyes, sits hunched forward, with his elbows on his knees and his head slightly lowered. His eyes bore straight into Izuku’s, as if he’s been listening very intently to every word out of his mouth.
He knows his fellow classmates were listening to his rant, but now he’s aware he was being watched. It makes him uncomfortable. He feels strangely exposed, like some very crucial and very intimate part of him has just been offered up to two strangers like a sacrifice. He can’t handle this intense eye contact. Izuku looks away first.
They move on. They end their session with mprov scenes. It’s stupid. Messy. Funny. Izuku forgets about that one strange moment as he laughs with his friends on stage.
By the time rehearsal finally winds down, Izuku’s voice feels pleasantly worn and his muscles loose in that familiar, satisfied way. People drift offstage in clusters, laughter echoing as bags are slung over shoulders and scripts are tucked away.
The two newcomers are still there. Izuku hesitates, then, because this is his space and he refuses to feel weird about it, he walks over.“Hey,” he says easily. “I’m Izuku Midoriya. I help run rehearsals.
The redhead brightens immediately, hopping up from his seat and offering a hand. “Eijirou Kirishima! Man, that was awesome to watch.”
Izuku smiles despite himself. “Thanks.”
“You guys are super organized,” Kirishima continues, earnest. “I’d be lost in, like, five minutes.”
“We’ve had practice,” Izuku says. “Literally.”
Kirishima laughs. “Yeah, no kidding.”
Izuku turns to the other boy, polite habit guiding him. “And you are?”
“Bakugou.”
No handshake. No smile.
Izuku pauses, then recovers. “Bakugou. You’re here for auditions?”
Bakugou snorts. “Maybe.”
Kirishima winces. “We are. Sorry. He’s like this.”
Izuku hums. “Like what?”
Bakugou’s red eyes flick to him, sharp and unimpressed. “Observant.”
Izuku’s smile tightens and for an unknown reason, his stomach flips over. “Well, feel free to ask questions. That’s what today was for.”
“I figured,” Bakugou says, glancing back toward the stage. “Didn’t realize there’d be so much talking.”
“Oh,” Izuku replies mildly, “that’s kind of the point.”
“Seems inefficient.”
There it is. Izuku tilts his head. “We call it collaboration.”
Bakugou scoffs. “Looks more like you’re all havin’ a playdate.”
Kirishima sucks in a breath. “Dude-”
Izuku’s eyes narrow, but his voice stays pleasant. “Funny. From where I was standing, it looked like a group of people who actually cared.”
Bakugou shrugs. “Caring doesn’t make you good.”
Izuku feels the spark then, annoyance, sharp and bright. “No,” he agrees, “but it helps.”
Bakugou’s mouth quirks, just barely. “Guess we’ll see.”
Izuku opens his mouth to respond, already lining up something clever, when Bakugou adds, casually:
“Try not to take it personally when someone does it better.”
Silence.
Izuku blinks.
Bakugou turns on his heel like the conversation is already over. “C’mon, Kirishima.”
Kirishima grimaces apologetically. “Uh, sorry. He’s not wrong. About auditions, I mean. Not the rest.”
Izuku manages a nod. “Right. See you next week.”
Kirishima waves. Bakugou doesn’t look back. Izuku stands there for a moment longer than necessary, pulse ticking a little faster than it should.
…Wow.
He exhales, scrubbing a hand over his face. What an asshole.
And, worse...
Why does Izuku suddenly feel like he has something to prove?
Toga and Uraraka’s apartment smells like citrus cleaner and whatever candle Toga bought purely because the label had teeth on it.
Izuku sits cross-legged on the couch with his jacket tossed over the armrest, watching Uraraka move back and forth between the bathroom and her bedroom with the efficient focus of someone who actually intends to leave on time. Toga, on the other hand, is upside down on the floor in front of the mirror, aggressively applying eyeliner.
“So,” Toga says, popping up suddenly and scooting closer on her knees, eyes bright. “Let’s talk about the menace.”
