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Izuku rubs the pad of his thumb in circles into his opposite palm, and glances up at the screens showing the match up list for the one-to-one fights. He’s up next, but he doesn’t know anything about the person he’s due to fight. Shinsou Hitoshi isn’t even in Class 1A.

“Can’t fucking be nervous,” Katsuki barks, dropping a heavy hand on his shoulder. “I know no best friend of mine is nervous of some extra.”

“Kacchan…” Izuku protests weakly, “you can’t hate on someone just for being in General Studies.”

“I’m an equal opportunist,” Katsuki says with a sharp lop-sided smile, “I can hate anyone, for any reason.”

“Kacchan…” But Izuku is smiling again.

Katsuki has that effect on him, an instant mood lifter, ever since the day after Izuku saved his life and Katsuki showed up with a boot-leg copy of the newest All-Might movie and an apology. Now Katsuki takes Izuku’s hand in both of his and massages the tendons of the previously-broken middle finger than always gives Izuku trouble, and especially when he’s nervous.

“You’re gonna be fine, Deku.”

“What if I’m still not strong enough?”

Katsuki shoots Izuku a glare from under drawn brows.

“You were strong enough to make it through the entrance exam,” he snaps, though not unkindly. “You we’re strong enough to clear that beach.” Katsuki grins at him. “And you’re strong to keep up with me in a fight.”

“I haven’t won one yet though,” Izuku grouches.

Katsuki throws an arm across his shoulder, then tries to get Izuku’s head with his other hand to give him a noogie. Izuku battles his way out of the scuffle, hooking a foot around Katsuki’s ankle to get him off balance enough to escape, and they break apart laughing.

“I have a bit of a head start on you, Deku. But think about how far you’ve come.”

Izuku curls his arm the way Katsuki taught him, flexing, and Katsuki prods his bicep appreciatively.

“Atta boy. Look at those guns.”

“Kacchan!” Izuku squawks.

“Still can’t see his own glow-up,” Katsuki sighs dramatically. “You’ll get there.”

The buzzer sounds – time for Izuku to fight someone he’s never heard of – and Izuku takes a deep breath. Katsuki is right, he has improved, he is stronger, he can do this.

***

“That kid in Class A doesn’t even have a Quirk,” Monama mutters cattily, right as Hitoshi steps up into the arena.

Hitoshi doesn’t react, but it’s not the first time he’s heard the rumour. No one has seen the green haired boy use a Quirk, no one is quite sure how he passed the entrance exam and got into Class A – except that his blonde explosive friend was standing on the finish line screaming at him to get moving the whole time. Hitoshi doesn't relish the idea of being the first from his class to fight, but at least it will be over quickly.

He sighs. He’ll win his fight against the Quirkless wonder, and then everyone at UA will know about his own Quirk and be just a little bit more wary of him. Hitoshi wishes he got into Class A, not because Hero Studies is a better course, but because Class A have Aizawa as their teacher. Hitoshi would love to have a conversation with another person who knew they were safe from his Quirk.

Midoriya stands on the far side of the arena in his sports uniform and a pair of half-laced red high-tops. His shirt appears to be one size too small for him, which is a look for sure. Hitoshi lets his gaze slide over the crowd, and sure enough Midoriya’s shouty blond guard dog is standing as close as is allowed, looking murderous.

“Go get him, Deku!”

The buzzer sounds as Present Mic finishes explaining the rules: knock your opponent out, get them out of the ring, or make them surrender. Hitoshi locks gazes with his opponent.

“You let your friend call you ‘useless’?” Hitoshi says, using his best goading tone, but all Midoriya does is raise an eyebrow. “You’re just going to stand all the way over there? Afraid to fight me?”

“Watch your fuckin’ mouth, you-” The explosive blond’s words are muffled by a red-head classmate with clearly no sense of self-preservation. Maybe he’s bomb proof?

Hitoshi takes a step closer.

“Everyone says it was a fluke you made it through the entrance exam. You won’t last. I’m gonna take your spot in Hero Studies.”

Midoriya glares at him.

“No you won’t,” he snaps with more vehemence than Hitoshi expected. “I worked too hard to let you or anyone else take this from me.”

“You’re going to stop me?” Hitoshi teases, letting the influence of his Quirk spread and loop around his target. “Muscles aren’t everything you know.”

“Deku, get a move on!”

Midoriya takes a single step forward.

“Aww, do you do everything your boyfriend says?” It’s a low-jibe and Hitoshi knows it, and he doesn’t even need another verbal response from Midoriya to sink the claws of his Quirk in. But it’s easier to mock something he might never be able to have than be jealous.

“Don’t say that about Kacchan!” Midoriya says hotly, and suddenly he is marching across the arena towards Hitoshi, fierce determination in every limb.

Hitoshi exhales.

“Turn around and walk out of the ring.”

Nothing happens.

Midoriya is still striding quickly towards him, and Hitoshi reaches for his Quirk, for the hold he knows he had on Midoriya, and finds his power just slipping away through his fingertips as Midoriya gets closer.

“Walk away-” Hitoshi starts, but his Quirk isn’t working against Midoriya, and he’s out of time.

Midoriya shoves him, one big hand on each side of Hitoshi’s chest, and Hitoshi goes stumbling backwards, trips down the steps and lands in a confused tumble outside the ring.

Hitoshi stares up at his opponent, confused how he lost, and hyper aware of the heat lingering on his skin where Midoriya touched him. He blinks, and wonders how he didn’t notice until now that Midoriya’s cheeks are speckled with coppery freckles. Midoriya’s chest rises and falls under his too-tight shirt, and Hitoshi suddenly feels the heat in his own body spread everywhere.

“Kacchan’s not my boyfriend,” Izuku says to him vehemently, “and you’re not taking my place.”

Hitoshi knows he shouldn’t, but he tries to grasp Midoriya’s free will with his Quirk, and once again his Quirk just slides off like Izuku is made of glass or ice. Both of them stare at each other and breathe for a moment.

“Are you alright?” Izuku asks from the top step, voice softer now, concerned. Present-Mic is loudly announcing the obvious result and the next match-up, and Hitoshi doesn’t answer him.

Instead Hitoshi bounces to his feet with false bravado, because he cannot have Midoriya touch him again when he is having an internal bisexual panic.

Hitoshi didn’t let himself notice before, but Midoriya is hot. And worse, Hitoshi didn’t know until exactly ten seconds ago, that he likes being pushed around by nice boys with muscles.

This is a terrible thing to discover.

***

Katsuki hooks the classroom door open with his foot and slams it back into the wall. Izuku rolls his eyes at his friend.

“Does your entrance always have to be so dramatic, Kacchan?”

“Some dude in our class can set shit on fire and you want me to leave nitroglycerine Quirk-sweat on shit?”

“Iida is going to write you up for swearing,” Izuku warns him as they both perch on the edge of Izuku’s desk. “Again.”

“Glasses can suck my-”

“Baku-bro!” Kirishima arrives with a smile as bright as sunshine, throwing an arm over each of their shoulders. “Mido!”

Katsuki shrugs him off quickly, but Izuku has been watching Katsuki his entire life, and his cheeks are pink.

“Did you guys hit the gym already?”

“No, we ran.”

Kirishima’s eyes go huge.

“Cardio before lessons?! That’s insane! You guys are really determined.”

“Of fucking course we are,” Katsuki grumbles, but he sounds pleased with himself.

