Chapter Text
It started with a smirk.
Not Katsuki’s.
Izuku’s.
They were seated at another diner—this one a little fancier, still low-key, the kind of place that served food on square plates and had water with lemon slices like that was a personality trait. There was music playing overhead, jazzy and soft, the kind of background hum you didn’t notice until you caught yourself tapping along. The lighting was warm, the walls lined with framed photos of local celebrities, and their table was tucked into a corner where they wouldn’t be too noticed—but not entirely hidden either.
Katsuki was scrolling through his phone, scowling at some PR mess his agency posted (they’d used a photo of him with his eyes half-closed—unforgivable), when Izuku leaned forward, resting his chin on his palm, elbow on the table, and said—far too casually—
“Y’know, Kacchan... you should smile more. It’d really soften your image.”
Katsuki’s thumb froze mid-scroll.
His head lifted slowly, eyes narrowing like a wolf sniffing out a trap. “What did you just say?”
Izuku batted his lashes. Batted. His lashes.
“Smile more. It’s good for PR, right?”
For a moment, Katsuki just... stared. Like Izuku had grown another head. Or worse— confidence .
“You mocking me, nerd?” he asked, low and wary.
Izuku just hummed, fingers curling delicately around his glass. He took a sip like he had all the time in the world.
“Me? Never. I’m just channeling your PR team’s energy. Should I start an Instagram? Post #SoftEra selfies? Maybe pose with a puppy or two?”
Katsuki opened his mouth—then shut it. Because what the hell . Who was this man and what had he done with Flustered Izuku, Patron Saint of Nervous Rambling?
Izuku had never talked to him like that before.
It wasn’t mean. It was... playful.
Teasing.
And worst of all?
It was working.
Izuku raised an eyebrow, green eyes glittering with amusement.
“What? Cat got your tongue, sweetheart?”
Katsuki choked on absolutely nothing. Just air and humiliation.
Izuku bit back a grin and sipped his drink again. His pinky was up. That bastard.
“See?” he said lightly. “Pet names aren’t so hard once you stop sounding like you’re gonna murder someone.”
Katsuki stared. Long and hard. Eyes full of betrayal and also a little bit of panic .
“You’re dangerous,” he muttered.
Izuku fluttered his lashes. “That’s what you get for proposing to a civilian.”
Katsuki leaned across the table like he was about to interrogate him. “ Fake proposing.”
Izuku mirrored him, still chin-in-hand, his voice dropping just a notch.
“Sure. For now. ”
There was a
pause.
A dangerous, breathless kind of pause. The kind that stretches thin between people right before something big and stupid and irreversible happens. Their knees brushed under the table.
Neither of them moved.
Katsuki’s pulse was pounding in his ears.
Izuku, meanwhile, was glowing. Not smug. Not giddy. Just calm. Controlled. Confident.
Like a man who’d found the upper hand and had zero plans of giving it back.
And that’s when it hit Katsuki—hard and fast and unforgiving:
He was not in control of this anymore.
And he might never be again.
Just then, the server arrived with their food, a nervous-looking girl in a ponytail who definitely felt the vibe at the table and wisely decided not to comment. She half-bowed and scurried off like her shoes were on fire.
Katsuki stabbed a piece of grilled pork like it owed him money.
Izuku, meanwhile, was positively serene. He sliced into his food with deliberate slowness, gaze fixed on Katsuki like he was enjoying a private joke.
“You always get this quiet when you’re losing?” he asked.
“I’m not losing,” Katsuki muttered.
“You’re scowling into your rice.”
“I always scowl into my rice.”
Izuku tilted his head. “Mm. I dunno. I just expected more. You usually come back with some kind of bark or bite.”
Katsuki’s jaw ticked. “I’ve got bite.”
“Oh, I know,” Izuku said, voice lilting. “I’ve seen your Yelp reviews.”
Katsuki blinked. “You googled me?”
Izuku smiled over the rim of his glass. “No comment.”
Katsuki recoiled like he’d been slapped. “You stalked me.”
“You called me honeybun in front of the entire finance department, Kacchan. We’re even.”
Across the restaurant, a faint camera shutter sound went off. Neither of them noticed.
-------------------
They didn’t stay long after that. Katsuki insisted on paying (“You teased me all night, the least you can do is let me suffer financially”), and Izuku, still high off the thrill of emotionally destabilizing a pro hero with sarcasm, let him.
Outside, the air was cool. The city buzzed around them—cars in the distance, lights flickering, the occasional echo of laughter from a nearby rooftop bar. It was quiet between them, but not in a bad way.