Uraraka snorts from the bathroom. “Which one?”
“The blonde,” Toga says immediately. “The angry one. The spicy one.”
Izuku groans and drops his head back against the couch. “Can we not call him that?”
“Oh, we absolutely can,” Uraraka says, reappearing with one shoe on and one in her hand. “Because I’ve never seen someone materialize out of thin air mid-rehearsal like that.”
“That’s what I said!” Toga points at her triumphantly. “Like poof! Suddenly there’s testosterone in the audience.”
Izuku rubs his face. “It was weird, right? That’s not just me?”
“No,” Uraraka says firmly. “It’s weird. We don’t get non-majors auditioning. Ever.”
Toga flops sideways onto the couch beside Izuku, draping herself halfway over his lap like a cat. “Drama majors are territorial. We bite.”
“You bite,” Uraraka corrects.
Toga bares her teeth in a grin. “Exactly.”
Izuku sighs, but there’s a smile tugging at his mouth. “It’s just… this has been the same group for years. We know everyone. Even when someone new joins, it’s usually a freshman who’s been circling the department forever.”
“And these two just… walked in,” Uraraka finishes, tying her shoe. “Sat down. Watched.”
“Menacingly,” Toga adds.
Izuku’s thoughts drift despite himself. The way Bakugou had leaned back in the seat like he owned it. The way his eyes tracked the stage, sharp and unimpressed. The way his voice had cut in, uninvited.
Hot. Unfortunately.
He clears his throat. “The redhead, Kirishima, was actually really nice.”
“Oh yeah,” Toga says dreamily. “Golden retriever energy.”
Uraraka hums. “I liked him. He seemed genuinely interested.”
“And then there was the other one,” Toga says, sitting up abruptly. “The one who chose violence.”
Izuku winces. “He didn’t choose violence.”
“He absolutely chose violence,” Uraraka says, deadpan. “You just don’t realize it because you’re polite.”
“No, I realized. He called our rehearsal inefficient,” Izuku mutters.
Toga gasps. “Blasphemy.”
“I mean,” Izuku says, thinking back, annoyance sparking again, “who does that? Who walks into a space they don’t belong to and immediately starts critiquing it?”
“Someone with audacity,” Uraraka says. “Or confidence. Or both.”
“Or someone compensating,” Toga offers.
Izuku exhales, fingers curling into the fabric of his jeans. “He was such an ass.”
“But,” Toga says, leaning in far too close, eyes glittering, “he was also very hot.”
Izuku’s face lights on fire. “That’s not-”
“You thought it,” Uraraka says calmly.
“I did not-”
“You did,” Toga sings. “I felt it.”
Izuku groans. “I noticed. There’s a difference.”
Uraraka raises an eyebrow. “Is there?”
Izuku opens his mouth, then closes it. The image of Bakugou’s sharp grin flashes unhelpfully through his mind.
“…He was annoying,” Izuku says instead.
“And hot,” Toga repeats, satisfied.
“And rude,” Izuku adds quickly.
“And confident,” Uraraka says, thoughtful now. “Which is probably why it bothered you.”
Izuku pauses. He hadn’t considered that.
“I just,” He frowns, searching for the feeling. “It felt like he was judging us. Like he walked in already convinced we weren’t worth his time.”
Toga hums. “Maybe he likes being wrong.”
“But it’s strange,” Uraraka muses, tilting her head back, “If he thinks we’re so inefficient and he really walked in there already judging everything... It makes me wonder why he’s auditioning in the first place?”
“Kirishima is probably making him.”
“But why is he auditioning? The whole thing is so odd!” the brunette exclaims with a shake of the head.
“Well,” Izuku murmurs, leaning forward to pick up his drink, “I think we’re more likely to get an answer out of one part of the pair than the other.”
Toga looks over at him, “You mean Bakugo, right?”
He deadpans. “Ha ha.”
Uraraka smiles apologetically and places her hand on Izuku’s shoulder. “He basically declared war on you, ya know?”