“Kacchan knows best,” Izuku agrees immediately.

“Cute double act.”

Izuku glances up sharply, he knows that voice. The pretty purple haired boy he won against during the sport’s festival is standing in the doorway of their classroom, staring at them. Beside him, Katsuki tenses.

“You always do everything he tells you, Midoriya?”

Izuku opens his mouth to respond, but Kirishima cuts him off.

“Don’t answer him. That’s how his Quirk works.”

“Brainwashing,” Katsuki snarls. “No wonder you didn’t make it into Hero Studies.”

Izuku gapes at his friend, and then elbows Katsuki hard between the ribs.

“Kacchan!”

“Fuck it- erghhh.” Katsuki glares at Izuku, then at Shinsou. “Sorry,” he grunts.

A long moment of silence stretches between the four of them, and then someone else calls Kirishima’s name from over near the windows, and he bounds away like an overexcited puppy. Izuku doesn’t miss the way Katsuki stares after him.

“Trouble in paradise?” Shinsou taunts.

“We’re not dating,” Izuku and Katsuki say in perfect, over-practised unison.

“Uh-huh,” Shinsou does not sound like he believes them. “Is Aizawa-sensei here yet? I was asked to come pick up some extra work from him.

“He’s not always here at the beginning of lessons,” Izuku says.

“A prompt arrival is an important factor for success!” Iida says from across the classroom, clearly with no idea that he just reprimanded their absent teacher.

“I’ll wait,” he says with a shrug.

Izuku wants to start writing in his notebook, because although it’s been a few days since the Sports Festival, he hasn’t been able to flesh out his notes on Shinsou since then, and he’s got questions. He knows almost nothing about his Quirk, but Izuku has a sinking feeling that it might be what kept him out of the Hero Studies course. Izuku knows he only scored high enough in the entrance exam because he spent ten months training with Katsuki every second they weren’t sleeping or in school. Shinsou is pretty in a willowy sort of way, and though Izuku knows plenty of people who are strong without being muscular, Shinsou looks like a stiff breeze could knock him over.

Izuku wonders if he can convince Katsuki to let Shinsou train with them sometimes too.

“You know,” Shinsou says conversationally, “I’m not the only one that people have doubts about.”

“Shut the fuck up about Deku,” Katsuki snarls, already up on his feet, shoulders tense.

“Kacchan…” Izuku is used to Katsuki leaping to his defence, and he wonders when he’ll realise that Izuku can fight his own battles now.

“Oh, I’m not talking about him.” Shinsou’s tone drops, a note of menace in his voice. “Everyone saw the scores sheets, Katsuki. You can explode all the buildings you like, but with no rescue points I wonder what kind of Hero you’ll turn out to be.”

“Fuck you! Are you that jealous and pathetic that you’ll come in here and say whatever-”

Shinsou doesn’t let him finish.

“Jealous? Of a barking dog with no self-control-”

“Oh shit,” echo several voices from around the room.

Explosions crackle and pop in Katsuki’s clawed hand, and everyone looks. They always do. But Izuku knows Katsuki, knows that he’s far more angry than he’s letting on, and can sees the way Katsuki’s left palm heats up – yellow through orange and into searing red – as he builds a full explosion to hurl at Shinsou.

“Kacchan, no…”

“He has it coming-”

Izuku wraps a hand around Katsuki’s forearm and pushes his way into Katsuki’s line of sight as the explosions vanish.

“But you don’t,” Izuku says. “You do not need to live up to someone’s worst expectations of you, Kacchan.”

“Fucking- shitnerd- grrr-” Katsuki voice drops to an irritated snarl. “I hate it when you’re right.”

Izuku beams.

“I am sometimes right, yes.”

“Brat.” Katsuki glares over the top of Izuku’s head and then frowns. “The fuck are you all staring at us for?”

“Oh my gods.” Ashido is wide-eyed as she gapes at them. “Midoriya has a Quirk. Did you see that?”

“He made Baku-bro’s explosions vanish.”

“Right?!”

“Surely,” says Tokoyami, “he just calmed Bakugo-kun down?”

“No, Ashido is right.” Todoroki is staring at them openly, confusion and concentration on his face. “The explosions vanished before Midoriya even touched him.”

“Will you all fuck off?” Katsuki snarls. He pulls away from Izuku and thumps down into his seat. “There’re plenty of invisible Quirks, why the fuck does everyone think you’re special?”

Izuku cannot help but feel a tiny swell of pride at the words, and then he realises that everyone in Class A, and Shinsou, are still staring at him.

“Yes, I have a Quirk.”

“You control Bakugo?” Ashido asks, chin in her hands.

“Oi!”

Izuku tries to laugh, but he really wishes there were less people looking at him right now.

“Um- no. It’s called Resist.” He turns to Shinsou. “Other Quirks don’t work on me, or around me, it’s why you lost at the Sports Festival.”

Shinsou blinks, and his eyes seems brighter suddenly behind his dark lashes.

“I… I can’t use my Quirk on you?”

Izuku shrugs apologetically.

“Nope.” He glances over his shoulder at Katsuki. “But you shouldn’t have said that to Kacchan. Everyone has strengths and weaknesses. If we were perfect, we wouldn’t need to train.” Izuku flicks his gaze quickly to Katsuki, but Katsuki just clenches his jaw in that way he does when he’s forcing himself not to say something he’ll regret. Izuku is so proud of him. “We all have to work on the skills we lack.”

Shinsou scuffs his shoe on the carpet, looking guilty. His eyes flash between the pair of them.

“Sorry.”

Katsuki grunts.

“Whatever. Don’t say shit about Deku and I won’t have to explode your face.”

Shinsou frowns.

“But you call him ‘Deku’?”

“I’ve known him since before pre-school. I can call him whatever I damn well like.” Katsuki grins devilishly. “And we’re not together.”

“We’re really not,” Izuku agrees. “Kacchan is a brother I was cursed with.”

“Fuck you, I’m a delight!”

“Sure you are, Kacchan.”

Kirishima appears again between Izuku and Katsuki, with the excitable Kaminari at his back.

“Can I shock you?” Kaminari asks, eyes saucer-wide.

“It won’t work,” Izuku replies, “but sure.”

Kaminari dances on the spot in excitement and clicks his fingers, making a little spark of blue electricity flash from fingertip to thumb, he reaches out a hand towards Izuku, but the lightning literally dies a millimetre from his fingertips, because he’s standing just a fraction too close to Izuku.

“What the fuck?” several people around the room say.

“Yeah, you can’t even throw Quirk-made shit at him,” Bakugo says with a laugh.

“Hey Momo…” Jirou starts, but Yaoyorozu is already pulling a babushka doll from her bare forearm and handing it over. “Midoriya-san! Catch!”

Izuku raises his hands in instinct, because he’s used to Katsuki tossing medicine balls at him in during their training sessions, but the babushka simply vanishes into nothing about a metre from him.

Silence fills the room.

Izuku glances at Katsuki, and his friend gives him a lopsided, rueful smile: they both know what happens now. It’s happened before, and it was the thing which nearly destroyed their friendship for good. Katsuki reaches out and hooks his arm around Izuku’s neck to hug him, and Izuku is so grateful he could cry. Except Katsuki had a go at him on the train before their first day of school about ‘no crying in the classroom, Deku. It’s high school!’ so Izuku sniffs hard and doesn’t let his eyes water.