“You coming by my place?” Katsuki asked, like it was no big deal. Like they did this every Tuesday.
Izuku blinked. “I—I thought you had patrol.”
“I swapped shifts.” Katsuki shrugged, looking entirely too smug about it.
“Wanted katsudon. And you.”
“…You mean you wanted katsudon with me?”
Katsuki smirked. “Same thing.”
Izuku opened his mouth. Closed it. Opened it again.
The universe, perhaps sensing his inability to emotionally process that sentence, chose that exact moment to intervene.
His phone buzzed.
Then buzzed again.
And again.
And— again .
Katsuki’s phone vibrated in his pocket, repeatedly, like it was having a seizure.
They both froze.
Izuku pulled his phone out slowly, like it might explode. Notifications flooded his screen—Twitter. Instagram. Hero forums. Reddit. It was a deluge .
“What now,” Katsuki muttered, unlocking his own.
At the top of Izuku’s feed was a tweet. And a photo.
@quirkquirkboombaby :
just saw dynamight and his fiancé at lunch and I think I ascended???
how is it fair to look this effortlessly in love.
I hate them (affectionately).
Izuku tapped the photo.
And oh.
Oh no.
The photo was candid.
And gorgeous.
He didn’t even remember it being taken—must’ve been when they were leaning in close, mid-banter. Katsuki had a faint smirk, eyes locked on Izuku like he was seeing something precious. And Izuku—Izuku was smiling, soft and bright, chin in hand, completely unguarded. Their knees were touching. The warm lighting and square plates and lemon water made it look like a goddamn romantic drama poster .
It didn’t look fake.
It looked...
Real.
Izuku’s stomach dropped.
He looked up at Katsuki.
Katsuki was staring at the same photo, mouth pressed in a flat line, unreadable.
Their eyes met.
One long second.
No sound. No movement. Just understanding.
“…Shit,” Katsuki muttered.
“…Yeah,” Izuku echoed.
His phone buzzed again.
Another comment:
@dyna-core :
you can’t fake that look. they’re so gone for each other I’m crying.
@bakubuns :
i will literally fund the wedding
@heroobserver :
this is the kind of relationship i thought only existed in fantasy books.
Izuku locked his phone with shaky fingers. “So, uh. We’re gonna trend again.”
Katsuki shoved his phone in his pocket like it had personally betrayed him. “I hate the internet.”
Izuku rubbed the back of his neck. “They’re gonna start asking questions.”
Katsuki blew out a slow breath, lips pressed together. Then he shrugged, casual.
“Let ‘em. We’re engaged, remember?”
Izuku blinked up at him.
Katsuki glanced back, eyes softer than usual.
“Fake or not, we sell it.”
Izuku bit his lip. The image replayed in his mind—the look. The closeness. The warmth. That wasn’t fake. It couldn’t be.
“…Yeah,” he said softly. “We sell it.”
-------------------
Later that night, Izuku lay on his back in bed, blanket pulled to his chest, phone glowing in the dark like some tiny, blinding truth.
He scrolled. And scrolled. The photo was everywhere. Thousands of likes. Reblogs. Edits with sparkles and soft-focus filters. People were writing fanfiction. Shipping tags. Engagement hashtag. Someone made a fancam with their names overlaid in cursive and a Hozier track playing in the background.
And then there was the look.
The one everyone kept pointing out.
He stared at it again.
Katsuki—leaning close. Looking at him like he was worth something.
Him—smiling like he wasn’t terrified. Like it was easy.
Izuku’s chest hurt.
He knew how to fake a smile. Knew how to play pretend. But that moment hadn’t been acting.
That wasn’t some performance for the public.
That was real.
That had been
him.
And Katsuki.
He didn’t know what was worse—wanting it to be real, or the fact that he didn’t know where the pretending stopped anymore.
His thumb hovered over the little Twitter feather icon. He started typing.
-“Not sure what’s real anymore, but that smile was.”
Deleted it.
He tried again.
-“You weren’t supposed to look at me like that.”
Deleted that, too.
Another try:
-“Wish I didn’t like being your fake fiancé this much.”
Delete.
His heart was a mess, tangled in image and echo and everything unsaid.
Eventually, he just locked the phone and let it fall to the mattress beside him.
He rolled onto his side, eyes on the glowing screen across the room. The notification light blinked slowly. Like a heartbeat.
He shut his eyes. Exhaled.
Maybe tomorrow he’d stop lying to himself.
But tonight?
Tonight he could dream.