He throws his hands up. “Oh my god! I know! ‘Don’t be surprised when someone does it better”... what the hell does that mean?” Izuku groans again, but this time it’s quieter, more thoughtful. “Auditions are in two weeks.”
Uraraka nods. “Plenty of time.”
“For them,” Izuku says. “And for us.”
He leans back, staring at the ceiling, mind already replaying the exchange. The way Bakugou hadn’t raised his voice. The way he’d smiled like he knew something Izuku didn’t.
Asshole.
Hot asshole.
Toga nudges his knee. “You’re thinking again.”
“I always think,” Izuku says.
“Yeah,” she replies fondly. “That’s what makes you easy to mess with.”
Uraraka stands, grabbing her jacket. “Alright, thinker. Bar time.”
Izuku pushes himself to his feet, heart still buzzing in a way that has nothing to do with the impending night out.
Two newcomers. Auditions looming. For the first time in years something has shifted. And Izuku doesn’t know yet whether that’s exciting… or dangerous.
The music hits you before the door even closes.
It isn’t just loud, it’s thick, a living thing that vibrates through your bones and makes your chest feel like a speaker. The new bar is packed in that beginning-of-semester way where everyone has the same idea at the same time: the year is just beginning, the pressure isn’t killing anyone yet, and if they don’t let some steam off tonight they might actually implode.
Izuku is jostled the second they get inside, Toga already half a step ahead like she’s being pulled by the scent of chaos alone. Uraraka grabs his sleeve so they don’t get separated, and Tsuyu moves with her usual calm precision, slipping through bodies like she’s made of water.
“Okay,” Uraraka says over the noise, eyes wide. “This is… a lot.”
“It’s fine,” Izuku lies automatically, even as someone nearly elbows his ribs trying to get past.
Toga spins on her heel, hair bouncing. “It’s perfect!” she announces like she’s delivering prophecy. “Look, there’s a dance floor, there’s drinks, there’s men, there’s lesbians, there’s Tsu-”
“Hi,” Tsuyu says flatly, blinking at her.
Toga grins and points at her. “Exactly.”
They find the others in the back near a cluster of high tables that have been claimed like territory. Iida is already standing with his posture too straight for the environment, looking wildly out of his element. Todoroki is beside him, expression blank as he stares at the menu board. Kaminari has his elbows on the table and a grin on his face that says he’s on his second drink and making it everyone’s problem.
“Midoriya!” Iida calls the moment he spots him, voice somehow carrying over the music. “I was beginning to worry you had gotten lost.”
Uraraka laughs. “We almost did, actually.”
Todoroki’s gaze drifts to the crowd and back, unbothered. “You would have been found eventually.”
Toga pops up onto her toes to peer across the bar like a meerkat. “Where’s the bartender? I want something with sugar and regret.”
“You are not allowed sugar and regret,” Uraraka tells her immediately.
Toga gives her a scandalized look. “Says who?”
“Says your girlfriend,” Uraraka replies, then leans in to kiss her cheek before Toga can protest.
Toga’s entire face lights up with pure, unfiltered glee. “Okay fine. But make it sparkle.”
Izuku sets their coats on an empty chair and exhales, shoulders loosening as the group pulls into their familiar orbit. This is what he forgets when he’s spiraling about graduation or auditions or the world outside UA’s walls: there are still nights like this, still moments where his friends’ laughter anchors him back into his own body.
Shinsou shows up a minute later with his hands shoved into his hoodie pocket, looking like he’s bracing for impact.
“You came,” Izuku says, genuinely pleased.
Shinsou shoots him a look. “You promised Kaminari would be here.”
Izuku blinks innocently. “I did not promise anything.”
“You implied,” Shinsou says, then tips his head toward the table. “And there he is.”
Kaminari spots Shinsou and lights up like someone just offered him free money.
“Oh my god,” Shinsou mutters. “He’s going to be unbearable.”