“It’s like Aizawa-sensei’s Quirk,” Todoroki says eventually, and pretty much to himself. “Except that he doesn’t even need to be looking at you.”

A visible shiver runs through the room.

And then a voice pipes up from the back of class.

“Wait? All Quirks vanish? Oh my gods! Midoriya-san, please stay right there!” Hagakure – or at least, her uniform, skips over from the back of the room, and before their eyes a pretty girl with bright blue eyes and slightly wavy blond hair appears, inside Hagakure’s uniform. She beams. “Finally! Someone hand me a mirror so I can do my hair, please.”

Half the class stares as Uraraka passes both mirror and hairbrush to the newly revealed Hagakure, and Izuku is at least glad that full animosity isn’t being directed his way. But already he can hear half-whispers from around the room, and they are all so familiar.

No Hero is going to want to work with someone who destroys their Quirk when they get too close.

But Shinsou isn’t still standing in the doorway. He’s closer now, though not quite inside the range of Izuku’s Quirk. Honestly, Izuku’s isn’t friends enough with anyone here to have them be standing so close without reason – apart from Katsuki. And Shinsou is still looking at him.

“What work are you picking up from Aizawa-sensei?”

“I’m going to try and take some of the Hero Studies units in my free time,” Shinsou says, chin jutting out like he’s daring Izuku to contradict him. “I have goals I want to achieve too.”

“That’s really great,” Izuku hears himself say, but even though Aizawa has just come into the classroom looking like a man desperately in need of caffeine and ten hours sleep, he doesn’t move or look away. Shinsou’s eyes flash with challenge, and though Izuku wants to snatch up a notebook and start scribbling as though his life depends on it, he can’t look away.

A knot of warmth and anticipation builds in the pit of his stomach – like the feeling he gets right before a big fight scene in a good movie – because there is nothing more attractive to Izuku than a pretty boy with confidence and drive.

Izuku watches Shinsou even as he sits down at his desk, the way his head is bent close with Aizawa’s as the teacher hands over various papers and study materials, giving instructions and guidance in short, low grunts. The class get ready for their lesson – and Izuku starts writing in a notebook without even looking down. The longer he looks at Shinsou, the less he wants to look away. He doesn’t want to miss the expression on his face when Shinsou looks his way again.

And he does, right before Aizawa starts talking to the class. Shinsou stands up straight, and his eyes lock on Izuku’s. Izuku smiles at him, and Shinsou’s cheeks become the slightest fraction more rounded, like he wants to smile. His eyes are dark, but he’s not scared of Izuku, and Izuku likes that.

When Izuku finally looks down at his notebook, his sighs. His writing scrawls all over the page at a haphazard angle, he’ll have to re-write it later.

***

Hitoshi knows no pro Hero will want to work with him – not that he’s actually eligible for an internship right now. After all, he’s a General Studies student; they don’t need internships. Except that there are more than a handful of them who want them, and eventually the faculty submit, bend the rules, and put their profiles forwards along with Class A to see if anyone out there wants to work with them.

Hitoshi has some of the best scores in his class, and even though he has to stay up all night to complete his extra work, his scores for his extra-curricular Hero units are within the top fifteen percent of what Class A achieve.

But he’s not surprised on announcement day, when the listings are pinned up to the board in the corridor between Class A and B, that there is no Pro Hero or an agency listed beside his name. Hitoshi slopes away from the over excited crowd of his peers, all high-fiving and cheering, congratulating themselves on being born with attractive or openly useful Quirks. He’ll go make some coffee, and then Hitoshi is sure he’ll be up for a conversation with Aizawa about his future.

There is no good coffee on campus. Lunch Rush makes great noodles, awesome katsudon, and perfect onigiri, but the man can’t roast coffee to save his life. But the cafeteria supplies hot water on demand, and this is why some bright spark invented the travel pour-over coffee maker. Hitoshi takes his hot water and his travel coffee kit out to the benches on the west side of campus, where the afternoon sunlight filters prettily through the trees. As he sets everything down on a bench, Hitoshi swears he sees one of the green shrubs move.

He pauses, becoming completely still, and watches. He can’t feel anyone with his Quirk, but he’s sure something moved. And then he hears a muffled sob.

“Why are the plants crying?” Hitoshi wonders aloud.

“I’m not crying,” a voice shoots back, laden with sniffles.

Hitoshi puts his head on one side, frowns, and then;

“Midoriya?”

Big green eyes blink out at him from under fluffy green hair so perfectly matched to the foliage beside him that Hitoshi somehow didn’t notice the boy huddled up on the grass.

“Oh, hey Shinsou.” Midoriya wipes his eyes with the back of his hand. “What are you doing out here?”

“Brewing coffee.” Hitoshi gestures to his gear. “What about you?”

“I’m not crying,” Midoriya repeats obstinately.

“Well no, of course not,” Hitoshi agrees readily. “I cannot imagine Bakugo would be supportive of people crying in high school. He doesn’t seem like the express yourself type.”

“Kacchan cries if a dog gets hurt on TV,” Midoriya says quickly, then he pales under his freckles. “Please don’t tell him I said that!”

“I would never,” Hitoshi assures him. He steps away from the grass to settle onto the bench and take out his travel pour-over coffee maker. “Would you like to join me?”

Midoriya sniffles – which Hitoshi knows isn’t technically crying, but Midoriya seems to be leaning very hard into that technicality – and makes his way to the other side of the bench, with Hitoshi’s coffee set-up between them. He watches as Hitoshi takes the pouch of freshly ground single estate Brazilian coffee, and by the time Hitoshi is measuring out a perfect scoop-full, Midoriya is scribbling in a dog-eared Campus notebook.

“Do you want some, Midoriya?”

“I’m not sure I like coffee? It’s kind of wasted on me, but the smell is nice.” Midoriya points his pen at the cone shaped metal filter set over the mini thermos. “What’s that?”

“A pour-over coffee maker. I’d like a proper glass one but-” Hitoshi stops himself from saying anything too incriminating.

“Glass doesn’t travel so well on the train to school?” Midoriya fills in for him.

“Exactly.” The rush of relief Hitoshi feels makes him physically relax, sinking into the bench. “The coffee goes in here, you want to smell?”

“Yes please.”

Hitoshi holds out the open pouch of ground coffee towards him, but Midoriya doesn’t take it. Instead, he leans in, eyes closed so that he can focus on the scent, and Hitoshi’s heart bangs about very suddenly in his chest at the sight of Midoriya’s dark lashes fanning across his freckled cheeks like that. He wets his lower lip with a hint of pink tongue as he inhales, and suddenly Hitoshi feels hot and prickly all over.

Oh noes. He absolutely must not let Midoriya know what he’s feeling right now. Not that Hitoshi is even sure what he’s feeling, except that he likes it.

And then Midoriya opens his eyes without moving away, and Hitoshi suddenly finds himself trapped in endless pools of verdant verdigris, the centre of Midoriya’s intense and focus gaze. Hitoshi feels himself blush, and wishes he could look away, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t want to. Midoriya looks at him like Hitoshi is the most interesting thing he’s ever seen, and Hitoshi kind of likes the idea of Midoriya pinning him to a corkboard to examine all his facets.

“And then you pour hot water on it… slowly?”

“Guh-” It takes Hitoshi a moment to un-cleave his tongue from the roof of his mouth. “Yes. Exactly that. And because you have a controlled stream of water, there is more uniform soaking of the coffee grounds. The flavour is more robust, and you get a better range of top notes – though obviously what flavour you get, depends on what beans you use.”

“Wow… you know a lot about coffee.”

“We all have our little habits.”

“You have fancy coffee knowledge, Shinsou. I just mutter.”

“Really?”

“Yes. Though I am trying to train myself out of it. Otherwise, I might say something embarrassing out loud.”

Hitoshi arches an eyebrow at him. He wants to ask more, but he doesn’t want to make Midoriya nervous or unhappy, especially since he seems to have stopped technically not-crying now. Instead, he pours the hot water in a slow circular motion over his coffee grounds.

“Do people often think you don’t have a Quirk?” Hitoshi asks gently. It seems odd, lots of people have completely invisible Quirks, and yet no one has ever said – in his presence – that they thought he didn’t have one.

“I was a late bloomer, I guess? There was about a year when every other kid had a Quirk and I didn’t?” Midoriya shrugs. “My mom thinks it was just that my power was so small back then that it barely extended beyond my body. But it grew.”

Hitoshi sneaks a glance at Midoriya, and he’s smiling now.

“Go on?” Hitoshi prompts gently.

“Mom has Telekinesis, but only for little things. Pens and erasers and stuff. She used to float trading card packs over to me and Kacchan when we’d finished our drawings or our homework. We were six, and we had actual homework for the first time – maths problems – and Kacchan was so proud of finishing first. He didn’t want to wait for me, and so Mum floated his trading card pack across the table, but when it came past me, it just fell.” Izuku puts his head back and giggles. “Kacchan was so annoyed, and then he was so happy for me because I had a Quirk at last.”

Hitoshi smiles at Midoriya’s obvious delight with the memory. Everyone should be so lucky.

“It’s nice that you have such a loyal friend,” he says, and surprises himself by how much he means it. But Midoriya’s brow creases, little frown lines wrinkling his freckles.

“Hmmmm…”

“Sorry,” Hitoshi apologises almost on reflex, “did I say something wrong?”

“Oh! No, not at all.” Midoriya smiles, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Kacchan is the most loyal person I know… but we were not always friends.”

“You don’t have to tell me-” Hitoshi starts to say, but Midoriya smiles at him over the top of Hitoshi’s fancy coffee maker, and Hitoshi wants to be someone Midoriya can come to with his problems, his worries, his feelings….

“No. I’d like to.” Izuku glances up at Hitoshi, then his eyes drop to the coffee maker. “You promise not to use it against him?”

“I promise.”

Izuku pulls up his legs and tilts his head on one side, freckled cheek to knobbly knee.

“I feel like I can trust you, Shinsou.”

“Yes, you can,” Shinsou blurts, far too fast and far too eagerly.

Midoriya – thankfully – doesn’t seems to notice, and importantly, doesn’t look away. His eyes are bright, shot through with shades of moss and shards of spring green, and it’s almost enough to make Hitoshi wish for a rural life of gardening.

“People were mean to me. Mostly other kids, maybe the occasional unthinking adult. I was little and nerdy and my Quirk made people annoyed that they couldn’t intimidate me.” Midoriya watches the drip-drip of the coffee that’s nearly ready. “Kacchan didn’t like when they picked on me, and he got mad, and when he gets made he gets… explode-y.”

“So I remember,” Hitoshi says softly. He lifts the filter away and lifts the coffee cup for a long, deep inhale of scent.

“Kacchan is working very hard on controlling his temper,” Midoriya says, only slightly defensively. “But he got angry when people tried to push me around, and I didn’t want him to get in trouble for fighting. I’d grab his arm and refuse to let go… and he wouldn’t be able to use his Quirk. Even then – especially then – Kacchan didn’t like to feel powerless.”

“You fought?”

“We argued. We were ten, nearly eleven, it was spring. Kacchan pushed me because he was annoyed that ‘I let those jerks get away with it’ and he tripped and fell into the stream.” Midoriya lets out a long breath. “He was so angry and he wouldn’t let me help him. He stormed off, didn’t speak to me, and he was the one who first started calling me ‘Deku’.”

“Oh.” Hitoshi sips his coffee. He’s not sure his opinion right now would be welcome.

“At the beginning of our last year of middle school, our town got invaded by this villain who was made of sludge. They tried to grab me, but couldn’t. I’m too slippery.” Midoriya shrugs, all cute and self-deprecating. “I was trying to pick up my stuff, my notebooks and things, and I heard screaming and shouts and so much commotion from just a few streets away. I ran to see….” Midoriya pauses for so long, that Hitoshi isn’t sure if he’s going to continue. “The sludge villain had Kacchan. They trapped his arms so he couldn’t get off any explosions. And there were Heroes, Pro-Heroes, and they just stood there like there was nothing they could do.

“Kacchan tried to scream. Screamed for help. And then the sludge was covering his mouth and his eyes were so- no, I don’t want to remember that bit. I just ran for him, my body moved before I even thought about it. I just ran up and grabbed for him and shoved the sludge out of the way. My Quirk revealed the villain inside the sludge, and the Pro-Heroes managed to get cuffs on them, but Kacchan was safe, and that’s all that mattered.

“He came to find me the day after, apologised, hugged me.” Midoriya smiles softly. “And then punched me in the arm and told me that if we were going to get into UA together then I needed to train. And here we are.” Midoriya glances across at the buildings, his eyes far away. “And now he’s going to go intern for Best Jeanist, and I… don’t go anywhere.”

Hitoshi wants so badly to reach across the distance between them to touch Midoriya, to reassure him, to empathise… but they aren’t close friends. He doesn’t know if Midoriya would like him to do that.

“No one picked me for their intern either,” Hitoshi offers instead. “I guess us unattractive Quirks better stick together, yeah?”

Midoriya looks at him, eyes bright and wet, head tilted to one side and curls flopping over his forehead. He’s so cute that Hitoshi heart does something weird and not at all caffeine related in his chest.

“Shinsou? What do you mean?”

“Aizawa-sensei offered to take me on patrol as his intern. Why don’t we ask for you to come too? We could both learn something from him, and your Quirks are really similar.”

Midoriya’s eyes shine with nearly-spilt tears.

“You think he’d let me come too?”

“Only one way to find out?”

***

“Ready for your first day of internship, Deku?”

“Yes! I have done all the research I could on Aizawa’s patrol habits and his capture style and what kinds of incidents he usually gets called in for an-”

Katsuki puts a gloved a hand over his mouth until Izuku stops speaking and glares at him.

“What’s wrong with ‘yeah!’ and a fist pump?”

Katsuki moves his hand, and Izuku arches an eyebrow at his friend.

“Kirishima is rubbing off on you.”

Katsuki goes bright red extremely fast.

“No, he’s not!”

“Oh my gods, Kacchan!”

“Shut up, nerd! You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Katsuki is, if possible, even redder. Blushing right across the tips of his ears. Steam practically rises from his fist with how prickly he obviously feels.

“Kacchan, Kacchan… it’s OK. I was joking.” Izuku lays a palm atop Katsuki’s clenched fist, and Katsuki exhales and lets his muscles go loose. Izuku loves that he can do this for his friend: give him the safe space to express himself without fear of exploding. “I’m not going to say anything to anyone.”