“He’s always unbearable,” Izuku says fondly.
Todoroki glances between them. “Is he worse in social settings?”
“Yes,” Shinsou and Izuku say in unison.
Kaminari appears in front of them like an excited golden retriever, grin wide. “Shinsou! Tech boy! You actually left your cave!”
Shinsou stares at him. “I’m leaving now.”
Kaminari laughs like that’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard. “No you’re not. You’re drinking with us.”
“I don’t even like drinking.”
“Then you’ll drink slowly,” Kaminari says, like he’s solved a complex equation.
Iida clears his throat, already ready to lecture. “If anyone is consuming alcohol, I must insist we remain mindful-”
Toga throws an arm around his shoulders without warning. “Iidaaaaa, you need to loosen up! Have one drink! One tiny little drink! For the culture!”
“I will not be peer pressured,” Iida declares, cheeks pinking anyway.
Todoroki calmly lifts his glass. “Iida, you were peer pressured into theatre.”
Iida sputters. “That is-! That is completely different!”
Uraraka giggles and nudges Izuku. “You getting anything?”
Izuku glances at the bar. The line is atrocious. “Maybe later.”
“You,” Tsuyu says, leaning closer so he can hear her, “should get water first.”
Izuku’s mouth quirks. “You sound like Iida.”
“Iida is roften right,” Tsuyu replies.
Izuku laughs. “Traitor.”
They split into smaller tasks, like they always do. Uraraka and Toga head for the bar, Uraraka to moderate, Toga to cause harm. Tsuyu goes with them, likely to prevent Toga from climbing onto the counter. Iida volunteers to guard the table like a soldier. Todoroki follows the others with the same calm demeanor he always has, seemingly unaffected by the chaos of a Friday night.
Izuku is left with Shinsou and Kaminari, which is immediately unfair to him.
“So,” Kaminari says, leaning onto the table with his chin in his palm, eyes bright. “I didn’t text Jirou once today. Not once!” The mention of Kaminari’s ex Kyoka Jirou is usually an off-the-table sort of discussion. But he seems genuinely proud of himself and how he’s been moving on recently. Izuku has tried many times to convince Shinsou that the reason for that is the fact that the two have been spending way more time together recently, but the man refuses to believe it.
Izuku rolls his eyes but smiles genuinely. “That’s great Kaminari! That makes it a full week! I’m proud of you.”
Kaminari nods dramatically and puts his hand over his heart. “So we definitely have reasons to drink today. I bet you could also use a drink, Midoriya.”
Izuku gives him a quizzical look. Kaminari continues, voice dropping with exaggerated intrigue, “I heard there was some drama in your.. Well.. drama class. Hah! That’s fitting!”
Kaminari snorts at his own joke
Izuku freezes. “How would you-”
“Kirishima texted me,” Kaminari says, like it’s obvious. “He said you met Bakugou.”
Shinsou’s eyebrows lift. “You know them?”
Kaminari nods, grinning. “Yeah. We all went to the same high school. Bakugou’s a jerk.”
Izuku’s shoulders loosen. “Okay. So it wasn’t just me.”
“Nope,” Kaminari says cheerfully. “He’s been like that since forever. But he’s also-”
Clarification, Izuku thinks desperately. “Not auditioning?”
Kaminari’s grin widens. “Oh, he’s auditioning.”
Izuku sighs. “Of course he is.”
“And,” Kaminari adds, eyes sparkling with the kind of glee that only comes from being a menace, “he’s literally here right now.”
Izuku blinks. “What?”
Shinsou straightens in his chair like someone just pulled a string. “Here as in, here?”
“Here as in this bar,” Kaminari says, nodding. “He comes here sometimes. He said he was stopping by tonight.”
Izuku’s stomach does a weird little flip. He immediately squashes it.
“Whatever,” he says, forcing casualness into his voice. “I don’t care.”
Kaminari squints at him. “After the way he acted today? Kirishima said he was being a little brat. I say go beat him up”
“I don’t want to beat him up,” Izuku insists.