Katsuki meets his gaze, and Izuku beams at him.

“Heck yeah I’m excited for our first day as interns!” he crows, and holds up his hand.

Katsuki’s high-five stings, but Izuku knows it’s love and friendship and caring, and all those messy emotions that Katsuki isn’t good at putting into words. It’s OK, they can work on it.

Katsuki sets his mask over his eyes, then tugs Izuku’s own mask up over his nose and mouth.

“Pretty fucking bad-ass, Deku.” Katsuki knocks his shoulder with his own. “Proud of you, nerd.”

“Proud of you too, Kacchan.”

Kacchan goes pink about the ears again, then huffs out a breath.

“Thanks. C’mon, let’s go!”

Katsuki said ‘duh, of course he did’, but Izuku still thinks it is surprising and that he is lucky Aizawa decided to mentor him too. Everyone knows Aizawa doesn’t do a lot of public, on the books Pro-Hero work these days, and to take on two students without any support from an agency or other Pros is a big deal.

Izuku bowed and mumbled his overenthusiastic thank-yous until they all ran together and Aizawa asked him to ‘please, please stop talking’ and he’s been so excited and grateful ever since. And now, he is regretting every decision that led him up to this moment.

Because Aizawa is waiting for him outside the changing rooms, and so is Shinsou, and like Izuku, they are wearing their Hero costumes.

Izuku needs to find whoever designed Shinsou’s Hero outfit and kiss them, or kill them, or ask them why exactly Shinsou needs to have contrasting belts around his fucking thighs. What the fuck? Why does he need them, bunching the loose fabric of his trousers and showing off the exact difference between his shapely ankles and delicious thighs? And his waist is tiny. What the fuck does he need such a tiny waist for? Izuku swears it wasn’t that small when they were sitting on the bench while Shinsou brewed fancy coffee. He needs to put his hands there. Urgently.

Katsuki shoots a sideways glance at Izuku and arches an eyebrow.

“At least no one can see you drool behind your mask, Deku,” he says is a low voice. “Have fun today.”

“B-” Izuku manages, but he doesn’t get any further, because Shinsou lifts a hand to rake through his thick purple hair, and Izuku has never been so jealous of another’s person’s body-part in his whole life. Fuck.

“Ah, there you are.” Aizawa blinks at Izuku as he approaches and seems to visibly relax. He meets Izuku gaze without his usual sigh of exhaustion. “We will be patrolling the eastern area of the city today after dark, unless we are called in for an emergency situation, and I want to see how you both use your skills in the real world.”

“Yes, Erasure-sensei!”

“Before that, I thought I might take the pair of you on a little rooftop tour of the city. Stealth is going to be your best ally as Heroes.”

“Yes, Erasure-sensei!”

Aizawa glances over at Shinsou.

“How is he always so chipper?”

“I don’t know… perhaps he sleeps?”

“Ah. Yes. That would explain it.” Aizawa hooks his hands into his pockets. “Well, then, let’s go.”

Izuku keeps falling back as they walk, not wanting to stand too close, not wanting his Quirk to disrupt either of theirs. Also, walking behind Shinsou means he gets a perfect view of Shinsou’s lovely body. His clothes are loose, but the thin fabric shows off more than it conceals, and Izuku can tell Shinsou has put on some muscle since their one-sided fights at the Sports Festival. He doubts he could push Shinsou over as easily now.

But the thought of doing so… Izuku allows himself to imagine Shinsou sprawled on his back, those lovely thighs wrapped in straps and parted for Izuku to step between. Shinsou looking up at him, how good his hair will feel under Izuku’s hand.

“Midoriya! Keep up!”

Izuku puts on a burst of speed to catch up with his friend and his mentor, and finds himself face to face with a solid wall.

“Erm…”

“I said a rooftop tour,” Aizawa repeats, his tone conversational as he unspools his capture weapon from around his shoulders. “How you get up there, that’s up to you.”

Izuku stares in unabashed fanboy awe, as Aizawa tosses the end of the capture weapon upwards, hooks the steel supports of a neon shop sign, and then coils the weapon around his arm, swinging himself up into the air.

“Oh,” Shinsou says with something like realisation, and then he is grabbing his own capture weapon and throwing it aloft. Izuku watches Shinsou climb up the side of the building, thighs flexing against their straps, biceps bunching as he hauls himself up.

“Oh…” Izuku sighs out.

“Get up here, Midoriya!”

Izuku blinks, shaking himself from his appreciative reverie. Right, time for action. Izuku doesn’t have a capture weapon, and unlike Katsuki he can’t use his Quirk to fly. But all his training hasn’t been for nothing, and the new boots Hatsume wants him to test out should be perfect. Izuku casts about for an easy foothold, spots a hip height railing, zeroes in on the low tiled roof over the entrance to a nearby restaurant, and sees his route up to where Aizawa waits as though drawn over his vision in green lightning. He grins, crouches, and jumps.

The boots and their hidden pneumatics do exactly what Hatsume said they would, and in three bounces he is level with Aizawa, and looking down on Shinsou. Shinsou’s eyes get very wide, and for a moment it seems like he might slip, but he winds his capture weapon around his forearm and takes the hand Izuku offers as he comes level with the roofline.

“Hi Shinsou!”

“That’s some fancy jumping you’ve got going on there,” Shinsou says, eyes raking up and down Izuku. “Nice boots.”

“Thanks.” He says, blushing.

“A very good use of supportive technology,” Aizawa intones dryly. “We should look at getting you both something to help with your Quirks.” Aizawa glances between them. “Well then, let’s see what distance we can cover before nightfall.”

They leap from rooftop to rooftop, Aizawa and Shinsou swing sometimes like Sero does with his tape, and sometimes they seem to project themselves across distances with the automatic coil and snap of their capture weapons. Izuku leaps – sometimes ahead and sometimes behind – but always bouncing, bracing his landing with his hands, spending as much time on four limbs as two.

He needs to talk to Hatsume about more shock-absorbers for his boots, and he’s got an idea for gloves and wrist supports he desperately wants to sketch down and detail in his notes for before he forgets.

But it’s so much fun, and as Izuku hops over a narrow alley, he wishes Katsuki could see him now. Support gear aside, he wouldn’t be able to do any of this without all of Katsuki’s help and training.

The sun is sinking into a red blur on the horizon when they arrive on a large flat roof. Izuku bounces on the balls of his feet: the rooftop is springy, like the floor of the training gym.

“Where are we?”

“Might Tower,” Aizawa replies, “Toshinori said we could train up here, assuming you guys made it this far.”

Izuku wants to stick his fists in his mouth and squeal. This is All-Might’s agency rooftop. He’s been Izuku and Katsuki’s favourite since they were kids, but he isn’t taking any interns, and anyway everyone knows Mirio in third year is tipped to become his protege. But still, he’s tangentially close to his childhood hero.

“You both handled stealth movement quiet well. Now we shall see how you fight.”

“We’re fighting you?” Shinsou asks.

“Not unless you want to be tied up inside of ten seconds. Fight each other.”

Izuku glances across at Shinsou, and Shinsou is already looking at him.

“You’re not gonna tell me to jump of the roof?”

“Wouldn’t want to even if I could,” Shinsou says warmly, and Izuku wants to shiver all over.

Gods, that voice. It makes him want to do things to Shinsou. Izuku wrestles his libido into submission and readies his stance. He doesn’t have a weapon – he has no idea if that’s something he should look into – but he know he needs to avoid Shinsou’s capture scarf.