Shinsou, thankfully, is distracted now, eyes on Kaminari’s face as if he’s just now realizing what it means that Kaminari was here alone without drunk texting Jirou. His shoulders go tense. His hands fidget with the edge of his sleeve.
Izuku nudges him under the table. “Breathe.”
Shinsou glares. “Don’t.”
“You’re going to talk to him,” Izuku says quietly.
“I’m going to pass away,” Shinsou corrects.
Kaminari, still grinning, leans closer. “Are you guys gossiping about me?”
“No,” Shinsou says instantly.
“Yes,” Izuku says at the same time.
Kaminari laughs, delighted. “I love you both.”
Uraraka returns with drinks balanced in both hands, cheeks flushed from fighting through the crowd. “Okay. We got-”
Toga swoops in behind her like a demon, placing a glittery pink drink on the table with far too much enthusiasm. “This one is mine and it’s called a Strawberry Death Spiral.”
Uraraka grimaces. “It’s basically candy.”
Toga sips it and moans dramatically. “I can taste my bad decisions.”
Tsuyu sets down a glass of water in front of Izuku without a word. Izuku’s heart swells with gratitude. “Thank you.”
“Drink it,” Tsuyu says.
He does.
The night unfolds in a soft blur after that, the way good nights do. They talk, they laugh, they argue about which musicals are overrated. Iida gets cornered into trying a sip of Uraraka’s drink and immediately coughs like he’s been poisoned. Toga laughs so hard she nearly falls off her stool. Todoroki tries something red and sweet and frowns because ew.
“This tastes like… fruit,” he says slowly.
Uraraka stares at him. “Yeah?”
“I don’t like it,” Todoroki decides, and hands it to Toga, who accepts it with the graciousness of a pirate finding treasure. That is to say she whooped and hollared. At some point, music shifts into something with a heavier beat, and Uraraka grabs Izuku’s hand.
“Dance floor,” she announces.
Izuku opens his mouth to protest, but Toga is already on her other side, grabbing his wrist.
“You have no choice,” she declares. “You must dance with us. It’s the law.”
“Since when is that the law?” Izuku asks, laughing despite himself as they drag him.
“Since I said so,” Toga replies, and Tsuyu follows behind them with the calm acceptance of someone who knows resistance is useless.
On the dance floor, everything becomes easier and dumber. There’s no thinking, no planning, no rehearsing lines in your head. Just movement, bodies shifting in sync, laughter spilling out in bursts. Uraraka dances like she’s in her own world. Toga dances like she’s auditioning for the role of “Most Chaotic Creature Alive.” Tsuyu dances with minimal movement, but she still somehow looks cool doing it.
Izuku dances like someone who is trying his best. He can feel the eyes of other strangers in the bar occasionally drifting over them, but he doesn’t care. Not tonight. Tonight is for being twenty-two and stupid and alive.
When he returns to the table, slightly sweaty and breathless, Shinsou is sitting with his drink untouched, staring into the distance with the look of a man prepping for a battle.
Kaminari is gone.
Izuku blinks. “Where’s-”
Shinsou drags a hand down his face. “He went to the bar.”
Izuku’s brows lift. “You’re going to-”
“Don’t,” Shinsou says again, but he’s already standing.
Izuku smiles. “Go get him, tiger.”
Shinsou flips him off and disappears into the crowd.
Izuku snorts and takes another sip of water, then glances at Tsuyu beside him. Her face is neutral as always, but her shoulders are slightly tight.
“You okay?” he asks, leaning closer.
Tsuyu’s eyes flick to the ceiling, then toward the crowd. “It’s… thick in here.”
Izuku exhales. “Yeah. It’s a lot.”
Tsuyu tilts her head toward the door. “Air?”
He nods immediately. “Air.”
They weave through bodies and escape outside like they’re breaking the surface of water. Cold night air hits Izuku’s face, sharp and refreshing. He inhales deeply, lungs grateful.