Right on cue, it whips out to grab him, but Izuku is fast, and used to avoiding objects Katsuki blasts at him. He ducks, rolling across the rooftop, and jumps to his feet. Shinsou is reeling his capture weapon back in – he’s not as quick as Aizawa – and Izuku leaps forwards to seize his opportunity. He grabs the white ribbon and yanks, pulling Shinsou off balance. Izuku jumps at him, knocks him over, and falls to his knees, leaning over with one hand clutching Shinsou’s wrist. The capture weapon lays useless beside them.

“Got you,” Izuku pants.

And then he feels a snag and prick in his side, low down, and glances between them. Shinsou has a little flick knife, the tip of the blade just pressing in between his last two ribs.

“You… fuck.”

Shinsou, open mouthed and about to speak, blushes hotly, and wriggles out from under Izuku. Izuku ends up sitting on his haunches, annoyed at himself as Aizawa approaches them.

“So, Midoriya, what did we learn today?”

“Always expect them to have more than one weapon?”

“Very good. Shinsou?”

“The enemy is faster than I thought they’d be?”

“Excellent.” Aizawa smiles at them both. “Up you get. It’s dark now, and we have a patrol to start.”

Ten minutes later, Aizawa groans, and ducks them down a side alley lit only by vending machines.

“I remember now why I gave up patrol duty. We are not here to find dropped keys or give directions to the laundrette.”

“But we’re being helpful?” Izuku volunteers.

“Anyone can be helpful, but what makes a Hero different? How do you do all the good you can, Midoriya?” Aizawa pins him with a dark glare. “You can do things no one else can do. So therefore, you should do them.”

Izuku bites his lip and feels his chest get warm. It feels good to have someone other than Katsuki believe in him.

“Yes, sensei.”

“Good. Now, you stay here with me, and Shinsou-?”

“Yes?”

“Go delay the person currently stealing from the konbini opposite us, would you?”

“The-? Oh shit-!” Shinsou looks momentarily terrified that he just swore in front of a teacher, and then takes off across the street, tugging his capture weapon off over his head to hold the loop in his fist.

Izuku watches him go with wide eyes. He hadn’t even noticed the suspicious moving light in the family-run little store opposite. It is obviously closed, probably has been closed for hours, and yet there is a light, a brief flash of a figure inside, and Izuku spends ten seconds too long feeling stupid for not noticing. But the moment he steps forwards, Aizawa lays a hand on his shoulder.

“Shinsou can deal with it. Just wait. Remember everything we learnt about stealth.” And then Aizawa fades into the shadows like a ghost.

Izuku blinks twice. He was standing right there, and now he’s… gone. Izuku needs to learn how to do that. He swivels to keep his attention on Shinsou instead.

Shinsou is silhouetted in the doorway of the konbini for a moment, then he moves between shelves. He is using stealth too.

Izuku sees the moment when Shinsou draws attention to himself – deliberately. He steps out of cover, speaks, asks a question. Izuku doesn’t know what he asks, but it doesn’t have to be anything special. Shinsou just needs a response. The person with the torch drops it and Shinsou unwraps the end of his capture weapon as the thief holds out their hands to him, and the torchlight illuminates a third person.

There is a third person. Izuku can see them, but Shinsou isn’t looking, and they look big and mean. Even as Izuku watches, their fingers start to glow like a welding torch – suddenly Izuku knows how they broke in – but Shinsou still hasn’t seen them and-

Izuku is running across the street before he even realises it, taking great leaps and bounds, crashing through the open door of the konbini, knocking over a display shelf of Sanrio blindboxes.

“Shinsou look out!”

Shinsou turns as Izuku leaps forwards, and the burning white-hot fingers which were about to grab for his slender neck fade back to pale-skin. But Shinsou’s mind-hold on the other person breaks too. Izuku puts up crossed forearms to defend himself from the blow he knows is coming without seeing it, and then Shinsou makes a pained noise and Izuku sees his capture weapon falls to the floor.

“Fuck!” someone shouts, but Izuku doesn’t know who.

“Leave it!” says an unfamiliar voice, and then, “Ow!”

“Midoriya,” Aizawa drawls in a bored tone, despite the fact he is now standing on one bound thief and in the process of wrapping the other one with the long end of his own capture weapon, “what did I tell you about patience?”

Izuku is aware that he deserves a much harsher chewing out than the one he gets. As they wait of the police to arrive, and after the two captives are reprimanded and led off in handcuffs and the shop door repaired, Izuku fully expects Shinsou to be annoyed with him as well. It was his task, and he was doing well, until Izuku ruined it.

“Thanks,” Shinsou mutters as they start the walk back the campus.

“I’m sorry,” Izuku replies quickly. “Aizawa is right. I don’t think before I move. I put you in danger.”

“I think I was already in danger,” Shinsou offers. “I forgot there would be a second enemy. And that was supposed to be the thing I was good at.”

“And here we are with my speed getting us both in trouble,” Izuku sighs. He drags his fingers through his hair, then lets his hands fall to his sides.

On the way down, the left one brushes something. Izuku looks up, and Shinsou smiles back at him, eyes bright but lashes lowered, cheeks pink. Izuku moves his hand again, and there is the distinct catch and brush of fingers for a moment.

Izuku smiles.

He is tired and emotionally wrung out, and Shinsou doesn’t seem much better, but their little motion of not quite holding hands makes something warm flutter in Izuku’s chest, and he smiles all the way back to campus.

***

Bakugo is standing outside the Class B changing rooms in dark sweats and a t-shirt with a skull on it, his arms folded over his chest. Hitoshi, still halfway through winding his capture weapon around his shoulders, pauses. He hasn’t actually had any direct conversations with Bakugo since they argued in the 1-A classroom, and he’d sort of been hoping to keep it that way.

Though, considering Bakugo and Midoriya go about campus together as though joined at the shoulder and argue constantly in a good-natured manner, Hitoshi knows this is an unrealistic goal. Bakugo moves off the wall and comes to stand in front of him, and Hitoshi manages to stop just short of colliding with him.

“Bakugo?” Hitoshi says, sort of as a greeting. For a long moment, he expects Bakugo not to answer him, and – Hitoshi isn’t proud of this – he shifts the hold on the free end of his capture weapon to allow it to quick fly from his hand should he need it.

Bakugo’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t uncross his arms. Maybe there won’t be any explosions?

“Can I,” Hitoshi pauses way to longer for the middle of a sentence, “help you?”

“You have an internship patrol today,” Bakugo barks. “And Deku hasn’t stopped talking about you all week.”

Hitoshi blinks, spine straightening. Bakugo pins him with a fiery glare.

“Don’t look so fucking happy about it, Coffee-Boy.”

“Coff-?”

“Nerd says calling you ‘Eyebags’ is too mean.” Bakugo gives his a swift once over. “Even if it is entirely accurate.”

Hitoshi opens his mouth to object, then closes it again.

“That’s valid. Sleep is… tricky.”

“Uh-huh. Tell someone who gives a shit.” Bakugo stuffs his fists in his pockets in an undeniably huffy manner. “I have been forced to listen to Deku being moony over you for days now. You like him too?”

“I- um- that is-” Hitoshi can feel himself blushing hotly. It’s not fair, because when Monama tried to needle him about Midoriya yesterday, Hitoshi was able to keep his cool and act aloof and certainly didn’t give anything away. “Yes,” he mumbles.

“Good.”

Bakugo closes the distance between them, and yanks Hitoshi down to his eyeline with a fist in the front of his uniform.

“You hurt him and I will reach down your throat, yank out your heart and explode it in your face,” he snarls. “Tell him we had this conversation and I’ll make you eat your own eyes.”

“That seems extreme.”

Bakugo’s jaw visibly clenches.

“Listening to him moon over you is bad enough, if I also have to listen to him cry about you then I will be forced to commit murder.” Bakugo loosens his grip and steps backwards. He does not hide the way he wipes his palm on his sweats. “Have fun on patrol.”

“Don’t you have your internship today too?”

To Hitoshi’s surprise, Bakugo sighs heavily.

“Yes…. Jeanist is making adaptations to my costume. Fucker.”

Hitoshi almost wants to ask – he’s never seen anyone be so openly grumpy about working with a Pro-Hero before – but he’d rather not be late to meet Midoriya.

“Understood. Good bye, Bakugo.”

Uh-huh.”

“Have a good patr-”

“Tell someone who cares,” Bakugo snaps distractedly, and slouches away.

Hitoshi watches for just long enough to see a red-headed ray of sunshine crash into Bakugo, and grins to himself as the sounds of happy arguments and small explosions echo across campus. Normalcy returns.

Midoriya is crouched on top of a wall, writing at high speed in a tiny notebook. Hitoshi didn’t know they made them that small. Hitoshi would love to ask what Midoriya is writing, but he can’t, because if he opens his mouth now, all that is going to come out is a soliloquy to the girth of Izuku’s thighs and how much Hitoshi wants those freckled biceps to crush him. He did not realise that Izuku’s white gloves were all one piece and that his suit had short sleeves.

Hitoshi is saved from his panicky bisexual crisis by his mentor.

“Enough now, Midoriya. We have been asked to take up a daylight patrol today, so that should be fun.” Shota does not sound like he will find this fun. “Come, Hitoshi. Let’s see if you can beat me to the top of the wall this time. Midoriya has a head start.”

“Sensei!” Midoriya complains, tugging on his glove. “It’s only one wall!”

“Make best use of it then,” Shota drawls, and then they are off.

It still feels weird to hear his given name coming from his mentor, but since Hitoshi has spent the past two weeks living on Shota’s sofa, it’s not the oddest thing he needs to get used to. Not letting his classmates know that he is being gently but firmly adopted by his mentor is not as big a secret as the fact that Shota – and now Hitoshi – lives with Present Mic. Whose name is Yamada.

Hitoshi’s life has gotten really strange since he left home. Better though.

Hitoshi has practised with his capture weapon since the day he got it, but he’s still slower on the uptake than Shota is. It might be due to the fact that he is distracted by the shape of Midoriya running the length of the wall before taking off with a great leap up to the nearest single storey rooftop.

“C’mon Nighthide!” Midoriya calls excitedly. “Keep up!”

Hitoshi jolts again at the use of his new Hero name – he feels like the ink on his provisional license is still drying – and focuses on the task at hand.

Keeping up with Pro-Hero Erasure is a task. Keeping up with Provisional-Hero Deku is a challenge.

Midoriya bounces, leaps, bounds. He uses his hands to pivot and his thighs to force power into his movements. His curls flutter enticingly in the rooftop breeze, green eyes seem to flash whenever Hitoshi manages to catch sight of him for more than a handful of seconds, the sight of him crouched and ready to spring into the sky makes Hitoshi’s mouth water.

How are his thighs so… so… so beefy? His shoulders are all round, his back broad with muscle under his suit. The material that is so lose when Midoriya stands still, pulls tight when he flexes and moves. Hitoshi almost misses a hand hold due to distraction, and Shota taps him on the shoulder as he swings past.

“Focus, Hitoshi.”

“Sorry, Shota.”

“I don’t want to know.” Shota sighs quietly. “Alright, enough playing in the sky,” he declares a moment later, “down there.”

Despite the fact he’s already swinging in the correct direction, Midoriya still beats Hitoshi to the ground. He tugs down his mask and Midoriya grins at Hitoshi as he lands.

“That was amazing.”

“You’re amazing,” Hitoshi blurts, accidentally.

Midoriya’s eyes get very wide and round, and then Shota walks in between them.

“Come, we have been asked to patrol. They may be others from UA in the area, this district has had some issues with high crime lately, and so the commission feels a visible level of active Heroes will be helpful.” Shota signals them to fall in line with him as he walks. “What do we need to be prepared for?”

“Everything?” Hitoshi asks.

“Signs of harmful Quirk use,” Midoriya reels off immediately, “recurring patterns in vandalism, shops and dwellings without proper security, shops and dwellings with too much security, an increased presence of people with hidden or volatile Quirks congregating without clear purpose, hidden cameras, surveillance, members of the public trying to take up too much of our attention-”

“You can breathe now,” Hitoshi reminds him, right before Shota says the same.

“Sorry. I ramble sometimes.”

“Sometimes?” Shota asks archly.

But the conversation doesn’t get any further than that, because there is a scream and the sounds of feet running towards them.

Hitoshi whips around with his capture weapon in his hand, but all he can see are people shopping and students sitting on street corners sharing Pocky and headphones. And then he sees a small figure streak nearly up to them before turning and running down a smaller alleyway lined with vending machines. Hitoshi blinks.

“Snakes?” he asks, perplexed, unsure exactly what he saw.

There is a sharp cry, followed by a dull thud. They find a small person has tripped over, one sandal lying on the pavement a short distance away. Shota sighs.

“Small children… save me.”

“Don’t worry sensei,” Midoriya says brightly, but he’s already moving. Hitoshi half follows.

The child is a ball of sniffles with scuffed knees, hiding their face in their arms. Their hair is indeed made up of snakes.

“Hey there,” Hero Deku’s voice is soft and sweet, “Are you OK?”

“Go ‘way,” comes a wet, unhappy voice.

“Do you want to tell me what happened?”

“No,” a grumpy tone. “I don’t know.” Then a wail. “I hurt papa!”

“Did you mean to?”

“No!”

“Don’t worry,” Deku says, “you can’t hurt me. Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“If you look at me, you’ll die!” The little person crowned with serpents says.

“I bet I won’t,” Deku shoots a grin over the kid’s head at Hitoshi, and Hitoshi blushes hard.

Oh noes, why is Midoriya being caring so hot?

The kid rises to the obvious bait and looks up at Midoriya. Absolutely nothing happens, but the snakes which are their hair fall limply around their face. They stare at Midoriya with wet eyes and a shocked expression.

“But you didn’t turn to stone!”

Midoriya glances up at Hitoshi again.

“Go find their parent?” he suggests, and Hitoshi takes off running.

He can still hear the gentle noises of Midoriya being reassuring when he sees an adult of about the right age, curly blond hair fading back to its original colour from granite grey. This kid’s Quirk must be new, and not strong enough yet to be permanent.

“Yuyu?” he says, looking around in exactly the panic Hitoshi would expect from a caring parent having discovered their kid has run off. “Yuyu!”

“Hi,” Hitoshi waves at him, “your kid is about four, right?”

“Small, snakes for hair, wearing blue sandals,” the man confirms.

“They’re OK. Come with me.”