The door swings shut behind them and the noise drops instantly, replaced by sweet space and the low hum of traffic. Izuku exhales hard, shoulders loosening as he leans back against the brick wall.
“Okay,” he mutters. “That’s better.”
The air is much cooler now than during the day, and he feels his skin prickle with the weight of that chill. Tsuyu settles beside him, folding her arms. “The air was getting thick.”
Izuku nods, staring up at the night sky. “Yeah. Too many bodies. Too much noise.”
They stand in silence for a moment, just breathing. The bass from inside vibrates faintly through the brick.
“You were tense,” Tsuyu says, objectively.
Izuku huffs. “I’m always tense.”
“You were extra tense.”
He glances at her. “Is it that obvious?”
“Yes.”
Izuku rubs the back of his neck. “It’s just, today was weird. Those two guys showing up out of nowhere.”
Tsuyu hums. “Unexpected variables.”
“And disruptive,” Izuku adds. “You don’t just walk into a rehearsal you don’t belong to and sit there like you’re evaluating a zoo exhibit.”
Tsuyu tilts her head, examining him. “You feel protective.” He couldn’t say she was wrong. Of course he was protective. Tsuyu has always had a knack for reading people.
Izuku nods. “Well, yeah, I mean... It’s our space.”
Before she can respond, they hear the sound of footsteps scraping against concrete. And it drags both of their attention upwards. Tsuyu’s eyes flick toward the corner first. Izuku follows her gaze and his stomach tightens.
Bakugou steps into view, phone pressed to his ear, posture rigid with irritation. His voice is low but sharp. A cigarette dangles loosely between the fingers of his free hand.
“No. I’m not changing my mind.”
He paces once, free hand settling the cigarette between his lips in a casual way. “I don’t care how long it’s been. That’s not my problem.”
A pause. He takes a long drag then rolls his eyes. The person on the other side of the phone continues speaking for a while. Izuku and Tsuyu can’t help but fall silent and watch the subject of their own conversation pace back and forth.
His jaw clenches. “Do whatever the hell you want. I said to stop calling me.”
The call ends abruptly. He stares at the device in his hand for a moment before muttering something under his breath and shoving his phone into his pocket with a particular type f anger. He turns toward the door. And then he freezes in place.
Because suddenly, his eyes lock onto Izuku... who immediately straightens without thinking.
Beside him, Tsuyu murmurs, “He looks hostile.”
“I noticed,” Izuku whispers.
Bakugou stops. Stares. Takes two steps toward the door then stops again. Then, deliberately, he changes course and walks toward them.
Izuku’s pulse ticks up. “He’s-”
“Yes,” Tsuyu says calmly. “He is approaching.”
‘Why?”
“I do not know.”
“He looks like he wants to kill me.”
“Should you maybe make a run for it or-”
Bakugou stops a few feet away, gaze flicking briefly to Tsuyu before settling back on Izuku.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” Bakugou says flatly.
Izuku blinks. “Likewise.”
Bakugou snorts. “You following me?”
Izuku sputters. “What?! No!”
“I told you I was auditioning and now you’re outside my bar. Seems like I’m being stalked.”
“Does it?” Izuku replies, irritation sparking. “Because last I checked, this isn’t a private club. And I don’t care if you audition.”
Bakugou’s eyes narrow. “Then let’s say it’s private for people who can keep up.”
Izuku folds his arms, not willing to take this attitude again. “You mean people who confuse being rude with being impressive?”
Bakugou scoffs. “I wasn’t rude. I just don’t need a committee meeting to decide how to breathe.”
Well that feels... oddly personable and direct. Tsuyu clears her throat softly. Neither of them acknowledge her.
Izuku’s jaw tightens. “You came into a space you don’t understand and acted like it was beneath you.”
Bakugou tilts his head. “No. I came into a space that thinks it’s deeper than it is.”
Izuku takes a sharp breath. Theatre is deeper than most people think it is. “You don’t get to decide that.”
Bakugou’s mouth twitches. “I get to decide what I’m better at.”
Izuku laughs, incredulous. “Oh wow, you really think you’re all that. You haven’t even auditioned yet.”
Bakugou’s eyes flash. “I will.”
“And?” Izuku presses. “You think that automatically means something?”
Bakugou steps closer, just enough to be invasive. “It means I’m taking the lead.”
Tsuyu’s eyes widen slightly. “Direct.”
Izuku stares up at him, blood pounding . “You don’t even know which role that is.”
Bakugou’s grin is sharp. “Doesn’t matter. I’ll make it mine.”
Izuku’s irritation spikes, hot and immediate. “That’s not how it works. What practice do you have? Have you ever even been in a play? Do you even know what stage right means?”
“Good thing I don’t care how the hell it works,” Bakugou fires back. “ I’ll figure my shit out. I’m not here to fit in. I’m here to win.”
Izuku bristles. “This isn’t a competition.”
Bakugou laughs once, short and biting. “Everything’s a competition. You just pretend it’s not.”
Izuku steps forward before he can stop himself. “You don’t get to walk in and bulldoze something people have spent years building.”
Bakugou’s eyes burn. “Then stop standing in the way.”
“I just met you! How can I be standing in your way?!”
“I watched your damn practice. The director delegates to you. You’re the golden boy of the theatre department.”
Tsuyu shifts, murmuring, “This is escalating.”
Izuku snaps, “So you think because you watched half of ONE of my practices that you suddenly know me? You think confidence gives you the right to disrespect everyone around you?”
Bakugou shoots back, “You don’t like me. You didn’t like me when we first met but you were still oh-so sweet. You think being overly polite and liked makes you untouchable.”
Izuku’s chest tightens. This guy sure found time to observe Izuku in between all his judging earlier. Even if his analysis is off. Weird.
“At least I respect the people around me.”
Bakugou’s gaze drags over him, dismissive. “Respect is earned. I don’t know you, I don’t respect you.” He says it like it’s a known fact. He leans forwards slightly, seemingly enjoying their little verbal sparring match which only makes Izuku angrier, “And respect doesn’t win leads.”
Izuku’s voice goes dangerously calm. “Talent does.”
Bakugou grins, all teeth. “Exactly.”
A tense beat hangs between them. Izuku hadn't realized just how much the two of them had gotten all up in each others’ faces. As close as he is, he could smell the others’ cologne. It’s a surprisingly comforting smell. Cinnamon and caramel. Comfort or not, it invades his senses the same way it’s owner invaded his auditorium. Harsh and unwelcome. The two of them hold eye contact, staring at each other with so much animosity it feels palpable.
Tension. Thick and heavy.
Bakugou breaks it first, stepping back. “Enjoy the next two weeks.”
Izuku snaps, “Why?”
Bakugou’s eyes gleam. “Because you annoy me. So after I audition and take the lead that I’m sure you, Mister Saviour Of The Drama Department, wants, I’m going to make your life hell.”
Tsuyu blinks. “That sounds unpleasant.”
Bakugou glances at her. “It will be.”
Izuku sucks in a breath through his teeth. “What the hell is your problem?”
Bakugo doesn’t answer as his eyes settle on Izuku again, sharp and challenging. “See you at auditions.”
And without another word, he turns and disappears back inside the bar. Izuku stands there, heart hammering, anger buzzing under his skin.
Tsuyu exhales slowly. “That was… antagonistic.”
Izuku drags a hand through his hair. “Who does he think he is?”
Tsuyu tilts her head. “Someone who wants your role apparently.”
“I didn’t do anything to him!”
Tusyu shrugs and looks over to the door. “I don’t think that’s the point Midoriya.”
Izuku’s jaw sets.
Fine.
If Bakugou Katsuki thinks he can walk in, set fire to Izuku’s last year here, and leave, he’s about to learn how wrong that assumption is.