Midoriya is dabbing an antiseptic wipe on the kid’s grazed knee when Hitoshi gets back. Yuyu launches into a retelling for their dad about how Deku is invincible and that he is going to find help for them, so Yuyu can use their Quirk to be a Hero too.

“Maybe when you’re older,” Yuyu’s dad says indulgently.

“And you’re OK?” Hitoshi asks him belatedly. “You don’t need medical attention?”

“I’m fine, thank you. My partner has a gorgon Quirk too, and Yuyu takes after them, so we knew this was a possibility. Our family Quirk doctor has been sourcing some special glasses for them.”

“Hey Yuyu?”

“Yes, Mister Deku?”

Hitoshi feels some part of his internal organs clench hard. Oh fuck, that’s too cute.

“Why don’t you wear this special sticker until you get to the doctor with your papa?” He holds out a circular Quirk suppressant patch on which he has drawn a bunny rabbit with a marker pen. “It’ll keep you extra safe.”

“And no one else will turn to stone?”

“No,” Midoriya beams, “no one else will turn to stone. I promise.”

Little Yuyu throws their arms around Deku, and Hitoshi melts just a little bit more.

“That,” Shota pronounces as they watch the man and his kid leave hand in hand, “was sickeningly adorable. I am glad to have avoided the whole thing.” He exhales. “Good job, Midoriya. A perfect display of your skills.”

“Thank you, Aizawa-sensei.”

Hitoshi sees the way his mentor-teacher-sort of parent stares off over their heads. There is a cat on the wall opposite. Hitoshi just knows it.

“Can we go to the vending machines?” Hitoshi asks.

“Hmmm?” Shota hums at the same time Midoriya says; “Huh?”

“Staying hydrated is super important,” Hitoshi says in the same tone Yamada used to steal his coffee and replace it with juice. Hitoshi likes Yamada, but he wanted to murder him in that moment. “There are vending machines down there.”

The cat on the wall meows.

“Of course,” Shota says, ignoring them.

Hitoshi grabs Midoriya’s hand and pretty much drags him down the alley and round a corner.

“Shinsou?”

“That was… really awesome.”

Midoriya’s cheeks plump with a smile. Hitoshi wants to poke his freckles. Or maybe lick them.

“Thanks. It feels really good to be able to hel-”

Shinsou leans in and kisses him before Midoriya can finish speaking.

Midoriya’s lips are soft, a little bit chapped, and he smells like a rainforest. And then Shinsou realises Midoriya isn’t kissing him back so he jerks away in panic.

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have just- I should have asked probably-”

In an echo of Bakugo’s earlier gesture, Midoriya fists the front of Shinsou’s costume and holds tight.

“I was just surprised,” he says, smiling. “Can we try that again?”

“Oh gods yes,” Hitoshi manages before Midoriya’s lips meet his again.

Midoriya kisses like a freight train. Hauling Hitoshi in close even as he presses him backwards with sheer force. Hitoshi whimpers, and the moment his mouth opens, Midoriya’s tongue slips past his lips. Hitoshi’s knees don’t get a chance to buckle before Midoriya is pinning him against the wall beside the vending machine.

“How’s that?” Izuku purrs, barely moving back far enough to speak.

“Yes,” Hitoshi breathes, and then they are kissing again.

Midoriya’s hands are big and broad and warm, and Hitoshi would squeak as he feels himself mapped out, but he doesn’t have the brain space, because his own fingers are in Midoriya’s hair and he might have died and gone to heaven. And then Midoriya shifts his hips and they both moan at the heat and hardness pressing between them.

“Oops,” Hitoshi giggles, breathlessly.

Midoriya grins at him, eyes bright, and rolls his hips deliberately. Hitoshi whimpers.

“I like that noise.”

Hitoshi thinks this kiss is going to kill him. He’s not unhappy about it. He gives into the kiss when their mouths meet again, licking at Midoriya in turn, trying not to dissolve when Midoriya bites his lower lip and ruts against him. Hitoshi prays he doesn’t come in his clothes in the next ten seconds, but also he has no idea how this can last before Shota calls for them, and he doesn’t really want to complete his patrol with an obvious hard on.

The sound of a zipper being pulled a long way down cuts through the dim silence of the alley.

“Oh my gods.” Midoriya has freckles all over, and Hitoshi is so distracted by this revelation that he doesn’t notice his own outfit being unzipped until Midoriya reaches inside his clothes and wraps gloved fingers around his cock. “Oh fuck!”

“Shhh…” Midoriya admonishes with another kiss, like it’s not entirely his fault that Hitoshi yelped.

“But- what if-?” Hitoshi is panicked, but he doesn’t pull away or make any move to stop Midoriya.

Midoriya holds his gaze and smiles

“We’ll be quick?”

Hitoshi nods, and kisses him again. And he’s glad he did, because the next moment, the sensation of Midoriya holding his cock is replaced with his cock touching Midoriya’s cock and Midoriya wrapping a big hand around them both. Hitoshi shudders all over, holding onto his orgasm by his fingernails. Midoriya chuckles into his mouth.

“Relax.”

“Oh gods…”

Midoriya smiles dangerously, and Hitoshi knows he is done for.

It takes an embarrassingly short amount of time for Midoriya to get him off, a dozen quick, wonderful strokes, and then Hitoshi is coming over his own abdomen, his pleasure muffled by Midoriya’s eager mouth. He’d feel more embarrassed, except that Midoriya ruts against him like a demon, both hands gripping Hitoshi’s hips hard enough to bruise, and splatters Hitoshi with his own orgasm ten seconds later.

They kiss and pant into each other’s mouths for what feels like ages, until Midoriya laughs softly and says:

“Well, that was an interesting first kiss.”

“Yes.” Hitoshi knows he is grinning like a fool. “We can do it again, right?”

“Mmmmm…” Midoriya takes a step back and looks at him appraisingly. Hitoshi doesn’t want to know, he figures he is a disaster, but maybe at least an attractive one. “Yes please. Maybe with a bed next time.”

Hitoshi nearly faints.

And then they hear the distinctive heavy tread of feet in combat boots. Midoriya yanks his zipper up so fast Hitoshi is momentarily scared for him, but then he has to deal with his own mess of clothing and emissions.

“I would like to know how we ended up getting all cum on me,” he says, a fraction too loudly, just as Midoriya spins around to face whoever is coming towards them and says in a far-too-bright-to-be-normal tone:

“Kacchan! Todoroki! Hi! We were just- um- using the vending machines.”

“Hello Izuku,” Todoroki says in his usual bland tone. “I was hoping for tea.”

“What-” Bakugo shouts, palms orange and eyes ablaze, “the fuck-!”

“Kacchan, everything is fine!” Izuku holds his hands out beseechingly to his friend, and Bakugo jumps backwards the moment they touch like he’s been burned. His explosions vanish though.

“Do not touch me with hands you have not washed since you touched his dick, Deku! Yeuch! Eeew!” Bakugo meets Hitoshi’s eyes then looks away quickly. “Get out of here, the both of you!”

Midoriya grabs for Hitoshi hand and pulls.

“Bye Kacchan! Bye Todoroki!”

“Oh,” Hitoshi hears Todoroki say as they jog back down towards where Shota is conversing with yet another stray cat, “did they not want anything from the vending machine?”

The last thing Hitoshi hears is Bakugo’s snarl before the explosion.